#i have way too much to say about talia but i probably should shut my mouth right about now

[nikosdaydreams]

okay this could be a lil bit of a stretch but in rtc in sugar cloud TELL ME that the cast doesn't sound like kids, especially when they're doing the "la la la" bits!!! it just makes me so sad because its yet another reminder that they still had their whole lives ahead of them and they're just making their peace with it and AGABFSSV I can't deal with this goodnight

[bats-and-birds-24]

Chapter 10:

Tim finally broke the silence, “So, Jason, um- how have you been since you were resurrected?” 

He cringed at himself as soon as the sentence came out of his mouth. He didn't know Jason before his death, and yet here he was being overly familiar with him.

He tries to correct himself with, “Sorry about that, um- it just that I’m a huge fan of your Robin, you were my inspiration and everything, I used to follow you around on your patrols when you were a kid and-”

Jason’s brain stopped working at “used to follow him around as a kid.” How long did B know about Tim’s existence? Did he already have a backup in case something happened to him? He wouldn't put something like that past Bruce, this was the man who kept notes on how to take down his closest friends in a fight. 

Mostly he felt like a fool. A fool for trusting Bruce. He took advantage of Dick when he was grieving the loss of his family, he took advantage of Jason when he was homeless, and- “how would Bruce take advantage of a Bristol kid like Tim? He probably got everything he wanted.” The pit whispered in his ears.

Jason shook the green out of his vision and looked at the kid once more. Tim said he was following Jason and Bruce around on patrol, there would be no way for him to do that if he had attentive guardians, he was probably neglected as a child and latched on to his hero and the first adult to give him attention.

“It was pretty easy to follow you guys around since my parents were probably in an archaeological digs somewhere.-” Tim rambled on.

“Hypothesis confirmed.” Jason thought bitterly. As jealous as he was towards the kid, he was just another child put into danger by Bruce. 

He cut him off with “Do you really think you became Robin of your own free will Tim?”

Tim looked up at him bewildered, “I’m not sure what you mean, Bruce didn't even know I existed until I forced him to make me Robin.”

“Tim you didn't force him to make you Robin, he manipulated you into becoming Robin, do you really expect Bruce, the world’s greatest detective, to not know that you were stalking him?” Jason spat out.

Tim drew back, “Of course he didn't know I was there! He didn't want me to be Robin after you died, but his methods of crime suppression became too violent afterwards since he didn't have a Robin to keep him in check! It was for the good of Gotham!”

Jason didn't know whether he should laugh or cry, “Tim you're a child! You shouldn't have to maintain a grown man’s emotions for him!” He should be doing normal kid stuff like going to school and hanging out with friends, not fighting criminals and ending up in life or death situations.

Tim stomach churned, of course his idol didn't want Tim to be Robin, he could live with Jason thinking that he was a poor successor, but he also seemed to think that Bruce manipulated him into becoming his sidekick, which was patently untrue. He had to correct it.

“Jason, I wasn't manipulated.” Tim gently stated.

Jason's anger burst out, unable to contain the pit any longer, “Of course that's what you would say! He has you wrapped around his finger! He doesn't think of you as anything more than a tool!”

Tim’s anger was reaching its limits as well, “Well, how is being Robin with Batman any more dangerous for a kid than being trained as an assassin under Talia Al Ghul!”

“Shut up! It's not the same!” Jason replied hotly. 

Tim could feel tears pricking his eyes. So much for a calm talk with Jason, his idol.

That was when the door swung open and Talia appeared, “Aziz, take Jason to his chambers, I will meet with him later.” She walked straight up to Tim, gave Jason a look that meant that she would be back for him, and led Tim out into the hallway.

“This isn't your fault child, you shouldn't have put all this pressure on yourself to bring him back.” Tim tried to focus on her words, as the rest of the world blurred under his tears.

[h0neyjaehyun]

𝐓𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞

- date - unknown

"You have such a weak heart for them lately." He chuckled as he fixed Chenle's blanket then sat next to him moving his gaze towards his sister.

"But that only means one thing..." his voice went raspy and deep looking at Talia with a curious yet knowing gaze.

"You're going to leave soon."

Talia stiffened a little, not totally surprised he figured out why she has been more kind recently than cold, letting them in a little than pushing them away, wanting to make sweet lasting memories as to a cold front.

"Of course, not right now...but that doesn’t mean much later." He smirked rubbing his bottom lip with his finger observing her.

"This happy family won’t last after all." Talia knew what he was aiming for. He wanted her to feel terrible on what she was doing, acting kind then leaving them, crushing the hope they had into little peices of memories. Guilt tripping, not like he actually cared about their feelings, as he made it very clear, after he met all of them having a private dinner with her speaking his opinions on them. She lowered her gaze at him.

"But my question is...will you leave me behind as well?" He asked leaning forward setting his elbows on his knees peering at Talia. ‘ah’ realization hit, this was the insecurity that was causing this tantrum. Her stance kept the same, keeping quiet, never wavering.

"How far will you go? Will you take me.... or disappear?" He questioned her, he knows she doesn't know herself, if so, she would have acted on it.

"You know, you've been having this distant stare, looking far out into the world only made me more curious and the boys too ya know." He pointed out which didn't get much reaction from her as expected.

"One of the boys had the courage to come up to me and ask me 'Is she planning to leave us?' ". He sighed out mimcking the tone he remembered, looking at Tali who was a little taken back and he smirked a little......success

"I took him to get a drink and told him I had no idea." He explained nodding his head looking at the direction of said boy. Tali followed his gaze to the boy clinging on to her already in his sleep.

Haechan.

She pursued her lips and gave her brother a glare. Which he smiled to.

"Then he had a little bit too much to drink and confessed that ever since what? 2017? He was afraid you will go somewhere out of his reach, man even had nightmares about it." He snickered at Haechan pitifully.

"You know at that point I thought he was asking for your hand in marriage." He laughed out. Tali couldn't say anything, she knew she wouldn't stay in Nct the whole time like the rest, she already knew and told the company when she first debut that something will probably happen to make that decision and the time has come.

She is a little disappointed it came so soon. She really loves them...but her trust has been broken and that was her number 1, trust above all.

"You love and adore them Talia...why leave?" Her brother questioned her in a mocking way cocking his head the side. Talia sighed and looked at her brother with unreadable expression.

"I loved Han....and I left him, he betrayed my trust.... what the hell makes you think I'm that weak to love, I am not my father." She said sternly having an intense gaze. Miguel narrowed his eyes at her, he thought for a second.... trauma, fools for love, fear of turning into our father, how pitiful.

"What about Minki?" Her body tensed while her gaze became more shaken.

"What about him?" She mumbled, Miguel smirked loving her reaction, he's having fun.

"Oh, you know......you loved him......so much to the point I thought you would choose him over me and yet he left you." He slightly shook his head as if he was disappointed, smiling slightly. Talia's hands clenched while glaring at her brother, she hated this side of him, with a burning passion she wanted him to go away, he was like that little voice in her head that wouldn’t stop, that. wouldn't just shut up.

"Miguel, shut u-"

"WHY SHOULD I? HUH?" He raised his voice slamming his hands on the table waking most of the boys up with Talia being unfazed.

"Ha, what a lame reaction." He chuckled, he seemed frustrated.

"What the hell is your problem."

"ARE YOU GONNA RUN AWAY FROM ME AGAIN HUH?" He yelled at her with frustration written all over his face while Talia looked at him with only a glare.

"Hey hey calm down now-" Taeyong tried to interfere but no avail.

"No, you said you were gonna stay-"

"I never said that." She interrupted him giving him a dirty look. The boys looked at her wide eyed, one feeling came up......fear.

"And I wasn’t the one who left first YOU DID! Not me, you. YOU LEFT FOR YOUR DREAM FIRST, WHEN I ASKED YOU TO STAY LONGER!" She got up pointing at him.

"YOU LEFT FIRST AND I WAS THE ONE WHO DIDN'T LOOK BACK." There was silence, the guys had no idea what was happening but all they could really get was Talia leaving which made them scared, anxious.

"Your job was to stay Miguel. They are different, they can leave me whenever the fuck they want, I never expected them to stay with me through thick and thin but with you I did. Cause you are my brother, I didn't expect you to visit me every time you have a day off, give me affection, listen to my worries, your only job was to stay in my life......and you failed that."

Migeul stayed silent, the whole room was still. Something has been revealed about their relationship that they know they shouldn't know.

"Talia-"

"Yes I was selfish..." Miguel started looking down clenching his hands together.

"But would you really choose me over Minki?" There was a deafing silence, the boys were speechless. They knew nothing that was happening but when they looked at Talia who have a sad but surprised expression with anger also written all over it. She clenched her jaw gave her brother a look of hatred. What they were witnessing was something that scared them.

“Why are you ask-”

“BEACUSE YOU KEEP AVOIDING THE DAMN QUESION?!” He screamed out. 

“I don’t know.” She calmly spoke out, small drops of tears rolling down her face as she felt a warm hand grab hers, she slowly looked to see Haechan. She bit her lip as tears started flowing.

“So, you would choose him.” Miguel's voice went deep with anger obviously coming from him. Tali quickly turned to him with a confused expression looking at her brother with a stone face shooting glares at her.

“I never said that-”

“You didn’t have to.” He quicky said as a tear slowly rolled down, and slowly they started building up. He knew in the back of his mind that Talia would choose Minki over him. He realized this long ago with Minki still being there. Instead of her crying to him about her problems she would go to him. He always made sure she was on top of his list but it felt like she never did that for him. It felt like he was always her second choice when they promised to be each other’s number one. He always resented Minki for that but couldn’t at the same time as he made his sister happy. 

“I would always choose you, I can’t even choose anymore. WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS?” Talia finally yelled out. Miguel chuckled wiping the tears. 

“You can choose though.” He smiled, but not the sweet smile he gives her, it was menacing. She knew what he was talking about. She yanked her had out of Haechan’s grasp.

“Are you kidding me? There’s no good reason, for making believe that we could ever exist again.” She yelled at him, making him roll his eyes scoffing. 

“oh pl-”

“ITS NOT THE SAME, they are two different people! I can’t be his friend anymore, I can’t be his lover, he can’t hold me back from loving someone else cause he’s not there anymore!” She screamed at him which made him a little wide eyed, not the fact she yelled but the words.

“You know Miguel, I don’t know whose more in denial about his death you or me? But right now, it’s really looking like it’s you.” She stated, everything went quiet as he looked down at his sister. More or else in both physically and in general. Always looked down on how she couldn’t get over her first love, but maybe in reality it was him who couldn’t get over his death.

“What is happening?” Taeyong asked feeling really left out, same with the rest of the boys.

"If theres nothing more I’m leaving, being in the same room with you right is suffocating." She waved him off about to turn to go to her room but instead Haechan grabbed a hold on her.

She looked back with a blank face, Haechan tried to reason with her but what he got in return was an icy stare as he couldn’t even get a word out yet. It was different from the one before, the one before it was kind and sweet the one, one that he would bathe in, but this cold stare made him back away immediately, just thinking about it made him shiver.

"Let go."

"Wha-"

"I. Said. Let. Go. Lee Donghyuck." She said sternly. He let go cowering back. She looked at her brother who had an amused smile but not to her but to himself. She gave him one last dirty look.

"You are a piece of shit Miguel." She said coldly, she grabbed her jacket and phone and without telling them where she's going, she left out the door. Chenle was about to go after her, but Miguel grabbed his arm and shook his head.

"Well nice seeing you all, lets meet again." He smiled innocently quickly grabbing his stuff as he wanted to talk to her.

"Wait." Taeyong called out to him, which he turned with a calm expression. Not an expression you would have after an argument, that face reminds them of Talia no doubt.

"Sorry to ruin your sweet moment I couldn't myself but provoke her but as you saw it backfired on me." He chuckled in such a playful charming manner which baffled the guys. It was so different from the face that was a couple seconds ago that was taunting his sister.

They stood back in disbelief of what they witnessed. Just what kind of relationship did they have? All they saw playful and sweet siblings who were there for each other....this is different.

Something twisted

[internalsealpanic]

The Night is Young part 1

Summary:  There is nothing better for self control than chains A/n: This is extremely self-indulgent and spiteful because I looked on ao3 and only say 2 Talia fics. Literally what the hell. Thank you for @jd-loves-fiction and @littleredwing89 for proof reading warnings: bondage, dom/sub, edging, oral, uh there’s a bit of a twist at the end

masterlist

You kneel in front of Talia-- weight resting on your feet, back straight, and mouth zipped shut. She looks down at you approvingly as she sips from her champagne. Your skin buzzes as she marks every inch of it with those green eyes.

The large room shrinks in your periphery, your focus devoted only to the woman in front of you as you rest your face against her knee. The room is big, bigger than anything you could afford on your own. The presidential suite of the hotel you're meeting at is, naturally, the only one befitting someone like her. She looks completely content at her place on the edge of the bed, clad only in a silk robe that you can very nearly see-through. It drapes over the velvet curves of her body so gracefully that you have no doubt it was tailor-made. Only the best for an Al Ghul and their pets.

Talia sets her drink down, calling your attention with a tug of the chain wrapped loosely around your neck. You kiss her knee, not breaking eye contact.

"What do you want pet?" She asks, angling your head away from her skin by tightening her grip on the chain.

You plant a sloppy kiss against her thigh. You contemplate how you should phrase it so you can get what you want, careful to piece the syllables together into something Talia will want to hear. "I want to make you cum, Mistress." You nip at her thigh.

"How do you intend to do that, pet?" She hums, her ring digging into the underside of your jaw, thumb brushing against your bottom lip. You smile.

Bending your body, you begin with her feet. It's only natural to start your worship there. You brush chaste kisses against her ankles and the golden bands decorating them. The kisses grow hungrier and sloppier as you trail up her calf to her thighs. Your teeth graze against her hot flesh wanting to leave marks but holding yourself back when you don't hear her express approval. Talia threads her hand through your hair and breathes a soft note of approval. You feel the coil in your stomach tighten, elated by the way she's reacting.

You bend down again repeating the process with her other leg, leaving a trail of wet saliva glistening against her flawless dark skin. There's a smile stretching across her burgundy lips. "Good girl." It's humiliating how wet you get just from those two words.

Talia spreads her legs wider, tugging you forward.  Your hot breath fans against her outer lips. You pepper her lips with kisses and kitten licks, watching as Talia leans back, tugging her robe a little higher. You move to press your lips to her, applying shy licks to it and kissing it tenderly. It earns you soft pants and another tug at your chain.

You take the hint and begin licking in earnest. Her soft pants turn into whines then into Ah-ah-ahs that send a thrill up your spine.

You slide Talia's thighs over your shoulder to change the angle to get in deeper. She tastes so sweet. You close your eyes, kneading her thighs as you continue to service her with your tongue.

"Pet, just like that, yes."

Her voice sounds breathy. You feel delirious. You stop lapping your tongue inside her, replacing the wet muscle with two fingers. You kiss her clit gently as you slide your fingers in and out of her. You hum against her, letting your own moans drag one out of her. She wraps a leg around your shoulders bringing you closer. You hum fucking your finger in and out of her.

She was close. You can feel it from the way her walls flutter around your fingers. You pull your fingers out, sliding your tongue insider her. She grinds against your face, her hand sliding to the back of your neck. You fuck her with your tongue roughly as her back arches. Your tongue is flooded with the taste of her. It makes you drunk and you're hungry for more.

You hold her in place eating her through her orgasm. Vaguely, you hear her say something but your mind is too preoccupied. You're sure you can easily get another orgasm from her if you keep up your pace.

Your scalp stings as she yanks you off of her.

You're panting heavily, looking at her confused. Talia's green eyes shine with anger, their hues that of the waters from the Lazarus Pits. You're keenly aware you've fucked up but your mind is too hazy with lust to figure out exactly how.

"Do you like ignoring my orders, pet?" Talia growls, her voice rough with lust.

You blink. The words catch up with your brain. Talia loosens her grip. Without the stinging in your scalp, you can admire her rumpled appearance, the way her robe slides off your shoulder showing off her breasts and her muscular stomach.

Talia grabs your chin, her rings digging into your skin. "You're feeling particularly petulant today, aren't you pet?"

No, your brain just doesn't work when she's dressed so enticingly. You tell her as much in the sweet honeyed voice that usually gets you out of trouble.

The irate look on Talia's face tells you it doesn't work so do the rings digging into your skin.  "That trick might work on Wilson and Beloved but I assure you. It won't work on me."

You were hoping it wouldn't. You may love the way Bruce spoils you endlessly or the way Slade's punishments always ends with you cumming around his cock over and over again but the way Talia disciplines you and uses you hits different. You shiver. You bite back a sob. There was more?

You feel the bed shift. The weight on your thigh lifts.  Something warm hover over your face. Something warm and wet. You open your mouth. You grin feeling Talia rest her weight on your face. You wait for her to say something. It takes a long moment but Talia finally gives you her permission.

You lap at her core earnestly, enjoying how she grinds against your face spreading her juices all over it.  "You like being used, don't you?" She purrs, her thighs putting pressure around your head. You gasp against her when a buzzing between your legs starts. "Faster, pet." She pants. You whimper against her core but comply. The vibrator inside you buzzes more fervently as you lap more eagerly at her core.

You try to picture her above you based on the sounds she's making. You can imagine her tweaking her nipples as you work her core. You moan, lips vibrating.

You slow your pace down just to catch a breather but the lessening sensation between your legs dissuades you. You switch to a different tactic.  You plunge your tongue inside her drawing figure 8s as you hum. Your lips vibrate and you hear her moans grow louder. Talia cums with a growl.

You let out a relieved breath when she lifts herself off your face. "Thank you." You say voice hoarse.

"We're not done yet, pet. We're going to play a game."

She removes your blindfold. She traces the line of your jaw forcing you to look deep into her lush green eyes. "Give me a number, pet. Between 1 to 10."

You frown confused but not eager to test her patience.  "3?" You guess. You whine when the vibrations in your pussy grow weaker.

"Try again pet"

"5?"

The vibrations lower even more. "You want to make me happy, don't you? " She coos smoothing your hair out of your face. You struggle for breath. You just want her to end your misery. You nod.

"Good. Now, try again." She encourages, brushing your lips against yours.

"7- Ah!" You moan as Talia steadily raises the powers. A strangled moan from the closet accompanies your own and you nearly jump out of your skin from your surprise. Talia laughs. Her hand is tracing shapes into your thigh. “Oh pet, did you think we were alone?”

You figured but she did say she had a surprise for you. You shake your head. She kneels onto the bed running her fingers over your feet and up over her ankles. Your mind is flimsy and formless. Your thoughts are like bubbles in the air popping one after the other. You purr under Talia’s touches and the shockwaves of pleasure you’re getting from the vibrator.

“Listen to how cute our pet sounds, Beloved,” Talia says, stroking the side of your face. You turn your head to the side. You can see movement in the closet. The shifting of shadows. If you had to hazard a guess, Talia’s probably got Bruce tied up and, probably, gagged. “Doesn't she just sound adorable when she's being obedient?” There’s another remote in her hand. She drapes herself on top of you lazily. You love the way her skin feels against yours. You hear the click of the remote followed by a loud groan from Bruce. You turn your head. The dial is pushed to a 7. Oh. You regret not picking a higher number.

“This is what she should sound like, but you and Wilson are too soft with her.” Talia says, stroking up your inner thighs.  “I know exactly what she needs,” Talia kisses the inside of your knee. You whine. “And I know exactly how she needs it too.” You hear another click and the buzzing inside you spreads throughout your body. Your nerves light up from the stimulation.  You’re whimpering Talia’s name repeatedly, shuddering under the intensity. Talia is grinding her body against yours.  You think you hear yourself beg but the syllables come out garbled as you cum.

You’re panting and dizzy but content.  “Thank you.” You manage between breaths. Talia kisses your forehead in response. You’re not stupid enough to tease her about the gesture. At least, you’re not stupid enough to do it tied up.

You hear another movement from the closet. You turn to look at Bruce. Through a sliver, you can see bright blue eyes staring at both of you intensely.

“What do you think, pet? Should we let him join our fun?” Talia asks, tracing a nail down your chest.

You look between her and Bruce and an evil thought forms in your mind. As innocently as you can, you say: “Can we reward him with a show first mistress? He has been so patient after all.” You hear a strangled noise from the closet.  

Talia’s lips curve upwards. “What a wonderful idea,” She says, kissing your collarbone. “We both know how much our beloved loves to watch.”

Oh, Bruce was going to kill you.

Talia removes the vibrator first, making you moan. She then unfastens the spreader bar. Finally, she releases your hands. Your wrists sting, feeling raw in the cool air. She kisses your wrist. You slide your thigh between her legs, rubbing it against her core. She hums delighted with your initiative. You gently wrap your hand around the back of Talia’s neck guiding her lips to yours in a gentle melding of lips.  She licks your bottom lip. You open your mouth readily for her. She grins taking the invitation. She kneads your chest and you put more pressure between her thighs.

Bruce growls against what you assume was a ball gag. You break the kiss, turning your head towards him. The sliver has grown and you can see the hungry look in his eyes.

“Don’t look at him whilst we’re playing pet,” Talia says, tilting your chin back towards you, “this is just for me and you.” She strokes her palms down your waist. You close your eyes ignoring the pained mewl from Bruce and focusing on the warm body on top of you. Talia kisses you again. You nibble her lip, groping one of her breasts.  She kisses you deeply. Her thigh presses against your core as your bodies grind against each other. She feels so wet and warm against you.  Your body is a live wire of sensations. You can feel Talia’s nipples brush against yours as your bodies move against each other. The sound of your moans mixing in the open air echoes in your skull like a lewd opera. Talia kisses your jaw, your neck, leaving bite marks on your neck and collar bone. You revel in the warm kisses pressed against your skin.

Another desperate keen erupts from the closet.  You sneak a glance at Bruce even though Talia told you not to. Your mouth dries when you see his throbbing cock. His cock was erect against his abs, leaking precum down his long girthy length. You lick your lips. Your want to taste him was blatant and it was impossible to miss.  

Talia kisses your pulse. “Shall we let him join, pet?”

You nod vigorously.

She looks down at you amused. “He has been so good for us after all, hasn’t he?” She says, sliding her thumb against your swollen lips. “Why don’t you pleasure him with that talented mouth whilst I untangle him?”  Talia pushes herself off the bed. You almost call her back, finally feeling the way heat dissipates from your body in her absence.  

You try to follow her on wobbly legs and only manage to fall to the floor. You’re flushed with embarrassment. Well, this isn’t the first time you’ve been fuck thoroughly enough to take away your ability to walk. It isn’t even the first time for Talia either. Talia (taking pity on you or proud that she’d fucked you stupid) guides Bruce’s hulking figure to the bed. You take in his disheveled appearance, his so carefully put together appearance in shambles. His hair is a mess with strands sticking out while others cling to his forehead through sweat. His hands are tied behind his back, pushing out his chest covered in hickeys and scratches. It seems they occupied themselves while waiting for you. Bruce’s teeth dig into the ball gag. At least, you’re not the only one frustrated. You crawl towards him as Talia begins to untie him. Pushing up between his legs, you look up at him innocently. You can see guilt forming in his brow. You can just tell Bruce was already thinking of what gift to get you for going along with something less than savory. He’ll definitely have a heart attack if you told him about the things the other two have had you do or have done to you regularly.

You knead the meat of his thighs; even at rest, they felt powerful.  Pressing sloppy kisses along his inner thighs, you pointedly ignore his throbbing cock. There’s a strained noise and a shift in posture that conveys his frustration. You rest your cheek against his knee, fingers sliding up and down his cock experimentally. “Sir, please let me suck your cock.” You purr. The lewd vulgarity of your request hits him like a ton of bricks. His skin flushes a hot shade of pink. Bruce’s cock twitches in approval but you wait patiently for verbal approval.

“Answer her beloved.” Talia says, removing the gag from his mouth.

“Please, Daddy.” You say, nibbling at his inner thigh, your panting breath fanning against his hardened cock. If Bruce still had any restraint left, it crumples. He swallows, mouth feeling painfully dry. “Go ahead, sweetheart.” He says, smiling down at you indulgently.

You lick a long strip up the length of his cock, lapping up the precum you’ve been dying to taste. You kiss the head of his shaft. Humming, you suck on the tip before opening your mouth to take him in. Bruce puts a hand on the back of your neck but with your hand, you guide it to wrap around your throat, so he can feel his cock sliding down your throat. Bruce bites back a  curse, thrusting his hips up. You gag but keep his hand firmly in place with your own. Bruce could easily move his hand but he doesn’t.

Talia kisses along his shoulders. “She’s very talented.” Talia says, rubbing circles on Bruce’s chest.

“And well trained.” Bruce comments, pressing a kiss to Talia’s lips.

“No thanks to you,” she sneers, “or Wilson.”

“It’s just too hard not to spoil her.” Bruce says, pushing hair out of your face as you continue to swallow his shaft. You look at him and his cock twitches deep inside your throat.

“She is adorable,” Talia agrees, hands traveling down Bruce’s chest. His breath hitches when she starts playing with his balls, caressing the tender flesh with her skilled fingers. “It’s ok, Beloved. Our darling pet can take what you’ve got. Isn’t that right, Pet?”

You moan around Bruce’s shaft in response and it doesn’t take long for him to cum. You swallow his cum, making sure he sees the movement of your throat. “Thank you, Sir.” You say, licking your lips.  Some of it dribbles down your chin to your chest.  You scoop some up with your fingers and lick them off. Bruce looks like he’s going to die. You may be enjoying this too much.

“Let's clean you up, pet.” Talia says, kneeling beside you. Bruce’s shoulders slacken looking relieved. Oh, this poor bastard. Talia starts licking your chest. She trails down, leaving hickeys in her wake. She suckles on one of your nipples, swirling her tongue around it. You let out cries of pleasure that have Bruce biting his lip.  She let you go with a satisfied “All done”. Bruce is ready to keel over as he walks over to both of you.

“Let’s get you two properly cleaned up.” He says, glaring at Talia who looks understandably unapologetic.

Bruce helps you into the large tub, your legs still useless from the evening’s activities.  You and Talia curl up against Bruce’s broad chest while Talia kisses your bruised wrists. You stroke her cheek with Bruce pressing a kiss on your hairline.

“So Pet, when were you going to tell us about the other.”

You give Talia a genuinely confused look. “I thought you guys knew.”

“We didn’t.” Bruce confirms, looking very torn.

“I assume Wilson has no clue.”

“Considering neither of you did… Likely not.” You say, kissing Bruce’s shoulder.

Talia looks angry. Not as angry as she could be considering you really had no clue that they didn’t.  “Pet, some of us don’t like sharing our toys...”

“It’s nothing personal.” You say, stroking Talia’s face. You realize that came out terrible, so you lean forward to place a chaste kiss to her lips. You’re honestly just unable to keep your genuine affection at bay at this point.

She seems placated when she rests her head against Bruce’s chest. Bruce who has been surprisingly quiet.

“Please stop moving.” He groans and you notice now that your legs have been brushing a certain appendage. You turn his face to yours and kiss him softly. “What’s the matter, Bruce? We’re all having fun and the  night is still young.”

Bonus:

“Sir, your guest has arrived. Are we to expect you soon?”

Slade taps his finger against the lacquered arms rests of the seat. “No, no. I’ll still be a few days out. Could you keep an eye on her for me?”

“Of course. Of course, sir. It’s just....”

“Spit it out. I don’t have all night.”

“Well, we’ve seen your guest with a few of our other high profile members...”

“Who?” Slade growls, gripping his glass of whiskey a little too tightly.

“Well, it was Ms. Talia Al Ghul and Mr. Burce Wayne.”

“I see… Do make sure my guest is comfortable.” ________________________________________________________________ a/n: Thanks for reading and yeah I could not resist making reader a sugar baby for all three cus that is my dream hahahaha

[thr-333]

Drastic Measures- Part 2

@daminette-december2019-2020

~Swordplay~

To summarise: I will have the love square one way or another!

Ao3

First >Next 

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

As far as homes go it’s pretty good” Adrien stretches out, Plagg curls up next to him.

“Don't get too comfortable we’re going to be on the move,” Marinette types furiously at her computer.

“I will try my hardest,” Adrien stares blankly at her, sat atop a pile of grubby blankets next to a broken window. Marinette loses connection to her computer and slams it shut with a huff.

“Get some sleep I’m going to find an internet cafe,” Marinette stuffs the cheap laptop into her bag, amazing how something she bought at a hole in the wall place for thirty bucks didn’t work well.

“Who needs sleep when you can have coffee,” Adrian stands up, ready to follow her.

“Sleep Chat,” She pushes him down by the shoulders, “I need my partner fully operational,”

“Yeah kid, take a break, we worked hard,” Plagg yawns, turning over.

“You also worked hard Bug,” Adrien lets himself be pushed back onto the blankets.

“I won't be able to sleep until I know how everything is in Paris,”

“Neither can I,” Adrien protests, already half asleep.

“Sure you can, night Chat,”

“Night M’lady,”

Marinette leaves the same way they came in, though the window. She has to slide down the gutter to get on the street, Tikki hiding away in her bag. She has to go pretty far in town to find a suitable cafe, too far from Adrien to be comfortable. Marinette pops in her earbuds before opening her computer to let her talk to Tikki freely.

She doesn't immediately search up missing person cases. Looking instead at Paris tourist destinations and guides. Switching to the dangers of traveling to Paris; the only mention of Akuma being on obscure question and answer sites. She looks at kidnapping potential and then moves onto missing person cases. Adrien's is the first to come up, obviously. 

There was lots of outcry among his fans. Many were throwing around accusations of foul play on Gabriel's part from abuse to locking Adrien away from the world. However, Gabriel was also fiercely looking for his son. Adrien hadn’t left behind any sort of note. Well only to Nino, which Adrien had told Marinette was asked not to mention to anyone.

Marinette then feels safe enough to look up her own case. It was smaller, although was gaining attention as Jagged proclaimed it to high heavens; more so asking what they did wrong and how they could fix it and asking for any sightings of her. That could be a problem if her picture was already around. Marinette pulls her hood up higher. They might have to get haircuts and wear disguises… on second thought wearing suspicious disguises in Gotham might cause more problems.

“Tikki they seem really worried,” Marinette watches the videos Jagged posted, her parents in the background running around talking with police.

“Of course they are Mari,” Marinette feels a light tap on her side, “But you're doing the right thing,”

“No I’m not,” not when she’s watching a video of her parents crying,  “I’m doing what needs to be done, this is my responsibility, no matter what a certain someone thinks,”

She spits with venom. Maybe Adriens rant last night rubbed off on her.

“He’s the hero here,” Tiki says non accusingly, “Imagine if another hero came to Paris without asking you… remember Volpina?”

“Ah now that was an actual villain,” Marinette hadn’t trusted her from the start,  “Plus she was akumatized,”

“Marinette,” Marinette can’t bring herself to feel guilty, even under tikis scolding.

“Right but that still doesn't give him the right,” Marinette huffs, “After all would he attack Marinette? No!”

“Are you implying you would attack Lila?”

“......... no,”

“Marinette,”

Marinetti smirks to herself instinctively looking around for Adrien to share her joke. Then Marinette froze. The cafe was empty, not even a barista. How had she not noticed!?

“Wait,” Marinetti says out loud before Tiki could talk, “I’m going to have to call you back, something just came up,”

Something was watching her from the kitchen door as if she couldn’t see them. Marinette tries to act normal going for the pepper on the table and putting it on her food. They move at the same time. The attacker runs towards her, Marinette throws the shaker at- Robin?! It hits him square in the forehead, with a curse he touches his bleeding forehead.

“I am so sorry!” Marinette panics, “That was meant to explode in your face!”

“How is that better?!” Robin runs forward, sword drawn. Marinette ducks behind the table grabbing her plate and frisbeeing it towards him, he manages to dodge this one, “Draw your weapon coward!"

“I don’t have a weapon!” She grabs the table cloth ready to take the vigilante down, “What is wrong with you?!”

He doesn't answer lunging at her again with the sword. Marinette kicks up the table then kicks it towards him in one swift movement. With the impact of the table he drops the sword, Marinette jumps up landing on the table which pins Robin down to the ground with its weight and hers, with the legs sticking up.

“I knew it,” Robin spits and she presses her weight into the table to keep him pinned.

“Excuse you,” Marinette catches his wrist as he tries to pull a dagger on her using the table cloth to tie it to the legs of the table, then does the same with the other, “You attacked me,”

“-Robin!” she hears a faint call, no one is around so it must be from his communicator, “-Robin report back to the cave!”

“I’ll take that~” Marinette sings songs ignoring how he growls at her. She rolls her eyes stepping off the table she needed to get out of here now.

She steps out of the cafe throwing the communicator and likely a tracking device too on the roof of a passing car then sprints in the opposite direction. She heads for the alleys looking for an area with no cameras as she runs. When she finds a spot Marinette transforms running back to their base with record timing.

“Adrien wake up!” Ladybug jumps through the window, barely avoiding landing on him, “Batman’s after us,”

“What?!” He sits bolt upright, Ladybug pulls him onto his feet.

“Move! Now!” She grabs their bags, Adrien transforms and they take off over the rooftops.

“What happened?!” Chat shouts as the runaway, “Is Batman chasing us?”

“Yes, well kinda-- Robin tried to kill me,”

“He what?!”

“As Marinette,” She adds, slowing down as they should have put enough distance between them.

“Did they figure us out already?” Chat Noir slows down into a walk then collapses on the rooftop,

"Probably,"

“This is the worst wake up call ever!”

“Well, it's about to get worse,” Ladybug cringes feeling the distinct trace of magic she was all too familiar with.

“Akuma?”

“Akuma,”

“Great, perfect,” Chat complains standing back up.

“At least we’re not at school,” Ladybug shrugs, launching herself over a roof.

“No you’re right being chased by a masked vigilante is a massive improvement,”

---

Wow

“Robin! Get your head out of the clouds and get over here!”

Damian breaks out of his trance, regrettably tearing his gaze away from Ladybug to the much less awe inspiring sight of Batman trapped under a car. They shouldn’t be wasting their time worrying about these established amazing hero’s and worry about that assassin on the loose. Who knows who she was after. She could be planning Batman’s demise at this very moment; if she was close with his mother then surely she knew their identities which was far far more dangerous.

Ladybug could handle herself as evidence by her going toe to toe with the newest villain. In a matter of minutes, the villain was down for the count with no help on their part. 

“Ladybug!” He calls before she leaves again, maybe she could help him convince his father that he was being an absolute buffoon.

“Oh it’s you,” She says surprisingly coldly, “What do you want now?”

“Now?”

“Are, you here to attack me again?”

“... I didn’t attack you?” He had spent all morning tracking down a dangerous assassin.

“... Oh! Of course, you did- haha I just ummmm-- there must have been an… Akuma! Yes! There must have been an Akuma earlier that looked like you,”

“An Akuma was impersonating me?” Robin growls.

“Yeah, they do that sometimes,” Chat Noir pipes up, “It’s annoying,”

“Yes and if you’re here, that uh… that means the Akuma is still out there so we gotta go deal with that so-bye!” Ladybug swings off closely followed by Chat Nor; off to go save his name and reputation.

---

“So you really think that was an Akuma?” Adrien asks as they transform back.

“Maybe- I don’t know it was just an excuse so he wouldn't figure out my identity,”

“Well at least he doesn't know it,” Adrien shrugs as they walk through the alleys in search of a new place to rest that night.

“If he doesn't know then why would he attack Marinette?” She asks, “And if it was an Akuma that means Hawkmoth knows my identity which is so much worse!”

“Is it tho?”

“Chat,”

“I mean back in Paris it would have been bad,” They both cringe, “But here we have no home, no family, no friends! He cant use any of that against us now!”

Adrien beams his contagious smile.

“You always manage to find a bright side,” Marinette smirks punching him in the shoulder.

“So that's why,” They both turn around, staring in shock.

“Batman?!” Turning back their way out is already blocked by mister boy wonder. Who, by the way he is glaring at her, was not an Akuma this morning.

“I can't believe Talia called me because some teenagers were eloping,”

I know that name- WAIT!

“Eloping?!” Marinette chokes, “We are not eloping!”

“As in not at all,” Adrien blanches, “And I mean no offense Marinette you are literally the sweetest person but I can’t imagine anything more horrific!”

“Oh god, same!” At least now, “I mean once when we were younger…-- it was a silly crush!”

“Wait you had a crush on me?!”

“Yeah, well, you had a crush on me!”

“... oh god… I did, didn’t I?!”

While Adrien is dealing with that little revelation Marinette looks around for an escape. There isn’t much opportunity since both have their eyes on them, partly out of morbid curiosity at their little freakout. Well if you don't have a distraction homemade is fine.

“AKUMA!” They both look, predictably. 

Marinette grabs Adrien and runs. She goes for the side Robins guarding, sweeping his legs sending him crashing to the ground.

“I’m not sorry!” Marinette calls as they sprint down the alley.

Marinette heads for the main street, enough of a crowd to camouflage. As they are walking through as casually as possible Marinette sweeps them both for bugs putting any she finds on random passerbys. They walk sometimes ducking into busy shops in hopes of losing their trail. They come across the mall which works perfectly for them. They stay until it starts to approach closing time, it’s easy enough to avoid security and so they get locked in for the night.

“So what do you want to do?!” They walk through the empty halls Adrien skipping along and looking at each display. Marinette stops outside an electronics store, the tv’s still on and displaying the news.

“Make a plan for a way to deal with that,” On-screen are the two of them, a video of Ladybug throwing a car at Batman, “This is taken completely out of context!”

“What’s the context?” 

“Batman was being a little bitch!”

“I’m sure that will hold up in court,” Adrien laughs taking a seat in one of those massage chairs, “Besides what's the problem?”

“The problem?!” Marinette yells, “The problem is that now all of Gotham is going to hate us!”

“So? Do we really need them to like us?” Adrien gets up to stand by her, rubbing her shoulder.

“They did in Paris,”

“We’re not in Paris anymore,” Adrien says quietly, leading her towards the seats, “We have a chance to start new again, everyday something we haven't done before, a couple of pals living day to day on the edge, isn’t that exciting?”

“I just--” want to go home, “I’m tired,”

“Take a break,” Adrien sits her down in the massage chair with a kind smile, “I’ll keep watch,”

“.. ok,” Marinette curls up in the chair Tikki coming to lie beside her. With not much strength to fight it, Marinette falls asleep while she can.

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

Taglist? nope don’t have one, horrible at keeping track of them sorry~

[ketamineharry]

I Bet Part 3 - Ethan Payne 

Requested: Yes - @wroetobehzinga​ & @sour--disposition​ kept bullying me last night to get this written and uploaded. I hope you both like the result, dickheads xx

“Y/N what the actual fuck is going on here?”

You turned around to see Ethan, shocked. Fists clenched, as he approached the both of you. He didn’t have any right to be angry, he had made his choice and that wasn’t you. So, you had free reign to kiss whoever you wanted to.

“I’m sorry Ethan, but I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” You quipped, as you took Harry’s hand in yours. Providing yourself with some extra support and comfort.

“It’s my business when you were in my bed last weekend, telling me that you love me. For me now to find you playing tonsil tennis with my best friend, as some sort of weird rebound.”

“Well, it’s not my fault that you’ve stumbled in on this. In fact, Harry and I are going back to my place. Have fun at this party, pass on my love to Leah.” You exclaimed, a smug smile plastered on your face.

Still holding onto Harry’s hand, you weaved your way out of Talia’s apartment. You made a mental note to call her the next day and explain what happened, but you couldn’t stay at that party a moment longer.

“I’m sorry, I should have asked… Are you comfortable with coming back to mine? Right now, all I’m looking to do is go back, order a pizza and watch a movie.” You asked Harry, the realisation hitting you that you had dragged this intoxicated man away from his friends and the fun he was having to help you make a point to Ethan.

“Pizza sounds good.” He slurred, as he wrapped an arm around you. He interlocked his fingers with yours, as you both headed out of the apartment building. Your shared body heat being a shield against the ice-cold of the night air.

You hailed a taxi to take you back home, physical contact with Harry not seizing. It felt nice. Comforting even.

--

You sat on the sofa, curled up next to Harry the film you had both chosen had rolled it’s credits while an empty pizza box lay abandoned on the coffee table in front of you. As the nights events played over and over in your mind, you couldn’t help but let out a few tears. How things had ended up like this you had no idea.

It didn’t take Harry long to clock onto what was happening, however, he was as awkward drunk as he was sober. He didn’t have a clue about what to say to you. Instead, he pulled you in closer, allowing you to cry onto him, as he mindlessly played with your hair in an attempt to comfort you.

“I just don’t understand why he would bring her to the party so soon after what happened between us.” You said, between sobs. A damp patch formed on Harry’s white jumper as you continued to let all of the build up of what had really gone on between you and Ethan out.

“He’s a dickhead.” Harry mumbled. You weren’t entirely sure whether he was agreeing with you, or whether he was so out of it that he was just going to agree with what you said to get you to shut up.

“I just don’t understand why he would rub it in my face like that. I thought we were friends, at the very least. It’s like rubbing salt in the wound. I just don’t understand what I’ve done wrong.” You sniffled.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” Harry started, moving position slightly so he could rest his head on yours. “You are by far, too good for him. Whether that’s as a friend or romantic interest, you deserve more.” He continued, as he placed a kiss to your forehead.

He pulled away slowly, his face lingering inches away from yours. Slight intoxicity mixed with the fact that Harry was available and comforting you, made something click. You moved in closer to him, tentatively placing a hand on his cheek. Your eyes locked, as you inched closer to him. You softly pressed your lips to his, the taste of alcohol instantly hit your mouth. He placed his hands on the small of your back, as he deepened the kiss.

You were the first to pull away, a small smile on your face; a vast contrast to the tear tracks that had made their way onto your cheeks. He smiled back at you, his face a mixture of happiness and concern.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” He asked, as you remained in the same position. You nodded, voice too weak to answer verbally. He leaned in close to you, peppering kisses from the top of your forehead down your face until he finally reached your lips. “You deserve to be appreciated.” He whispered, as he locked his lips with yours.

This kiss was by far more passionate and frenzied. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in deeper. The alcohol on his breath, not phasing you as much. It was more welcoming now, as you melted into each other. An understanding that this could be the start of something, but it also didn’t matter if it wasn’t. All that mattered was this moment, where your inhale was his exhale. The heartache that Ethan had handed you on a plate, subsided even if just for a moment, by the most simple of actions.

The only thing to knock you out of the brief bliss that Harry had provided you with, was the buzz of your phone. A text message, from Ethan. You rolled your eyes dramatically as you picked up your phone. You were fully expecting him to be harsh, like he was to all of his other conquests that you knew about, he’d probably sent a picture of him kissing the face off of Leah, or some other random girl he had met at the party. Instead, what was displayed on the phone screen only increased your anxiety. Four simple words.

Behz🥰: We need to talk

[avaritia-apotheosis]

Phantom Children Ch. 6

Hi guys! I'm back <3 (also, I'm currently looking for alpha/beta readers for Phantom Children, so if you're interested, feel free to shoot me a message!)

In Which: Danny Attempts to get Answers, Bruce Learns, and Dick Finally Learns What's Inside the Door that Doesn't Exist

AO3 | Prologue | 5 | [ 6 ] | 7

DANNY IS KNOCKED DOWN three, four, eight times on the ice. Each time made his back ache, his bones bruised and tired, and his mind burning with embarrassment and a drive to lash out. But each time he gets back up. Each time he lasts a little bit longer against Talia.

The ice still shifts, cracks and rumbles with every wrong move. Danny learned to roll with it. Move on light feet but attack with a firm stance, gauge which parts of the ice are stable and which should be avoided. Multi-tasking has never been Danny’s strong suit, but he’s good at learning and learning quickly.

Talia corrected his form as much as she beat him down. Exploited every one of his openings until he learned to defend them and praised him whenever he managed to pull one over her. The League’s martial arts was the holy amalgamation between almost every single fighting style there is, mashed and refined to perfection to become almost unpredictable to the untrained. A vast improvement to Danny’s previous ‘fuck around and see what works’ brawling and had the added benefit of meshing together with his spontaneity.

“You are doing well, Daniel,” Talia said as she sheathed her sword, hand resting just above her hip. “You have improved greatly in such a short time, as I have expected.”

It takes every ounce of Danny’s superhuman energy to not collapse to his knees, his every breath a ragged shudder as he tries to get his breathing under control. “Still can’t beat you, though.”

“Very few can boast that feat.”

“I’m not exactly sure if that’s supposed to make me feel any better or not. Do I get my prize at least?”

Tahlia tossed her braid over one shoulder with a laugh. “Come, then, let us rest in the caves. The sun is to set soon and we must make camp before we freeze to death.”

“Hypothermia is so last season. I’m way too cool for that.”

He didn’t know whether to be disappointed that Tahlia didn’t react to his pun. It was pretty clever, in his opinion.

('Puns are the lowest form of comedy,' said mind-Jazz.

Says the one who named the Box Ghost the ‘Crate Creep.’

'That’s alliteration, not a pun.')

It was kind of pathetic that even his mind-version of Jazz was smarter than him.

“What would you like to know first?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Sarcasm dripped from Danny’s voice. He sheathed his sword and let it hang loose at his side. “Maybe how old this mysterious brother of mine is?” Ancients, his life was weird enough already, it wasn’t supposed to sound like the B-plot to a bad soap opera.

“Damian is younger than you by a little over four years. He will turn eleven this year.”

“Huh. Never been an older brother before.”

“Perhaps you might have been, if circumstances had been different.”

Cryptic. Great. Danny stepped over a particularly large crack in the ice and scampered over to solid ground. “You gotta give me more than that. What’s he like?”

“Prideful,” she said. “But skilled enough to warrant it. He was raised like a prince—as how you should have been.”

“And he lives with…our dad?”

“Yes. In America.” The cave was deep enough to shield them from the worst of the eventual mountain winds. Tahlia had already started building a campfire with equipment from her knapsack, embers eating away and growing into a steady flame. He sat down, legs crossed, beside the fire, hands tucked beneath his armpits.

He bit his lip, a question forming in his mind. “Do…do we have the same dad?”

Tahlia looked up at him. “Of course. Only your father has had the privilege of being called my beloved, and only he is worthy enough to have sired my children.”

Once night fell, it fell quickly. Blanketing as far as Danny could see from the mouth of the cave in a thick darkness. Snow fell from the skies in thick tufts and covered their footsteps.

“Does he—do they know about me?”

“No, they do not.”

“And you probably aren’t going to tell them anything about me, if you could help it.”

“That is very perceptive of you, habeebi.”

“You won’t tell me anything more about them, will you?”

“In due time, I will.”

Danny blew part of his fringe away from his face. Figures.

Despite the ever-present niggling at the back of his mind, Bruce had yet to see what was in the flash drive. The weeks since his strange meeting with Vlad Masters suddenly exploded with criminal activity with the recent breakout in Arkham and the brewings of another gang war in the shadows of Gotham’s paved streets. It was all hands-on deck. And Bruce, whether as Batman or Wayne, had always prioritized Gotham and its citizens over anything else.

The flash drive remained on his person despite the crisis, tucked away in one of the sturdier compartments of his utility belt to prevent the data inside from becoming damaged. Sometimes he found his hands gravitating towards it, fingers brushing against the button that would release the mystery from its confines before he realized what he was doing and steeled himself. Hands fisted to his side and attention forcibly directed elsewhere.

Eventually, the rogues were placed back into Arkham, and Gotham let out a shuddered breath of relief as it remained standing for another day.

Most of the family were out on a light patrol, cleaning up the remains of the breakout and helping where they can. Jason and Dick bickering over the comms whilst Barbara laughed in her clocktower.

(“It’s not that bad.”

"‘It’s not that bad’—shut the fuck up.” Jason spat. Bruce could hear him revving his bike. “You’re a fucking idiot, you know that? Certified Grade A idiot. B’s gonna kill you.”

He could hear Dick roll his eyes. “Sure, pile it all on, Jaybird. Blame the victim.”

"It was your fault.”

“It’s not my fault I didn’t see it there!”

"You tripped and got a concussion. From a stick. A. Stick.”

“Can we please just leave that out of the report?” Dick groaned. Barbara laughed. “Oh god.”

“Richard motherfucking John Grayson. I swear if you vomit on me then—”

“I’m not gonna vomit on you! You just turned the corner a little too fast. It’s nice to see you care though.”

"Fuck no, I just don’t wanna smell like regurgitated cereal.”)

Damian was benched from a patrol. Their last conflict with Poison Ivy ended with Damian sticking a bad landing and twisting his ankle. He dealt with it with as much grace as can be expected. Meaning that he spent the last few days sulking as he caught up on his missed schoolwork and shooting daggers at everyone else who came back from patrol.

Bruce flicked the flash drive open and plugged it into the computer. The flash drive contained only a single folder dated six months ago.

He clicked it, and a news headline popped up.

LOCAL TEEN DIES AFTER DRIVING OFF CLIFF

Beneath it, a picture. Blue eyes. Black hair. A familiar face.

Blood pounded in Bruce’s ears. He could hear nothing except a sharp gasp from Damian behind him.

When Dick and Jason arrived at the batcave, it was to an eerie silence. Not that it was usually loud, only that Bruce spent most of his free time down in the cave and Dick had come to expect hearing some signs of him around. Typing on keys, the clicking of a mouse, the heavy thuds of a fist meeting a punching bag or a training dummy, etcetera, etcetera. Or maybe even Alfred cleaning up around the cave, feeding the bats, or restocking their med bay.

(Dick, it turned out, didn’t have a concussion. Probably. Not a severe one anyway. What mattered most was that he managed to convince Jason to have dinner at the Manor. Alfred was making a tarte tatin for dessert tonight and those were absolutely to die for. )

One of Tim’s cases took him to the other side of Gotham. The only person in the cave was Damian, who was staring agape at the batcomputer.

“Why the hell is the demon spawn looking at old pictures of Bruce? We get it. They look alike.

“Uh, Dami? What’s up?”

Damian snapped his mouth shut. “I believe it might be best if you asked father that, Grayson.” Despite his clipped tone, there seemed to be little anger in his voice. His proud shoulders were hunched over on the chair, eyes trained on his lap.

He looked so small.

Damian clucked his tongue. “He’s upstairs, if you need him. So is Pennyworth.”

Dick shot a glance at Jason who raised his hands in mock surrender. “You’re up golden boy. Whatever the fuck the old man’s problem is this time, I’m not dealing with it.”

Dick sighed. “Fine.”

There was a door in Wayne Manor that didn’t exist.

When Dick was a child and recently adopted by Bruce Wayne, one of the first things he did was explore the manor. It’s the prerogative of every child that somehow found themselves in a large mansion—even more so given the castle-like exteriors of Wayne Manor. All castles have secret passages, and if the Batcave lay in the subterranean depths below, then surely the manor proper must have its own secrets.

Dick would tumble and cartwheel along the hallways, opening any and every single door he came across. A lot of them were just empty bedrooms or unused parlors and sitting rooms; the furniture covered by white sheets to keep the dust away. Alfred was probably magic, but even he can’t keep the entirety of the manor dust free.

The majority of the unused rooms were unlocked.

Except for one.

It was a room in the west wing, on the second floor. A couple doors down from where Bruce’s and Dick’s were. Why it was locked, Dick never found out. But he was curious since it was the only room on that floor that remained shut.

When he asked Alfred about it, the old butler only said that it was an unused storage room they preferred to keep locked just in case. When he asked Bruce about it, he’d be quick to change the subject. Usually something Batman related. Which, well, always worked, because it was Batman related. And Dick, young and spry and itching to fly under Batman’s wings, would quickly forget about that curious little mystery in favor of punching bad guys in the face and flipping over rooftops.

At some point that locked door quietly disappeared, leaving a blank expanse of wallpaper and a decorative vase where it once stood. It was never brought up again. And Dick slowly forgot that it was ever there in the first place.

Until now.

The wooden table and vase were shoved off to the side. Wallpaper sliced away to reveal the lines of a doorway. The door, covered in its faint damask wallpaper, was kicked open, the wood around the bolt splintered and cracked. He could hear voices—Alfred’s and Bruce’s—speaking softly on the other side.

He pressed his back against the wall and kept his breathing quiet.

“Three times, Alfred.” Bruce’s voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. “Three times she’s done this to me.”

“Master Bruce…”

“I don’t—I don’t understand why—” Bruce choked, swallowing a shuddered breath. “Damian, I can understand. Jason, I can too. But…This? I—” Bruce suddenly quieted. Dick knew the jig was up.

He unlatched himself from the wall and slowly slid through the once-hidden-door, a hand kept on the frame. “Um. Hi, Bruce? Alfred?” The words fell flat, stilted. Dick winced as he said them. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop but, uh…” He trailed off the second he registered what was in the room.

It was large, as so many rooms in the manor were. The room was covered in peeling green wallpaper with faded pictures of baby deer and owls and other woodland creatures prancing about. There was a dresser on one wall. A shelf filled with little picture books and stuffed animals on the other. A brown teddy bear had fallen on its face on one of the shelves.

In the middle—where Bruce was hunched over—was a crib. The wood streaked and aged with time, the beddings within pristine and untouched, if not dusty. Hanging overhead was a mobile with little animals dangling on a string.

“Worry not Master Dick. It is good that you are here since it will inevitably involve the rest of the family at some point.”

Dick nodded absentmindedly, trying to lock eyes with his guardian. “B? What’s—what’s going on?” Dick took one step deeper into the room. “The pictures in the cave. I thought they were you since they were too old to be Damian—” Bruce’s hands on the crib’s railing flinched.

Dick’s breath hitched.

“They’re…not your photos, are they.”

Bruce took a deep breath in, the lines of his shoulders tense. “No. They’re not.”

In their line of work, the answer could have been anything. Clones, magical doppelgangers, alternate universe counterparts, hell, even just someone’s genetic code being coincidentally similar to another person. But…this room, this nursery, pointed towards only one conclusion.

“Who is he, Bruce?”

Bruce angled his head towards Dick, unshed tears glimmering in his eyes. “He’s my son, Dick.

“He’s my son.”

[pl-panda]

To Marry a Vigilante: Part 3

MASTERLIST || First || Previous || Next

Disclaimer: Masterlist

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

The dinner was an interesting affair. Everyone was gathered around a large table that could easily fit several more people. Marinette was sitting between Damian and her mother; on the opposite, Tim, Stephanie, and Cass took the seats. She was glad that they were all people she knew well enough. It was overwhelming. Before, Christmas was always just her and her parents. Occasionally, Nona came too. And there was this one time when she was five when her great-uncle visited. This was much too crowded. 

Damian gently squeezed her hand, reassuring her that it was alright. She ate some, but the nerves made her lose appetite quickly. She was in Gotham. Celebrating Christmas with her husband’s family. Husband… She was going to have a panic attack. She wasn’t ready. 

“Habibti. It’s okay. Everyone here’s a friend.” Damian whispered into her ear, seeing she was spiraling. “Nobody is going to judge us on anything.”

“But I didn’t make any gifts for the Kents. And I didn’t know your eldest brother had a daughter! And I’m a total klutz. I will probably knock over the tree and it will fall and set the house on fire and you will end up homeless or someone will get hurt and then your family will hate me and the Kents will hate me and I…” she kept whispering faster and faster until she was finally starting to feel the need to breathe or pass out. The jury was still out. 

Seeing her daughter’s panic, Sabine also grabbed her hand and squeezed it lightly. “Honey, let’s go get some fresh air.” She said loud enough for people close to them to hear before leading Marinette outside. Nobody batted an eye when the pair passed them. 

Once the two were in the back garden, Mari felt her legs give up under her and if not for her mother, she would have probably collapsed. The woman held her tight and led the girl toward the bench, which was luckily not covered in snow. 

“I’m so sorry, Maman. I don’t know… I just felt so overwhelmed. There were all these people and I was really meeting my husband’s family and friends for the first time and I guess I was not prepared for all this…” She was speaking fast. 

“Don’t worry sweetie. I understand. Did I tell you how, when I met your Nona for the first time, I accidentally flipped her over my shoulder and pinned her to the ground?” Sabine asked, smiling understandingly at her daughter. 

“No! Really?”

“Yes. Well, in my defense, she surprised me with a gun that shot candies.” 

Marinette couldn’t help but giggle at that. It did seem like something her Mémé would do. 

“She was shocked at first and I was afraid I hurt her. Instead, after that, she decided that I was apparently worthy of dating her boy and gave us her approval.” 

“So… the moral of this story is that I should flip Talia over for them to accept me?” Mari asked with a cheeky grin. 

“That too, sweetie. I can even lend you something from my bag if you want a more… permanent effect.” 

“Maman!” 

“Fine…” Sabine grumbled goodheartedly. “You don’t need to worry about fitting in or how they will perceive you. I’ve seen how that boy looks at you and I approve.” She smiled. “That’s all that should matter.”

“Thank you maman. I’m glad you’re here.” She hugged her mother as the two sat together on the bench, enjoying the evening chill until the cold became irritating instead of refreshing.

-------

When the two returned, the dinner was nearing the end. Marinette noted seven burning holes on the ceiling but didn’t comment. There was also a plate on fire next to Jason that he seemed adamant not to acknowledge. Also, Mar’i and Jon were levitating above the table and playing rock paper scissors, except they used the props. Silently, Marinette walked to take a seat next to Damian. Her mother went over to talk a bit with Bruce about something.

“Um… Why is Jason’s plate on fire?” She asked, very much confused. 

“Tt. He wanted a souffle on fire.” 

“We’re already at desserts?” The girl asked, surprised. In the corner of her eye, she saw Cass staring at Tim and Stephanie with a strange gaze. It wasn’t hostile, but rather, she couldn’t really name the emotions present. 

“Yes. I saved you some maracons. You love the strawberry ones, right?”

“You made me prefer lemon ones.” She smiled. “The subtle sourness really brings out the sweetness.” 

“Of course it does Angel.” He smiled. “Sadly, we sit next to Brown, who will devour anything with sugar in it.”

A devious grin appeared on Mari’s face. “Really now?” She reached over into her purse to pull a small box where she kept the power-up cookies for her Kwami. “Tikki… will you mind if I give her a burnt-red one? You know which…”

For a moment, it looked like the Kwami wanted to protest, but then the small goddess noticed the plate of cookies was empty. “Go for it, Marinette. It won’t hurt her.”

“Stephanie! I’ve got a spare macaron I can share,” she smiled at the blonde girl. 

“Gimme!” She almost leaped like a gremlin, her eyes in a slight daze.

“Uh-oh. She is experiencing a sugar rush. I think she ate the whole plate herself,” Tim spoke from his seat, eyes slightly worried. 

Mari handed over the macaron and watched as Steph ate it. It took only a moment for her face to flush red and tears to appear in her eyes. “Water!” She said with a hoarse throat. Tim handed her a glass, but when she downed it, the burning only increased.

“Oh no! I forgot to warn you! It was made with ground hot pepper instead of flour… silly me!” Mari said, keeping the cute smile on. “I would advise milk.”

When Stephanie ran to the kitchen, followed by Tim laughing and Cass and Damian smiling, the older boy turned to Marinette. “You are devious.” 

“She shouldn’t have eaten so many cookies,” the girl shrugged. After that, she actually started to enjoy the evening. It might have started a prank war later on, but for now, she was safe. 

---------

After dinner, the crowd moved to a large living room where adults took seats on the couches or chairs while most kids and teens sat on the fluffy carpet. Alfred was walking around and handing the wine glasses to adults and hot chocolate to the youngsters. Clark opted for hot chocolate as well, which earned him a round of teasing. 

Since everyone was staying the night, there was no need for designated drivers. When Tim and Stephanie tried to get their hands on alcohol, Alfred slapped their hands. More laughter followed. 

Marinette sat there, cuddled into one armchair with Damian, observing everything and looking cute. 

“...I’m just saying, Bruce. You could smile a bit more in costume too. It wouldn’t kill you.” Clark finished a short speech.

“Work and homelife should stay separate,” Tim spoke up from his spot on the floor.

“Which doesn’t stop you from smiling. You’re not a Buckingham Palace guard.” Lois pointed out.

“To be frank, you could smile a bit more often, B.” Dick supported the enemy.

“It would be bad for the image,” Bruce mumbled. “If anyone saw Batman smile, it would ruin my years of hard work.”

“Diana disagrees.” Kor’i smiled. “She actually said once that ‘a smiling bat looks pretty handsome’.”

“I’ve seen a smiling bat!” Mar’i shouted from her spot on Jon’s knees, the two of them acting like nice siblings. It secretly irked Damian, but he wouldn’t ever voice that thought. “There was a cartoon!” 

“That’s nice, sweetie.” Sabine couldn’t help but rub it into Bruce some more. “Did he also have a cape, like Bruce?”

“Yes! And he walked on two legs!” 

“See? I think your image doesn’t need to suffer.” Tom joined his wife. His English wasn’t that good, but he could get by. “Maybe you could get a cartoon about Batman? Ladybug had her own movie and a song dedicated to her.” 

“Ladybug?” Jonathan asked. Marinette immediately tensed at the mention of her superhero name. She definitely did not want to reveal herself to everyone here. It’s not that she didn’t trust any of them, since all of them knew about Batman and co., but she felt uneasy. The fewer people knew, the better. 

“Parisian superheroine.” Sabine clarified.

“We sure didn’t hear about her back in Smallville.” Martha insisted, smiling. “Then again, we don’t really keep with the news from the old world.”

“There was this terrorist in Paris that used magic to turn people into temporary villains. He was finally defeated recently. I think you’ve seen all the ladybug decorations.” Tim explained in broad terms. 

“Ah! Right. I was wondering about the ladybugs…” 

Damian noted that his beloved was tense and decided that it was a moment good as any other to spring up the surprise. He shifted slightly, signaling that he wanted to get up. Marinette, who was still holding her cup, immediately sprung onto her feet. She thought he maybe wanted to leave somewhere or speak with his father alone. 

Instead, Damian hit the side of his hot chocolate cup with a spoon three times, gathering everyone’s attention. 

“Tt. I wanted to say a few words. This will be important so shut up you lot.” He cleared his throat before continuing in a mostly emotionless voice that most people associated with his ‘Ice Prince’ persona. “Marinette. When I first met you, it was not from our own free will. The bitch that is my mother forced our hand and tied us together. But we got to know each other out of our own free will. Nobody forced me…” His head snapped toward Dick. “Tt. Don’t you dare, Grayson.” Seeing his brother raise his hands in a surrender gesture, he carried on. “Nobody forced me to come to Paris. Definitely, nobody forced you to actually accept my courting. To this day, I am left wondering why an Angel as you would actually agree to go out with me, but here we are.”

The people watched with rapt attention. Marinette just stood there, unable to voice a coherent thought. She had no idea what was happening, but a deep red blush had made its way onto her face when he praised her. 

“You were so full of passion and joy and it reminded me a bit of Jon, but without the irritating factors.” 

“Hey!” The boy protested. A murderous glare from Damian shut him up quickly. 

“As I was saying, you were perfect in my eyes. I was taken away by your kindness. There are no words to describe my feelings.” His tone was still emotionless and monotonous, but Marinette could see that he was doing his best to actually see this through. “I can say without a doubt that I love you, Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” 

All air was suddenly sucked from Mari’s lungs when he fell on one knee and pulled out a small black box. Inside was probably the most beautiful ring she had ever seen. There were three flowers on a golden band. In the center of each, there was a shining diamond, surrounded by smaller stones. The petals were made from pink stones that she suspected were also diamonds. Were there even pink diamonds? All in all, it looked beyond words. 

“Will you do me that honor and become my wife?” When he finally asked, she could feel the world spinning. This was… this was better than in any of her daydreams. And not only because instead of Adrien there was Damian. 

The words died in her throat. She had to sit down to not faint. “Yes…” She whispered weakly, so only Damian could hear. The boy smiled brightly (a rare sight to be sure) and put the ring on her finger. 

Her gaze fell on the band he had on his own hand. It was silver with a large black stone in the center of the band, surrounded by eight diamonds. The Black Cat Miraculous she realized. 

An applaud arose from several places in the room, but some of the guests were confused. 

“Aren’t you two too young to get married?” Johnathan asked, scratching his head. 

“Tt. Technically, we are already married where I come from. This is for my wife’s content and nothing else.”

“Married?!” The old farmer asked, scandalized. 

“Tt. That’s what I said. Now can someone please get my Angel some water? I think she is about to faint.” 

“Um… I would also be very interested in the story…” Clark joined his father. He wasn’t exactly that much scandalized, but confusion was clear on his face. 

“I promise I will explain everything. I think we should give the two some breathing space…” Bruce proposed hesitantly. 

“I will help get Mari to her room. I think she has had enough excitement for today,” Tom offered.

“I am also turning in for the night, Father. I trust that between you and Miss Cheng they will get a full story. Sans the private parts of course.” He glared at him. 

“I will make sure of that.” Sabine quickly cut any protests.

“Good. Good night everyone. And Merry Christmas or whatever.” With that, he left, wanting to catch up with Tom and Marinette.

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

Masterlist // Next

[wildriot]

Steter Week Day 5

It’s midday Saturday when Scott calls and begs Stiles for a favor.  Stiles, two days into his pre-heat, is fully prepared to deny him, but those puppy eyes are lethal, even through a phone, and he ends up agreeing to swap patrol shifts with Scott.  So he changes his clothes and heads out and is pleased when Peter joins him five minutes is.

It’s stupid, really, and irrational, but of all the alphas and betas in the pack, Peter is the one that gets his proverbial hackles up the least.  Maybe because, unlike the rest, Peter doesn’t use his dynamic as an excuse to act like an asshole – instead relying on his own personal charm to earn the title.

Stiles thinks at some point, a tally of all the shifts he’s spent with Peter running through his mind, that this might not be so bad.

Forty minutes later, they’re running for their lives.

“Fucking hunters,” Stiles growls, slogging his way through the mud.  “Always ruining everything.”

He’s out of breath, legs and lungs protesting the flat out sprint of the last who even knows how long.  The adrenaline’s starting to fade, the tepid beginning’s of exhausting slowly rearing it’s head and, to be perfectly honest, he really doesn’t think he can go much further.

Ahead of him, leading the way and dragging him along, Peter snorts.  “You have awfully low standards.”

Because focusing on Peter is better than thinking about what awaits them if they stop moving, Stiles takes offense.  “Excuse you,” he says, grip tightening on Peter’s hand as something – probably a tree root (they are in the Preserve, after all) – snags his ankle and nearly takes him down.  “I will have you know that my standards are reasonable.  Very reasonable.  So reasonable, in fact, that they spend their time reasoning with everyone else’s stupidly high expectations.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes!”

Peter just hums and Stiles silently flips him off.  In his head, obviously, he’s way too tired to do it for real.  

But Peter must sense his intentions anyway – all that werewolf-ism...ish? – and glances over his shoulder.  His eyes are glowing, too-bright in the darkness, and momentarily leaves Stiles blinking away white spots in his vision, and yet he still catches the tightening of Peter’s mouth, the way he seems to look past Stiles, deeper into the spaces they’ve left behind.

“Can you hear anything?” Stiles asks, trying to ignore the way his heart starts to bleed ice through his veins, sticky and cold.  He doesn’t think Peter can, over the rain and the noises they’re making, and Peter shakes his head.

“No,” he says.  

“But…?”

“But we have no idea what that thing was.  We can’t stop.”

Which is true.  Very true.  Hunters were one thing, but some sort of Lovecraftian hell-spawn was another thing entirely.  Just those few seconds in it’s presence, when it had entered the clearing where Stiles and Peter had been ambushed by a group of hunters, before it turned it’s attention to them and given them the chance to run, had been terrifying.  Stiles couldn’t even describe it.  The monsters they’d faced, human and not so much, had always scared him, but it had been the sort of fear that he could push aside and largely ignore until the problem was dealt with.

This, whatever it’d been?  It’d been fucking primal.

And he never wanted to feel that again.

So he shuts up, digs deep for the extra reserves he totally doesn’t have, and picks up the pace.  He doesn’t drop Peter’s hand.  He tries not to think about how, if Peter hadn’t been so quick to grab him, and Stiles had been left alone to race through the wet gloom of the Preserve, he’d most likely be dead right now.

They run for what could be another ten minutes, could be another hour. Stiles has no way of telling, phone dead and waterlogged in his pocket and he’s struggling.  The wet clothes are weighing him down, feet slipping across the forest floor more than before, and it’s only getting darker.

He’ll be damned if he says anything, though.  He cops enough shit from the pack as it is, being human and omega and thinking that he has what it takes to keep up with werewolves and alphas, because they’re jerks like that and he’s just stubborn enough to deny them the pleasure of being right even if it kills him.

Humans can do incredible things when their lives depend on it.  He saw that youtube video about that women that stopped a car from hitting her kid, yes he did, and he swears to god that if she could do it then so can he--

“Just a little further,” Peter says.

“Thank fucking Christ,” Stiles gasps.

Forget it.  He’s done.  Absolutely done, no energy left, no sir-ee.

Another handful of minutes and then they break through the treeline, staggering out into long grass and open skies.  The rain falls harder here, with no trees to act as a measly cover, which is just perfect, because it means Stiles can go longer than a couple of seconds without blinking the water out of his eyes and wishing his  hair was still short, if only so that it didn’t stick to his face like cold seaweed.  

Then Peter’s tugging him close, almost angling him so that Stiles is tucked into his side, and Stiles looks up, probably to ask him a flat why – they’re both soaked, the gesture is useless – when he sees what else is in the clearing, and instead ends up asking, “What?”

“We should be safe here,” Peter says, and starts forward, like he’s expecting Stiles to be okay camping out in some old house that looks, even in the dark, like it should’ve been torn down years ago for health violations.

Which, fine.  He wouldn’t be wrong – Stiles has always been freakishly adaptable to most things, and running for their lives during a freak storm is definitely a Thing – but, and Stiles is just putting this out there, really?

“With our luck?” He half snorts, half splutters.  “Doubt it.”

“So young,” Peter mutters, shaking his head.  “So cynical.”

“So old,” Stiles parrots, delighting in the way Peter tenses – so predictably – then relaxes.  “Such an asshole.”

Peter barks a laugh that’s drowned out by a sudden deluge.  

By unspoken agreement they both leg it across the remaining bit of what was likely once the front lawn and huddle underneath the overhang.

Stiles hugs his arms around himself while Peter fiddles with the lock. Kicks the toe of his shoe against the ground, bites his lip.

He must zone out, he thinks, because he jumps when the door swings open with a rusty shriek and Peter doesn’t look amused, only concerned, and doesn’t say anything smarmy before ushering Stiles inside.

“It’s safe,” Peter insists again, like he wants Stiles to believe him, and Stiles kind of wonders what his scent must be broadcasting, to get that tone in Peter’s voice.  “I promise.”

So Stiles looks over his shoulder at Peter strangely, a sort of ‘what gives?’ and sets off down the hallway.

The house is clearly old-fashioned.  All narrow and tight instead of the open and spacious.  It’s too dark to make out any detail, the little bit of diluted moonlight painted across the floor through the broken windows glinting dully off what Stiles assumes are bits of glass, maybe some metal fixings.

Peter is a steady presence at his back, a hand on his back.  The alpha is tense, strung tight like he’s on high alert and that’s making Stiles stress out even more, which is not fun and he kind of wants to tell Peter to chill out, only… This is Beacon Hills.  It’s the middle of the night.  Some creepy monster thingy is haunting the Preserve, and they’ve just spent the evening running for their lives.

In a town like this, you relax and you’re dead.  

In fact, a part of Stiles is actually, stupidly, rather pleased with the attention Peter’s giving him.  He feels like a priority, something important and it’s been so long since he felt like that…he just knows that’s the omega in him speaking, and firmly tells himself to knock it off.

“What is this place, anyway?” Stiles asks., figuring that, having nearly a decade and a half on him, Peter probably knows.  He doesn’t mean to be quiet, rarely ever is, yet something about this house reminds him of the Juniper Mausoleum he had to pass every time he went to visit his mom’s grave.

Peter is silent for long enough that Stiles labels it as hesitation, and opens his mouth to pester, when Peter finally talks.

“It’s my grandparent’s house.”

Stiles actually has to repeat the words back to himself before it sinks in.

“Wait what?”

Peter huffs a sigh.  “Of all the things – yes Stiles.  My grandparents lived here.  Happy?”

“No. I’m wet and I’m cold – what the hell happened to this place?”

“…”

“Peter?”

“They died.”

Well, Stiles considered, wincing.  Didn’t that just make him feel like a dick.

“Was it…?”  He isn’t sure what he want’s to ask.  Was it the fire? Hunters?  What?

And it’s like Peter reads his mind.  As the man maneuvers them up a flight of waterlogged stairs and into a room that Stiles is happy to see has all it’s window intact, Peter talks.

“It wasn’t the fire,” he begins.  “Though my father, Talia and I were never completely convinced that Hunter’s weren’t involved. They died when I was twelve.  Car accident, head on collision with a truck.”  He pauses, falling silent, and Stiles stands still as Peter drops his hand and moves away, heading towards what Stiles thinks might be an armchair.  “When they died… there are wards up around the clearing, still are.  When they died, this place, the house, the garden, everything, vanished.  Like it had never been here.  We spent years looking.  We could never find it.”

He watches Peter run his hands over the fabric and imagines the man must be trying to finds hints of familiar scents, doubts he’ll find anything after so long.

Stiles is lost for words.  They’re friends now – inasmuch as they wind up beside each other at pack meetings, and have a joint order at an Italian place that Stiles loves but can’t afford regularly and eats whenever he joins Peter for research at his apartment  – and Stiles has seen him with all manner of expressions and yet, this is maybe the most human Peter has ever been.

So he says, “I’m sorry,” and Peter waves his hand.

“It was a long time ago,” Peter says, voice light in a way that Stiles knows means the total opposite.  Peter pauses, then adds, “My mother was with them, in the car.”

“Jesus,” Stiles mutters before he can stop himself.  “You don’t have to, like, talk about it, or anything, not if you don’t want to.”

“Don’t you want to hear my story, Stiles?”

There’s an edge to his words, somethings Stiles can’t place, which makes him tip up his chin, makes him bristle like he’s been insulted. “Only if you want to tell it,” he says.

And maybe it was the right thing to say, because Peter seems to relax, shoulders no longer hunching forward, and he let’s out a quiet sound that might’ve been a laugh under different circumstances. “What’s a little more tragedy between us, right?”

Stiles snorts, and eases into the room, dropping his worry like yesterday’s laundry by the door.  There’s still a part of him that’s tense, keyed into every sound, every creak, but he’s not alone; he’s got Peter and, honestly?  That’s kind of reassuring.

“I wouldn’t call us tragic.”

“Then what would you call us?”

Stiles shrugs, and blinks and wonders at how everything is full of color, suddenly.  “Misplaced, I guess.”  

The colors makes his eyes hurt.  His head starts throbbing and he misses whatever Peter says when his blood starts rushing loudly through his ears and his fingertips go numb.

It reminds him of coming down from a sugar high as a child.

“Peter,” he says, or thinks he says, thinks he hears himself say, but he’s shaking so hard now he might not have said anything at all.  

And then Peter is right there, filling his vision.  He’s so close Stiles can feel his breath against his cheek but he’s blurry around the edges.  Sort of wobbly.

He swallows, focuses on not throwing up, whines, maybe, and lists forward.  “I don’t feel so good.”

“No,” Peter says.  “I imagine you don’t.  You’ve never Dropped before, have you.”

It’s not a question.  Stiles treats it as one, anyway.  “Almost once,” he says, and grabs onto Peter’s jacket because that is the only thing not spinning right now

He thinks of a funeral and the wreak of alcohol and the smell of a furious alpha.

Thinks of cold tiles and ambulance sirens and the fuzziness of medication. Thinks of being too young to understand what was happening.

“Oh god,” he groans, doesn’t fully register Peter grabbing him and holding him when he starts to sink down, legs folding beneath him. “Is that what this?  This can’t be happening.”

“It’s not ideal,” Peter agrees.  The world lurches, sways, making Stiles bury his face in Peter’s jacket, and the next time he resurfaces, it’s to find Peter has taken a seat in the armchair, and arranged Stiles so that he’s curled up his lap, feet free of his shoes, cold toes tucked between Peter’s thigh and the cushions, back pressed against the armrest.

“Just try and relax, sweetheart.”

And something just… slumps, inside him, goes warm and soft.

“That’s easy for you to say.”

Peter hums and Stiles kind of likes how it echoes through his own body, but then Peter is moving, jostling him around, and Stiles latches on, suddenly unbelievably terrified that he’s about to be displaced.

But Peter’s only awkwardly shrugging out of his jacket, which makes a certain amount of sense, being soaked through and all, and deftly flicking open the buttons of his shirt, baring his chest.

Stiles doesn’t even get the chance to appreciate the view before Peter is doing the same to him, shoving off his hoodie, sliding up his t-shirt.  The chill is immediate but Peter must’ve found a blanket somewhere and now covers him with it.

Stiles is certain he knows what Peter’s doing, positive he’s read about it, at least, and yet his brain isn’t making sense.  His throat is hot, bonding glands feeling swollen and puffy and his limbs basically useless.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” Peter says into his ear and Stiles huffs a whine and falls forward into the alpha’s warmth, into his strong grip.

He shoves his nose into alpha’s neck and inhales rapidly.  It’s maple syrup and warm blankets, sun-warmed soil with the bitter undertone of expensive coffee and something Stiles can’t name but craves anyway.

He probably isn’t under for longer than an hour.  Time passes and his mind… drifts, overcome by instinct and the overwhelming need to feel safe.

It feels like falling asleep, almost, stuck in that in-between where nothing feels real.

Wakefulness returns slowly, seeping in at the edges.  He is conscious of Peter’s hands running up his back, of his own hands curled into Peter’s chest.  The hint purr building in his chest tickles his throat and makes him blush, knowing how intimate that sort of reaction is, how intimate their position is; an unmated omega alone with an unmated alpha.  

His dad would lose his mind if he ever heard of this, which he was never going to if Stiles had anything to do with it.

Aside from their position though, Stiles feels… good.  Not better, still a little unsteady, but it isn’t as bad as before.

His fingers don’t feel like little ice-blocks, for one.  And he’s no longer shaking like some preteen that accidentally wondered into the horror showing in a cinema, which is wonderful, truly wonderful.  

Of course, there is the small matter – very small, certainly not a big deal at all – that he just Dropped for Peter.

Psycho Peter, whom the rest of the pack can’t stand and don’t trust.

Crazy Uncle Peter that pokes and needles until he’s got Derek looking ready to start throwing him through walls again, and drives everybody else insane.

Peter, who…

“Back with me, sweetheart?”

Peter who does things like that.  Calls him sweetheart and touches him like he’s something precious, something cared for, instead of a nuisance that’s too loud or too blunt or just too much.

Peter, who’s never mocked him for his dynamic, or put him down for instincts he can’t help.  Who always buys him his favorite coffee and orders in Italian food for him and never minds when Stiles just happens to fall asleep on his couch during a research binge because the house is empty and he’s so goddamn tired of being alone.

Peter, whom Stiles is just realizing he might be a little bit in love with, while sitting in his lap.

Talk about inopportune moments.

“… this is so embarrassing,” he mutters, feeling stiff and awkward.

Movement, then Peter’s fingers are tangling through his hair and tugging gently, sending a pleasant shiver down his spine.

Peter is quiet for awhile.

“It doesn’t have to be,” he says at last, quietly, like if he says it any louder, the meaning won’t be the same, will transform from something that makes Stiles’s heart stutter and race into something shallow and flippant.

Stiles swallows.  “You – you.  I, uh.”  He was not equipped to handle this kind of conversation.  “I am not equipped to handle this kind of conversation.”

“And what conversation would that be?”

Multitudes of snark appeared on the tip of his tongue, but he bites it back.  Breaths. Tries to get his thoughts in order.

“...you know very well what kind,” he settles on saying.

Peter doesn’t say anything in response to that.  He just sighs, turns his head so his nose is in Stiles’s hair, and somehow pulls Stiles closer.

It’s nice.  It’s so nice.  It’s the kind of nice that should be illegal and after the shitty night he’s had, Stiles is weak for it.

An illicit thrill runs through him when he thinks of what this would be like if Peter was his mate rather than just an alpha that his omega was sweet on… thinks of a soft bed and pillows that smell of both of them… thinks of purring, something he’s never done in front of anybody else before, ever.

“You are very young,” Peter says, sounding pained.

Stiles worries his bottom lip.  “I’m eighteen in two weeks,” he whispers, voice hitching.  He clears his throat, adds, “Besides. After everything that’s happened, am I really still that young? Are any of us?”

“The pack will never accept it.  Derek won’t accept it.”

“So? It’s none of their business.  I can do what I want.  Just because they don’t personally agree with what I do, doesn’t mean their opinion suddenly matters.”

“And Scott?”

“Scott,” Stiles starts, so sure of what he was going to say only to falter, because… because what if Scott didn’t understand?  Derek and the pack were one thing.  Stiles felt semi-responsible for them, mostly because he’d helped save all of their lives at some point, and that meant something, you know?  But Scott was his brother, they’d grown up together, and Scott still looked at Peter like he was never going to be anything but a spree-killing monster.

He made a helpless sound, frustrated and confused.

Peter soothed him, humming unintelligibly into his hair.  

“Let’s not talk about this now.  You’re e--”

“If you say I’m emotional, I swear to god I will hurt you.”

“-exhausted. Don’t lie to yourself, you’re running on fumes right now, and I am not a good enough man to let you regret anything else you might say tonight.”

“Fine.”

“Okay.”

“Just because you’re being reasonable.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.  Now, why don’t you try and get some sleep?  The wards won’t let anything through.”

“...why’d it let us through, then?”

“They were once keyed to Hales.  You were with me.”

“So… what would’ve happened if I hadn’t been with you?”

“Likely something suitably horrible.”

“Wow, great.”

****

They don’t ever really talk about it.  The next day, when the storm’s passed and everything is yellow-wet and sweet, Peter steers them through the Preserve, back to town.  They come out two streets over from Stiles’s house.

After… nothing really changes.  They spend time together, do things together.  Nobody notices.  Or, if they do, they don’t say anything.  The Sheriff isn’t home enough to notice how often his son is out, and when he is home, Stiles is careful to not make it so blatantly obvious that he’s spending at least three nights a week in a bed that isn’t his. It’s not like he’s trying to hide anything, exactly.  Just, he knows his dad, okay?  Knows exactly how much he would freak out if he knew what was going on and… well, sue him but he likes what he has now, and he doesn’t want to ruin it.

Outside of that, being with Peter and researching and hanging out with the pack, Stiles graduates, and seriously thinks about what he wants to do with the rest of his life, which leads to him hunting down a mage that’s willing to be his mentor in return for free labor and a research assistant and moving halfway across the country.

Peter is with him every step of the way and officially begins courting him on his twentieth birthday.

By his twenty second, they’re mated and back in Beacon Hills and Stiles is incandescently happy with the way his life is going and Peter is leading him through the Preserve after making him promise to keep his eyes closed.

Stiles does, reluctantly.

It’s spring, the day warm and the woods seemingly come to life with bird song and the quick scamper of small animals across the ground.

Peter’s hand is a familiar weight in his, fingers laced together in a way that should be awkward but isn’t and Stiles is busy cursing how no amount of training will ever make him the kind of graceful that means he isn’t always tripping over himself and--

Peter slows them to a stop, and Stiles has the sense that they’ve come to a clearing, sunlight warm on his face.

The air is filled with the subtle scent of flowers and fresh grass and there’s a sort of hush that’s fallen over the place, like even the birds have gone quiet in anticipation.

Peter steps up behind him, presses against his back, arms going around his waist.  Stiles relaxes against him, not bothering to hide his smile, or the way his scent goes mellow-sweet.

“Open your eyes, sweetheart,” Peter tells him, and Stiles does.

His breath catches.  

“Oh my god,” he says, staring.  He can’t help it.  He’s thought of the house often, wondered what it looked like in the daylight.  In the months after, he’d even thought of asking Peter to take him out again, show him around, but Peter had never mentioned it, not once, and Stiles had figured that it was one of those things that had too many bad memories to outweigh the good but…

“Peter,” he says.  “You…”

“I bought it,” Peter responds.  “Fixed it up.”  Then, while Stiles is still staring and speechless because the house is beautiful and equal parts Peter’s taste in architecture and Stiles’s taste in color, Peter shifts so he can press a kiss to the bondmark on his neck and says, “Consider this my mating gift to you.”

And Stiles breathes in, trying, and probably failing to contain his excitement, and says, “It’s perfect.”

And you know what?  It kind of really is.

[ectonurites]

for the character headcannons ask game, jason and cass?

ALRIGHT ALRIGHT im putting this one under a cut because it got SUPER long bc i cant shut up ever

lets start w jason

A (realistic headcanon): 

ok using the ‘realistic’ category here loosely but GOD i love the idea of Damian & Jason having interacted while Jason was staying with the League before getting dunked in the Lazarus Pit. like. this obviously would need to be set more in preboot and following the Lost Days & Batman Annual 25 version of Jason’s resurrection, but god the idea of it just makes me scream in a good way. Like... these are things Jason likely doesn’t remember very clearly once he’s brought back to life more fully by the pit because he was uh pretty catatonic, but Damian being a little kid and knowing about the boy that his mother keeps around the base, that she’s trying to help bring back to health. Damian not even knowing that’s his big brother, just that he’s a presence that shares his mother’s attention. Jason again being unresponsive but like, ok god you know that part of lost days where Talia shows the others observing him that he only fights back at those he perceives as genuine threats trying to hurt him, 

Because Jason can perceive that she’s safe, she’s not actually trying to hurt him, he trusts her because she saved him? thinking about lil child Damian who is ya know already being trained in fighting stuff and like the idea of him trying to provoke Jason just to see what happens but Jason not fighting back because on some level be it his connection to Talia or even little baby Damian visually reminding him of Bruce, he knows that Damian is safe too 🥺 

and then when Jason and Damian meet again in Gotham as Red Hood & Robin respectively, Jason not really remembering because there was so much going on back then for him, but Damian realizing that oh... that was Him

B (hilarious): 

alright so if we are looking at comics currently, in modern stuff jason is what, like 22? hes old enough to drink in the US but still definitely early 20s so around my around my age, thats what im using as a basis here. if we adjust timeline and still consider his death having happened when he was 15, that puts it around 2013. and then coming back to like interacting with people about three years later if we still kinda base things off of the preboot timeframe (since we never got a super solid retelling of the timeline of death -> resurrection -> training -> tries to get revenge aside from knowing he went to the all-caste instead of the lost days version of the story) making him reenter the regular world and stuff around age 18 in 2016. meaning a solid three years of pop culture that he was entirely missing, and like im sorry but he really doesn’t strike me as the type to bother looking into what he missed, he’s kinda busy focusing on other stuff. lets take a quick look at some major things from those years. 2013 gave us ‘what does the fox say’ and ‘the harlem shake’ . 2014 had that time U2 just put a fuckin album on everyone’s phones, The Fault In Our Stars movie came out. 2015 introduced the phrase ‘Netflix and Chill’ and the whole blue & black vs gold & white dress debate happened. imagine any of the other batkids (or even arguably roy during rhato stuff) bringing these things up and jason’s ensuing confusion. thank you for your time

C (heart-crushing): 

so. there are two specific instances from rebirth era Jason i want to bring up here and much like a lot of these it’s less a headcanon and more of an inference based on observations, but i wanna take a sec to discuss Jason’s relationship with other people’s death. early in rebirth, Tim ‘dies’ from that whole thing in detective comics. he didn’t actually die, we as readers know, but in-universe they all very much so thought he was dead. frustratingly a lot of the batfam wasn’t really shown mourning him aside from in the Detective Comics Rebirth title itself (which just. when a major character dies even if its temporary- that should have a ripple effect) BUT an exception to that is in RHATO 2016, where we get this offhanded comment in Jason’s internal monologuing

similarly later when Roy, who like, had an incredibly close relationship w Jason that had just gotten mended before Heroes in Crisis, gets fuckin murdered in that whole thing... Jason doesn’t go to his funeral either. He leaves a dramatic voice mail and then visits the grave on his own later, choosing to instead keep working on the mission they’d started rather than going and taking the time to mourn properly.

Jason’s relationship with death is incredibly complicated, obviously. He has died, he has come back, and he now is willing to cross the line most other bats won’t and will kill people when he deems it necessary. I think thats something important though- he doesn’t just like... go around killing for fun (usually, some writers preboot made him a little murder happy but even then usually this still was vaguely followed) he kills people he thinks deserved it. Like, even looking back at the mess of Morrison’s Jason during Batman & Robin 2009, Jason was still trying to bring a sense of justice with who he was killing (”punishment that fits the crime”), it wasn’t killing for the sake of killing. He sees things in this kind of almost black and white ‘people who deserve it’ and ‘people who don’t’ way, and he has no problem dealing with death when it’s with the people he thinks deserve it. 

but when someone who doesn’t in his mind ‘deserve it’ gets killed? i think he just goes into total avoidance mode. throws himself into other things he’s doing, tries not to dwell on it too much no matter how much he still thinks about it (this is especially evident in him consistently telling people “i’m fine!” after what happened to Roy, despite bringing Roy up literally like every few issues for a WHILE after he died and very clearly still struggling with it, Artemis is the only one who gets through to him on it a little bit) 

but yeah, I just think that from Jason’s relatively unique situation of having been murdered, he knows what it’s like and he is perfectly fine wishing that on people he thinks are bad and deserve it, but it crushes him to imagine the people he loves and cares about having to experience something as painful as what he went through. not to mention the whole “I came back, why do I get a second chance at all this when they, who are a much better person than I am, probably won’t” mindset we get some implications of him having 

D (canon is a coward and won’t) 

hello DC i am once again insisting a batfam member is bisexual

CASS TIME

A (realistic headcanon): 

ok so we know cass likes ballet. thats canon. however i think we also should in general explore cass experiencing other types of dance/performance as well, be it herself as a performer or even just watching. like... god imagine her & like my brain just automatically for group activities puts her with tim steph and duke but also for this in particular I feel would be a Jason embraced activity, but like them going to see a broadway show or some other professional theatre or something, and her just being enthralled by the reading of body language of the performers! like again by any point in current stuff cass does have like, the ability to speak fine (reading still hard tho) but even so I think like. okay im a theatre kid if that’s not obvious from the Everything About Me but one thing I always do after seeing a show is ya know spend dinner afterwards discussing it with whoever i saw it with.

I just think that like, bringing those people i just mentioned to the table to discuss seeing a show after would be so FASCINATING because cass would bring this whole perspective of critiquing their acting on a whole different level- not based on how well they delivered lines out loud, but by what their body language was saying as they moved on stage. like im very amused by the idea of cass getting a totally different picture in her mind about what a character’s motivations were because she was paying way more attention to what their physicality was saying vs the words that were written and how they were delivered. i think the debates her and the others would have would be EPIC there. jason defending the text as it was written adamantly and cass being like ‘ok yeah sure but thats not what they did’

B (hilarious): 

cass having no concept of money because why would she bother? is SO funny to me. like it’s not that she couldn’t be reasonable if she wanted to, but like, she knows that the Waynes are well off so it’s not something she actually needs to be concerned about, so she just goes hog wild. takes steph out to fancy dinners and makes steph order for them since cass ya know doesn’t really read the menus, and steph’s like ‘jesus christ this costs-” “don’t worry about it” “but cass-” and she just holds up one of bruce’s credit cards and steph’s still like “but you don’t even know the range-” “it is fine”

bruce does not have the heart to tell her to stop

C (heart-crushing): 

i mean this is pretty much canon but especially now after death metal where she’s remembering, not just being told by a guy using weird alternate timeline technology, that she used to be an adopted member of the Wayne family... like that hurts so bad. To look at these people who have ya know been kind to her, Bruce has still been a father-like figure to her (i mean literally from the moment they met in New 52 canon during the flashback in Batman & Robin Eternal, where he’s telling her that she’s not a monster just because of what people forced her to do.... that she’s a hero... that hug.... dad behavior), and they do to some extent treat her as family... But to then really know, to feel and remember that she was actually adopted! She was a part of their family. To look at how she’s been calling herself Orphan while working with them this whole time... that’s so heartbreaking! I have cried about this idea so much! I want so badly a conversation between her and Bruce now where he offers to officially adopt her again, I need it so bad and if it doesn’t happen at some point in the next year or two I will be so distraught.

D (canon is a coward and won’t) 

i want an in-depth exploration of cass’ relationship to her own gender. being raised without language and you know with so much of her life being independent (remember: CASS RAN AWAY AROUND THE WORLD WITHOUT REALLY KNOWING ANY SPOKEN LANGUAGE) and outside of an organized society impressing too much of gender expectations on her, i feel like the way she experiences it would be very unique! like sure she’s so far been fine with being assigned ‘girl’ (ya know that comes with batgirl, and how people just automatically treated her based on how she looks) but in terms of gender expression and like her actual relationship with ‘traditional femininity’ etc like... because of how she was raised I just think she’d have a really different perspective on it that could be cool to explore, and I think she’d fall outside of the binary after she really thinks about how she identifies.

tldr on that: she/they nb cass is what i’m getting at here

[selfawarejester]

triskele (j.t x c.h)

prologue (burn, baby, burn!) - cora

— Warnings: character death, vague descriptions of a corpse.

— Pairing: Jason Todd (DC Comics) x Cora Hale (Teen Wolf) [not in this part, can be read as standalone]

— Notes: Starting off the series with angst! This is promising. *evil smirk* Ah, yes, the Cora backstory and my interpretation of the Hale fire (because TW didn’t feel the need to elaborate on one of the most important, if not the most, events in the show.) Everyone who showed interest before is getting tagged below — hope you enjoy! I’m always open to feedback, so hit me up!

She remembers burning flesh most vividly.

Cora only left for an hour, going on a jog to cool off. Her mother had been furious about a fight she’d gotten in at school, but that guy was a jerk!

“He was picking on that asthmatic kid: McCall something! Did you really want me to just let that happen?” She yelled, stomping into the living room. The dark haired man on the couch eyed the two over the top of his newspaper before going back to it. Guess Uncle Peter’s not going to be of much help.

Talia sighed, doing that two-fingers-to-her-temple thing she hated. “Stopping a bully and tossing him into a locker are not the same thing.”

Cora frowns, crossing her arms as she drops her glare to the floor. “I only meant to shove him aside.” She bites out.

The front door slams, and a sullen teenage boy bearing an annoying resemblance to the woman in front of her walks in, freezing when his eyes fall on them.

“Is this about Cora beating up that 7th grader?” She squeezes her eyes shut as Talia groans, covering her eyes with both hands (and she swears she can hear Peter chortle) — there’s no way she’s getting out of this now.

“You heard about that too, cacchoro?” Talia asks, an equally exasperated and incredulous edge to her tone. Derek just chuckles, throwing his hands up in surrender.

“Oh no… I’m not getting caught in this. Besides, I have to meet up with the guys anyways.” He tosses his schoolbag on the couch, dangerously close to Peter – who hisses under his breath – and ignores the pointed looks his mother and sister send him. “See ya, mom! Good luck, Cor!”

“…stop snarling at me, Peter.” And walks out, slamming the door again.

She rolls her eyes — he’s absolutely useless, as usual.

“Mom-“ Talia interrupts her, holding up a hand.

“You’re grounded, mi corazón. End of discussion.”

“But I have soccer this weekend-!” Cora waves her arms, face burning but Talia just shushes her again.

“No arguments. Go to your room.” She growls, fuming as she stormed upstairs. And after waiting for all of three minutes, leaps out the window and running for the main road.

Run, run, keep running!

It feels good to stretch her legs, without having slow down for the human kids. It’s just her, the forest and the wind whipping her hair around. She keeps at it until her calves pleasantly sting and she’s panting.

Maybe I should get home — it’s getting pretty late, and mom is only going to get angrier then. It’ll be worse if dad gets there before me.

The route back to Hale House isn’t an actual path, per say, but every wolf in Beacon Hills knows it by heart. Of course they did: Talia Hale was the Alpha, after all. Any time one of the packs from out of town, they had to come and pay their respects to the leader. In its own way, it’s pretty beaten down — the kind of minor differences that only a wolf could discern.

“Burn, baby, burn!” She hears someone yell, laughing, and the sheer malice that accompany the words stop her in her tracks. Someone else nervously skitters about, and someone else has already started running away.

“M-miss, we need to leave.” She hears him speak softly – is someone… groaning in the background? — while the woman who was laughing slowly calms down to a few chuckles. Cora stumbles forward, carefully and quietly, her heartbeat hammering in her ears. “T-the police are probably on their way already.”

“Right, right, heh heh.” Finally, Cora can place that voice, the voice that would haunt her nightmares for years to come. Kate, that girl that used to hang out with Derek. Her blood runs cold in her veins as that smell fills her nostrils, and she has to clench her jaw to keep from her lips quivering, the sob from escaping as her imagination turns on her.

She almost trips and falls directly into the light when she makes it to the clearing she called home, feeling like someone punched a hole into her chest and squeezed as she watches the flames rage.

The other guy has fled, and now it’s just Kate and some hunters behind her, lounging against their cars, talking and laughing like they’re at a picnic, watching fireworks instead of her family burning.

She slaps her hand to her mouth, tears flooding from her eyes. Her legs shake, and all she wants to do is scream, to fall and cry for her mother, whose blackened body is in their main doorway, reaching outwards.

The pain and fear still hang in the air, even though her family is dead, mingling with her own. She thinks she can hear someone’s wretched heaving, but that might be just her. She can’t feel anyone, all of her pack bonds are shattered, what should she do, what should she do-?

“Hey!” Her heart stops and she scrambled away, feeling like her head was going to explode. “Did you see something there?”

Run, run, keep running!

Her lungs are about to tear apart as she sprints away at full speed, checking over her shoulder to make sure they weren’t chasing.

Coward. You’re leaving them behind, you left them alone, you should’ve been there-

You should’ve been with them.

She shakes her head, sobbing but never stopping. No, just keep running, get away, survive.

It’s an odd feeling, she’d notice later through the numbness of grief — in the guest room of her mother’s friend Satomi, who found her feral and out of her mind in the next town over and whisked her to safety, wherever — the feeling of letting go, of letting your humanity slip and your primal, base instincts take over. Satomi said it was natural for a wolf her age, especially after the trauma she’d faced.

Cora wasn’t particularly complaining. Those instincts were what allowed her to survive for a week in the wild, scavenging, hunting, escaping. Still, she couldn’t get rid of that little voice in her head, relatively quiet compared to the screaming loss inside but consistently agonizing, that insisted that she was only a coward who cared about her own skin, a coward that left her family when they needed her most.

A coward who had a fight with her mom. Who didn’t even bother to say goodbye to her father that morning. Who was fighting with Laura over a board game instead of telling her she’d miss her when she went back to college. Who, in her last time at home, wrote a note to Derek to inform him she was going for a run that addressed him as “Jerkwad.”

She presses the pillow to her face and wails.

taglist (tell me if you want to be removed or added): @catxsnow @i-lovehufflepuff3000 @theconfusedpansexualbitch @lesbian-arsonists-united @brooklynnboys @nannna003 @capttain-emo @klutzydelusionprincess @victoriagraeca @fuzzycookietacopeach @emma-for-now @disnerd262 @sheimagineddragons

[sry-chrlie]

☁ mama who bore me, mama who gave me no way to handle things. ☁

a scene between charlie and his mother tw: child abuse references bc you know how it be

It had been months since Charlie had spoken to either of his parents. His mother had fallen from several texts a day to one or two a week, usually something benign like:

Oct 31: Happy Halloween, sweetie. Send me pictures of your costume! 🎃

Nov 5: Any requests for Thanksgiving supper? I got the last turkey at the store. Had to fight Elle’s mom for it lol! Have you talked to Elle lately? Miss seeing her around.

Nov 7: Are you coming home for Thanksgiving?

Nov 10: Have a good Wednesday, my love. Make sure you buy a Winter coat. It’s getting so cold out there, brrrr!! Mama is an icicle lol ☃️

Charlie wasn’t sure what was worse. The gentle kindness behind these texts or the ones blatantly telling him he needed to call Dad. Luckily, Talia had gotten Charlie’s message and had stopped sending anything like the latter. Apparently she understood that the more she mentioned his father, the less likely Charlie was to give in and answer her. 

But the ones she did send, these small notes of affection, overwhelmed him with guilt.  He had no reason to punish his mother. What was the point in hurting her when his father was away in DC doing enough of that on his own? He was shutting her out in reaction to imaginary conversations he had with her in his mind, ones where she took his dad’s side and blamed Charlie for their fight.

She hadn’t said these things, though. Charlie hadn’t given her the chance. He wondered, as he sat lonely on his bed, scrolling through all her unanswered texts, how cruel of him it was to refuse his mom the benefit of the doubt. She’d done so much for him. Given him the world. Suffered endlessly for her son to get into a decent school, to provide him a good future... 

Ugh. He’d been thinking so much lately about Oliver and Alec, about Jamie Dyer, about Elle engaged to Elijah, and it was starting to put his life into perspective. Maybe he didn’t have anything to complain about. Maybe he was being so callous to his mother because he was selfish and spoiled. It would certainly fit in with recent behaviors. 

With a heavy sigh, Charlie texted her back.

hey ma, thinking about you. how’s it going? 

It was lame, but it was something. He tossed his phone to the side, half hoping his mother would have the balls to give him the silent treatment right back. But of course not. His phone vibrated with a notification not even five minutes later.

There you are, sweetpea. 😇 I am doing GREAT! Happy as a clam. It’s funny that you should message because I’m about to make your favorite!! Why don’t you come over for pani popo and tea?

His mom was more clever than most people gave her credit for. She would probably be the one ruling the House of Representatives if she hadn’t been relegated to the role of housewife so many years ago. Her text was a perfect example: it sounded simple and earnest to a stranger, but it was coded. She was making Samoan food. That meant Dad wouldn’t be home, without Mom explicitly having to say it. 

Charlie, ever allergic to affection, sent his mom a pair of eyeball emojis and the single word “bet” before rolling out of bed to make an anxious trip home.

It was funny that Charlie’s new apartment was a mere 10 minute drive away from the childhood home he’d been running from. It made his months-long tantrum feel all the more pathetic - like a nightmare that only allowed you to run in slow motion. He hadn’t gotten anywhere. He was just jogging in place, waiting for someone else to make a choice for him.

“Oh my goodness, you are so handsome! I almost forgot how much,” his mother said when she opened the door. She stood on her toes to grab his face and Charlie had to lean down to let her kiss both of his cheeks. “I missed you, I missed you, I missed you!”

“Okay, okay, mama,” Charlie said, a laugh easing some of his anxiety, “I missed you too.” 

Lunch was nice. Talia had cooked some Samoan favorites, which was a little indulgence she allowed herself when she was home alone. She paired coconut rolls and pork sliders with glasses of sweet iced tea, an amalgamation of her birthplace and the American South where she’d lived for so long now. 

Talia was getting older, but she wore her age a lot better than Charlie’s father did. Her curly black hair was braided into a bun and she wore no makeup on her face; she didn’t need it. She wore a flowy green dress - a dark, West Virginia green that suited the golden brown tone of her skin. The whole kitchen smelled like fresh bread and coconut, which is what Charlie always remembered when he thought of his mom. 

In that moment, he realized he had missed her in a visceral, agonizing way. She was right there, across the marble island, but Charlie’s heart still ached for the months he’d acted like an idiot. One day, she would be gone, and Charlie was terrified of a day, hopefully far in the future, when he sat lonely in a big house, trying to remember the smell of fresh bread and coconut, but coming up empty.

She talked to him about nothing and everything as they ate. Charlie was a chatterbox perhaps because his mother was. She went on and on about the jewelry she had started crafting, about the ladies at church, about new neighbors that had moved in. She had months of gossip for her son and Charlie listened dutifully, nodding his head and laughing at all the right moments, falling into an ease with his mother. 

“So, Charlie, there’s something I want to run by you.” 

When she said it, he immediately tensed up. It was like the trauma had given Charlie a sixth sense. He knew, from the subtle change in her tone and the way her posture had shifted, that he was going to hate what she said next.

“Oh yeah? What’s that, mama?” he asked, picking at bread crumbs on his plate. She hadn’t really said anything yet, but his heart was beating wildly in his chest. How easily it was for him to come undone. Being home was like driving top speeds down a highway made of black ice; Charlie was constantly prepared for the crash.

“Your father is on his way back from the city. He's got a couple weeks off for Thanksgiving. He should be here soon and I thought it would be nice if we all finally had a talk.”

 Like a compact car right into the tail end of an 18 wheeler.

“God, Mom!” Charlie shoved his seat away from the kitchen island, jumping off the stool to make escape that much easier.

“Do not swear at me, Charlie. I’m trying to make things better.”

“No you’re not, you’re trying to pretend like it already is better. Newsflash, Mom: Dad’s an asshole. Unless he’s been invaded by a body snatcher, none of this is going to change.” 

She wasn’t looking at him now. She hated confrontation as much as he did. She busied herself with the dishes, passive aggressively clinking them harder than she needed to.

“Do you really have to be so melodramatic?”

Charlie’s chest was on fire. Red hives of anxiety started to crawl up his neck, powered by the erratic nonstop pounding of his heart. He took deep, steadying breaths. His father wasn’t even in the room. He didn’t have to panic. He remembered what Jamie had said at The Gallows: tell your mom the truth, give her a chance to respond the right way.

“He’s sleeping with someone else, Mom. He left you here like the Kennedy sister they don’t talk about while he whips his dick out for every 20-something bimbo in DC.” 

Charlie’s mom slammed a plate so hard into the sink that it cracked, sending shards of ceramic to the floor. She hissed, pulling her hand close to herself. Charlie rushed over.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said curtly, brushing off his attempts to help. She rinsed her finger under the faucet, droplets of blood washing down the drain. “I know that your father has certain... indiscretions,” she confessed, still refusing to look Charlie’s way. “Although I prefer not to think of them in such lewd terms, but Charlie, marriage is complicated and your father has a very stressful job. At the end of the day, he’s a good man and if you would sit down and have a talk with us, you would understand. Things are going to be different now.”

The concern for his mother warped into more righteous fury and Charlie raked his hands through his hair to try and calm himself.

“Do you realize that you’ve been saying the same thing since I was like five years old? It’s always, ‘things are going to be different’ but, Mama, things are exactly the same.” 

“They’re not the same!” Talia argued. “You’re grown now, none of that old business matters anymore.” 

The wind had been knocked out of him with that one. Charlie didn’t have words for it. Years of hidden bruises that didn’t matter anymore. Broken bones with secret origins that didn’t matter anymore. Little Charlie, on his knees, sobbing, begging Mom, Let’s just leave. Let’s go back to your home and live on the beach, far away from Dad. Please, please, please. And Mom’s eternal answer: It’s okay. Things will get better. Charlie had long since given up crying to a broken record, but he felt the ghost of a knot in his throat that afternoon.

“Dad isn’t a different person,” he tried explaining again, his voice aching, begging for this time to be the time his mom finally understood what he was trying to say. “If I was magically 14 again, he would still hit me for doing nothing. When did I ever do anything wrong, Mom?”

“Oh, please, Charlie, spare me the victim act. You are hardly innocent.” Talia had started sweeping up the broken plate, ignoring the cut on her finger, like she needed something to do to avoid looking into her son’s eyes. “I heard about that Halloween party of yours. There was a fight. It wasn’t even a day later that I saw Alec at the bodega with his face all messed up. I’m sure you had nothing to do with that.” 

The mere mention of Alec and Oliver sent a flood of emotion through him. The pressure in his head was painful, his eyes watering despite himself. “I didn’t hit Alec,” he said, hating the way his voice had wavered. “Mom... do you really think I would do that? I would never hit...” 

He trailed off, no longer able to juggle the task of talking and not crying. It was just as well. If his mom had known how royally he’d fucked up with Oliver, she might have felt vindicated, and thinking about that was too much for Charlie. His silence gave her the opportunity for a final, devastating blow.

“Right, Charlie. In all those fights you’ve had with your father, how many of them started because you hit him first?”

It was ridiculous and unfair but also it was true. Maybe Charlie was making it all up. Maybe, the whole time, Charlie had been the problem. 

“Mom...” He sounded small. Weak. Pathetic. He didn’t want to be standing there, wet faced, begging, again, for his mother to choose him. For once. Please. Choose Charlie. 

“Maybe you should go. Your father will be here soon and I don’t see us having any productive conversations today with this attitude of yours.” 

Charlie didn’t need to be told twice. Running away was something he’d always been good at. He fled the scene of his own undoing, feeling ashamed that he’d ever expected it would be different this time. 

Gravewood never changed. Not really. Charlie was just the only one stupid enough to take this long to figure that out.

[alixanonymous]

How A Demon Commissions An Angel ~ A Daminette FanFic ~ Chapter 2: A Search For Continuance

From the phone of Damian Wayne: 

Chat Name: Father

Father: Have you come up with any ideas for Christmas?

Me: Yes, Father. I assure you I will not disappoint you.

Father: Damian, this isn’t a mission. 

Chat Name: The Only Sane One

Me: Alfred, I’ve hit a bit of an obstacle in Operation Christmas.

The Only Sane One: Indeed, Master Damian? What seems to be the problem?

Me: The designer I hired is being unreasonable.

The Only Sane One: How so?

Me: She’s refusing to work with me.

The Only Sane One: I see. Why is that?

Me: She doesn’t like how I talk to her.

The Only Sane One: Master Damian, I trust you have remembered your manners.

Me: Yes, Alfred. Of course.

Me: The thing is I was a bit… blunt.

The Only Sane One: Indeed?

Me: Yes…

The Only Sane One: I see. It seems an apology is in order.

Me: I suppose.

Me: So how does one go about apologizing?

The Only Sane One: I would suggest cutting back on any bluntness, admitting fault, and a request for forgiveness and continuance of service.

The Only Sane One: You may also find added incentive to be particularly effective, perhaps offer aid in some way or a favor.

Me: I see.

Me: Thank you, Alfred.

The Only Sane One: Of course, Master Damian.

Google Search History: 

Arthur’s Little Sister?

Success Rate Of Blackmailing

Apology Template

From the phone of Dick Grayson:

Chat Name: The Boys (Minus The Demon)

Jaybird: find anything?

Timmy: nope. she’s really good at hiding.

Jaybird: no idiot 

Jaybird: take a break from stalking mdc and see if demon spawns hired someone to get our presents yet

Me: Should we help him? I know Damian’s difficult but I don’t want him to feel like we want him to go away.

Jaybird: but we do want him to go awayy…

Me: …

Jaybird: just for a little! cmon we cant keep going on like this

Timmy: he’s right.

Timmy: I mean we all know why he doesnt like me… 

Jaybird: dont blame him

Timmy: and I cant fault him for hating Jason… 

Jaybird: shut it replacement

Timmy: but he doesn’t even get along with you most days dick!

Timmy: he needs friends… 

Jaybird: besides superbaby

Timmy: and he’s only just stopped terrorizing his classmates.

Jaybird: he doesnt have any people skills!

Me: You can’t fault him for that! You know what it was like for him growing up with freaking Talia for a mother.

Jaybird: we know dick but that doesnt change the fact that he needs to learn how to treat people and he hasnt in the seven years hes been home maybe the titans can teach him

Me: So what? We’re supposed to just ship him off to be someone else’s problem like his mother did? That’s BS!

Timmy: no of course not! we’re still his family! him being a titan won’t change that!

Me: Exactly! We’re his family! It’s our job to teach him and him not learning anything is on us.

Me: We didn’t send Jason off when he was sick from the Lazarus Pit and we’re not sending Damian away just because his mother messed him up so bad.

… 

Jaybird: your right but if we tried to help him he wouldnt let us

Timmy: so what’re we supposed to do? I mean even if we did help him you know dad would see right past us.

Jaybird: then he gets sent away anyway and the demon spawn will hate us forever 

Timmy: (shrugging emoji)

Me: Maybe we could just subtly steer him in the right direction?

Timmy: find out what he’s getting us and tell him if it sucks?

Jaybird: that could work

Timmy: I still can’t find anything on his computer.

Me: I’ll get Babs on to go through his phone.

Chat Name: Babs

Me: Oh wise one I beg thee to help me!

Babs: what do you want me to waste my time doing for you?

Me: Can you search Damian’s phone for anything that might be related to Christmas?

Babs: no 

Me: plz?

Babs: why?

Me: We want to help him stay…

Babs: … 

Babs: give me a sec

Me: Thank you!

Babs: don’t thank me yet I helped him encrypt his phone this is all I got 

Babs: (screenshot of Damian’s search history)

Me: That’s not helpful.

Babs: not my problem

Chat Name: The Boys (Minus The Demon)

Me: This is all she found… 

Timmy: i’m concerned.

Me: I think we’re all concerned Timmy… 

Timmy: who is he blackmailing?

Jaybird: really? thats the only thing here that didnt suprise me

Jaybird: i think we should be more concerned that hes trying to apologize to someone

Me: Best not to think about that.

Timmy: agreed.

Jaybird: yup 

Me: So this doesn’t help us… 

Timmy: maybe we should ask alfred?

Jaybird: nooooo

Me: It’s worth a try.

Timmy: or three… 

From the phone of Alfred Pennyworth:

Chat Name: Master Timothy

Master Timothy: Alfred, has Damian come to you for help with Xmas?

Me: There’s coffee in the kitchen, Master Tim.

Me: Next time, don’t run.

Chat Name: Master Richard

Master Richard: Have you heard anything from Damian about Christmas?

Me: I am not at liberty to say, Master Dick.

Master Richard: Please, Alfred. We just want to help.

Me: Master Bruce specifically said that Master Damian must complete this task on his own. Even I am not permitted to help him much.

Master Richard: Much?

Me: Yes. For example, I am allowed to help keep his progress private.

Master Richard: I see. 

Master Richard: Thank you, Alfred.

Me: Have a good day, Master Dick.

Chat Name: Master Jason

Master Jason: Hey what’s the demon spawn getting us for xmas?

Me: Master Jason, why is one of my plates missing? You know, the ones of the finest quality imported for China.

Master Jason: I ddont know 

Master Jason: let me go find it

Chat Name: Master Bruce

Master Bruce: Alfred, has there been any developments with Damian?

Me: Yes. I believe everything is working out as you wished Master Bruce.

Master Bruce: Very good.

From: DoWhatISay@email.com

To: Marinette.D.C.@email.com

Date: November 2, 2021 6:30 P.M.

Subject: An Apology

Dear Ms. Dupain-Cheng,

In my desperation it seems I have acted quite far out of line. You see, a lot is riding on my ability to procure adequate gifts for my brothers. If I fail, my father may send me away in order to teach me a lesson in social skills. My brothers are huge fans of yours (I will also admit your artistry is very impressive) and have, not for a lack of trying, been unable to find out who you are. I have no doubt that if I get them MDC originals for Christmas then I will be able to stay.

This does not excuse my previous email however. I will ruefully admit that I’m often told I assume too much but few people have been so effective in pointing this out to me as yourself. I admit my methods were morally and legally unjust. I apologize and request forgiveness. Perhaps you could overlook my rather offensive first email and we could start again.

As for the blackmailing, I meant it when I said I have no desire to reveal your identity. I won’t. I realize now that would only make my own situation worse (my brothers would probably kill me on your behalf) but that is not my only motivator. In my research I learned about your situation in school. I will agree that I do not know the truth of the matter as well as yourself but I have no wish to make anything worse. I suppose you may as well have made the best choices you could’ve as it seems your classmates refuse to see reason. That must be inconvenient.

If this, my first apology, or the promised monetary compensation are still not enough to persuade you to still allow me to order my brothers MDC originals perhaps I may offer my help as well. I may not know the situation like you but I do have resources you might find useful. After all, they did allow me to find your identity.

I’m looking forward to your reply without any expectations of when it will come. (I’m told sleep is important though.)

- Damian W.

I’m not loving this formatting but I’m not in the headspace to change it so I will simply say that if you want better formatting, read this on A03.  Okay! Chapter 3 is coming in a second!

Master List

[tricksterreformed-a]

✩  INTERVIEW WITH THE MUN  ✩

➊ How many ships do you have on this blog?

          I don’t know, let’s count! I’ve been writing some super fun GabrielxBobby stuff with @multimuse-rp, and that good (complicated) GabrielxDean shit with @awaywardboy-andhisangel and actually... that’s all the canonxcanon ship stuff I’m writing right now for some reason. But that’s not all the ships!  Fulfilling a years long dream (for me) @daedaluscried and I are writing GabrielxAri and she has also indulged some excellet (unrequited) GabrielxEve content, @thxwxlf and I have dabbled in some GabrielxKekipi, and @inferniangod has been kind enough to write GabrielxIfrit with me. 

          I’ve discussed, but not actually written GabrielxSam with @smmie, and I think @hellsmother and I are on track to write some GabrielxRowena (but if I’m not sure I should probably check, whoops).  So that’s six total, eight if you count these last two.  Plus a handful of others where Gabriel is just flirting at people and waiting to see what happens.  Nothing has to happen, he’s just like that.  But something could happen with any of them.

➋ Have you ever roleplayed with someone that just left an unforgettable impression on you?

          Of course!  I’ve been doing this for 10+ years and people have made all kinds of impressions, some amazingly good and others downright awful. I can roll through some nicknames/first names only and proably only Anti will know who I’m talking about because a lot of them are from our shared history on gaiaonline!  I could go on and on about every single one of these people but here’s a quick ‘n dirty list instead: Noir, Kathy, Mariah, Moose, Lyss, Berry, and @daedaluscried!  I’m still occasionally in touch with three of these people (one more often than the other two) which I think is kind of wild all things considered. There’s also some not so good impressions, like guy-who-started-nice-and-then-harassed-me-for-nude-pics and the-person-who-broke-my-trust-and-caused-me-to-stop-writing-smut, but i have put them far far behind me.

➌ Which of your ships on this blog is the fluffiest?

          The fluffiest is probaly Gabriel and Ari now that we’ve gotten into the emotional core of the relationship on both ends.  Which isn’t to say that it’s not a spicy ship with a helping of angst, but... I’ve written more hand-holding with them than with any of the others and I guess that’s my definition of fluff. Also I suspect the gratuitous hand-holding will continue even once they’re past the language barrier. So... FLUFF.

➍ Would you say you’re a decent role player or do you have any self doubts?

          I think I’m a decent writer but my roleplay skills vary depending on the day.  I understand how to set a mood and (usually) how to string a decent sentence together but sometimes the craft that goes into bouncing off of another writer and giving them something to bounce off of in return eludes me.

➎ Have you made lots of friends on this blog?

          More than I expected too. But when I set this blog up I thought ‘those days are behind me now’ so... one would be more than I expected.

➏ What’s the one thing you especially love about roleplaying your muse?

          WRITING THE JOKES!  And not just the verbal jokes he makes, I love writing jokes into my narration! Meta jokes! Dick jokes! Bad puns! All of it! I love it!! I also enjoy the way Gabriel interacts with the world around him.  He rarely just stands in a scene and talks, he’s always moving and gesturing and doing stuff. I also love writing his dialogue, even when the things I write make me squinch my face up with shame. He just says stuff sometimes. 

➐ Are there any people you’ve been to afraid of approaching?

          NOPE!  I’m not afraid to reach out. Approaching people is the easy part. You send a meme, you make an ooc comment, you tag them in something, you hit them with an ask or an IM or whatever.  And if they don’t answer that’s a-okay!  Their choice, I’m not hurt or personally offended. What I’m afraid of is what happens after that part if they do answer.  I can usually BS a thread until I find the point of the thing but IMs and asks? Y I K E S ! Now there’s an expectation for me to be cool and witty and have good ideas instead of just mediocre ones. Very scary. The reason I don’t send IMs.

➑ Give us a rough estimate: How much time have you spent on your graphics? (icons, theme, banners, promos, etc)

          My icons/graphics are a visual representation of me learning to use G.I.M.P. and I think you can... very clearly see the learning curve.  More effort went into those old fuzzy icons I have than the new, crisp ones. Plus moodboards and other stuff?   My guess is 40+ hours.

➒ Got any memorable threads on here? Care to mention a few?

          Well now I wish I had thread tags.  Thread tags would be a lifesaver right now.  Anyway, I am once again shouting out @awaywardboy-andhisangel and our original GabexDean thread that has since spiraled and gotten very, very interesting (it’s not over, I just like it).  And @divinitatemxsanguis who has allowed me to indulge in writing Gabriel with Loki post all the betrayl and murder. They have a special place in my heart so thanks for not judging me! I’m getting ready to write the conclusion/endcap to a sad thread with @isclcphobics involving Talia, Gabriel, and a grave. Plus the thread with @downwillow where Gabriel is human and Micheal has forgotten him. And a shoutout to @daedaluscried for our thread series that I have affectionately dubbed the ‘The Nanny’ series ft. October and Gabriel.  Every thread has been a delight.

          I also have some stuff I’m really looking forward to getting into, specifically with @hellsmother​, @cursebcund​, and @magaprima​.

➓ What were some of the most frustrating moments you had with your muse’s interaction with another muse?

          One that’s on me: sometimes I know that a moment in a thread calls for some emotional vunerability, and often when those times roll around the Gabriel voice I use to write dialogue goes all quiet and resistant and just wants to make jokes.  And either one of two things happens, either I write the joke and cringe because I know now the thread is going to go way off track because obviously the other character won’t be thrilled/is about to shut down and shut up. Or I force some emotional vunerability out of him and it never quite sounds right to me.  Sometimes it’s natural, but sometimes he just won’t do the thing and it frustrates me!

          One that I’ve encountered from someone else: sometimes people will try to force a certain motivation or trait on my Gabriel based on their perception of canon/a past interaction they’ve had with another Gabe as portrayed by another RPer. This really grinds my gears because if you want a Gabriel with that motivation to critique/praise/fight with then go find one! I garantee someone out there plays him that way! There are a lot of us out here doing this! I’m not going to change my portrayl for you!!

[puckinghell]

Toothbrush | Brock Boeser

Summary: Maybe the fact that your stuff is all over Brock’s apartment means something... but maybe not Words: 1.5k Note: Just a cute lil something because I was listening to Toothbrush by DNCE. Thank you so much for 1.5k followers! Here’s a 1.5k word fic to celebrate

----

You prefer not to think about things too much, because that always ends in overthinking, and that never ends pretty. You’re good at it, too; at ignoring signs and feelings until they’re smacking you in the face, and even then, you just turn around and face the other way.

There’s really only one person that always manages to get to you.

Fucking Talia.

“So, are you moving in with Brock now?” she asks, stirring sugar into her coffee like she didn’t just open Pandora’s box.

You nearly inhale your macchiato.

“What?” you manage to bring out between coughs, and she smiles sweetly.

Like she doesn’t know what she’s doing to you.

“I mean, your lease is almost up. You’ve been complaining about not wanting to go through the trouble of finding a new apartment. And Brock’s place is nice.”

“He’s my boyfriend, not my realtor, Talia,” you mumble, but already a thousand thoughts are circling through your head.

“Please.” Talia rolls her eyes. “Tell me he doesn’t want you to move in with him. Have you ever brought it up?”

You haven’t. You’ve thought about it, once, for about a millisecond, but then you pushed that thought away to stay in the box with all the other thoughts you don’t dare entertain: like the thought that maybe Brock could be the one for you.

“It doesn’t matter, he’s not ready,” you tell Talia, because that’s what you’ve been telling yourself.

The problem is, your best friend isn’t as easy to bullshit as your own brain.

“Brock, mister family, who has already planned what color white he’s gonna paint his picket fence in a few years, isn’t ready to move in with you after almost three years of dating?” Talia almost sounds like the thought is personally offending her. “You haven’t asked him.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement, and you immediately jump into defense.

“Whatever, it’s not like he brought it up either!”

“Because he knows you! You’re as scared of commitment as Petey is of showing emotion on camera!”

You don’t think it’s fair to casually drag Petey like that, but you know the Swede has a soft spot for Talia, so you decide to let it go in order to continue with your own mental breakdown.

“Tell me something.” Talia leans forward, her chin resting in her hands, and that’s how you know she’d going into full psych mode. How annoying, that your best friend has to be a psychology major.

“How many nights a week do you spend at Brock’s apartment?”

“It depends on if he’s home or on the road,” you shrug, “but on average, I’d say 3 or 4.”

Sometimes, you don’t leave his apartment for a week, but you decide against telling her that. It feels like that wouldn’t really help your argument.

“And how many nights does he spend at your place?”

Only then do you realize he never does. But, it surely doesn’t mean anything; it’s just not practical. “It doesn’t make sense for him to stay at my place, it’s very far from the rink. Besides, you know my neighbor has a habit of vaccuuming at 3am, and Brock saw a rat in my kitchen once so now he refuses to go in there.”

Talia nods solemnly.

“So you’re pretty much at his place more than you are at your place.”

“Yeah,” you protest, “but it’s still very much his place, T.”

“You bring clothes there, right?”

“Yeah, but..”

“And he stocks his fridge with soy yoghurt because he knows you can’t do dairy.”

“Okay, but...”

“And you have your own toothbrush on his sink.”

Your eyes widen. You do have your own toothbrush at his house. You never really realized before that that could mean something. That there was something that’s strictly yours, at his house. That he keeps there for you.

“Fuck,” you say. “Talia, I have a toothbrush. At his house!”

Talia grins, and leans back into her chair, seemingly content now that you’re fully riled up with anxiety inducing thoughts.

“Yeah, Y/N,” she says slowly. “You have a toothbrush at his house.”

——

When you step into Brock’s apartment that night, it’s like your third eye got opened.

Suddenly all you see are traces of you scattered around his place like they belong there.

An Android charger, even though he has an iPhone. The Office on dvd because that’s your favorite show. A blanket on the couch because you’re always cold. His old hoodie that he never wears anymore chucked into the chair in the bedroom, because you stole it. Your towel drying in the bathroom. White wine in the fridge, right next to Brock’s beer. Your toothbrush in the sink.

How on earth did you never notice any of this before?

“Hey babe!” Brock calls from the kitchen. You walk towards him, despite the fact that you’re pretty sure the horror is written all over your face. “I’m making dinner. Got some normal potatoes for you, even though I still think it’s a crime that you don’t like sweet potatoes.” He sends you an easy grin, seemingly oblivious to the war going on in your head.

Suddenly, you’re overwhelmed with how much you love him: it feels like you belong here, with him, and that thought is scary but not as scary as the thought of not belonging here.

You picture all your stuff gone from his apartment, how empty it would be if every trace of you disappeared. It sends a wave of nausea through your stomach and in reflex, you reach out and pull yourself flat against Brock’s back, bury your face between his shoulder blades.

“Hey,” he hums, and lets go off the pan in order to wrap his hands around your arms, that you tightened around his waist. “You okay, babe?”

He sounds worried and you figure he already knows the answer to that question.

So you just go for it.

“I’ve got a toothbrush at your place,” you mumble, words muffled by Brock’s shirt.

“Uh? Yeah?” he says, the confusion in his voice mixed with amusement. “So?”

And, well, so is probably a good question, but you don’t really know how to answer that.

“You don’t mind it that I stay over all the time, do you?” is what you finally settle on. Brock turns around now, so his chest is pressed up against yours, and when he looks down at you his eyebrows are knotted together.

“I love it when you stay over,” he says slowly. “I want you to stay over all the time. Are you doubting that?” His tone is gentle, like he’s trying not to scare you away, and maybe that’s a good read on the situation from his side.

Nobody knows you as well as he does.

“I don’t,” you tell him softly, “I just... never thought about it, I guess.”

“Why are you, now?”

You breathe in deep.

Fucking Talia.

Here goes nothing.

“Because my lease is ending and Talia asked why I’m not moving in with you and I told her I didn’t think you wanted me to but now I think I don’t really know what you want, but I think I know what I want, and...” You interrupt yourself. “And you should tell me what you want first so I don’t make a fool out of myself.”

It’s probably too late for that, but you shut up anyway.

Then, Brock starts laughing. Loudly. And you’re almost offended, except then he buries his face in your neck and presses a wet slobbery kiss there, still giggling.

“You’re blind,” he mumbles, and before you can ask what he means he pulls away again. “Honey, I’ve been dropping hints about wanting you to move in with me for over a year. Why do you think I asked your opinion on what color to paint the bedroom wall?”

“Cause I’ve got good taste?” you guess despite knowing better, but the glinster in his eyes tells you he means exactly what you think he might mean.

Brock rolls his eyes, but they’re filled with nothing fondness. He drops his head down, forehead against yours, then mumbles something against your lips.

“Move in with me.”

Before you can answer, his lips are against yours and for a second you get so lost in the kiss you forget what you were talking.

“Don’t renew your lease. Don’t find a new apartment. Just move your stuff here.” He smiles. “Move in with me.”

You can’t help but laugh as you nod.

“It’s a good thing I already have a toothbrush.”

[slowlydrowningme]

I would love a Damian x reader (female) that is angsty probably teen for the rating. The prompt could be like meeting at a gala and the reader not having a nice family and Damian takes a liking to her? If that makes sense😂

Title: Not the One You Were Meant to Find (Pt 1)

Rating: T 

Word Count: 3143

Warnings: underage drinking

Pairing: Damian x fem!reader (though you really only get a tiny bit from her)

Notes: So this spiraled out of control and now there’s a second part coming.  Maybe more if it becomes it’s own beast like it’s been demanding.  Sometimes my writing controls me more than I control it.  And sometimes prompts take on a life of their own.  Hope this is close to what you were wanting.

Standing proud at the top of the stairs of the mezzanine level of the Wayne Manor, Damian found himself scanning the attendees of the gala he had organized himself.  The very first one his father had trusted him to handle completely and while he remained stoic, Damian was definitely pleased with the turnout.  The cause, a fundraiser for the local endangered animal foundation, had drawn in a large crowd and the theme of a wildlife masquerade brought even more buzz with it.  For that, he had his oldest brother to thank because he had spent weeks trying to figure out the proper theme.  Something the older man had come up with in a matter of minutes once Damian had bothered to approach him for help.

“Here.”  Damian looked from the glass of champagne that appeared in his line of sight to the person holding it out to him.  Though most would have no idea who it was, Damian had been made aware of each of his brother’s masks for the night.  So, seeing the full faced hawk mask, Damian knew it was Dick behind it.

But instead of taking the offered glass, he chose to just look at him instead, unimpressed.  Considering how he was only nineteen and not old enough to legally drink and there were actual officers, including the commissioner, in attendance he knew better than to tempt fate. At least in that manner.

“No one knows it’s you under that mask.  Just take the drink, relax, and enjoy your victory for the night, Little D.”  Taking a moment to mull over his suggestion, Damian released a sigh and took the glass.  Of all his brothers, Dick was the least to steer him wrong.  He had been his father for a portion of time and the first person he had been able to trust fully after his mother brought him to Gotham.

“Might I recommend discretion, Master Damian,” Alfred said gently as he walked past them with a few bottles of wine, undoubtedly heading toward the bar.

“Always, Alfie,” Dick responded for him, clasping a hand on Damian’s shoulder before heading up to the next level to mingle some more.

Once again alone, he took a moment to look over the crowd that had thickened even more through the eye holes of the owl mask he wore.  There were plenty of wild cat masks, which he and Dick had joked about as people had started coming in.  Wealthy people wanting to show their power by being a lion or tiger.  He was amused to find a few less appreciated animals like zebra or giraffe in the crowd.  But the sight of a peacock was what caught his attention the most.  The domino style mask adorned with what he hoped were fake feathers on one side of the mask was beautiful in its vibrancy.  But the woman wearing it seemed young, perhaps around his age, and unsure of her place in the room.

Taking a few steps down, toward the woman who had caught his eye, Damian allowed himself a moment to fully look her over.  She stood next to a man that radiated power, though he wore a full lion mask so he couldn’t tell if he knew the man or not.  But she didn’t look like she belonged.  Physically, she screamed society.  The deep teal gown she wore fit like it was made for her and the material, he could tell, was anything but cheap.  But the line of her mostly bare shoulders and the tense muscles of her back told a different story.  

She was uncomfortable in present company.  And Damian craved to change that.

That thought gave him pause at the final step of the stairs he had been occupying just moments ago. He didn’t get emotional.  He wasn’t Dick.  And he didn’t act irrationally.  He wasn’t Jason.  But he also didn’t shy away from an unknown situation without all the facts.  He wasn’t Tim.

Champagne glass still in hand, he slipped the other one into the pocket of his tailored pants as he kept his gaze on the woman.  The split-second static in his ear caught his attention, but he made sure not to divert his attention for fear of losing sight.

“All levels are still good from my station,” Tim’s voice filtered into his ear from the discrete earpiece.

“Copy.  Same from out here,” Jason chimed in.  While Tim had taken up residence in the cave for the duration of the gala, Jason had offered to wander around the room and directly interact with the other security personnel for the night.

“Copy that, keep the line open between you two but close R and I unless you need us.”  Damian couldn’t help but roll his eyes, knowing Dick said that because they were expected to actually hold conversations with people.

But at the same time, he found himself glad because he definitely wanted to hold a conversation with the woman he still had his sights on.

He sighed softly as Tim and Jason confirmed Dick’s order and he heard the line click shut between them. Glancing upward, he spotted Dick leaning over the railing as he spoke with some woman standing next to him.  He caught Damian’s eye and raised his glass in a cheers motion before turning back to the lady and turned on his charm.

It was a skill Damian wished he had learned at some point.  But unfortunately, it seemed like Dick was really the only Wayne who could turn it on and off with ease like their father.  

And as he turned back to look at the woman who had caught his eye, he hoped he could at least be a fraction as charming as his brother.  For once in his life he wouldn’t even mind being on Tim’s level.  But he would just have to make do and try his best.

But he’d have to find her again because while the man was still in the same spot, the alluring woman was no longer with him.

Scanning the room, he tried to locate those feathers that had caught his eye to begin with, but was having a hard time.

“Lose something?”

It was only thanks to years of training that Damian didn’t jump at the sound of Jason’s voice in his ear. But it wasn’t coming through the piece. Glancing next to him, he frowned at his older brother in the half mask fashioned after an eagle.

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re looking for something.  Or someone? What or who did you lose?” Turning back to the crowd, Damian scanned over the people again.

“Just someone who caught my eye.”

“A female someone?”

“Todd.”  Jason’s chuckle did nothing to quell Damian’s annoyance with the older man.  “You should be working the room, not bothering me.”

“I am, just subtly. Plus,” he paused, looking down at Damian with a wide, teasing smile, “I happen to know the woman in the peacock mask is over at the bar, avoiding the man she was with.”

And with that, his brother headed up the stairs Damian was still standing by.

Damn this family and their observant natures.

But it did make it easier for Damian at the moment, turning his green eyes to the bar where he spotted the woman he had indeed been looking for.  And with one last deep breath, he began making his way over to where she leaned against it, chatting with the bartender as he poured another glass of wine.

Setting his empty champagne glass on the countertop for the bartender to take away, Damian took a moment to look at the woman who was now sipping on a glass of white wine.  She smiled at him over the glass before flicking her eyes in the direction of the man he knew she was here with.  If he wasn’t so good at reading body language, thank you Talia for making sure of that before sending him off to Gotham, he would have read it as a nervous tick.  

But because he knew, he could tell it was more fear and that was concerning.

To play it off, Damian took up the fresh glass of champagne the bartender placed next to him and turned to lean against the counter so he could give off an air of casual when he was actually taking a moment to size up the man who was much easier to get a look at now.

He was someone important, but it was hard to tell who he was given the mask, but the men around him looked like they deferred to him.  He knew he could ask Tim to do a scan on him and figure out exactly who he was, but he would have to move away from the woman in order to do so and that was not something he wanted.

Especially now that he had seen that look.

But he memorized the look of the man and the mask, taking a moment to look at his watch and take note of the time so he could pull up the footage later tonight, he turned back to the woman.

“A lovely theme, isn’t it?” She spoke softly just as Damian had been about to say something, though he wasn’t actually sure what he would have said.

“A worthy one,” he replied with a smile.  Of course, it was a little self-serving since it was his gala after all.  But this woman didn’t know.  Or at least he didn’t think she knew.  “It is a shame people couldn’t be a little more creative with their chosen masks, though.”

“Yes, it would be nice to have a bit more variety instead of all these…cats.”

He wondered briefly if she realized he knew her date was wearing one of those cats.

“Are you fond of birds, then?”  Without intending to, Damian’s free hand rose to finger one of the feathers adorning her mask and was pleased to find they were fake after all.  Just dyed to look like the real thing.

“Are you?”  She threw back, taking another sip of her wine as her eyes drifted over his own mask.

“I am.  Though, I am fond of most animals.”

“I am, too.  That’s why I agreed to come tonight.  I usually skip these events, but when my father mentioned the theme and the charity, I couldn’t say no.”  Father.  He couldn’t tell if her fear was more or less concerning now that he had that information.

“That is a feeling I can certainly relate to.  My own father never allows me to say no, unfortunately,” he chuckled, moving closer to her as a few other people made their way up to the bar to get drinks.  She glanced over his shoulder and took in the people starting to crowd around and motioned for him to follow her further into the crowd. Though he did notice that it was also further away from the man he now assumed was her father.

He slipped his free hand into his pocket and walked beside her, glancing around at the people they passed. He gave an air of relaxed, but his inner Robin never really relaxed.  Especially not when he couldn’t see the faces of potential threats.

“Perhaps I’ve been missing out by turning all the previous events down,” the sweet voice filtered in again through the conversations of people around them.  He turned to look at her again and smiled.

“Perhaps that can change for the future?”

“There you are!”  Dick’s voice pulled him out of the bubble that had seemed to engulf him and the mystery woman, causing him to frown when his brother’s hand took hold of his arm.  “Oh, sorry,” he watched Dick send an apologetic look to the woman before turning to look at Damian.  “B wanted to be sure you were ready for the speeches.  He asked me to find you.”

“Guys, we might have a problem.”  Tim’s voice crackling to life in their ears made Damian frown even more.

“It was nice talking to you. Maybe we can catch each other later?” Damian looked at the woman who he wanted more than anything to just continue to speak with, but knew he had to step away from.

“Yes, I’d very much like that,” Damian offered with a smile before Dick started dragging him away.

“Who was that?”  And Damian realized he had never gotten around to asking her for her name.  But Dick didn’t give him a chance to respond as he was asking Tim what the problem was.

“Jay said he recognized a couple guys in the crowd as henchmen for a new crime lord that’s been making the rounds in the underground.  Looks like he’s in a lion mask but I’m running the scans to be sure.”  Damian felt his blood freeze in his veins as he glanced back to where he had left the woman, not surprised to find her no longer there.

Stepping back into the main room, Damian’s eyes went to the space where the man in question had been but found the space filled with a group of elderly men and women that had definitely not been there before.

“Take care of whatever this is.”  Damian looked over at his father as he appeared out of seemingly thin air.  His tone spoke volumes, but anyone outside of their family would look at him and think he was as carefree as always.  The perpetual playboy.  “Damian you stay.  Dick, Jason is already heading to Tim.  Just handle whatever it is.”  His brother gave him a nod and squeezed Damian’s arm in silent apology for not being able to stay for the speech he had worked hard on.

It was understandable, though.  Damian was expected and Dick was not.

Once the speeches had commenced and Damian noticed that the man in question, the men who had surrounded him, and the mysterious woman were no where in the room, he finally made his way down to the Cave to see what was going on.  

The looks on his three brothers’ faces told him all he needed to know.  Either he had been duped by the woman or she had no idea what her father was up to.

“Who was the girl you were talking to Dami?  Did she give you a name?”  He shook his head and glanced at the security footage Tim had pulled up on the screens.

“No, we never exchanged names.  The only thing we really spoke about was…”  He frowned when he realized how incriminating the conversation seemed now.  

“About what?”

“Birds.”  He looked at Dick and his brother returned his frown. “But something seemed off in regard to the man she said was her father.”

“What seemed off about it? What exactly did she say?”  Jason was leaning against one of the tables they used for examining evidence, his bowtie hanging loose and the top button of his shirt undone.  His jacket was hanging over one of the chairs in the room.

“She only said she was there with her father.  But she seemed scared.  And she said she usually told him no when he asked her to come to events.  But she came tonight because she had liked the theme and charity,” he relayed.

“Makes sense,” Tim sounded, the clicks of the keyboard he was currently typing on a soft background noise.  “Y/N YL/N, a 20-year-old who is currently attending university here.  Her declared major is zoology with a minor in marine biology.  Her record is completely clean, and it looks like she only came to live with her father when she was 18 and accepted into the university.”  Damian looked up at the screen and saw the college id that held the smile he had seen just an hour earlier, but now he knew her face without the mask.

“So, it’s probably safe to say it’s coincidental?”  Dick. The ever optimistic.  

“Maybe?  Or very elaborate.”

“Who exactly is her father?” Damian asked, moving to stand by Tim as he continued to filter through information about Y/N.

“A low level crime lord who has been operating in the underground since Hood dropped his hold over them.”  The man in question’s face came up along with his rap sheet, which was worrisome to say the least.  “Looks like he started at the bottom and has recently been surging up the ranks.”

Sighing, Damian looked away from the screen to look at Dick and Jason who seemed to be having some sort of silent conversation.  He wasn’t daft enough to not realize it was about him and whether or not he should be involved in this.

“What?”  He demanded, tired of the silence between them.

“I’m going to go out and see if any of my contacts can tell us what the endgame was here,” Jason said by way of explanation, pushing off the table and untucking his dress shirt so he could go switch into his gear.

“No,” Dick’s voice sounded when Damian opened his mouth to offer to go with him.  Glaring at his older brother, Damian remained silent despite having some loud protests to that tone and context.  But Dick was the one he respected the most.  More than his other brothers and, much to their father’s dismay, more than Bruce.  Alfred was perhaps the only person who he would listen to over Dick but that was 50/50 and dependent on the subject matter.

“We don’t know if you were a target tonight or if it really was just random chance.  She didn’t approach you and you didn’t really talk about much,” Dick offered.  “Stay here with Tim and see what you can dig up.  Or go back upstairs and tend to the remainder of the guests since it’s your party. But stay here.”

He could feel the muscles in his jaw tick at the order, but instead of fighting he nodded.  He knew Dick made a good point and he didn’t really want to fight.

“And you?”

“I’ll go with Jay.” At least Hood wouldn’t be going in alone, wherever it was he was going.

“Don’t worry Demon, we’ll sort it out.  Just stay on the open comms and you’ll hear it,” Jason gave his shoulder a squeeze as he walked past to get into his gear.  Dick watched him for another moment before turning to follow him and get changed into his own suit.

Knowing he had no other choice, Damian turned back to Tim’s work and looked at the smiling face that had so innocently caught his eye earlier in the evening.  He just couldn’t reconcile her smile and soft words with the hard-lined face of her father and his rap sheet.  It didn’t add up and he didn’t want to admit that he could have been played so easily.