#once a symbol of neglect | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aleksatia · 28 days ago

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❄️Blind date with your ex-husband. You never expected it to be… Zayne.

Inspiration hit me going 100mph down the highway, and I took an unscheduled gas station stop just to write this down. My husband almost divorced me again thinking I’d lost my mind — so in a way, this series is dedicated to him. And to second chances. I know they exist. I’ve lived one. 🥀

An unplanned new series. Five ex-husbands. Same setup, different reactions.

🎨 Rafayel | 🏍 Sylus | ✨Xavier | 🍎 Caleb

CW/TW: Divorce / Post-divorce emotional trauma, Emotional neglect / emotional suppression, Communication breakdown in relationships, References to emotional dissociation, Raised voices / emotionally intense confrontation, Crying / emotional vulnerability, Mention of jealousy & insecurity, Gaslighting-adjacent dynamics (arguably), Implied sexual tension / physical intimacy (consensual, emotional).

Pairing: Zayne x ex-wife!you Genre: Slow-burn, emotional dissection, second chances soaked in silence. Heavy on longing, surgical precision on heartbreak. Lovers to strangers to… Summary: Zayne doesn't do chaos. He does control, routine, distance. But when fate traps you both in a curated room labeled “One Hour of Honest Connection,” the silence breaks first. What follows is memory, ache, and the terrifying weight of things never said. Word Count: 3.3K

The room was small. Too small for this.

Soft jazz filtered through hidden speakers. There were two cups of something herbal already on the table, a plate of small, intentionally complicated desserts arranged like the nervous offering of a Parisian intern. The walls were a muted sage green, the lighting gentle. It would’ve been cozy, if it weren’t for the glaring fact that Zayne was sitting across from you.

You blinked once. Then again.

"No," you said flatly.

Zayne, ever efficient, didn’t even look up from the glass of water he was examining.

"Statistically," he said, voice calm, "there was a 0.2% chance of this exact pairing."

You stared at him. "So what I’m hearing is: we’re still just that unlucky."

He looked up then. God, those eyes. Calculated glacier. "Technically, yes."

The silence that followed was not companionable.

You hadn’t seen him in eleven months. Not since the divorce. Not since you stood in that shared apartment and told him — voice shaking, fingers cold — that you couldn’t keep guessing if you were real to him.

He hadn’t fought you.

He’d just stood there, like someone who'd miscalculated a formula and refused to recheck it.

You waited for something — anything. He stayed silent.

He stayed silent even when you sent the divorce papers. Even when it was over in a small judge’s office, quiet and procedural. He brought flowers — jasmine — and you still don’t know if they were a symbol of freedom or a plea.

He never explained.

Just spoke in clipped, efficient phrases, like he’d already erased you from his life.

And now — now you were locked in a curated hell that probably had its own photo filter. A little brass plaque on the inside of the door read: One Hour of Honest Connection.

You almost laughed. Almost.

Zayne adjusted his cuffs. You noticed — god help you — that he still wore the watch you gave him. The one with the engraving inside: Every time your pulse stutters, it’s me.

Of course he still wore it. The man remembered to reorder that book you never finished—left it on your doorstep in silent punctuation.

"This wasn’t deliberate," you said finally.

"Agreed."

You folded your arms. "So. Let’s make this painless. We wait the hour, we don’t talk about feelings, and we pretend your emotional negligence wasn’t the reason we’re now two sad statistics sipping herbal disappointment."

Zayne raised an eyebrow. "Technically, the tea is chamomile, which is known for its calming properties. And you’re the one who said ‘emotional negligence.’"

"God, you’re still exhausting."

He didn’t flinch. Of course not. That would imply a physiological reaction. "So I’ve been told."

You stared at him for a beat. The weight of old familiarity draped the room like a too-heavy coat. He hadn’t changed. Not in the obvious ways. Still buttoned-down, still precise, still that undercurrent of something almost tender that never made it to the surface.

"Why are you even here?" you asked suddenly. "Blind dates don’t strike me as your thing. Too much room for inefficiency."

He tilted his head. “The nursing staff submitted my name. Some kind of team-building initiative.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess. They were hoping to end up across the table themselves?”

Zayne didn’t blink. “Several of them expressed interest.”

You snorted, sharper than you meant to. “Charming.”

He nodded, like you were discussing post-op recovery times. “I considered opting out. But I didn’t.”

That surprised you. Enough to glance at him fully, meet his eyes, where something flickered — not regret, exactly. But its distant cousin. The one who shows up late to funerals.

“Why not?”

He took a sip of tea. “I wanted to see what I’d do.”

You hated how that hit. How much you wanted to ask: How many phone numbers did you collect before you landed here?

But you didn’t.

The desserts between you remained untouched. Tiny works of art. Sugar sculptures that mocked you with their curated whimsy.

"You look good," he said abruptly.

You blinked. "Don’t do that."

"Do what?"

"Say things that sound human. It throws me off."

He smiled, the faint curve of it almost imperceptible. “Noted.”

Your eyes caught on his mouth — just for a second. A breath too long. You looked away before he could notice.

There was another pause, but it hung differently now — heavier, colored with things you hadn’t said when you should have, and things he never said at all.

"Did you ever—" you started, then stopped.

Zayne watched you. Waiting. He was always good at that. Waiting until your own words betrayed you.

"Forget it," you muttered.

"No," he said quietly. "Say it."

You hated him a little for that. For still knowing when to press.

"Did you ever think," you asked, voice low, "that maybe love isn’t a hypothesis you prove with consistency? That maybe I just needed you to be… messy? With me?"

Zayne didn’t answer right away. And for once, you let the silence stay. Let it stretch and breathe.

When he finally spoke, it was almost a whisper. "Yes. I thought it too late."

You closed your eyes.

Jazz played on. Somewhere outside, people were falling in love the loud way — the all-in kind. Dramatic. Full of color.

Here, in this perfect little room, you and Zayne sat across from one another like ruins politely dressed for tea.

The hour hadn’t even started ticking down.

He was watching you now. Not intensely — not obviously. But directly. The kind of look that felt like it was being filed away for later analysis.

You met it.

Zayne looked away first. Not because it hurt — but because there’s only so long you can hold tension before it cuts.

He looked down at the desserts. Picked up a fork. Cut into something with a caramel shard on top and didn’t eat it.

You watched him with a frustration so familiar it almost felt nostalgic.

“You always do that,” you said.

“Do what?”

“Control the atmosphere. One calculated silence and the room bends around you.”

He didn’t respond immediately. Then: “I thought that was preferable to chaos.”

You scoffed. “Of course you did.”

The clock on the wall, tastefully small, ticked once. You imagined someone — a curator of curated intimacy — had set it to be just barely audible.

Zayne glanced toward it.

“Forty-three minutes,” he murmured.

You laughed — dry. “You going to count them all?”

His eyes flicked back to you. “Only the inefficient ones.”

That shut you up.

You stared at your tea. Cold now. Obviously.

He watched you again. Observed you, like you were an interface needing diagnostics.

You looked away — deliberately, before his gaze could finish its quiet dissection. But your eyes caught the slight fold in his cuff, the slow press of thumb to palm as he adjusted the line of his wrist.

Surgical. Precise. Familiar.

A phantom shiver traced down your spine.

You remembered that hand on the small of your back in the hospital hallway once, the only contact he allowed himself after a seventeen-hour surgery. He never let his voice break protocol. But that one touch — the pressure, the warmth, the steadiness — had left you trembling.

You cleared your throat.

“Do you regret it?” you asked.

“This date?” he said, because of course he would miss the point.

You glared. “The way you loved me.”

Zayne’s expression didn’t shift. But you saw the pause in his breath. A calibration flicker.

“I loved you thoroughly,” he said. And the word thoroughly struck like a steel scalpel. Accurate. Clinical. Missing the pulse entirely.

You stood. “You loved me like I was a pet project. Like a very intelligent houseplant. Watered. Supported. Monitored.”

“I kept you safe.”

“I didn’t want to be safe!”

It came out sharper than you meant, and echoed too loudly in the boutique silence of the room. You saw the smallest movement — the tightening in his jaw, the shift of his heel, like a man correcting for turbulence.

He stood slowly. Adjusted a cuff. Again.

Still useless. Still beautiful.

“You think I was cold. Detached.”

You laughed once. Bitter. “You treated me like a system. Like something that shouldn’t break. Not someone who might cry. Or scream. Or—” your voice wavered, “—or leave.”

He stepped forward, eyes flickering over you.

“You did leave.”

“And you let me.”

“I didn’t stop you.”

“You didn’t even ask why.”

Your voice shook now — not from weakness, but from the fury of being unseen.

“You just stood there like it was a cancelled meeting, not a fucking life falling apart.”

His jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

“What was I supposed to do?” he asked eventually, quietly.

“Fight,” you snapped. “God, anything. Say my name. Say stay. Say something other than 'okay.'”

The clock ticked again.

He hesitated. Just for a second.

“You once said I made you invisible,” he murmured, like he wasn’t even speaking to you, but to the ghost of that moment.

Your breath caught — and snapped.

“Because you did,” you said, sharper than you meant. “You watched me like a case study. Like I was data.”

Your voice broke.

“You weren’t seeing me, Zayne. You were cataloguing me.”

He flinched. A fraction. Barely there — but you caught it. And hated that it still made you ache.

His hands clenched slightly. Just barely.

“If I’d touched more, you would’ve called it possessive. If I’d spoken more, you would’ve said it was performative. I calibrated.”

“You calibrated me,” you said. “Like I was a machine you didn’t want overheating.”

He said nothing.

You stepped closer. Too close.

“You loved me like a robot,” you whispered. “And I wasn’t built for that.”

Silence. Then, very softly:

“I didn’t know how to love any other way.”

His voice dropped like a stone in water. And you swore — for a second — the lights flickered.

Zayne took another step. A fraction. Enough.

“You think I didn’t feel?” he asked, voice low. “You were the variable I couldn’t isolate. The part of the equation that never balanced. You made everything uncertain.”

And there it was again — that glint in his voice. That barely-there tremble. A fault line under a glass surface.

Your eyes flicked to his collar. The soft pull of fabric around his throat. The line of his jaw, the neat cut of his hair. The way one lock always fell forward when he was tired or tense.

It was falling now.

“You used to look at me like I was a test you were trying to pass,” you murmured.

“I was trying not to fail,” he said.

You hated how your pulse jumped.

He lifted a hand. Just slightly. Just enough to suggest contact. His fingers hovered — millimeters away from your skin — but didn’t touch.

A beat.

His voice came quieter this time — lower, rougher at the edges, like the words didn’t want to come out but had nowhere else to go.

“Another wrong calculation.”

Not bitter. Not even angry. Just… tired. And devastatingly honest.

And something in you — snapped.

Not because he said it. But because he meant it. Because he stood there, wanting you, needing you, practically reaching — and still treated it like an equation gone wrong.

You felt your breath hitch. Your fists clench.

Because you saw it in his eyes — the ache, the hesitation. The damn pulse in his throat that jumped when your gaze dropped to his lips.

He wanted this.

You.

But he wouldn’t let himself have it.

And you couldn’t take it anymore.

“You didn’t,” you said, sharp. “You don’t. You want me close enough to feel it but never close enough to believe it.”

He looked at you — not coldly. Worse. Calmly. As if this pain had already been processed and shelved.

And that was it.

“You never said it,” you shouted. “Not once! You never said you loved me!”

That stopped him. Not like a slap. Like a flatline.

For the first time in the whole goddamn hour, his expression broke.

He blinked — slow, stunned — as if you’d just said something so grotesque he couldn’t compute it.

“You think I didn’t?” he asked, voice low.

Not soft. Not calm. Low — like thunder before it hits.

He stepped closer, but not rushed. Controlled. Always controlled.

“You think because I didn’t say the exact phrase you wanted, I didn’t feel it?”

His jaw was tight now. Breath shallow.

“You think all of that—” his hand flicked between you, the table, everything, “—meant nothing because it wasn’t loud enough for you?”

And then — his voice rose.

Not yelling. Lifting. Cracking through him, like pressure that finally split the seal.

“I LOVE YOU!”

It echoed. Echoed in that perfect little room like an alarm someone forgot to disable.

“I love you,” he repeated, lower this time. “I love you like a man who doesn’t know how to breathe around you, but will die trying to stay still just to keep you from leaving again.”

Your chest rose and fell like panic. Like longing. Like something ancient reawakened.

“Then why,” you spat, “why would you agree to a date with some other woman?!”

He stilled.

Then — movement. Swift. Sharp. Controlled chaos.

He closed the remaining distance in three steps.

His hand caught your chin — firm but not rough — guiding your face up until his eyes locked with yours, precise, invasive, burning.

“Are you jealous, princess?”

His voice was velvet and wire — both caress and warning.

And it hit you.

Not just the word. Not just the sound of it. But everything that came before it.

The I love you. The I stayed still so you wouldn’t run. The eyes. The ache. The damn way he looked at you like he still knew every nerve ending and wanted to press all of them at once.

And suddenly you weren’t standing. Not really. Your knees tried. But the rest of you was already melting.

Heat flashed through your spine like a pulled thread. Your breath caught — and stayed. Every part of your body was too much and not enough at once.

You hated him for that. And you hated that you wanted more.

Your pulse roared in your ears. There was a throb where there should have been reason.

And still — somehow — your mouth moved:

“Jealousy’s not the word. Try ‘haunted.’”

A breath passed. And he smiled. Just a little. Just enough.

“You left,” he said, voice low and clear. “Don’t forget that.”

You opened your mouth, but he didn’t let you speak.

“Because I wasn’t enough,” he added. “Because I didn’t perform grief the right way. Or love. Or need.”

He stepped back half a pace, and the space between you hurt like an incision.

“You think I didn’t feel it?” His voice stayed calm, but you heard the crack forming in its base. “You think because I didn’t break dishes or sob in the shower that it didn’t gut me?”

He looked straight at you now. No veil. No control.

“You have no idea what it’s like to live in a body that won’t let the feelings out,” he said. “To drown in it. Quietly. Until you forget where the surface is.”

You stood frozen. Not because you didn’t want to move. But because guilt was a weight, and it was finally settling on your shoulders.

“I’m not built for displays,” he continued. “But that never meant I didn’t love you. I just showed it differently.”

He exhaled. Soft. Controlled.

“I don’t scream ‘I love you.’ I leave umbrellas in your bag on rainy days. I keep your favorite candy in your glove compartment. I flip your pillow to the cool side when you fall asleep. I listen when you hum a song twice and add it to your playlist without a word.”

A pause.

“I wasn’t dramatic. I was constant.”

His voice faltered just slightly now.

“And if that wasn’t enough for you — if you needed fireworks — I’m sorry. But I can’t become someone else to prove what’s already true.”

He took one more step back.

“Because if one day you look at me and see a man pretending to be something you want — someone louder, brighter, messier — you’ll stop respecting me. And I swear to God, that’s the one thing I wouldn’t survive.”

Your breath caught.

Your hand moved without permission, reaching for his. Taking it. Holding it with both of yours.

You lifted it gently, pressed your lips to the inside of his fingers — those surgeon’s hands. Steady. Deadly. Gentle.

“I didn’t know,” you whispered. “I didn’t see. I was so busy spiraling through my own mess, I thought… I thought your silence meant absence.”

Tears welled up.

“I didn’t leave to punish you. I just— I lost my wings somewhere along the way. In the quiet. In the waiting. I was jealous of your work. Of your focus. Of how the world looked at you with admiration and looked at me like… like a placeholder.”

Your voice cracked.

“Every dinner alone. Every party I walked into like I was still half-married to a man who’d rather be in an OR. I thought you didn’t love me.”

Zayne’s jaw tightened. His eyes — bright, focused, unreadable — didn’t move from yours.

And then, softly:

“You’re right. I didn’t love you the way you needed me to. I never knew how to make you feel chosen.”

He paused. Just long enough for the words to break skin.

“But you were. Every day. Every time.”

Another breath. Shallower this time.

“And if I had to do it again — knowing you’d leave—”

His voice barely made it past his throat.

“I’d still choose you.”

A beat.

“Because you are the point.”

And before you could react — he moved.

He pulled you close, lifted you effortlessly onto the edge of the table. The desserts clinked, wobbling on their plates. His hands cupped your face — thumbs firm against your jaw, fingers threading through your hair.

And then — he kissed you.

Not cautiously. Not politely.

He kissed you like a man who had written restraint into every breath for too long, and finally, finally, had been told he could break character.

His mouth crushed yours with a precision that stole air and reason. One hand on your hip, anchoring you. The other behind your neck, fingers fanned through your hair, tilting your head exactly how he needed.

You gasped into him, and he didn’t pause — just deepened the kiss, molding his lips to yours like he was tracing every remembered contour.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to breathe, but didn’t move far. His forehead touched yours. His breath was warm. Steady.

God, he always kissed like he was solving you. And part of you — shamefully �� wanted to stay unsolved.

You opened your eyes, just barely, and met his. Focused. Hungry. Lit with a kind of reverence that made your stomach flip.

That’s when you moved.

You reached down blindly — fingers finding the soft swirl of whipped cream on one of the desserts. You dipped into it, then slowly dragged your finger along the edge of his jaw.

He didn’t flinch.

Your finger slid over his bottom lip, and when he parted them, you leaned in, tongue flicking the taste away, then trailing up his cheekbone. Slow. Almost cruel.

Zayne exhaled harshly — the closest he came to a groan — and gripped the table edge behind you like he needed grounding.

Your bodies pressed tighter.

He kissed your collarbone, your neck, his breath hot. Fingers sliding under the hem of your skirt, just barely.

Another kiss. And another.

You felt like the room spun sideways. Like you were going to—

Ding.

A soft chime.The door clicked.

Time’s up.

He stilled. You did too.

No one spoke. Breathing was enough.

Zayne lifted a hand and dragged his knuckles along your cheek. Tender. Achingly so.

He pressed his lips to your forehead.

And then — just like that — he stepped back.

You blinked, dazed. Dizzy. Waiting for him to say something.

But he didn’t. He turned, walked to the door, opened it — and left.

Just like that.

You slid off the table slowly, knees hitting the floor before your mind registered the impact.

What the hell. What the actual—

Your phone buzzed.

A message. From him.

“Emergency consult. Patient flatlined. Possibly me. Will advise.”

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 1 month ago

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The Neighbor’s Boy is…Odd

A piece from a collection of shorts inspired by Junjo Ito. Enjoy.🖤

It started when you were welcomed by the Okana family, next door. You had just moved in and the welcome wagon was in full swing. They seemed like a happy bunch, all with blonde hair with brown highlights and wide smiles save for their youngest son. He had red hair…not the orangish kind most would but like a burgundy. He was not that much younger than his brother and had to be in middle school. Which is why you tried to excuse the consistently weird vibe you’d get from him.

“Oi Toichi be respectful to the new neighbor,” his brother scolded him first.

Next, his sister chimed, “Yeah Toichi pass them the cookies we made for them!”

The boy seemed to shuffle anxiously. Blackish brown eyes darting between you and the cookies. When his gaze lingered you smiled and waved. Poor kid was probably frightened by you, reminding you of those nervous kindergartners who are shy in the beginning.

“Hi, are you Toichi? My name is (Y/n) and I’m your new neighbor! So happy to be friends with you!”

The poor kid turned red, bowing his head….and taking off with the cookies in hand.

“Toichi! You’re so rude! Get back here!”

“I’m telling Mom and Dad you took the gift for the neighbors!”

You held back your laughter as the siblings chased one another far from view. Chalking up that encounter to first-meeting jitters felt right. Perhaps your uneasy feeling was unreasonable and Toichi was truly just as pleasant as the rest of your family.

“Did you hear poor Miss Benson down the street had some cookies with nails in it!”

“Oh, how awful is she alright?”

“She’ll be fine she didn’t bite into any of them, it was the rust that poisoned her.”

“How cruel! That’s just terrible! I bet it was those delinquents, the devils.”

It couldn’t be.

It had to be a mere coincidence. A small coincidence that the cookies Missus Okana slaved over never did get to you and that…odd little boy seemed so nervous to hand the basket over. You hoped it was, so you couldn’t hold it against him when you found him in your yard. The fence was a little over your second-floor windows, unusually high but you figured your gardens might be the interest for scrounging pests. Which had you questioning how on Earth you came home to Toichi knee-deep in the dirt.

“Uh hi Toichi.”

“Eeek!”

He genuinely seemed surprised that you were home. Still dressed in your work attire, you decided not to startle him anymore. It was oddly relaxing instead of marinating in the silence of your garden to navigate the soft-spoken neighbor kid.

“Would you like some tea or some snacks?”

The boy once again turned red barely nodding his little head before turning away. You chuckled at his bashful before retreating inside to get said tea and treats. It was nice to host for little Toichi certainly less conversation but you didn’t mind.

But for good measure, you figured you’d let the family next door know their little one was safe and sound.

Curse Them!!!

Curse them for that bright smile! Never before have I suffered an active buffer to my curses. Already three of my brilliant curses were thwarted! The first curse was brilliant until their intervention! It was the perfect revenge for frightening me with their….nice face. A cursed gift is what I left the skull of a pesky mouse on their doorstep a lovely little symbol for this new neighbor. But alas I was thwarted by the stray cat that visits them every night, the pesky creature pulled and scratched at the wrapping before dragging it away. I tried to retrieve it but the feline must have been bakaneko with how painful the scratches they inflicted on me…but I was—am unphased!

My next scheme was even more grand! I snatched the sliced fruit they gifted the family in return. Though I’d endured protection from their smile with shielding glasses, but I neglected to use ear plugs to combat their enchanting voice. Surely they are not at all like the usual malevolent forces but for my third attempt I figured I’d have to try! I consulted with the forces beyond when it came to their frequent visitors who dared to bring attention to my hiding place among their bushes! My spirit contact suggested I directly summon them to deal with this problem, but when the demon was summoned all they did was posses the mailman and get invited inside! I wanted to do that!

Clearly on my own the best I could do was put a cursed object in their garden. The object was an extension of myself, the perfect tool to find their weaknesses and destroy them once and for all. Once the full moon rose it would gain all it’s functions and be the perfect puppet, but for now it’s eyes were all that could be used. And with the perfect timing it would prove to be their demise!

“Hey Toichi you alright with cheese crackers?”

Of course I nodded keeping my eyes far from theirs. My puppet was already in place now all I needed to do was leave and activate the puppet so that I could–

“Here you are! Let me know if you need anything else, huni!”

Oh no! They’re vocal enchantments! The earplugs were taken out to avoid detection and now I’m paying the price! As their hex entails my cheeks are red with the blood boiling it causes forcing my heart to beat so much faster. Along with the sweat induced that allows them to collect my cursed essence to bend me to their will! Though I assume that must be the power of this…new mysterious entity. It draws me in, inviting me to stay with it’s infinite power. Looking out the window at the small pile of raised dirt, I began to envy the puppet. Maybe I can–

“TOICHI! Are you bothering our neighbor!”

Curse this wretch of an older brother! I’ll forever hate all his entire existence! HE’S RUINING EVERYTHING! STUPID OLDER BROTHER! AFTER I VANQUISH THEM I’LL TURN YOU INTO A COCKROACH SO I CAN SQUASH YOU, ROAST YOU AND FEED YOU TO THAT STUPID, MANGY,TWISTED C–

“Oh Toichi before you go! Here’s your doll you buried and the extra cookies. See you later!”

…

….There truly was no hope with this horror….

Well if you can’t beat them they say to join.

Perhaps he’d have to rethink his allegiance to the spirits in the attic sometime.

#yandere x reader #yandere x you #lovelyyandereaddictionpoint #yanderexrea #yandere #yanderes #yandere junji ito #yandere junjo ito inspired #platonic yandere x reader #platonic yandere #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc

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cumtastiics · 2 months ago

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EMPTY PROMISES / ch.1

yan batfam. elements of neglect.

join my discord server!!! pls 🙏 here

present time.

You sat on your bed, curled up, while the old vinyl player in the corner of your room screeched from overuse. Not that you noticed.

You wiped your watery eyes, brushing away the tears that streamed down your face, your face hurting from how much you rubbed at it.

The scratchy melody echoed your inner turmoil, a symphony of loneliness and despair. Your gaze drifted to the window, where raindrops raced down the glass, mirroring the tears on your cheeks. Outside, the world moved on, oblivious to the storm raging within your four walls.

Your room, once a sanctuary, now felt like a cage. Faded posters clung to the walls, their edges curling inward as if trying to escape. Dust motes danced in the pale light filtering through threadbare curtains, settling on untouched books and long-forgotten toys. The air hung heavy with the scent of stale dreams and unspoken words.

Downstairs, muffled voices and clattering dishes signaled another family dinner you weren't invited to join. Not that they'd notice your absence. You were a ghost in your own home.

You still remember the first few days you arrived at the manor- it always brought a bitter smile to your face.

You traced the outline of a bat embroidered on your pillowcase, a symbol that should have united you with your family. Instead, it felt like a brand, marking you as an outsider. The emblem mocked you, its wings spread wide as if to fly away, while you were left behind.

Bruce, with his brooding silence and rare, fleeting smiles, was like the manor itself - imposing, full of secrets, and impossible to truly know. Dick was the golden child, the first Robin. Even then, the rest of them were just as loved and cherished. Yet, you weren't.

You hated it.

02/04/20XX, 7 years prior.

“Can I call you father too?”

The words were barely a whisper, but in the silence that followed, they rang louder than any explosion. The table was still, the air thick with an uneasy tension. The question lingered, unanswered, hanging between you and the man who had taken you in.

Bruce didn’t respond right away. His eyes flickered up, only for a moment, and then he returned to his dinner, the clink of his fork on the plate harsh against the silence. His expression never changed. He never looked at you the way he looked at them, the way he looked at Dick, or even Damian—no, not even close. His face was stone, unreadable, like it always was. The walls around him were so thick, you couldn’t even begin to imagine what was behind them. But you had tried. You tried for so long to break through, to get him to see you, to accept you in a way that felt real.

But that was never going to happen.

His voice, when it came, was flat, distant. “Just keep it as Mr. Wayne. It'll be easier that way for both of us.”

Your heart sank, and you quickly looked down, pretending to focus on your own food as if it could distract you from the heavy weight now pressing down on your chest. The others sat quietly, as though this was nothing new. As if this was just the way things were. You weren’t one of them—not really.

Damian, seated at the opposite end of the table, didn’t even glance in your direction. His eyes were fixed firmly on his plate, his posture perfect as always. The others had their places at this table. They had earned their places. But you? You were just a guest. A shadow. An afterthought.

Dick was the first Robin, the one who had earned Bruce’s affection through years of dedication, of trust. You’d always admired him, but it was hard not to resent the way Bruce looked at him—like he was the perfect son, the one who could do no wrong. You weren’t that. You were nothing like that.

There was an emptiness to the way things were, a hollow space at the table that you couldn’t fill no matter how hard you tried. The seat next to Dick wasn’t yours. The place next to Damian wasn’t yours. The seat next to Bruce? That one? That seat would always remain empty for you, no matter how many times you pulled your chair up to it, no matter how many meals you sat through, watching them laugh, watching them talk, watching them be a family.

And you, you were just a stranger in their midst.

You didn’t belong here. You never had. The truth of it stung more than you cared to admit.

The room was too quiet. The only sound was the hum of the air conditioning and the clink of utensils against plates, nothing to fill the silence that had settled around you like a thick fog. You didn’t speak again. What was the point? You had already asked the question. You already knew the answer.

"May I excuse myself?" You whispered, your voice barely audible. You felt yourself about to cry, and you couldn't dare to cry in front of them. You'd be too... Weak.

"You may."

You got up, your nails digging into your palms, trying desperately not to cry. Despite that, you were looking down, knowing well looking up would make it harder for the tears to fall.

You pushed in your chair, walking away. You felt the bile rising in your throat, but you couldn't do anything but walk. You hated them all, they were all stupid, undeserving-

"Master (____)?" Alfred's voice cut in. He was the only one who cared, but sometimes you still wondered if he really did care. His tone was gentle, but there was something else beneath it-concern, maybe, or pity. You didn't know which one was worse.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to stand straighter before turning to face him. "Yes, Alfred?"

His eyes, always so knowing, studied you carefully. He didn't need to say anything to make you feel seen, exposed. It was unbearable.

"You hardly touched your meal," he said, nodding toward the barely eaten plate left behind. "Shall I prepare something for later?"

You shook your head. "I'm not hungry."

Alfred didn't press, though you could tell he wanted to. Instead, he simply gave a small nod, stepping aside as if to grant you passage. You took it, walking past him, feeling the weight of the conversation you had just left behind pressing harder on your chest with each step.

The manor was too big. Too cold. Too empty.

Even with all the people in it, all the noise they made, it was hollow. And you... You were just another ghost wandering its halls, unseen and unheard.

You climbed the stairs quickly, your vision blurring as you made your way to your room. The second the door shut behind you, the dam broke. You pressed your back against the wood, sliding down until you were curled up on the floor, your arms wrapping tightly around yourself as silent sobs wracked your body.

Why did you even try? Why did you keep hoping for something that was never going to happen?

Your fingers traced the hem of your sleeve, gripping onto the fabric as if it could ground you, as if it could hold you together when everything else was falling apart. But it couldn't. Nothing could.

You wiped your face roughly, sniffling as you dragged yourself up and onto your bed. Your hands found your pillow, clutching it tightly as you buried your face into it, muffling the sound of your cries. It was pathetic. You were pathetic.

You weren't special in any sort of way like the rest of them, you can admit that. But that doesn't mean they have the right to treat you like you're not even family... Right?

present day, 2 hours prior.

"Alfred," you called while making cookies. "Did you ask... him yet?"

"Yes, I have spoken with your father. He-" Alfred paused for a moment, debating whether he should continue speaking. "He said he was busy and told me we can discuss it later," because the topic was about you. Not because he was busy. Alfred didn't mention that to you though.

"How can I move out then?" You sighed, rubbing your temple despite the flour on your hands. "He knows I'm still a minor, I can't move out without him signing my documents."

You had finished high school two years early with some program. It was to get some acknowledgement in your own house, but you never got that.

Alfred’s expression remained composed, but you saw the way his fingers twitched at your words. He wanted to say something comforting, something that might make you feel less invisible. But there was nothing left to sugarcoat.

“I understand,” he finally said, carefully measuring his words. “However, Master Bruce has made it clear that this conversation is not his priority.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head as you shaped the dough with unnecessary force. “Of course it isn’t. Nothing about me ever is.”

You knew it was immature to have so much hate towards people who you never spoke with, but that exactly was the problem.

They never spoke with you, and you never knew when they would.

a/n: sorry this was so short! was rushing to get it out n barely edited

taglist: @1mawh0re @amber-content @foggyv-oid @kitty-from-daaaa-voidddd @ghostdoodlen @luxuryz3 @soriansick

anyone else who asked to be on the taglist isn't tagable.

#yandere #yandere x reader #tw yandere #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere male #yandere x y/n #male yandere #angst #yandere platonic #platonic x reader #platonic yandere #yandere batboys #yandere batman #batboys #batfamily #batman #batfam #i am cumtastic

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astra-ravana · 4 months ago

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Tips, Fun Facts & Guidelines: From The Grimoire Of Deathful Wombs

☠If you summon a spirit for one purpose, abandon that purpose once the spirit manifests, and then ask for something else instead, the spirit will be furious. Making an additional request impromptu can go alright, so long as the additional request is not too much of a tangent from the original request.

☠The Ars Goetia, which contains 72 demons, was a rewrite of an older grimoire containing 69 spirits. The Ars Goetia included four additional demons and excluded one named Pruflas. 72 relates to the muliebral current of magickal energy, total magickal empowerment, and the Ophidian (draconian/serpentine) current.

☠If you disrespect the demons thoroughly enough, they might attack you, even to the point of having deathly intent. Even when that happens, it is still entirely possible for the deities to forgive you and continue to further your ascent.

☠Forgiveness is easy to get from most spirits, but sometimes forgiveness is partial. Articulated apologies and offerings both make forgiveness easier to get, and making spiritual progress is a big way to regain their favor.

☠Each of us will resonate better with some demons than others from the very beginning of our work. This is based partially upon the idiosyncracies of our physis- you will get the strongest manifestations by working with a demon whose physis is comparable to yours. Invocations of various demons will help you identify which types of spirits you resonate with. The ones most divorced from your physis will be difficult to invoke. By deliberately working with those spirits, you have become gradually attuned to their physis. Not only will this give you the ability to effectively access greater portions of the Numinous, it will strengthen the weak points in your spirituality and balance your own physis. The more balanced your energy is, the more powerful it is.

☠All the deities have their own character, preferences, values, etc. Ra hates psychic vampyres to the extent that he is liable to attack entire covens of them unprovoked, but Tiamat, Qingu, and Absu all love vampyres and are quite interested in their success, evolution, and well-being. Shugara judges people based on character, deeds, and potential. Samael is more strict than most deities.

☠You don't get over shit, you get through it- grieve normally. If you still have an emotional attachment to a bad memory, that means there's something about it you still haven't processed. Spells for emotional healing don't make you weak, they just allow you to cooperate with the spirits who care about you. To rephrase that last sentence: team work makes a dream work.

☠Refuse to distance yourself from the persons and spirits important to you during times of hardship- that's one of the worst things you can do.

☠Do not neglect your own well-being and mundane life for magick. The spiritual high can distract you from your outside life and incline you to procrastinate and neglect your obligations.

☠You'd ve surprised how early in your life certain spirits may have had their eyes on you. Your relationships with them may go back to past lives and/or activities between incarnations. Don't let it bother you if you aren't one of these cases.

☠If spirits call you a fool, that means you're doing the right thing: exploring unfamiliar territory. The Fool symbolizes the initiation process, as does Death. Death also symbolizes change and transformation.

☠Entities who are of a similar spiritual nature to yours or which share the disposition of your personality, will be easier for you to sense, see, hear, channel, evoke, and invoke. There are many factors defining the nature of your personal spiritual make-up, including the state of your alignment with various planetary forces, your Zodiac sign and its alchemical element, your attunement to various types of spiritual energy, and the position of your personality on the spectrum from feminine traits to masculine.

☠Some spirits have their own signature ways to give omens to the magician- Shugara uses the rain, Surgat tampers with locks, and so forth. Omens oftentimes simply serve to either let the witch know the spirit is interested in them or assure the witch of their presence. It's not too uncommon for spirits to hide your shit, appear in clouds, etc.

☠As far as I know, no perfect or omnipotent beings exist.

☠The gods destroy people all the time. Sometimes this can be so subtle that a magickal adept can be destroyed by a deity and think that it's helping them the whole time.

☠If a spirit tells you something you already know or reminds you to do something you already planned on doing, they're doing it for a reason.

☠Offerings do not have to be given during ritual, and you'd be surprised how many different types of viable offerings there are. You can offer fur shed by your pets to a demon (burn it). Fresh picked flowers can be an offering- so can sharing your meal or drink. Incense and lit candles used in ritual can serve as offerings.

☠Demons require offerings for sustenance, but they will only demand them of you if you did something wrong- unless a given offering is simply necessary for a ritual.

☠Ask the demon what they call themselves. If necessary, ask them to explain the symbolism of that title.

☠Consuming part of an offering to a deity takes the essence of that entity into your being.

☠Most practitioners of demon magick have a matron and/or patron demon. When a spirit offers to fill this role, make it official with a personally designed ritual.

☠Refusing to speak about a rite will greatly increase its power, but speaking about it isn't the end of the world.

☠If a deity asks why it should fulfill your request, the right answer is always something to the effect of, "I just wanted your help". Anything else is technically a lie. Lying to a spirit about why you want what you want is a huge mistake, but even the most trustworthy spitits may lie to you about certain things either for your own benefit, to prevent you from knowing a truth you are not ready for, or even just to patronize you. This does not count as hypocrisy on their part- deity-human interactions are a special case.

☠You'll end up looking back at problems you could've solved with black magick.

☠Chances are that whether or not human or animal sacrifice is immoral depends entirely on whether or not it is immoral to kill the person of animal in the first place.

☠Demons hate child abusers.

☠Destructive magick "thins the veil", furthering the alchemical refinement of our universe.

☠Love and lust are very magickally powerful, and sexual interactions with a deity increase your energetic rapport with them.

☠Drawing one of the Goetic sigils is often enough to get the attention of the demon it's attributed to. The demon may even manifest while the sigil is being drawn. Simply looking at any given sigil can make the sigil more powerful permanently. It is even possible to subconsciously activate a sigil by looking at it- this is not a bad thing, nor does it mean that you're being vampyrized by whoever designed the sigil.

☠Some demons think less of you when you think less of yourself. If this becomes a problem with a spirit, tell them you're trying to fix whatever problems you have and ask for assistance.

☠Force yourself to be confident about the effects of a rite during, before, and after its performance.

☠If a particular spirit fills you with intrigue and/or excitement, this means they want to interact with you.

☠When a spirit manifests to give you instructions or warnings, the advice is often as simple as, "do this". "Pay more attention to your surroundings". "Don't trust this person". If a demon tella you things like this, the advice is often necessary for your well-being in your immediate situation. If you plan on doing a rite in the next couple hours and a spirit suddenly tells you to do it at 10:30 specifically, you might find that this is necessary to avoid a grave intrusion.

☠Unless you specifically expect a demon to adhere to its recorded appearance, it will often assume a form hither to unrecorded, even to the extent of changing genders.

☠Even spirits renowned to be the most harsh, demanding, cruel etc. often turn out to have a kinder side.

☠You should only offer your blood to the most important spirits in your path- always seek the guidance of your matron/patron and/or higher self before you offer your blood to a nre spirit. Once you offered blood to a spirit, they are always with you, and their ability to influence you increases. This does not mean that they will take control of you at some point the way people infer. Any amount of blood offered is sufficient to create this connection, and offering more blood later will not strengthen the connection.

☠Cemeteries are great places for demon magick- just don't use them without guidance.

☠Do not think demons are limited to their recorded ranks and attributions.

☠The more you work with, pray to, meditate on, and research an entity, the stronger your energetic rapport with them grows. Generally speaking, when you are thinking of a demon, it is thinking of you.

☠The idea of historical facts is a relatively new invention. Mythical stories often served to contain truth instead of fact. Imagine that a given mythological figure is recorded to have given his last piece of food to a stranger. Such a story would most likely not be intended to relate a specific and factual historical event. Instead, such a story might just serve to convey the mythological figure's generosity.

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nataliescatorccioapologist · 2 months ago

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The “Pomegranate Theory” in Yellowjackets

Background

The Pomegranate Theory is a fan theory in Yellowjackets inspired by the Greek myth of Persephone and Hades. The story follows Persephone, the daughter of Demeter (the goddess of agriculture), after she is captured by Hades and taken to the Underworld, where she is held against her will. Demeter is devastated by the loss of her daughter, and in her grief she neglects her duties as the agricultural goddess, causing all of the crops to wither and a massive famine to spread across the earth.

In the Underworld, if one consumes any food, they will be stuck there forever. Persephone, knowing this, initially declines all of Hades’ offers of food and drinks, no matter how desperately he attempts to get her to consume them. Eventually, Zeus demands Hades to return Persephone to her mother, but before Persephone leaves the Underworld, Hades tricks her into eating 6 pomegranate seeds. Since Persephone consumed food in the Underworld, she is bound to Hades forever. A compromise is reached that, since Persephone ate 6 seeds, she will have to spend 6 months out of every year in the Underworld, while the other 6 months can be spent on earth.

During this 6 month period each year in which Persephone returns to the Underworld, the earth once again becomes cold and barren of crops and greenery due to Demeter’s sorrow; and in the 6 months that Persephone lives on earth, the weather becomes warmer and the plants thrive. These changes become the 4 seasons. Spring and Summer occur while Persephone is on earth, and Fall and Winter occur while she is trapped in the Underworld.

Yellowjackets’ Connection to Greek Myth

Yellowjackets has been known to reference Greek imagery, particularly in one of the show’s most prominent scenes. While the group is eating Jackie in Season 2, we get dissociative flashes of a lavish feast that looks like this:

In these shots, the group is dressed in Grecian tunics, gathered around a table, consuming fruit and wine in a frenzied, euphoric manner reminiscent of the Greco-Roman Bacchanalia. These ancient Greco-Roman festivals, held in honor of Dionysus (or Bacchus), were originally exclusive to women and became infamous for their wild revelry, rumored to descend into violence and occult rituals. The parallels between the Bacchanalia and the group’s descent into savage feasting in this scene are clear and deliberate. This connection has led fans to speculate that Yellowjackets may draw from Greek mythology in more ways than just this moment.

Fans have speculated that Yellowjackets may incorporate elements of the Persephone myth, particularly the symbolism of the pomegranate seeds. In Greek mythology, consuming food in the Underworld binds a soul to it, and in the show, many characters experience death visions or dreams where they are offered food. According to this theory, the forest represents the barren earth, the dream space the characters enter when on the brink of death symbolizes the Underworld, and the Wilderness entity coaxes them into consuming food represents Hades. If a character eats in this realm, they risk being bound to this mystical afterlife, leading to their death in the real world.

Let’s explore the show’s examples of this:

Jackie’s Hot Chocolate

The first time we see this realm between life and death is when Jackie is dying from hypothermia. After she falls asleep outside, she awakens in a dreamlike space in which Shauna leads her back into the cabin. Here, Jackie is offered a cup of hot chocolate from Lottie which she eagerly accepts and drinks from. This shot of Jackie holding the mug of hot chocolate is the last time we ever see her alive, as she is found dead outside in the snow the next morning.

According to the Pomegranate Theory, Jackie unwittingly traps herself in the ‘Wilderness death realm’ (the Yellowjackets equivalent of the Underworld) by consuming the hot chocolate. The moment she takes a drink, she dies on earth and binds herself to the Wilderness forever. The Cabin Guy also appears in Jackie’s death dream, which could imply that he previously consumed something while in this realm and is now trapped there forever as a result.

It could be nothing, but I think it is also important to note that Jackie’s death marks the first snowfall of Winter, similar to how Winter only occurs when Persephone is trapped in the Underworld.

Lottie’s Food Court Dream

We see this Wilderness death realm (for lack of a better word, very open to suggestions) again when Lottie collapses outside in the snow during her hunting battle with Nat. As she loses consciousness, she finds herself in a shopping mall, where her teammates are gathered around a table in the food court, happily eating. Lottie is offered a box of noodles and begins to scoop up a bite—only to be stopped at the last moment by Laura Lee.

Laura Lee disrupts the illusion, warning Lottie that if she doesn’t leave this dream space, she will die. She physically pushes Lottie, jolting her back to reality, where she reawakens in the snow, still alive.

Lottie’s survival hinges on the fact that she does not eat in this scene. The fact that Laura Lee is the one to intervene suggests she understands the consequences—implying that consuming food in this space would have sealed Lottie’s fate. Because she resists, Lottie is able to return to the living world rather than becoming trapped in the Wilderness’s eerie death realm.

Mari and Jackie Parallels

In 3x02, when Coach Ben holds Mari hostage in the caves, he gives her a mug of hot chocolate from the emergency food kit he found. Notably, the lines spoken as Mari drinks from the cup are identical to those in Jackie’s death dream. I feel like it is no coincidence that, of all the things Coach could have given Mari in this scene, she is given the same drink that Jackie consumes in her death vision. And, just like Jackie, Mari takes a drink (quite a few drinks actually).

Additionally, it appears that this might actually be the same mug that Jackie drank from. The setting of the underground caves might also serve as a representation of the Underworld from the Greek myth, as these caves exist beneath the surface level. So, if you believe the in the Pomegranate Theory, things unfortunately aren’t looking too good for Mari. Even though Mari’s scene does not take place within a dream sequence like the others, the parallels between this scene and Jackie’s death along with the potential foreshadowing of Mari falling into a pit in the ground not long before this might be hinting at Mari’s eventual demise.

Akilah’s Berries

The most recent example of a character eating food within a near-death dream space is Akilah at the end of 3x03. After presumably inhaling too much carbon monoxide in the caves and passing out, Akilah finds herself in the forest surrounded by berry bushes. She begins to rapidly consume them all before encountering a talking llama that reminds her “everything with teeth bites.”

Akilah’s consumption of the berries while in a dream state, along with the llama’s warning (crazy sentence) might be foreshadowing to Akilah’s death in the future.

—

You can choose to take this whole theory with a grain of salt, but I personally find it so fascinating and plausible (even if it’s just the show-runners creatively referencing this myth rather than it actually being canon). I feel like this theory will be even more solidified if Mari and Akilah die this season, so time will tell.

In conclusion, if you see one of your favorite characters eating something while in a dream, prepare to mourn.

#my fiancée is Greek so she served as my wise informant for this post #guess who’s procrastinating on an essay they need to do for school again!#it’s me #yellowjackets #Yellowjackets spoilers #pomegranate theory #greek mythology

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starlit-writer · 2 months ago

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loyalty of a guard dog - sub!simon riley x dom!reader (18+ MDNI)

y’all seem to enjoy smut sooooo… have submissive simon riley to tide you over while i finish writing the second part of psychopathy (and the next chapter of in sickness and in health i PROMISE ITS COMING)

cw: dom/sub dynamics, explicit smut, simon has a pantyhose fetish, if you squint there’s stuff with feet (sorry not sorry)

masterlist

simon can’t remember how it started. can barely remember life without you in it, if he’s honest. you have been his tether to sanity for longer than he would like to admit. when everything gets to be too much, the demons in his mind and his past too loud, you are his solace.

but it’s time like this that that part is hard to remember.

the power dynamic at play could not be any more obvious than it is right now. he’s achingly hard. the pain in his knees is starting to burn from where you have him kneeling on the hard wooden floor of your flat, his hands palm up on the top of his thighs - the perfect symbol of devotion, of submission. and you, lounging in front of him without a care in the world. you, still fully clothed, one beautiful leg crossed over the other, while he is fully nude. his neglected cock bobs, desperate for even the smallest bit of attention. his pale, scarred skin is flush, the bright red of a heady mixture of embarrassment and arousal that makes his head spin.

his chest is heaving, a pathetic whimper bubbling in his throat as he stares up at you. you glance down at him, the tiniest smirk playing on your plush lips as you watch him.

“somethin’ wrong, si?”

oh, gods, he’s so fucking gone that even watching the way your lips form around the silk sweet words that come out is fucking pornographic. the whimper finally breaks free as he tries to find the words that are dancing on the tip of his tongue. he swallows thickly, keeping his gaze locked on yours.

“please… please, let me touch you. i just wanna touch you. i’ve been… i’ve been good,” he rasps out.

your smirk widens as his words wash over you. you uncross your legs, teasing him with what lay at the glistening apex of your thighs. “you wanna touch? that all you want?” you reply, voice dripping with smug seduction. you have him right where you want him, hanging on to your every word, and wrapped around your little finger.

simon’s eyes roll back, the desperation and burning need for you, for anything, becoming almost unbearable. but, before anything else, he was a soldier, a loyal guard dog, and a dog follows orders. you told him not to move, to sit and stay, and he would listen, even as his weeping cock, almost purple with pulsating need, bobs up and down to try and get any sort of stimulation. “please, i just need you. need to make you feel good. need you. so, so bad. please, let me have you.”

you hum softly, your deft fingers tracing lightly over your chest, down, down, down until they reach the damp spot between your thighs. you tap the spot once, twice, three times, withholding the jolt of pleasure from showing in your face with an iron will. simon would do anything for you, devotion to the point of obsession, but what he didn’t know is that you would do the same for him. and sometimes, that meant this - teasing the man until he was nearly delirious with need, so deep into that perfect floaty space that he craves so badly after a particularly rough time. your pleasure, at this moment in time, is entirely irrelevant. you have to take care of your boy. “well, how can i deny such a compelling request from my pretty boy, hmm?”

you stand up slowly, letting the skirt of your dress fall back over the sheer black fabric of the tights you have on underneath as you send up a small thanks to whatever deity is listening that you decided to dress up for work today. it drives simon crazy to see you all done like this. you take a single step closer, then another, and another, and another, until you are a mere inch away from where he is kneeling. as you look down at him, you can see the way his body is vibrating as he holds back from touching you. his gaze is pleading, his scarred bottom lip sticking out slightly in a subconscious pout. you bring your hand up to cup one of his cheeks, a small smile playing on your own plush lips.

“you’re so pretty, you know that? such a good boy for me. you look so perfect on your knees like that for me,” you whisper, your voice light with affection as your thumb strokes his cheekbone. “how about this, hmm? tonight, we start slow,” you explain quietly as you bring your foot up to rest against his aching cock.

“it’s late, you just got back from deployment, and i want you to feel good,” you continue as you apply a little more pressure to his cock, which causes him to lean forward slightly, a light whine of pleasure pushing past his lips. “so, no touching with your hands. however, i give you full reign to put that beautiful cock to work between my legs. how’s that sound, love? hmm?”

simon blinks up at you, his pupils blown with wanton desire. it takes a moment for your words to sink in, but as you adjust your stance to better allow him to slot his cock between your stocking-clad calves, he nods vigorously. he lifts his hips up to nudge the head of his cock between the silky nylon, and his eyes roll back in his head again. the bright red flush that has been covering his skin flares back to life, that same mixture of embarrassment and arousal kicking into high gear as he starts to fuck into your calves.

he’s a whining, shaking mess as he tries to get off. but it’s hard not being able to touch you, to not be able to make the pressure between your legs just right, to have to focus all of his energy on staying upright as he fucks into you, or to even just feel the way the black tights you pulled on this morning before going to work feel underneath his palms. the only relief he gets is being able to feel the drag of the silky nylon catch on the head of his cock as the precum dribbling out of him soaks the fabric in earnest.

he feels your fingers tangle in his short, curly blond locks as his hips piston into you, and a wanton moan rips from between his lips as you yank his head back, exposing his throat to you. he hears you laugh, a dark, lilting thing that draws him in like a siren. it’s a promise wrapped in a barbed paper - it’s going to be a long night. “look at you, si. such a pretty fucking cock. too bad it’s being wasted on some stockings, isn’t it? but it just feels too good, doesn’t it? you love the way it feels, and you love being on your knees and humping me like the perfect dog you are, huh?”

he nods again, another pleasured whine pushing past his lips as the motion tugs on his hair deliciously. he knows he should be answering with his words, but he is far too gone to have any semblance of ability to speak coherently. his heart races in time with his hurried, erratic thrusts, his breaths ragged and filled with pleasure as he barrels towards his release. he forces his eyes to open so he can look up at you, his head thrown back in pleasure, his eyes half-lidded and pupils blown.

“please, let me cum. lemme cum, love, please. wanna be so good for you, just… just let me cum.”

you smirk, biting your lip and letting your own head fall back to break the eye contact, pretending like you have to think about it. his pace picks up again, his thrusts so sharp and quick that for the briefest of moments you worry about the possibility of his cock getting the equivalent of rug burn. buy, he hasn’t tapped out verbally or non verbally, so you push the thought aside. you tap your chin, really playing up the theatrics of making this decision before you sigh a little dramatically. “alright, since you asked so sweetly, i give you my permission to cum.”

it does not take long after that word is out of your mouth for his release to come barreling towards him. one thrust more, and his cock is spurting out cum onto the floor behind you, his thrusts become haphazard as he chases the last bits of his orgasm. his breathing is heavy as he starts to come down, his cheek coming to rest on your thigh. you smile, a sense of pride filling your chest as you reach down to cup his cheek again as you let him catch his breath. he nuzzles into your touch before turning his cheek slightly to press a gentle kiss into your palm. you stroke his cheek lovingly as you watch him, looking for any immediate signs of subdrop.

“color?” you ask softly.

“green,” he mumbles against your palms with a smile on his lips. “i fuckin’ love you in stockings.”

you laugh softly, shaking your head slightly in amusement. “c’mon, let’s get you cleaned up and in bed. i promise cuddles and a chinese takeaway for the night with our favorite shitty reality show reruns, yeah?”

—————��————— fin ———————————

(lol that turned out SO much longer than i expected it to be l m f a o but ah well, the brain worms had to be fed. anyways, eat well lovelies and don’t forget to always practice kink safely!!!

#starlit writer #sub!simon riley #dom!reader #simon is a FREAK #smut smut smut #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #submissive!simon riley #dominant!reader #simon riley fanfic #simon ghost smut #simon riley fanfiction #simon ghost riley fanfiction #tf 141 fanfic #tf141 smut #cod fanfic #cod smut

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kamaluhkhan · 8 months ago

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LONG HOT SUMMER NIGHT

pairing: luke castellan x fem!poseidon!reader word count: 8.4k chapter summary: it's the summer solstice and olympus is throwing a party! thalia notices the tension between you and luke, poseidon gives you some relationship advice and you punch the god of desire in the face. warnings: angst! jealous reader. lots of drinking. complicated relationships. reader dealing with ptsd + survivor's guilt (post-titan war). mention of injuries + blood. creepy guy pushing reader to hook up. ending is a bit steamy but no actual smut. spoilers for the entire pjo (book) series. no betrayal (au where chris was the one who sided w kronos and led the titan army) so slightly ooc luke <3 also reader is in a band called the midnight sirens and is born on the summer solstice! author's note: thank you so much for all the love for part 1!! summer is almost over and this is very much a summer series BUT summer's not over yet !!! hope y'all enjoy this one too and thanks 4 reading 💙

part 1 | series masterlist

♪: long hot summer night by jimi hendrix

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Luke Castellan Camp Half-Blood, Half-Blood Hill 3.141 Farm Road Long Island, New York 11954

LUKE!

I’m sitting in my kitchen right now, watching Percy make us blue blueberry pancakes and hoping he doesn’t burn down my kitchen while doing so. I caved and agreed to take him to Disneyland while he’s here and breakfast was part of the deal, but I think I might regret it later.

We went surfing yesterday. It was Percy’s first time, but he was (unsurprisingly) amazing at it. I still can’t get over how beautiful the beaches are and the waves — gods, the waves are unreal. You’d seriously love it here. It’s like every day is summer. You have to come visit. PLEASE come visit!!!!

- [your initial]

P.S. The band and I are working on some new music, which means I won’t make it to camp again this summer. I’m sorry ;( Fingers crossed I’ll make it next year.

P.P.S. hi luke! happy to report that i did not burn down my sister’s kitchen. anyways, can’t wait to kick your ass in sword-fighting this summer. xoxo, percy

THREE YEARS LATER

the first time you visited olympus, you had been sent on a quest to retrieve zeus’ stolen lightning bolt, bringing luke and charles beckendorf along with you. you had missed the summer solstice deadline, but still tried to reason with the king of the gods when presenting the symbol of power, maybe calling him out once or twice along the way. before zeus could strike you down for your boldness, poseidon stepped in. the war between them was averted in fear of a much larger, looming threat; an ominous introduction for what was to come in the next chapter of your life.

another time, the gods debated whether or not they should kill you, some seeing you as a threat to their future. that was the day you accepted your destiny, not wanting your brother percy or your cousin nico to deal with the weight of the great prophecy.

your last visit to olympus was on your 18th birthday, after helping to defeat kronos and his army. you made the gods swear to stop neglecting their kids and to allow all demigods, regardless of whether their parent was an olympian or not, to have a home at camp half-blood; to treat their children as children rather than heroes as pawns in their twisted games.

needless to say, it’s quite strange, being back here under very, very different circumstances, where the gods invited camp half-blood’s senior counsellors and staff to join in their summer solstice festivities.

it’s not every day you’ll be invited to a party on olympus; you’re determined to have a good time, to have fun. there’s already an abundance of music, dancing, food, or alcohol, and the night is just getting started.

you’re happy to be there with new and old friends, but you’re ecstatic when you see that thalia grace is there, too.

“immortality looks good on you, t!” you compliment, raising your voice slightly over the music.

thalia preens, and you bask in her silver glow.

“bet you wish you took the gods up on their offer, huh,” she teases. then, her eyes widen. “oh - shit! it’s your birthday! happy birthday!”

thalia tackles you with another hug; even after all these years, she still smells like pine trees. she grabs two goblets of honeyed wine and hands one to you as you catch up. you eagerly gulp the sweet drink, until you’re reaching for another while listening to her stories about adventures she’d been on with the hunters of artemis.

about halfway through her story about fighting off a manticore during a snow storm, a nymph appears with a platter of the ripest of fruit – sweet plums and fresh figs, tantalising pomegranates, succulent grapes and crisp apples.

“oh my gods, this is the best apple i’ve had in my entire life!” thalia exclaims after indulging in a taste, herself giddy from a few goblets of wine. “where’s luke? he’s gotta try this — he’s always reminding us to eat more fruit. luke!”

you hadn’t kept track of luke, at least not on purpose. you assumed he’d been off partying with van or his siblings, and, probably, avoiding you. wherever he was, thalia calls his name twice more and, like a ghost, luke appears.

“i’m here, t.” luke’s voice is a deep, steady rumble floating above the music. his cheeks are slightly flushed, either from the heat or the drinks. likely both. “what’s up?”

“you need to try this.” thalia shoves the apple in his mouth before luke can respond.

luke takes a bite, and some juice drips down his chin. you, in a honey-soaked haze, think about running your tongue over to catch it, but he beats you to it, wiping it away with the back of his hand.

probably for the best.

“holy shit. yeah, it’s good.”

thalia, a sparkle in her eyes, urges you to try it as well. from across the makeshift triangle the three of you had formed, luke tosses the apple your way. you catch it effortlessly, and sink your teeth into it.

you’ve almost overwhelmed by the burst of flavor. the fruit is just the right amount of tart to balance out the sweetness, and it’s damn near the best crunch you’ve ever experienced.

“good is an understatement,” you say after another bite. a distant memory crosses your mind. “i wonder if these are the same ones we almost got killed by a hellhound for.”

thalia shakes her head, laughing in disbelief. “all because luke said we needed more vitamin c.”

“i was just looking out for us!” luke guffaws. “how was i supposed to know that persephone owned an apple orchard in connecticut?”

you pat his shoulder, the three of you smiling at the memory. “let’s call it an honest mistake.”

“well if annabeth had been with us by then, i’m sure that she wouldn’t have made that same honest mistake.”

“okay, but she’s the daughter of athena —”

you let luke and thalia slip back into their playful bickering as if no time has passed. you listen and continue eating that glorious apple, enjoying how the golden glow of your shared past fills whatever distance might have grown between the three of you.

somewhere down memory lane, luke’s amber eyes flick towards you.

“hey, you’ve got some….” without another word, luke suddenly reaches over to brush away a trail of juice with his thumb before sticking the finger in his mouth to savour the taste. he holds your gaze as he does so, and you feel a familiar kind of heat rush through your body — not from alcohol or summer sun, but from luke.

it’s such an intimate gesture that you almost forget that you’re at some extravagant party on mount olympus, where gods and half-bloods and a whole bunch of other mythological creatures are celebrating the start of summer by essentially getting drunk together, until thalia clears her throat.

“okay, well, seems like the two of you might want some alone time.”

luke’s cheeks grow more flushed than before, and his eyes widen as if realizing what he’d done.

“oh, we don’t need —”

“we’re not —”

you and luke both stumble over your words; thalia just smiles knowingly.

“i’m gonna go flirt with that nymph,” she announces, pointing across the grand marble pavilion.

“i thought — doesn’t artemis sort of frown upon that sort of thing?” you ask.

“she makes exceptions on holidays. besides, i’m her favourite. you guys have fun.” thalia winks at you and walks away.

you glance at luke and, gods, there’s so much history between you.

the time you jumped into an ocean full of sirens to save luke from drowning? you have a scar running down your forearm where one of them scratched you as you struggled to get luke towards the surface.

or when you took turns holding up the sky while on a quest to save lady artemis and defeat the titan atlas? it’s evident in the matching streaks of grey that you each have running through your hair. whenever you see your reflection in the mirror, you remember how you couldn’t save your cousin bianca di angelo earlier that day, and how nico has had to grow up without a sister because of a promise you broke.

how about when you, luke, and one of your best friends were sent on a mission to destroy the princess andromeda, the headquarters of kronos’ army? only the two of you survived, and sometimes you can still feel luke squeezing your hand pike he did during charles beckendorf’s burial shroud ceremony while you both cried.

or when luke took a sword between the ribs for you because he, somehow, knew the one spot the curse of achilles left you vulnerable? he can only slouch for so long before the bones there start to ache.

so, yeah. there’s way too much history, and so many tangled threads, and now really isn’t an ideal time to unravel it all.

“i’m gonna go find my dad,” you blurt out and disappear into the crowd with no real intention of finding your father.

the once sweet apple now tastes rotten on your tongue; you rid yourself of it in exchange for some more wine. you’re determined to have fun — no pain or heartache or grief.

you’ve all had enough of that for three lifetimes.

summer — age 14

“sorry your birthday was ruined.”

luke exhaled sharply when you pressed a disinfectant-soaked cloth to the wound on his leg.

“hold still,” was all you mumbled in response, brows knitted together as you wrapped the cut in gauze.

once you were done with his leg, you moved on to luke’s hands, burned by poisonous acid. the four of you had run into a hydra earlier that night. you managed to wound it enough so you could all get away, but not before a few injuries were sustained.

you were uncharacteristically quiet as you worked. you only met luke’s gaze to warn him before pouring some nectar on his wounds. you let luke hold your hand, tightly, as the liquid dripped through his fingers and down to yours, first right, then left. the pain was instant, seering almost as much as the hydra acid, but it was over quickly. the last thing you did was bandage each hand before getting up.

“i’m…i’m gonna check on thalia and annabeth. i’ll take first watch.”

luke caught your hand before you got away.

“wait. you’re bleeding.” he pointed to the cut on your brow. you had been so preoccupied in making sure everyone else was safe that you let crimson liquid drip down your face. it probably stung, too, based on your grimace.

luke wiped away the blood with his sleeve, used nectar to disinfect the wound, and dressed it with a fresh bandage, working silently as you did.

“it’s still your birthday,” luke finally said once he was done. “you get some rest; i’ll take first watch.”

you gave him a small, strained smile before checking on the others.

later that night, you stayed up with luke anyways.

seemingly out of nowhere, you handed him your portable cassette player. luke stared at it for a moment, unwilling to comprehend just what you were offering and, more importantly, why.

you and luke had grown accustomed to sharing things: flannels, socks, makeshift beds and scavenged food. but this —

it was your aunt’s.

you never met your mother, who’d left you as a baby, and of course, poseidon was too busy tending to his underwater kingdom to step in as a parent. your aunt raised you as her own. and then you lost her, too.

you kept her cassette player buried deep in your bag with some mixtapes she had made and ones you’d stolen throughout the years. when it wasn’t your turn to keep watch, luke would sometimes catch you with headphones on, looking up at the stars.

luke liked to think he knew you well; all those subtle elements that made you — the crack of your knuckles, the cadence of your voice, the slope of your nose, the dreams of your childhood. engraved in his own personhood. bones and all.

and, still: he didn’t know you, not entirely.

you’d only allowed luke to listen with you once, maybe twice. he’d never forget what it was like: knees pressed together and heads just as close to keep the wires from stretching too far; you gushing about the magic of jimi hendrix, recounting memories that echoed through gentle guitar riffs; luke yearning for one more song to play, for another a wistful smile of yours to appear. luke, wishing to linger in your private oasis a beat longer before you pushed him out again and closed the door behind him.

the one lock luke couldn’t crack: your grief, and how you carried on so buoyantly despite its weight.

well, there you were, presenting the key to luke as an offering. a sacrifice for something luke would never ask of you.

“this….” luke swallowed the lump in his throat, refusing to look at you. he turned the device over in his bandaged hands, the metal smooth, though well-worn. “you can’t just —”

leave. you can’t just leave. you can’t just —

“hey.”

your hand over his, forcing him to stop spiralling and look at you.

right away, luke regretted it. a small sliver of him, however delusional, had hoped that you were joking.

you weren’t. behind you, there was an empty space where you had previously wedged your sleeping bag. your backpack was already strapped around your shoulders, fully packed.

“i need to leave, luke. we can’t stay together. it’s too dangerous.”

“you don’t need to —”

“there’s more of us, now,” you interrupted, pulling your hand away to rest on your thigh. “four demigods together isn’t ideal. we’ve been attracting more monsters. more deadly monsters.”

“that would happen, anyways. it always has whether it’s the four of us, the two of us, or….”

luke stopped his sentence short, not even wanting to give you the idea to go out on your own, even though you’d probably been thinking about leaving for some time.

you made reckless decisions sometimes, but this didn’t seem to be one of them.

“well, it’s happening more.” your voice was steady, too steady. luke imagined you rehearsing just what to say to counter the inevitable backlash.

luke shook his head. “i’d be dead if it weren’t for you.”

“you almost died because of me,” you clipped. you lifted a hand to touch the bruise on luke’s jaw, but let it drop just as quickly. “you know that children of the big three cause more trouble. maybe we managed it when it was the two of us, but now, there’s more to consider. a child of poseidon and a child of zeus, travelling together. it’s like we’re asking to be killed. it’s too dangerous.”

“that’s our life,” luke snapped. “you can’t just run from it.” from us.

you faltered, looking back to where annabeth and thalia were sleeping peacefully.

oh. he must have said that last part out loud, too.

“you know i’m right,” is all you said.

luke could only shake his head again. because, fine, you weren’t entirely wrong. it was more dangerous — but it was danger luke hoped you’d all face, together.

“i’ve made up my mind,” you added, an anchor in the sand.

“don’t leave.” luke’s words came out as a prayer. if he offered something, maybe you’d stay.

you paused to take a shaky breath. “this isn’t goodbye, luke. i swear to poseidon…fuck, i swear to all the gods that this isn’t goodbye.”

luke couldn’t speak. there were tears bubbling in his throat, threatening to spill.

“so, keep this for me,” you whispered, once again placing your hand on top of luke’s. his fingers gripped your cassette player tightly, like it was the only piece of driftwood leftover from a shipwreck, keeping him from sinking into the cold, dark nothing. “you’ll give it back when we see each other again.”

a promise.

“fine,” luke conceded, though he wanted to scream at you. he wanted to argue like little kids — petty, loud, meaningless, back and forth until tears streamed down cheeks and throats were raw.

but, you were leaving, one way or another. luke didn’t want this shared memory to be tainted if it might be your last.

“you have to take this, then. give it back when we see each other again.”

luke removed the chain from around his neck, the one that held the key to his childhood home. he placed it around yours, instead.

he didn’t need the key now, but his mother had given it to him when he was six. before he knew what it meant to be the son of hermes, god of thieves.

call him sentimental, but luke had kept it. just in case he ever got lost.

“if you’re ever back in connecticut, you have a home.”

“yeah, okay.” you smiled softly.

it fell just as quickly.

“take care of them,” you told him. “of yourself, too. i’ll see you again when it’s safe.”

luke didn’t ask when it would be safe, because the truth is that it might never be.

“because you want your cassette player back?” luke joked, instead trying to lighten the mood, to capture one last moment of brightness.

you laughed softly to not wake the others.

“yeah. that too.”

you pressed your forehead to his, something you hadn’t done since you were kids.

“i’ll see you again,” you repeated.

without another word, you got up and jogged away. luke shut his eyes, refusing to see you become nothing but a shadow.

(you looked back several times, but he couldn’t see through the darkness.)

now

call the gods out on their bullshit (you encourage it), but if they have one thing going for them, it’s that the olympians know how to throw a party.

the night grows darker, yet somehow becomes more lively. demeter and persephone had supplied a generous amount of fresh, decadent fruit, and dionysus an even more generous amount of wine. apollo starts a karaoke corner and you’re just tipsy enough to agree to sing a duet with him in order to break the ice. apparently, he’s a big midnight sirens fan and had seen your band when you headlined at glastonbury festival. you smile to yourself, imagining your bandmates’ faces if you told them that the god of music had watched you perform.

as you hand the microphone to a giggling dryad, the sound of your name washes over like gentle waves on a shore.

“if it isn’t my sweet, summer child!” your father brings you in for a hug and an ocean breeze engulfs you — salt and sand and sun.

“hi dad,” you exhale as you pull away.

you hadn’t seen each other in a while, but poseidon looks the same. he’s dressed in a turquoise hawaiian shirt and birkenstocks with a crown of seashells on his head. there’s a cocktail umbrella in his glass, a slice of pineapple wedged onto the rim. you’re about to ask him how he managed to secure a pina colada and where you might find one, too.

“that was quite the performance!” poseidon takes an eager sip of his drink, green eyes sparkling like sea glass in the sun. “i must tell you: your newest album is all the rage in atlantis. the nereids and merpeople can’t seem to get enough of it and, truthfully, i find myself playing it on repeat as well. you’re quite talented.”

you try not to let your shock slip through, instead smiling and asking how things are in his underwater kingdom, but you’re….touched at your father’s unexpected praise.

the gods aren’t perfect, and your father is no exception. they’re divine beings who have time to conceive children, but not to raise them. there’s a long history of them abandoning, mistreating, and manipulating their own offspring. of course, being the prophecy child, it became practically impossible for your father to ignore you; you’re sure that being dubbed the saviour of olympus gives him bragging rights with his immortal family. even with their sworn promise to change, it’s impossible not to resent the gods in some ways.

still, you feel comforted by your father's presence at times — when you catch the perfect wave on your surfboard, for example, or when you sit on your fire escape during a storm after a bad day. it’s been like that pretty much all your life: poseidon there in spirit, not in practice. despite everything, he’s watched over you, and percy, throughout the years.

and here poseidon is now, grinning at you like you’re his pride and joy.

“enough about aquatic politics.” he pats your shoulder enthusiastically after telling you about the struggles of keeping humans from overfishing. “i came over to wish you a happy birthday. and to give you this.”

poseidon reaches into the pocket of his shirt and hands you something you’d long thought gone: a leather cord with several clay beads and a silver key.

“i found it off the california coast,” he explains. “i kept meaning to get it to you, but i suppose time has a way of getting away from us, immortal or not.”

a warmth grows in your chest as you run your thumb over your old camp necklace, bright and full. it had fallen off one day when you’d gone surfing, and you assumed it was lost to the ocean. you'd been given a fresh leather cord when you arrived at camp earlier this summer, but it felt empty. hollow.

“thanks, dad.”

you smile at him as you put on the necklace; it feels like coming home. your father then asks you about your summer so far.

you tell him all about your life as of late, until you catch a glimpse of luke with van on a marble bench at the other end of the pavilion. van is sitting in luke’s lap, and they lean over to whisper something in his ear before kissing his cheek.

you freeze mid-way through your sentence.

sensing the shift in mood, poseidon frowns. he turns his head to follow your gaze.

“ah.” poseidon turns back to you and clears his throat. “now, i don’t mean to pry, but i saw you earlier with the castellan boy.”

you flush at the fact that your moment with luke was witnessed by your own father. “dad —”

“did you know in ancient greece, throwing someone an apple and having them catch it is considered a marriage proposal?”

“i’m pretty sure that was disproven,” you scoff.

poseidon raises an eyebrow at you, clearly amused. “which one of us was actually there, hm?” and though you roll your eyes, you can’t argue with that. “i just wanted to know if there was a wedding happening in the near future.”

you almost choke on the last remnants of your wine. “dad.”

“i’m kidding. i’m kidding! mr. castellan seems otherwise occupied.”

“yeah, it does seem that way,” you grumble.

poseidon puts a hand on your shoulder, firm but reassuring. “regardless: if you find someone who would go to tartarus and back with you, someone who would fight alongside you every step of the way, you hold on to them. there’s only so much time you mortals have on this earth.”

you sigh — easier said than done — but your father is trying, so you manage a nod.

“i’ll keep that in mind.”

“now, i better go — ” poseidon looks over your shoulder, where the air behind you starts to feel staticky. “it seems a disagreement is brewing between zeus and hades. they always get into it whenever dionysus makes the wine a bit too strong. brother, put away the lightning bolt —” and he rushes away to prevent another divine conflict from arising.

left to your own devices, you venture over to the food table, finding an array of fresh and dried fruit, breads, cured meat, fresh oysters and, of course, more wine. you grab a goblet and a few dried figs.

“careful, i heard dionysus made the wine extra strong tonight,” someone warns, creeping up beside you. the voice is soft and alluring, and you feel something tug at your heart.

you do a double take when you turn to them; the person is devilishly handsome, a golden aura paired with a golden smile.

(you will soon find out that the god flirting with you is the son of ares and aphrodite, the latter of which takes the appearance of whoever the onlooker loves. as it turns out, her son appears in the same way.

all this to say: it doesn’t mean anything that this god looks like luke castellan to you.

it doesn’t mean anything at all.)

“i’m eros.”

“hey. i’m —”

“i know who you are, savior of olympus.” eros winks at you. “i just never realized you were so beautiful.”

your cheeks heat up as you take a sip of your drink.

oh, shit.

okay. the literal god of desire and pleasure is flirting with you.

you’re flattered, really, and maybe the wine has gotten to your head, but you’re not eager to turn him away.

“well, i’ve definitely heard about you, and the rumors do not do you justice,” you quip, painting on a flirtatious smile.

eros puffs out his chest, clearly pleased.

over the next few minutes, you decide that eros can hold a decent conversation, asking you the classic first date questions about your likes and dislikes, and he’s cute enough that you wouldn’t mind things going further.

(he might be a god, but he’s no luke. you push that thought away, and force yourself to flirt with helios. eros. right, eros.)

eros leans in close, pretends to listen to you, lets his gaze drop every so often to the deep v-neck of your shirt.

“no way! 13 going on 30 is a classic,” you argue. you nudge your shoulder into eros’s playfully, and let the contact between you linger. eros, the inspiration for cupid himself, has angel wings, and you feel them brush softly against your burning skin.

“it’s totally overrated!” eros exclaims. “also, the childhood friends to lovers trope gives people false hope.”

“it’s not false hope. it’s about the buildup to their happily ever after,” you reason, swallowing some wine to dislodge the lump in your throat.

eros shakes his head. “trust me, baby, it’s all about the instant attraction. that’s where the excitement is.”

he’s so close now, you can smell the sharp alcohol on his breath. not wine, but something stronger.

“oh? what do you mean by that?” you lean impossibly closer, trailing a finger down his chest.

eros smirks, placing a hand on your thigh. “want me to demonstrate?”

not even a second after you whisper a yes, eros crashes his lips onto yours, and you will yourself to kiss back. he slides his tongue in your mouth, runs his hands over your body.

you’re making out with the god of desire and passion, so, objectively, it’s a good first kiss: soft around the edges and firm where it needs to be.

sure — you feel nothing, no real spark, but it’s almost enough to fill the hole in your heart in the shape of a certain son of hermes.

the son of hermes who has moved on and is in a loving relationship with a perfect emotionally available partner.

so, it’s fine.

this, this thing with eros, is fine.

you’re fine.

eros pulls away first, but keeps a hand on your cheek.

“let's get out of here.”

he grabs your wrist before you have a chance to answer. you stand up, let him weave you through the crowd towards the stairs of the pavilion. apparently, his room is just through the garden.

as he tugs you along, he looks back at you, smiling. under the glow of the stars, eros looks just like luke, except it’s becoming harder to ignore that he isn’t luke and that makes you feel all sorts of nauseous. your camp necklace weighs on your chest and, in particular, the silver key that you’d kept for all those years burns through your skin.

lightheaded, you pull away from eros’ grip just as you reach the top of the stairs and place a hand on the column next to you to steady yourself.

eros turns around sharply. “what is it?”

“i changed my mind, actually. let’s just…keep talking here.”

eros grabs your wrist again, his grip tighter than before. “don’t be a tease.” his tone is ever-so-gentle, but there’s an edge behind his words.

this time, your voice comes out more assertive. “i just changed my mind. that doesn’t make me a tease.”

“come on, baby, don’t you wanna experience what real passion is? this is a once in a lifetime opportunity that a million girls would kill for. you’d be an idiot to pass it up.” he brags, and you’re this close to breaking this guy’s nose, god or not.

“i don’t care,” you snap, struggling to break free from his grip. “and i’m not your baby.”

“okay, whatever,” eros rolls his eyes, but quickly plasters on an arrogant grin. “we’ll go somewhere private and i’ll call you whatever you want.”

he manages to drag you down two steps as you strain against his iron grip, now almost cutting off your circulation. your heartbeat quickens and you feel dizzy. finally, you grab onto the railing for leverage and use your strength to rip out of his grip, forcing eros to stop in his tracks.

“what is it now?” he snaps, whipping his head around once more.

he looks nothing like luke, now.

“just stop, eros.”

“listen,” he starts, speaking to you almost mockingly, like you’re a naive little kid. so much for being the savior of olympus. “trust me, i know what people want, so you don’t have to be shy. i promise to be the best you’ve ever had —”

“eros, is it?” the rest of the party is in full motion, but here’s percy, giving eros one of the most intense death stares you’ve ever seen. percy, your little brother who talks to lonely fish at the aquarium; who, if you cut open, would bleed blue m&m’s; who would never let anyone, god or otherwise, hurt someone he loves. “i’m gonna have to ask you to let go of my sister.”

“mind your own business, kid,” eros hisses. “we’re kinda in the middle of something.” he tries to move you down another step, but you stand your ground.

annabeth, no longer the scared little seven year old you, luke, and thalia found behind a dumpster, is also glaring at liam from the top of the stairs. one of her hands rests firmly on her belt, where she keeps her dagger.

“i’d back off, if i were you,” she warns. “wouldn’t want to cause a scene.”

“just mind your own business,” eros snarls.

“they said leave her alone,” thalia asserts, walking over once she sees what’s happening. “and you don’t wanna mess with us, trust me.” she clenches her hand into a fist.

“who the fuck are you? her bodyguards?”

“just let her go,” percy orders. “my sister can do a lot better than a minor god with a major god complex.”

eros growls, baring his teeth at percy. “you impertinent little shit.”

as soon as eros lunges for your brother, you tug one of his wings towards you, hard. he whips around and you take the opportunity to punch him in the face. he doubles over, golden ichor gushing from his nose.

“i’d be careful if i were you, baby,” you seethe. “you wouldn’t want to go up against the demigods who led an army against kronos and won. unless, of course, humiliation is a kink of yours.” you laugh humorlessly at the way eros scowls at your words. “to each their own,” you continue. “but i’m not in the mood to fuck an entitled creep with angel wings to compensate for his tiny dick. you better fucking respect that, and leave us alone while you’re at it.”

eros’ flirtatious smile is long gone, replaced with the kind of anger only entitled, self-important jerks have when they don’t get what they want and they’ve taken a few blows to their ego.

call it stupidity or arrogance, but his only response is a punch delivered right back to your face.

you hear a crack upon impact, and pain radiates from your nose. you stumble, but percy manages to reach out and catch you before you fall down the stairs. he holds you as thalia and annabeth create a barrier between you and eros. you hear them shouting at eros over the music, but their exact words don’t register.

you lick your lips, tasting blood. your ears are ringing, and everything is suddenly all fuzzy. percy tries his best, but you slump your body weight into his and he almost topples over.

“i’ve got her.” luke’s calm and measured voice cuts through the chaos. you feel a strong, familiar arm wrap around your waist to steady you. “from what i remember, you were too much of a coward to even step foot on the battlefield, so i’d listen to her if you know what’s good for you.” in a haze, you guess that luke is directing his sharp words towards eros, before turning to the others and instructing: “you guys take care of this — find clarisse if you need back up.”

somehow, you find yourself over in a small secluded temple, sitting on a window bench overlooking the clouds as luke sits next to you.

like most of olympus, the building is made of marble with gold accents; this one has roses engraved on the walls, and the space smells like flowery perfume. it’s much quieter than the pavilion, though you can hear laughter and music in the distance. it’s cooler, too, but not by much; even without all the body heat, you're left with sticky summer air, and luke’s breath on yours, sweet with wine and ripe fruit, as he carefully examines your injury.

you feel your head spinning all over again. maybe it’s the alcohol, or the adrenaline, or the fact that the two of you haven’t been this close in a while — probably a dangerous mix of all three.

you know (from trying not to but ultimately not being able to pull your attention away from him after all) that he’s had a few drinks as well; it seems like the two of you ignore each other best when you’re sober.

“thought the curse of achilles would protect you from nosebleeds.”

“guess it doesn’t protect against —” what did percy call eros? “ — minor gods who have major god complexes,” you recite.

luke looks slightly amused. “that’s a shame,” he hums. “would have been nice to get one birthday without being injured.”

a smile creeps onto your face, despite the dull ache from your nose.

“you remembered.”

“of course i remember,” luke almost scoffs like the mere suggestion of forgetting what day you were born is an insult to his very character. he meets your gaze, and you could melt when he offers you that lopsided smile of his, painfully familiar. “happy birthday, aquagirl,” and it’s the softest he’s spoken to you in a while. just like old times.

he remembers.

somewhere within him, luke holds on to fragments of you.

he wipes the blood off your face, the sleeve of his silk white button-down now stained crimson. “how’s your hand?” he asks.

you flex your fingers. “it’s been better,” you answer, your knuckles slightly aching. “totally worth it.”

“i guess all those years away didn’t change anything. still willing to put a god in their place, huh?”

all those years away.

the reminder feels like a stab to the heart, and you’re worried that it might burst the comfortable bubble you and luke had drunkenly stumbled into.

thankfully, luke continues:

“the kids really take after you.”

he says as a joke, mostly, but there’s a sincerity in those deep brown eyes of his, too. something you also hadn’t seen from him in a while.

the kids, who you’d in some ways raised together when monsters were trying to kill you and the gods didn’t care enough to stop it.

the family you and luke had built together despite being born into the world of greek tragedies.

“as if annabeth wasn’t threatening to pull the dagger you gave her, skywalker,” the nickname rolling off your tongue with ease. “besides, they’re not kids anymore.”

“yeah.” he pauses. “neither are we.”

luke’s fingers trace your camp necklace, brush against your collarbone. the breath hitches in your throat.

here you are again, at the edge of something real and very scary, and you fear luke is going to push the two of you over.

but he doesn’t. instead, luke suggests, jokingly: “maybe we should start a fight club at camp.”

you take that as a good sign: like you, he’s hoping to preserve the playfulness between you before everything else seeps in and ruins it. before you’re brought back to the present, where you’re practically ignoring each other.

where you’re fine, but really.

you snort. “chiron and mr. d would love that.”

“like they’d ever find out!” luke explains. “you know the first rule of fight club —”

“don’t talk about fight club,” you finish together.

luke laughs, even though it’s not that funny. you laugh, too.

and that’s the thing that really, truly gets you.

try as you might to ignore it, some days it’s hard to forget the pain and heartache and grief.

you still feel like your life is a battlefield; you still see the ghosts of everyone you couldn’t save even though people call you a savior; you still have those scars, inside and out, that seemed healed but ache every once and a while.

but that isn’t all.

sometimes it hurts more thinking back to the good times and knowing, deep down, you can never go back.

summer — age 13

“ugh — you think with all their power, the gods could help stop global warming,” you groaned, swatting away a mosquito that tried to land on you. “do you think they have air conditioning on olympus?”

“oh, for sure,” luke quipped. he gave you a lopsided smile, his curls sticking to his forehead, drenched in sweat.

it was the summer solstice, the longest and the hottest day of the year so far. the two of you had found a perfectly good hideout, but luke insisted that this place would be worth the move.

he’d been leading you down side streets for what felt like forever. the sun had already set, and you were very close to passing out from the heat, until luke finally stopped at a door behind an alley, with a sign reading CLOSED FOR RENOVATIONS.

luke knelt down to do whatever son-of-hermes lock magic he had to do to get the door open. he flipped a switch, and you winced at the sudden overwhelming brightness.

the destination was different than the hideouts you usually sprung for: those small, hole-in-the-wall type places. instead, this space was big and bright, filled with arcade games and fun posters and neon colours. the type of place a kid might have a party or where a group of normal teenagers might spend their friday night.

“what…what is this?”

“you thought i forgot, didn’t you?” luke smirked at you. he sat down on the colourful carpet, taking out some snacks, a small plastic bag with coins, a wrapped box, and a plastic blue crown, and gestured for you to join.

you did, in fact, think that luke had forgotten your birthday.

birthdays were bittersweet for children of gods, who were constantly reminded that any year could be their last, their youth cut short by monsters or prophecies or a fatal flaw. all the two of you usually did on either birthday was split any sweet treat you could get your hands on.

it wasn’t a big deal, really, to skip that tradition of yours. there were much more urgent things to worry about, like finding food and water and shelter, and not being devoured by monsters.

you did think it was strange that luke hadn’t so much as said happy birthday to you all day, but you knew that he loved you.

(like a friend loves a friend. nothing else, no matter how much your stomach fluttered at the thought of him.)

“i wanted to surprise you,” luke explained once you claimed your spot next to him. he reached over to place the crown on your head. “i found this place a few days ago during a food run. it reminds me of where we had your —”

“eighth birthday party, yeah.” you smiled at the memory of running around and feeding quarters to every machine and trying every game, of your classmates singing happy birthday to you off-key before you all stuffed your faces with sickly sweet confetti cake.

truthfully, you never thought about having another celebration like that again.

but, it was five years from that faded childhood memory, and luke was presenting you with something you didn’t even realize you had needed: the chance to be a kid again.

“so,” luke got up, a wide smile on his face. he held the plastic bag in one hand, extending the other to you. “which do you wanna play first?”

you started with space invaders, then moved on to dragon’s lair and pac-man. you took a break before street fighter ii so that luke could ceremoniously light a candle and present a cupcake that had been tossed around in his bag (but you were still very, very grateful for), along with fresh batteries for your portable cassette player. he had made you a mixtape too, though you couldn’t figure out how.

your last stop was a photobooth. you vowed to keep those pictures — a collection of you and luke together, smiling bright and colourful, goofing off and laughing — for the rest of your life.

now

those moments from past summers are like popsicles melting in the sun: tangible for a limited time before leaving you with a sickly sweet mess of what once was.

you think about what happened earlier, how percy, annabeth, and thalia stepped in to protect you, still the brave kids you had once known so well. how luke is here with you now, taking care of you so tenderly even after you’ve silently agreed to give each other the cold shoulder.

maybe luke is right. maybe all those years away didn’t change anything.

except — once you leave this temple and the alcohol leaves your system, it won’t be the same.

none of you are kids anymore, if you ever even were.

“why’d you go for eros, anyway?” luke asks, breaking you away from your thoughts. he removes his sleeve from your nose since the bleeding seems to have finally stopped.

“you really wanna know?”

“yeah. most gods are assholes. and you’re…” luke places a hand close to your leg, pinky finger brushing your thigh. “you.”

“i went for eros because….well, honestly, i don’t think i cared who it was, as long as they made me forget you,” you admit, because what did you have to lose. you probably have a broken nose, you definitely have blood on your shirt, and your time with luke is running out.

luke’s eyes darken. his fingers start to play with the hem of your shorts.

“did it work?” his voice is a whisper, but he’s close enough that he’s crystal clear.

“no.”

it’s hard to determine who leans in first, but soon enough your lips are on luke’s — messy and urgent. noses bumping together, teeth clacking against each other. he cradles your face in his hands, and you move to straddle his waist. you taste wine on his tongue, and maybe a hint of sweet pears, but it’s overwhelmed by the salty, metallic taste of blood stained on your lips. when you run out of air, you pull away. it’s clearer now: you’re not dizzy from the alcohol or adrenaline, but dizzy from him. luke’s gaze is heavy on yours as he traces your top lip with his thumb.

“luke,” you whimper, itching to kiss him again.

“you’re still bleeding.”

luke wipes away the blood with his thumb. before either of you can do or say anything more, there’s an echo of footsteps on the marble floor. a flower nymph, there to leave an offering and let you know that, while aphrodite encourages acts of love, she prefers it doesn’t happen in her place of worship.

you realize that aphrodite also might not look so fondly at you kissing someone else in her place of worship after publicly rebuking her own son.

luke untangles himself from you, and you know that he’s been jolted back to reality, too.

and, just like that, another moment has melted away.

your father was right. time has a way of slipping away for us, immortal or not.

summer — age 18

“hey, you awake?”

“yeah,” you replied softly. sleep hadn’t been easy, in the days and weeks and months leading up to that final battle with kronos and his army.

and once it was all over?

you rested your head on luke’s shoulder, sword discarded at your feet and armour half-removed, as argus, the hundred-eyed security guard of olympus, drove a school bus with a dozen or so demigods back to camp.

“why’d you turn down their offer?” luke whispered.

oh.

"why...why do you ask?"

"i don't know." luke paused. "just curious, i guess."

you closed your eyes and replayed that moment on olympus when you refused the gift of immortality. the look of shock written on the gods’ faces. and on luke’s.

“i don’t care about living forever,” you told him bluntly.

forever seemed too long, especially for someone who was prophesied to die at 18.

you tilted your head up to meet luke’s gaze, and his messy curls brushed against your forehead. evidence of the battle was clear on his face: caked-on dirt and blossoming bruises and dried blood.

behind him, outside the bus window, the world was flying by. a child who had fallen off their bike being comforted by a friend. two people sharing an mp3 player and a pair of earbuds. an elderly couple walking their dog.

“you once told me that this was our life,” you continued, gesturing towards the weapons and battle-worn kids, some quiet, others crying, many injured. “what if it didn’t have to be?”

luke furrowed his brow. “do you mean….are you talking about leaving?”

you shrugged. running from monsters for your entire childhood then being the child of the great prophecy was a lot.

a break might be nice.

there was so much about the world, the one you’d fought and bled to protect, that you wanted to experience.

maybe something closer to a normal life.

“would you ever leave camp?” you wondered, not really answering luke's question.

“no,” luke replied instantly. his fingers started fiddling with the beads on his necklace. “i can’t just walk away, not after everything.”

“yeah, i get that.” and you did; you really, truly, did. the guilt of wanting to leave camp curled in your stomach like a venomous snake. you took a shaky breath. “let’s talk about this later, yeah? i’m tired, and we have the rest of — ”

the rest of the summer slipped away in the blink of an eye. gone, before you even had a real chance to say goodbye.

you closed your eyes and held on to luke, as if gripping his arm would anchor you to something you weren't ready to let go of, but in some ways needed to move on from.

it was no use, though.

by the end of august, you’d be gone too.

now

you learned early on that the curse of achilles doesn’t protect you from hangovers.

you wake up the morning after the celebration on olympus with a deep, throbbing pain lodged in your temple and an uncomfortable swirling in your gut. parties and late nights at bars are common on tour, which means migraines are, too, so you have a routine to make sure you’re not out of commission for too long.

except this time, the aspirin and blue gatorade and dry toast don’t work. the sting in your brain and uneasiness in your stomach doesn’t go away, even after a few days. you haven’t been able to sleep, either.

desperate for a cure, you consult lou ellen, head counsellor of the hecate cabin, who you’d unexpectedly grown close to in the past few weeks. she mixes something for you, while asking if there’s something that’s been weighing on you.

you couldn't keep it in anymore; you tell her about the summer solstice and luke.

later, with nothing but your thoughts and percy’s snoring occupying your time post-curfew, you grab your phone and flip it open, deciding to finally reach out to luke, when you get a text from him.

luke is already on the beach when you arrive, looking out onto the water.

“hey,” you greet as you sit next to him on the sand, but not too close. “i was actually about to text you —”

“did you tell anyone that we kissed?” he interrupts. you can’t quite read his expression as he waits for you to answer.

“no, i didn’t,” you lie. “would it matter if i did?”

“well, i mean, word travels fast around camp, and i don’t want van finding out. it’s not like it meant anything.”

the throbbing in your brain becomes a sharper sting, the uneasiness in your stomach a tidal wave of nausea.

“it didn’t?” you hate how fragile your voice sounds, compared to luke’s stoic demeanor.

luke shrugs. “i mean, we were both drunk and the thing with eros happened…we just got caught up in the heat of the moment.”

“you’re saying there’s nothing between us, then? nothing?” the word tastes bitter in your mouth.

luke turns away before he answers. “no. nothing.”

“then what about last summer?” you demand. you force yourself to keep it together, your tone firmer than before. “i guess that didn’t mean anything, either.”

“y/n…” he sighs. “i don’t know what you want me to say. we’re barely even friends anymore. you come back here, after all this time, after so much shit happened, and expect us all to drop everything to fit you back into our lives. but, you don't. whatever you came here for, it's not here for you. there's nothing to go back to. we moved on. i moved on, and i can’t deal with you —"

“got it,” you snap, already turning to walk away. “loud and fucking clear, luke.”

it’s not like it meant anything. we’re barely even friends anymore.

you replay luke’s words as you crawl into bed, holding back tears so as to not disturb percy. finally, you swallow a generous amount of whatever concoction lou ellen had brewed up for you.

drifting off into your own sleep, you decide that you don’t love luke anymore. not as a friend, not as a.....

nope.

according to luke, there's not even anything to go back to.

nothing.

#feel free to comment + reblog <3 #saf writes #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan fanfic #luke castellan #percy jackson #pjo fanfic #pjo series #pjo x reader #luke castellan angst

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klemen-tine · 1 year ago

Text

Glass Bones and Paper Skin Part 2

Platonic! Bruce x Model! GN! Reader

First Part

Part 3

Trigger Warnings: Hint at suicide, Body Issues, Eating problems (not a disorder), Child Neglect, stalking

This is more of the family side than it is of Bruce. Next part will be everyone.

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“Young Master Y/N, what a pleasant surprise.” Y/N smiled at Alfred, opening their arms and sagging in relief once they hugged the butler. The three hour car ride had been tense, with everyone asking questions and Y/N trying their hardest to be polite while not losing it. The fashion show still fresh in their mind, and the clothing Francesca had given them was gently folded and placed in the trunk of the car.

“It is good to see you, Alfred. It’s been too long.” The old man huffed, “Indeed. A year of only phone calls and cards does make it seem like it was a century ago since I last saw your face… in person.” Y/N smiled, giving Alfred a playful look before remembering where they are and how they got here.

The smile on their face became practiced, expression smoothening out as they turned to face the rest of the family who were all waiting patiently. Dick was smiling brightly, unraveling his scarf and walking forward, “Hey Alfie, you should have seen our Y/N walk. They really made the show.”

“I find it insulting they made you walk last,” Damian chimed and crossed his arms. Y/N gave him a small smile, “Being a closer is as much of a compliment as being the opener.” The young boy scrunched his nose, “I preferred the show in Paris.”

“Francesca Gabbana designed the piece, Alfred you’ll have to see it.” Tim was the one carrying the case that had the piece in it. The old man hummed, “I saw it on the television, but perhaps seeing it in person will be better.” Jason shrugged, walking in and gently nudging Y/N with his larger shoulders, “Although, did she have to make the Bat symbol just the front piece? It barely covered anything.” Y/N could see his jaw clench like the very thought of other people seeing Y/N’s stomach.

Bruce was the last to walk in, shrugging off his coat and hanging it over his arm, “Fashion designers do not care about function, only beauty.” Y/N smiled tensely, “It is a form of art.” The older man smiled at Y/N, and the model couldn’t get rid of the image of the Bruce they saw backstage.

“Of course it is. One of the most demanding forms of art as well.” Y/N couldn’t place the tone, but there was a sudden shift in the atmosphere. Alfred shuffled, “Well, dinner is almost ready. Young Master Y/N, if you want you can wash up in one of the guest bathrooms. Your room is currently being used as a trophy room.” Y/N chuckled, “Oh dear, you’re not hanging up my photos are you?”

“I did tell you I would be.” Y/N shook their head, “Thanks Alfred, but I don’t have any clothes here.” An arm swung around their shoulder, and Y/N stiffened under the sudden touch. Jason was smiling at them, “C’mon Y/N, we have some clothes for you.” Y/N felt the sudden spike again in their spine, alerting them that something was amiss and only bad things would happen if they asked questions. From how everyone was looking at them, Y/N specifically, it was like they were waiting for Y/N to ask. Impatiently waiting for that landmine to explode in front of them.

“How kind of you, I wasn’t expecting that.” Y/N jumped over it.

“Of course! How could we not have clothes ready for when our younger sibling comes home. Even though it’s been almost three years, I hope everything still fits right.” Just to land on another landmine. Y/N kept the smile on, years of being talked down to by photographers have helped them create the perfect mask of politeness.

“So, which bathroom in which guest room?” Tim stepped forward and gently guided Y/N out from under Jason’s arm and further into the manor. Y/N stayed half a step behind, taking in the gothic manor and the decorations littering the hallway.

Out of all the siblings, Y/N is closest with Tim. Not really siblings, and not really even friends, but if his relationship could be described as a length rope attached to each person, Tim’s would be the second shortest. Right after Alfred. They are close in age, and Tim was the first one to comment on Y/N’s photo when Y/N had first started modeling.

It was only once, and it may have been in passing, but Y/N had held that interaction close to their heart. The first and last comment from a sibling about their modeling. An acknowledgement of sorts, that made Y/N momentarily believe that they were noticeable, only for that to be squished that same day.

“You’re photo in the Cosmetology magazine, it looks really good. Red suits you.”

The way that color looked on Y/N was the same as how a red rose looked on a green stem; like it was always meant to be. Y/N has seen the comparisons between them and their mother. M/N L/N was a beautiful woman, with large eyes and pouty lips, the very definition of innocence. A puppy-dog look that fit so naturally on her face.

A white rose.

While Y/N had a more sultry tone, a more powerful presence, one that demanded attention.

A red rose. Not so innocent, or pure, but who can be when you see your own mother dead in the bathtub. Drug allegations and the loss of her popularity caused her downfall, and she loved her popularity more than she loved her child. Y/N finds it hard to blame her, because after they have gotten a taste of what beauty can get them, they can see why their mother got addicted to the camera flashes.

The assurance that yes, they are beautiful. They are beautiful and worthy of the cameras.

But with every camera flash, is a terrible comment. A terrible blog, highlighting their faults and insecurities. Someone dissecting every motion they made, every microexpression, ever comment.

“Here you are, Y/N.” Y/N’s attention snapped back and sure enough they were in front of the door. Tim waited patiently for Y/N to enter, “Thank you, Tim.” The young man shrugged, “Sure. Clothes can be found in the dresser and shoes in the closet.” Y/N nodded, waiting for the other to leave. Instead Tim turned around and faced Y/N, waiting for the other with a raised brow, “You’re not going to ask about the clothes?”

Y/N gulped, “I feel like if I ask, I won’t like the answer. I’d rather live in ignorance for now.” They walked past Tim, opening and closing the door, but before they saw Tim grin and a smile played out on his lips, “Smart.”

They locked the door, and when they turned around Y/N nearly collapsed. They pressed their back into the door as they stared at the room in mild terror. Their room from their condo, fully paid off condo, was present in front of Y/N. The same color palette, the same furniture, hell even the bookshelves are the same. Gulping, Y/N walked further in and when they opened the dresser, their jaw clenched and fingers shook.

The exact same clothes.

The bathroom was their saving grace, or so they thought. It didn’t look like their bathroom in the condo, save for the same colored towels. That was until they opened the shower and saw full bottles of the same brand soap, shampoo, conditioner, masks, everything.

“Just like home. It is just like home, Y/N. Only in the Manor.” They mumbled to themselves, stripping in front of the shower stall and jumping in and not even waiting for the water to get hot. They wanted in and out as quickly as possible. Washing their hair, their body, and not even bothering to do the usual masks and scrubs.

Jumping out, they quickly towel dried themselves and threw on the robe that was so familiar.

“Routine… keep to the routine…” Body lotion, while the skin is still damp so it can absorb into the skin better, followed by an oil. For the face it was a double cleanse, first an oil based then water-based, followed by toner, retinol, serums, hyaluronic acid, moisturizer, and face oil. Teeth will be after the meal, but hair…

“Moisturizer, blow dry, and then oil.” Y/N continued to mutter, trying desperately to not go crazy as the familiar brands flashed across their face and they had to use it like normal. They had too. Cause if they don’t, then Y/N knows that they will go crazy.

They don’t bother to look in the dresser again, already on the verge of having a nervous breakdown, and instead they opted to flop onto the bed. Y/N buried their face in the pillow, and tried to not think about anything. They tried to force their mind blank, just how they did on the runway.

“Y/N, are you ready?” Only it wasn’t working. Sitting up, Y/N stared at the door and contemplated answering. The carefully crafted facade was cracking and Y/N doesn’t know if they can keep the mask on any longer. From the multiple shows this week, to the shows earlier today, then this, the mask had outworn its use and now it is slowly begging to be taken off.

“One minute please.” Only they can’t. Not here. Definitely not here.

Peeling themselves off of the bed, Y/N stripped out of the robe and grabbed the first shirt they saw, underwear, and jeans. Their house slippers were right next to the dresser, and Y/N wanted to cry. All of it was getting too much and they're not sure how much longer they can be doing this.

Opening the door, Dick and Jason were the ones waiting for them. Dick grinned, “How insulting of you to look so great in only jeans and a crew neck, making the rest of us look like toads.” Y/N chuckled, closing the door behind them, “I am a model, its my job to look good in every style of clothing.”

Dick laughed, wrapping an arm around Y/N’s shoulder he pulled the other close. Close enough that Y/N could smell the detergent used on Dick’s clothes, and body heat radiating off of the other. They started walking, Jason keeping silent while Dick chatted to Y/N, catching the other up on the past year.

“There are more to the family now, but they won’t be at dinner today. Cass is with Steph, Duke is studying, and Barbara has dinner with her own family to join.” Y/N nodded, ignoring the small sting that others can be welcomed in while they couldn’t be. Instead, they kept the conversation polite, “How nice! It must be worthwhile to have so many people here.” Dick grinned, and there was a type of sharpness to it that had Y/N squirming.

“Yeah, but it was never really a full house because not everyone was here.” A jab at Y/N, who muscled through it, “Well, modeling is a travel-heavy job. There was no time to come back.” The brothers stayed quiet, leading Y/N to the dining room table where everything and everyone was sitting and waiting patiently.

Bruce caught their eyes, and motioned for them to sit at the empty seat next to him, Tim on the other side. Y/N walked over, and took the seat graciously, trying to ignore the weight in their stomach that was making their throat close. Alfred emerged, and like the true butler he was, he began setting their plates in front of them. Perfectly made and being presented beautifully on the white ceramic plates with gold leaf designs.

Their favorite meal, one that always had Y/N running down the stairs when Alfred would announce his plans to make it, sat perfectly in the center of the plate. Its been so long since Y/N had it, no one quite makes it like Alfred does, and plus its just not really in Y/N’s diet.

But Alfred made it. Alfred put his time and effort into making it, and Y/N is not going to spit on that. Once everyone had their plate, the dinner table became loud with chatter. Just like hoow it used to be. Dick would carry the conversation for the entire table, Jason would make sarcastic remarks, Tim intelligent ones, Damian’s would be snide, and Bruce would look exhausted the entire time. However, he still partook in them, letting his kids have the family moment of conversing with their parental figure. Smiling and chuckling as he did so, Bruce tried to be that good father figure.

And Y/N just sits there. They eat quietly and think about their next photo shoot, the next trends that they need to hop on, the workout routine they need to adhere by. Questions do not get thrown their way–

“Now that fashion season is over, what are your plans Y/N?” E/C eyes blink owlishly, staring at Dick in wonder as all eyes focus on them.

“Oh, uh, um, well its normally rest season for us, but I have plans to schedule a few photoshoots, commercials, and I know Maya has been talking about me becoming a brand ambassador.” Y/N wants to keep the momentum. Y/N wants to be kept busy to get and stay away from here.

“You’re not going to rest?” Jason questioned, raising a brow and Y/N shrugged, “I plan to take a few weeks off, but modeling doesn’t really have a set time.” It isn’t a 9-5 job, or vigilante job. Y/N will have to make public appearances, showing up to Galas, grand openings, other fashion shows, fashion shoots, and a lot of traveling.

Bruce hummed, “Sounds like you’re running yourself thin.” Y/N gulped, “It sounds like a lot, but most of it is traveling and getting ready. Besides, I like being busy.” In high school, Y/N would go from school the the modeling agency where they would schedule photo shoots and commercials. Then it would be meeting with dieticians, personal trainers, estheticians, and then more meeting for future goals. The next steps.

Y/N was always busy, but so was their mother and she managed. She was a single mother and a high end fashion model. If she can do it, then there is no reason Y/N can’t.

“But there are other stuff right? Like you need to get facials to make sure your skin looks nice, and working out,” Damian chimed in, and Y/N blinked in surprise at the youngest contributing to the conversation. They smiled, “That’s not really tiring, it’s just time consuming.”

Alfred walked back into the dining room, a dessert platter in his hands, “Then it is good you will be resting here. Take a few days to enjoy being free.” A cheesecake was set down in front of Y/N, and Alfred pointedly stared at the half eaten meal. He gave Y/N a raised brow, and while the model would normally smile and reassure the man that they would eat later, their face was full of shock, “What do you mean a ‘few days?’”

Bruce wiped the corner of his lips with a napkin, “A few days. Rest here for a few days, it’ll be good for you and for everyone else.” Y/N gulped, “Why is it good for everyone else if I stay?”

“Of course it’s good for us. Family sticks together obviously, and with you running off, it really sent things haywire.” There it was again. The phrase ‘running off’ as if it was something Y/N actually did. They smiled, “You’re sounding like Tim. I did not run off, I moved out.” Bruce’s brow furrowed, “ ‘Moved out,’ huh. I didn’t realize moving out meant leaving without so much as a goodbye.”

“The things you left behind, you scheduled people to grab them and throw them out. Alfred was the one to stop them from touching your room,” Dick stated. Those blue eyes keep Y/N locked in their seat. The smile on the oldest sibling’s face was anything but kind, “It’s like you wanted to erase yourself from this manor. You left behind almost nothing that would trace you to us.”

“Not a number to call. We had to get it from Alfred,” Jason chimed, taking a bite of the chocolate mousse cake.

“Or a letter explaining where you went.” Damian took a sip of the tea.

“Or an address.” Tim gulped his cup of coffee, all of them watching Y/N. They way their sibling’s shoulders tensed and that fake smile became more and more downturned. Bruce spoke once more, “It seems like you don’t even want to be a Wayne. Taking your mother’s last name despite the controversies.”

Y/N’s smile turned bitter, “I took her last name because Wayne is more influential and I wanted to start with as little influence as possible. Plus, legally my last name is still L/N.” Bruce met Y/N’s gaze, “And look how many speculations you got for drug use.”

“...Since when did you read gossip?”

“The moment my kid’s photo is attached to that piece of gossip.” Y/N is still aware of all the blogs accusing them of drug-use, the same blogs that accused M/N. People using her photos to compare their features and just cause more drama.

Y/N took a bite of the cheesecake, and the tension at the table was thick. Usually it was between Dick and Bruce, or Jason and Bruce. Never between Y/N though. Although, Y/N never spoke at the table so maybe that is why they were arguing? Can this even be considered an argument?

Alfred cleared his throat, “While talking is appreciated, arguments stay away from the dinner table.” So it was an argument. Y/N apologized to the man and took another bite of the cheesecake. Their mind filled with the workout they are going to have to do to burn this off.

++++

Alfred watched the child he considered a grandchild drink their tea, brewed in the darkness of the kitchen and now sitting at the dinner table again. While a year may not seem long, for Alfred it was. Y/N, who had been there for half a decade, had been glued to Alfred’s side. The man always taking the teen to and from school, and then sometimes to their gigs.

It was Alfred that took Y/N to their first audition to be a model, and it seems like it was only a few days before he received a call from a woman claiming to be M/N L/N’s manager, and while she may not be Y/N’s manager, her daughter will be. Alfred liked Maya. The young woman always let him know of Y/N’s gigs, she would pick the young teen up and drop him off, and she tried to be as helpful as she could. Maya was a woman born to manage models and their busy and demanding schedules.

What Alfred didn’t like, was that Maya still had the old school model critiques. Alfred gaped at the woman when she handed him a list of diets for Y/N to ‘lose weight.’ A 15 year old Y/N, who was already slender, now being told they had to be skinny but toned. A child being told that ice cream was no longer an option, and their favorite burgers were banned.

He furrowed at the training regime, wondering how agencies can expect a teenager to be toned like their already full adult models. Nonstop cardio, ab workouts, and toning exercises. Then strut practice, because if Y/N was M/N’s child, then they were made for the runway. Born to walk in front of cameras and audiences.

“If Y/N wants to be a model, then sacrifices have to be made,” Was Maya’s response to Alfred's inquiries. She assured him that Y/N would still be eating, and she encouraged Y/N to eat, but now those meals were restricted to certain foods.

Alfred watched as Y/N struggled at first, their own plate different from the others, and how the blisters on their toes and heels bled through their socks and bandaids. The old man watched as the training and strut practice became an everyday routine. Y/N walked on the wobbling plyboard, barely wide enough for one foot, and the amount of times they fell off of it. The books stacked on their head for good posture and balance, followed by walking on an incline in those uncomfortable shoes, then training the muscles to the point of exhaustion.

He had watched the child-like baby fat on Y/N’s cheeks melt off and expose cheekbones that looked tight against the skin. Y/N still looked beautiful, not more or less, but Alfred could see the exhaustion in those young eyes and how Y/N juggles modeling and being a student.

Y/N didn’t even go to their high school graduation, choosing instead to head to Paris for their first ever abroad photoshoot. That kickstarted the traveling and runway model career. Once Y/N got their highschool diploma, they were out the door and becoming busier and busier.

“I see you still drink onion skin tea so late at night.” Y/N smiled up at Alfred, “Of course. I was shocked to see that you still keep the skins.” The older man sat across from Y/N, nursing his own cup of tea “Of course. In case you ever visited, I thought it would be great to have some in stock.” Y/N gave Alfred a ‘really?’ look, continuing to sip on the still hot tea.

“I saw the piece you wore today,” Alfred started the conversation.

“It truly is a beautiful piece of work.” Y/N’s jaw clenched, “Did you know about-” Y/N waved a hand in the air, “- about Bruce calling to commission a piece?” The old man took a sip of the earl gray. Y/N shook their head, unable to be upset, “Alfred, a call about that would have been appreciated.”

“An address would also be appreciated but seeing as you have withheld that information, I saw no harm in sharing Master Bruce’s commission.” Y/N deflated, rubbing their forehead with their fingers, “Alfie-”

“You only use that name when you know you’re about to be in trouble, so you might as well just say it, Young Master Y/N.” Y/N’s cheeks blushed and their lips pouted, “Alfie, I told you that the reason I didn’t tell you my address is because I am always traveling. I’d feel awful if you showed up and I wasn’t there.”

“There’s a wonderful contraption called a cellphone, Young Master Y/N. I would call before making that trek over.” Y/N groaned, setting his cup down and trying not to crumble in front of the grandfather figure. Answering to Alfred was always harder than answering to Bruce.

“Alfie–”

“Young Master Y/N, I understand your hesitancy is sharing in your life with others. Life was lonely here, and I understand wanting to forget that. However, having only a number to call you is terrifying. What if something happens and I cannot help you?” Y/N gazed sadly at Alfred, “Life wasn’t lonely, Alfie. I had you, right?”

Alfred Pennyworth, Y/N’s saving grace and lifeline. The person who is proof that Y/N was not alone in the Wayne Manor. The butler always willing to lend an ear when Y/N vented their frustrations, and when tears escaped their E/C eyes. He is Y/N’s biggest supporter. Always buying a magazine that had Y/N in it, and he would listen to Y/N critique the pose and the facial expression. Then he would give Y/N a slice of cheesecake and compliment Y/N, in both the photo and in person.

Always reassuring the other that a cheat day will not set him back, and rest is what the body needs the most. Reassuring Y/N that their mother would be proud, that Bruce notices them, and that Y/N’s siblings do in fact love them.

“Besides, why would you even want to visit? My place wouldn’t be as grand as this–”

“It would be to make sure your fridge is stocked and that you are eating. You have always been the worst when it comes to eating, and I worry that your fridge and pantry are empty.” Alfred doesn’t have to guess that Y/N’s fridge is empty, because he knows it is.

He knows that Y/N’s fridge is empty besides some drinks, and that the pantry is only snacks. While Y/N may have the excuse of being gone for so long, traveling and whatnot, Alfred knows that Y/N does not spend a lot of money on food. Y/N spends more money on clothes, jewlery, facial and hair care products, than they do on groceries.

Y/N doesn’t even look ashamed. Nervous, yeah, but not ashamed. They sip their tea without making eye contact. Time to change the subject.

“Why is Bruce, and all the boys, all of a sudden interested in what I do?” Alfred didn’t Y/N out on the obvious change in conversation, but he let it slide. The old man sighed, “Why would a parent not be interested in what their child is doing?”

“Alfred.”

“Young Master Y/N, you have worked tirelessly to get to the position you are now. With no help from the family, you had spent your late mother’s money to audition, then to pay your managers, and now you are making it big within the industry. Is it wrong for a parent to congratulate their child?” Y/N bit their lip, “So its because I’m finally someone now? Was I not worth attention because I chose not to be Robin?”

“Young Master Y/N–”

“I don’t care about that. Like I told Bruce, it wasn’t abuse or anything, he just simply didn’t have time for me and that’s fine. I’m not mad about that.” Alfred watched Y/N get worked up, and E/C begin to shift in nervousness, “What I am talking about is why did Bruce pay off my Condo, and why does he have access to my bank account?”

Silence fell across the table. Y/N staring at Alfred expectantly, while the butler finished his tea. Once done, he grabbed his and Y/N’s tea cup and headed towards the kitchen.

“Perhaps, that is a Master Bruce question.” Y/N made a sound of annoyance, throwing themselves back into the chair and scrunching their nose. Standing up from the table, Y/N said goodnight to Alfred, and proceeded up that stairs and into dark hallways. Y/N wasn’t ready to go back to the guest room, feeling their heart rate spike whenever they thought of the replicated room.

Instead, they walked down familiar halls towards a room-now-turned-trophy room. They reached for the doorknob, but found themselves unable to open it. Y/N didn’t want to see all the photos Alfred had kept throughout the years. Rather, what caught Y/N’s attention was the lacking of doors in the hallway. There used to be two more doors on their left, but instead there was now one. The area where the second door was, was perfectly sealed and now blended into the wall.

Y/N took a deep breath, and opened the door. They used to be guest rooms as well. The two rooms had queen-sized beds and armoires for the unexpected guests that popped up. Y/N’s room used to be a guest-room, but they ended up liking the privacy because no one else’s room was around their’s. In fact, it was the guest room across from Y/N’s room that they had turned into the practice room, seeing that no one came down this hallway.

However, clearly people were not because of the renovation done.

When the door opened, Y/N sought out the light switch. The room was pitch black, and the last thing Y/N wanted to do was trip over something. Feeling around the wall, Y/N rejoiced when they felt the familiar switch and flicked it on. Once the bright light filled the room, Y/N took a deep breath. They were expecting a game room, or an indoor swimming people because that seems like something a rich person would do. Turning two guest rooms into a pool despite it being on the second floor.

Something not exactly normal, but expected.

Y/N didn’t expect this. Gone was the wall that separated the two bedrooms, making it one long room, and all the furniture was absent. No more beds, armoires, and it looks like even the bathrooms were gutted and turned into part of the room. All the tables, rugs, sofas, everything that was once in those rooms, were now gone besides the chandeliers that hung on the ceiling. Filling the room with a bright light, that didn’t fit the manor aesthetic at all, and illuminating everything that was in the room.

While the furniture was gone, the room was not empty. Mannequins lined the walls, on their own podiums and glass cases. While seeing them bare would have been scary, seeing them dressed in the clothes that Y/N had worn on the runways was more terrifying. Y/N, in the runway season alone, walked 86 shows. That is the runways season alone, not including the other smaller shows they have done since graduating high school almost a year ago.

These weren’t all of the clothes they have worn, there was still a large amount and they were the most iconic pieces. Pieces that a designer would never want to give someone.

Y/N walked further in, taking in the first mannequin on the right, and they noted that the mannequin looked eerily similar to Y/N. Only missing the facial features and hair, but it looked like the proportions were almost spot on.

The plastic doll had on the outfit from a runway show earlier in the year, when Y/N walked for Versace. A simple long blazer with deep V cut, stopping mid-thighs where only an inch of skin was shown before thigh boots bedazzled in gold, diamonds, emeralds, and other precious jewels took over the rest of the legs. The earrings they wore were poked into the mannequin's own ears and the bracelets hung off the dainty wrists. In the glass case, next to the mannequin, was the photo taken of Y/N when they were walking.

The next case was a piece they wore when walking for a newer fashion-designer, one that Y/N did for free just to get to their name out there, and the piece was a gorgeous suit, dyed a beautiful vermillion red that had the slighted shimmer of gold in it. Y/N’s runway photo was once again next to the mannequin.

The entire room was full of these iconic runway looks, with Y/N’s photo right next to them, and they surrounded all sides of the room and some of them in the middle. Almost like an art gallery of sorts, and Y/N looked at every single one of them. Not in amazement or judgment, but more of horror.

Y/N knows some of these fashion designers. They have known some of them since they were a child and watching their mom get fitted by these exact same designers. No matter how much she begged, they would never let her take one of their creations home. These clothes were meant to be either safe-guarded in a museum, in their own collection, or in some cases bought by a celebrity and worn to an award ceremony as advertisement.

In other words, Y/N knows that some of these designers would rather gnaw off an arm then give away their precious creations. Yet, here some of those precious creations were, hanging on the mannequin shaped like the model.

In the center of the room, like it was the main show, was the Batman-inspired piece. All that was missing was the photo, which wouldn’t be published for another few weeks.

Taking a deep breath, they stared at the reflection in the gold-plated bat. They were trying to process all of this. It’s one thing to have photos, because Y/N is a model and photos are expected, but to have the actual clothes they wore. Clothes that Y/N knows the designers would kill for, dressed on mannequins that looked almost exactly like Y/N was another thing.

Y/N backed out of the room, turning the lights off and shutting the door silently. They stared at their own door, sweat beginning to break out on their forehead, and they went against their instincts and opened that door.

A trophy room, Alfred had said. The walls are decorated in their photos, and the bed is still as immaculate as the day they left. Turning the lights on, Y/N couldn’t help but to smile as the time capsule in front of them. From their very first photoshoot, when Y/N was a gangly 15-year-old with still chubby cheeks, to the most recent photoshoot of a now 18 almost 19-year-old Y/N. Their confidence can be seen in their pose and gaze, something their younger self lacked.

Y/N walked closer to the walls and looked at all the different photos. Some candid, some posed, some in the water, and there’s one where they are in Greece. Some had Y/N fully clothed with barely and inch of skin, and some were of Y/N with barely an inch of clothes. From makeup, to shoes, to perfume, to clothes, Y/N’s photo was pinned on the wall or framed.

A photo caught their attention though. It wasn’t one from a website, or a magazine, but an actual photo. Y/N looked closer, and they recognized the set from when they were 16-years-old posing for an editorial magazine.

However, the angle in which this photo was taken from, Y/N knows there were no cameras there. All the cameras were in front or on the side, not behind. Another photo caught their eyes, and it was the same thing. A photo from behind.

Once they started looking for them, Y/N could begin to spot them all. Photos that they know no photographer took. There was one that had their blood chilling and fear rising in their chest. It was a photo, taken at night and through one of the windows in Y/N’s condo. Y/N had one wall in the living room that was basically all windows, letting in the morning sun and led out onto the gated terrace. It was high enough that they had no neighbors that could look through those windows.

In the photo, Y/N was wearing their pajamas and their hair still looked wet. They were sitting on the counter of the island in their kitchen, eating raspberries and watching Youtube on their TV. It was such a close photo, close enough that the reflection can be seen in the glass.

Y/N recognizes the blue and black, and when Y/N’s eyes drifted to another photo of them in their home, bile rose into their throats. The morning sun illuminated the warm neutral color palette in the living room, and Y/N was out on the terrace sitting at the patio table they had set up out there drinking a cup of coffee and reading a book. They had their shirt off, exposing ribs pulled tightly against skin and abs that remained toned even when Y/N wasn’t flexing. The shorts they had on exposing soft skin and pedicured feet, their slipped laid forgotten under the chair they were sitting in.

They recognize that book. It was a book they read in the height of summer, meaning that this photo was taken half a year ago, when it was okay to sit outside in the warm summer mornings and let the skin begin to circulate.

What chilled Y/N even more was that whoever took this photo was on their terrace with them. They were on Y/N’s terrace, and Y/N didn’t even know. The Wayne family has known Y/N’s address the entire time. They knew where Y/N was staying, they knew Y/N’s photoshoot schedules, and they knew Y/N better than Y/N thought they did.

“I didn’t think you’d come in here.” Y/N’s head whipped around and there was Dick, or Nightwing, still in costume and smiling at them.

“The hell is this?” Y/N held up the photo of them on the terrace, and Dick shrugged, “I’ll admit, those photos we took. But we didn’t take the other ones.”

“What other ones?” “The ones of you at the photoshoots. I know you saw them, but we didn’t take those.” Y/N glared at Dick, and pushed themselves close to the wall as Dick walked in. Damian was right behind him. The oldest brother walked to the photo that originally caught Y/N’s attention, “You had a stalker, can you believe that? He took hundreds of photos of you, and all we did was make him stop.”

Y/N’s lips pursed, “How do I know you’re not lying?” Dick unpinned the photo, and with Damian’s help, trapped Y/N against the wall next to the photo of them outside. He held up the photo, “Because, Y/N, as you can see we prefer more… candid photos then staged.”

Y/N snapped, “There is nothing candid about that photo! That is an invasion of privacy! Trespassing! So is that one!” They pointed to one of them sitting on the counter. Damian grabbed their arm, and Y/N wanted nothing more than to shove the kid off.

“And so is that one.” Dick pointed to one of Y/N wearing only a large shirt, a towel around their shoulders as they walked into their kitchen.

“And that one.”

“That one there.”

“There’s that one too.” Y/N looked at all the photos, hidden next to the magazine photos, and they were all of them in their home. Horror morphed on Y/N’s face when there was one photo of Y/N in the bedroom, in the midst of taking their shirt off.

Dick continued to smile, and Y/N could see Jason and Tim peeking in from the doorway.

“You did a lot on your own, Y/N. You built a name for yourself, became a highly sought after model, it really is amazing.” Dick walked closer, “But you know what all of those photos have in common?” Y/N stared into blue eyes, terror swimming in those E/C eyes of theirs.

“You aren’t even aware of your photo being taken.” The truth unsettled Y/N enough to try and squirm out of Damian’s grip and to get away from Dick. They didn’t need to be pointed out. Y/N is aware that in every photo taken without their permission, they were not once aware of it. Even when they looked like they would be only a few feet away, Y/N not once looked bothered. Y/N doesn’t even remember that feeling of being watched.

Tim and Jason stepped in the room, making it seem crowded and even if Y/N got out of Damian’s grip, there was no way they were getting past all of them.

Large hands gripped Y/N’s forearms, feeling like they would bruise the skin if Y/N struggled.

“So tell your big brother Y/N, how do you expect us to trust you on your own when you can’t even notice someone on your terrace?”

________________________________________________________

Part 3 is coming soon....

#batfam x reader #yandere dc #yandere batfam #platonic yandere #batfam #batman x reader #bruce wayne #platonic batman #platonic batfam #yandere imagines #gender neautral reader #batman x gn reader #Yandere batman #batfam x male reader #Batfamily x female reader #Batfamily x gender neutral reader

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spoiledcarmen · 8 days ago

Text

Crimson Moon

Pair: Batfamily x neglected!reader

tags: Child n3glect, Angst/No comfort, Hurt/No comfort, teens doing drgs, maladaptive dreaming, dead dove: do not eat, does this count as dddne??, MC is biological daughter of Bruce Wayne, No use of Y/N, Gotham Academy, made up characters, OOC canon characters.

summary: Basically the Wayne/Bat family but reader is Bruce Wayne’s daughter who doesn’t know they��re all vigilantes and they sorta neglect her since she’s not very important in their lives.

chapter: The Beginning Of Our End. (1/?)

authors note: This was my first work, i started uploading fics on Tumblr a few weeks ago, im doing so well!! this is also my most popular fic on ao3, so i hope Tumblr likes it as well!

PT.1 - (you can read the rest of the parts on ao3 while i publish the rest on here.)

14 years ago, Bruce had made a decision he would come to regret. on valentine’s day him and unknown woman appeared to be lingering around each other at a club. he would soon make an irrotational choice. with him chugging one drink after another that she kept bringing over to him and his table, his standards have dropped low enough for him to ask for something else, maybe something to eat. she said “it’ll cost ya.” in a hefty Gotham accent. he laughed and replied drunkenly and sloppy “oh really?”, her sensing she could make bank off of this obviously wasted billionaire, she played sultry. he gave her a stack of hundreds, its only natural that’s all he carries? after that, off to a room they went.

forward to November 14th you were born. 3 days later you were in a basket with a blanket over you with a note that stated your name with his last name, and date of birth. in messy handwriting at the bottom left corner it said, “your daughter.” as Alfred opened the door and saw you, he immediately brought you in inside before he read the note, and once he did he urgently called over Bruce, not wanting to alert the others. Bruce’s immediate reaction to reading the note was “shit… well i don’t doubt she’s mine. i remember that night like he was yesterday.” he rubs his forehead as a sign of stress and in deep thought. however once his gaze dropped down to you, peacefully sleeping in the warm environment of the manor, he knew he couldn’t help but take you in.

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when people thought of “Wayne”, they thought class, elegance, and power. and apparently you were exactly that, Since the moment you were born everyone thought of you as this radiating light of eternal beauty, a symbol of hope. whereas your father thought of it as a fresh start. Bruce has obviously fucked up with all of his other kids, so why not just do the opposite with this one? no becoming robin, no training, not being dragged into the whole vigilante world. just a normal kid. being Bruce’s biological kid had a lot of perks, like his last name and just a lot of money in general. the last name ‘Wayne’ itself, brought you a lot of social power. you liked it, it gave you what you didn’t have at home. Attention. something you severely lacked. the fact that nobody noticed with you being in front of a camera all the time is crazy, from the difficulty of staying on a simple task to unintentionally interrupting conversations to being easily distracted.

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which now brings you to the present. always wondering where everyone went at night, always wondering why nobody wanted to sit around by you, always wondering why everyone was careful around you, always wondering why.. not even your father gives you attention, why would your family? you’re not special. you’ve never been special. other than being somewhat pretty enough to put you on the cover of a beauty magazine and not a news paper,smart enough to get above passing, but you’re not very special. in your room in bed, late at night, you always hear chatter. you seem to think there’s a party you haven’t been invited to which is nearly impossible, who wouldn’t want you around? but every time you go downstairs, no one is there, was it your imagination?

no it can’t be.. you can still clearly hear them. you can hear Damian making another snarky comment, Richard laughing with Babs, you can almost hear Jason shuffling around the room with Alfred asking if anyone needed anything. so where could they be? hiding? from you? not impossible. but how could they be hiding but their voices being this clear? after a while of looking you decide to just go back to bed, maybe you’re just tired from today, even if you didn’t really do much.. you get back into bed, yet you can’t shake off this feeling, it feels like a hole in your stomach, feeling like you’re missing out on something. nevertheless you decide to just swallow the feeling and push it down to try and sleep for school tomorrow.

—————————⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆———————

you wake up but your vision is very blurry, hazy, weak. you try to rub it out of your eyesight but it doesn’t work, the harder you rub the darker your vision becomes, soon enough it’s pitch black. you open your eyes to see a large moon, with crimson red around the edges, ‘crimson… moon?..’ you think, your eyes are fixated on it. you can’t seem to move. you look down and see a hand reaching out to you, it’s luring you to grab it, to reach back to it, to hold it. you want to but you simply cannot move. you look back up at the moon, it’s craters seem to be eyes staring back at you, yet they don’t blink, they cannot blink, you cannot blink, however you still try, you know you can’t do it regardless you still try. and you succeed, you blink.

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you truly awaken from your nightmare and wake up out of breath. like you just ran a marathon, you rush to the bathroom and go and wash your face, you watch yourself in the mirror, making sure that you are still you. everything checks out and you continue with your morning routine, shower, brush your teeth, skincare, makeup. by the time you’ve finished your routine you’re already late to breakfast, you rush to get your uniform on, you take one last look in the mirror at yourself and see your uniform that says “Gotham Academy” on its stupid logo. you sigh, having to dread putting it on everyday.

you rush downstairs to see only Alfred, “Where’s Damian? doesn’t he have school too?” you say sarcastically, Damian gets to skip if he’s feeling tired or just bored of school, but apparently you can’t. Alfred replies “Master Damian is a bit under the weather, excuse him from breakfast this morning.” you’ll excuse him, you always will. you ask your final question of the day, “And where’s father? and the others?”, Alfred sighs and replies “Master Bruce has already left for work, as for the others, i’m pretty sure a few of them are sleeping in. ‘Checks out.’ you think, you nod and take your sandwich to go, rather to eat it on the car ride there. the car ride to school was awfully quiet, the only thing you could hear was the sound of your sandwich wrapper, not even the radio was turned on, you’ve forgotten your headphones so what a joy this car ride has been. shortly after, Alfred announces you’ve arrived, you get out of the car and throw the sandwich wrapper in a nearby bin as you wave him goodbye, you watch him drive off and heavily sigh.

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your entire demeanor changes as soon as Alfred drives off, after all you’ve got an image to maintain. you’re all sunshine and rainbows as you walk up to your group of friends, all of them as happy as you are, they greet you one by one. after a while of chitchatting about nothing really important, the bell rings, everyone whines about having to go to class, “Well, we do still have lunch and that party after school?” you reassure them. “are you sure you’re coming? last time you cancelled last minute.” one says and another nods. you furrow your eyebrows and try not to roll your eyes, “i’m sure. i won’t cancel this time.” you say, none of them know you had to leave because you were just overwhelmed by the peer pressure of vaping or whatever is cool now.

you and another one of your friends, Heather, decide to stop wasting time and go to class, Heather asks “Where’s your brother?” you take a deep breath, not even wanting to utter his name, “Damian’s sick.”, She replies “Oh really? i was hoping i’d see him today.” she seems rather bummed out hes not here. You raise an eyebrow and decide to press for more, “huh.. why’s that?”, you’re pretty sure she likes him, but you don’t wanna get the wrong impression. “i wanted to talk to him about something..” she says with a slight smile on your face, you swear you could see her blush. “about what? i’ll tell him when i get home.” you smirk at her as you both walk into class, “oh nothing! i’ll just tell him tomorrow.” she rushes to her seat, you try to keep up with her.

you take off your backpack and get out your pencil case and notebooks as you remind her, “you know tomorrow is Saturday? right?”, she laughs it off nervously and spits out “yeah totally! just slipped my mind!”, you side eye her and think ‘who does she think she’s fooling?’ however you brush it off and go on with your day. the rest of this class was pretty tame, you muted out whatever the teacher was saying and just thought about your dream, you were debating on telling Heather but she was one of those freaks who thought every dream had a meaning, and if you did ask her she could just make you more nervous about it. you awaken from your trance and see the board covered in writing from top to bottom, you stare at Heather wondering why she didn’t tell you. you immediately pick up a pencil and start writing.

as soon as you finish writing the bell rings once more, you instantly pack up your things and rush out of there, a few people try to talk to you however you were too fast. you go to the locker you didn’t have a chance to go to in the morning and take put some books in and take some out, you check what class you have next and it’s biology. You and Heather basically have the same schedule so you tap her on the shoulder, “Wanna skip the rest of the day?” you ask nonchalantly, “Sure, but how’ll we get out of here?” she replies as she closes her locker door, “don’t worry, i’ve got an idea.” you smile as you grab her hand and run out to the courtyard, “and what now? we’re surrounded by concrete.” she says snarkily. “just wait! we have to go to the classroom that’s on the left and just sneak out the window. it’s empty, nobody has computer until forth period.” you hold her hand tighter as you run to the classroom together. “we have to be fast before someone sees us!” you say, she replies as she scoffs “no shit Sherlock..”

you enter the classroom and make her hold your bookbag as you struggle to get out through the window, nevertheless you do it. “see! come on!” you take your bag and her bag as you encourage her to come towards you. “you Wayne’s are amazing. it almost makes up for the fact you don’t give anyone attention.” she says with a laugh as she goes through the window. you scoff when you get referred to as a Wayne, you are one but.. you don’t like to get mixed up with them, you’re a different category of Wayne, you enjoy the spotlight, much more forced into it.. yet you brush it off and say, “well.. i certainly give people attention. i don’t know about the others.”

—————————⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆———————

you both walk the streets of Gotham with your backpacks on your back and strange looks on you, Heather says “why is everyone looking at us weird..”, “because we’re supposed to be in school, genius.” you snap back. “Oh! Oh! we should go explore!” she says enthusiastically as she points to Arkham Asylum. you stare at it as you wonder how it’s a miracle no kids have been snatched from the school and taken there yet, or maybe they have and you just don’t know about it. nevertheless you reply to her and scold her, “No! what the actual fuck are you thinking! no way in hell im going in there or letting you go in there!”, “you’re so lame..” she says as she walks past the asylum with pouted lips, you roll your eyes and say “i’d rather be lame and alive than cool and dead.”

you see she’s pretty upset about being scolded so you suggest you both go get some food and ice cream to pass the time. her mood instantly gets better as she grabs your hand and rushes to the nearest fast food place, “okay okay!” you say as you try to keep up with her running. once you get there she says “you’ll pay obviously.” you roll your eyes playfully and agree. the place is pretty empty since everyone is either at school or work, you both get to the cashier and the cashier says, “aren’t you girls supposed to be in school?”, Heather stares at you and raises her eyebrow at you, which basically means ‘say something!’ you look back at the cashier and say “do you want or business or not. if so we’ll both have a small chicken sandwich with fries and diet coke.”, the cashier nods reasonably and takes your order and hands you the card reader, you pay and Heather hugs you by your shoulder. “alright get off now.”, you tell her off as you aren’t a very affectionate person.

—————————⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆———————

she sits down at a table while you wait to get your food, the place is empty, why on earth are they taking so long?… after a while of waiting you finally get your food and go to your table. Heather immediately takes her food before you even set the tray down, you just roll your eyes and sit down to enjoy your food. “are you seriously going to the party later?” she says with her mouth full of food, you raise an eyebrow and say hesitantly, “of course i am, why are you asking?”, she shrugs and replies “ehhh.. i haven’t seen you go to a party in a while”, you laugh and reassure her once again “dont worry. i’m going and i’m going to be one hell of a party animal.”

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dark-konohagakure2 · 8 months ago

Note

I just read your sexually abusive bf sasuke post and oml that made me feel smth. I was wondering if you could write something like that for Madara, Indra or kawaki. Please feel free to just do one of them, no need to do all unless you want to :) I hope you have a great day loves 🫶🫶

tw: noncon, abusive relationships, misogyny, age difference, breeding, dehumanization, neglect, possessiveness, emotional abuse

All characters depicted are 18+

Madara doesn't have a girlfriend or lover, he has a novelty, a womb with legs, a breeder. Nothing more nothing less. She is so far beneath him that he might as well be a superior species to her, and he treats her accordingly.

He rarely spends any time with her, having a myriad of more important things to attend to aside from humoring the worthless affections of some silly lass, but when he is around her, he isn't very pleasant to say the least, figuratively and literally keeping her at arms length unless he wants a certain something from her, that something being the only thing he ever wants from her, the only reason he keeps her around.

Being the head of the Uchiha clan, he's almost always either out on the battlefield or training himself half to death for his next battle, so Madara gets very worked up and stressed, and when he's pent up, all Madara wants to do is squeeze his favorite stress toy until she pops.

Her consent and feelings are less than irrelevant to Madara, she is his property, and that means he is allowed to do whatever he wants with her, including but not limited to filling her up with his offspring.

"Stop moving so much, you mewling quim. You're just a tool to me, and tools don't cry and struggle against their owners..."

On the rare occasion that he puts aside time for her, that time will be spend either degrading her, trying to impregnate her, or both at the same time. He'll spend hours on top of her and bullying her poor womb with with his cock, not stopping until he is absolutely certain that he's successfully knocked her up.

If Madara ever does take her out on a 'date', it'll only be after much pestering from her and for the sole purpose of showing off his property to the less fortunate men of the village. He'll keep his hands on her to make sure she doesn't wander off like a wayward child, whether it be an arm around her waist or shoulder or even a hand gripping her ass, signalling to everyone that she's Madara's bitch.

Despite his habit of showing her off, Madara doesn't let her around anybody besides himself, not even letting her near people trusted by him such as Izuna and Hashirama, it isn't because he doesn't trust them, it's because he doesn't trust her. She was a lowly stray slut before he so graciously tamed her, and once a slut always a slut.

If she ever dares to try and leave him, be it due to falling out of love or just plain old self preservation, Madara won't physically stop her at first, instead he'll attack her with his words, picking at her insecurities and keeping her in line with his words better than any fist ever could.

"You want to leave me? Fine then, go back to being an unloved little harlot, see if I care. You don't deserve all of my love and care anyway..."

Madara isn't a bad boyfriend to her at all, because he doesn't even consider himself to be her boyfriend at all, he's her handler, and she's just an unruly mutt who needs him far more than he needs her.

tw: noncon, abuse, power imbalance, master/pet, degradation, possessiveness, collars

Indra isn't as cruel as his reincarnation, but he's still very cold, and views herself as being far above a pitiful little human like her, he sees her as a pet, a pet he takes care of, but still a pathetic little kitten regardless.

He doesn't start off too bad, while he's still possessive and forceful, he still dotes on his pet in his own distant way, petting her hair and graciously forcing allowing her to sit on his lap, and he'll even gift her a lovely collar that symbolizes their strange union. Although the peace won't last very long...

When his father unexpectedly makes Asura the head of the clan instead of him like he had anticipated, Indra is enraged, believing that his dimwitted younger brother has stolen his rightful position out from under him, and he is in dire need of someone to take his anger out on.

Indra's sudden turn from coldness to red hot anger is as jarring as it is terrifying, his Sharingan glowing a bright ruby color as he holds her down, his face etched into a scowl as he forces her to bare the brunt of his fury.

"Don't resist me, stupid girl. You're my pet and it's your job to keep me happy, and I am the furthest thing from happy in this moment, so do your job, now."

After that day any semblance of fondness that Indra had for her is seemingly gone. He still keeps her around, but he no longer pats her head or acts affectionately, instead yanking on her leash harshly whenever he wants her close and forcing her to service his erection whenever the urge strikes him.

He doesn't let her out of his sight either, Indra doesn't want her to be around anyone except for him, especially not wanting her near his father or that damn Asura. She's like a consolation prize for him in a way, Asura might have gotten the position of their father's succesor, but Indra got the most perfect toy in the world.

Indra also won't be as forgiving of disobedience from her as he used to be, in the past he would simply lecture her or give her a slap on the wrist if she went against him, but now if she steps out of line his punishments will be much more swift and brutal, be it a slap across the face or a harsh face-fucking.

If she ever tries telling him that she wants to leave him, Indra will show some mirth for the first time in a while by laughing at her, although it's more of a mocking laugh than a happy one, letting her know that leaving him isn't an option for her.

"You're leaving? Oh how funny, but you seem to have forgotten something, little one. I own you, and you are never leaving me unless it's in a casket."

Indra is nothing short of cruel towards her, but the Otsutsuki doesn't see it that way, he truly believes that the way he treats her is justified because he loves her, because he owns her, and that means he can do whatever he wants with her.

tw: noncon, abuse, threats, semi-public sex, possessiveness, jealousy, victim blaming, noncon kissing

Kawaki actually makes a semblance of an effort to be an actual boyfriend, but he doesn't fully understand how to be one, he thinks that being someone's boyfriend just means having someone he can kiss and order around and nothing more, so that's how he approaches it.

He doesn't try to be mean, but she's always pushing his buttons, trying to hang out with other people that aren't him and not putting out for him, so he sees ever instance of her raising his hand or berates her as completely justified, she's being a bad girlfriend.

Despite how he acts, he doesn't hate her, but she's just so annoying and ungrateful, hardly worthy of all the love he's pouring into her, but he does love her quite a bit, but he isn't able to express those feelings without force and violence due to her tumultuous past.

His gruff disposition will give way to anger when he sees her talking to other men, Kawaki is paranoid when it comes to the people he claims to love, and seeing his girlfriend talking to other guys when she already has him just amplifies these feelings. Why does she always have to be such a bitch? Such a bad, bad girlfriend?

"Who the hell was that? Do you like him more than me? Huh?! If you really love me so much then stop being so damn cold to me and prove it for once.

Kawaki will take her right then and there. She doesn't love him enough to put out, he'll just take what he wants. Fucking is what boyfriends and girlfriends who love each other do, and he's going to fuck her extra hard so she can feel the full depth of his feelings for her.

He's incredibly rough out of both anger and inexperience, he'll try to make up for his harshness in a way by kissing her, but Kawaki is a bad kisser too, his teeth slamming against hers as he presses his lips onto her own, nearly choking her when he forces his tongue down her throat, his bad kissing just makes the entire experience worse for her rather than acting as a band aid solution to his harsh thrusts.

After their 'first time', Kawaki takes that as meaning that their relationship is good and healthy again. Couples are supposed to kiss and have sex all the time, that's the entire point, so he has no idea why she's crying. Maybe she's just shy, or maybe she's just trying to play the victim and make him feel like a bad partner.

Kawaki won't take her seriously if she says she wants to break up, dismissing her words as stupid empty threats, but if she persists, he'll get mad, threatening her with a fate worse than death if she talks like that ever again.

"What?! Leaving me?! Pssh, don't be stupid, if you talk that nonsense again then I'll just send you to the same place I sent Lord Seventh..."

Kawaki doesn't try to be a mean boyfriend, but his intentions don't match his actions in the slightest, but he still tries to justify it regardless, he's trying to be nice, but she just makes it so hard for him.

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geeks-universe · 3 months ago

Text

All Might would be lying if he said he wasn’t often in the nurse’s room.

It seemed like he couldn’t even breathe without having to visit Recovery Girl for something. And, if it wasn’t him, it was his successor. Together, the two of them made up about eighty percent of her traffic.

Not that she’d ever complain.

Well…

She did complain. Lots of times.

But, she meant it in the most loving way possible, and not in a way that would push him into neglecting seeing her out of shame for the scolding he’d get.

He was a bit dejected when he found himself walking to her little corner of UA once again. The pain in his scar was starting to flare up, and his class would be starting soon. He needed the extra boost to make it through his classes as the Symbol of Peace, and not the shell of the man.

Toshinori sighed, taking a seat on one of the empty beds. He was the only one in the room as he waited rather impatiently for Recovery Girl to return.

She didn’t keep him waiting long.

A flurry of movement caught his eye as the nurse ran into the room, only for him to realize it wasn’t his friend. His brow furrowed as he examined you.

You were young. Not so young that you’d be a student, but still decades younger than him. He didn’t recognize you, despite the fact that he’d familiarized himself with all of UA’s staff. Though, now that he thought about it, Nedzu had asked him a few days prior about revealing the secret of his weakness to a new staff member.

“Oh!” You exclaimed, running your hand through your hair. “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting!”

Cute.

That was his first thought.

Then, he immediately redacted the thought, not wanting to seem like some old creep hitting on a coworker who also happened to be far younger than him.

Still, the way you smiled breathlessly was cute.

Dammit.

“It’s okay,” he assured you, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Anyways,” you turned to face him fully, taking a seat very close to him.

Even though your distance was professional, his heart raced at your proximity. Your smile was so bright it lit up the whole room.

“What’s up?”

He swallowed.

“Oh, um, I-I well…”

He struggled to find the right words- or any words, for that matter. Your gentle laughter interrupted his foolish attempts, and the sound was music to his ears. Red blossomed on his cheeks.

“You’re All Might, yeah?”

He hesitated, almost wishing he could deny it. Instead, he nodded, defeated.

“Recovery Girl told me you stopped by a lot,” you explained flippantly, fiddling with the clipboard that sat in your lap. “And the student, uh, Midoriya, I think?”

“Where is she?” He couldn’t help but ask.

“Am I not good enough?” You stuck your tongue out playfully.

His heart stuttered in his chest, and he desperately prayed you didn’t have a quirk that let you see that sort of thing.

“I- no, I’m sorry, she usually helps when I have pain.”

There.

He got through a sentence.

Your hand hovered over the scar that haunted him every day. He stopped breathing, watching you with wide eyes.

“She told me,” you offered in explanation, pulling your hand away. Air released itself from his lungs.

“I’m afraid I can’t heal you with a kiss, but I can give you some medicine.”

He was forever thankful that you turned your back to him. The brief image of you pressing your lips against his scar, so gently, intent on bringing reprieve from the pain, if only for a moment, was enough to nearly drop him to his knees.

It’d been such a long time since he’d let himself indulge in any sort of pleasure, and the innocent, yet playful, looks you were giving him had him running towards a new outlet.

“This should do the trick,” you proclaimed, a small orange bottle in your hand, that rattled as you moved back into his proximity. “Once every 6 hours, as needed.”

He meant to acknowledge you, but he was barely able to even wrap his fingers around the bottle before he was running from the room. The confused, slightly amused, look photographed on your face as he left made him curse himself over and over as he made a beeline for the staff room.

The room itself was mostly empty, save the occasional teacher locked in a battle with paperwork. Nobody paid him much mind though, except Midnight, who was slinking towards him rather mischievously.

“What’s got you all riled up?”

She had been beyond bored all day, and without any other excitement, she jumped at the opportunity of the first whiff of entertainment.

“Nothing.” Toshinori cleared his throat, setting the medication on the table in front of him. After a few seconds of careful consideration, he spoke again. “Did you know we have a new nurse?”

That caused the woman to perk up. She nodded enthusiastically, tapping her fingers along the smooth wood of the table.

“I met her this morning,” Nemuri confirmed, humming her approval. “Smart girl.”

At the intrigued look on the older man’s face, and the way he unconsciously leaned in at the new information, a plan formed in her mind. She had never once seen the famous All Might seem so affected by anyone, especially not romantically.

“And a little bit sexy.”

He blanched, and though he tried to play it off, the red painting his cheeks were more telling than anything he said.

“I got her number, probably going to try to bring her to our weekly outings on Friday.”

It was an open-ended statement, one Nemuri had hoped would prompt the number one hero to consider his attendance this week. It wasn’t uncommon for him to join the rest of the staff for their rendezvous each Friday, but it also wasn’t uncommon for him to mutter a half-hearted excuse and be noticeably absent.

“Where did you plan on going this weekend?” It was a tentative question posed by the blonde, and though there was a clear hesitance in it, there was also a definitive curiosity.

She really didn’t expect it to be this easy.

“I added you to the group chat for a reason,” Nemuri sighed dramatically, not really annoyed with him. He was a busy man, and as such, she’d placed it upon her shoulders to try and force him to relax to some degree lest the world of heroes and villains chew him up and spit him out.

The man at least had the audacity to look sheepish.

“Lucky’s, on Main,” she reminded him.

“Are we talking about Friday?” Hizashi sing-songed, his voice momentarily drawing attention, before the other staff members grumbled to themselves and carried on with their work.

“We are,” Nemuri confirmed, a wide smile pulling at her lips as she looked up at her long time friend. “Toshinori is going to be joining us.”

“I didn’t-”

“Hell yeah!” Hizashi nodded his head enthusiastically, clapping his hand against Toshinori’s back. “The new nurse is going to be there too, and I don’t know if you’ve seen her, but…”

Hizashi let out a low whistle, and the appreciation in his gaze caused Toshi to frown. The thought of his interaction with you was something common, and, well, not special, pulled his mood down a fair bit.

While Hizashi was none the wiser, Nemuri picked up on the sudden swing in joviality rather quickly. She quirked a perfectly sculpted brow, leveling her friend with an unamused stare.

“Zashi, you are not going to be drooling over my potential new friend all night.”

He shrugged unapologetically, conceding only when Nemuri pouted.

“Alright, alright, she’s off limits. You got it, boss.” The look Hizashi shared with Toshi went over the older man’s head. He was trying to convey something with the waggle of his eyebrows, but he couldn’t possibly conceive what.

And just like that, the tension was broken and the conversation returned to normal.

Toshinori kept thoughts of your interaction in the back of his mind, reminiscing on them when he was alone, but not allowing them to pervade his introspection through the rest of the week.

He avoided the nurse’s office too.

Partly because he didn’t want to make a fool of himself, and partly because the medicine you prescribed to him seemed to be working better than he expected. Maybe that was your quirk? He wanted to ask the other staff members about you, but he was being steadfastly tight-lipped when it came to any discussion of your person, especially when Nemuri would shoot him a knowing look anytime your name was brought up in conversation.

Friday came all too early, and Toshi had half a mind to cancel when his phone began buzzing with notifications from the group chat.

He scrolled through them idly, tugging at the collar of his white t-shirt a bit uncomfortably. Nemuri had not-so-subtly suggested that he wear something tighter fitting, and while he didn’t want to take her advice, he couldn’t help but follow it anyway. She was far better at understanding what people liked, and even though he tried to convince himself he didn’t really care what you thought of him, it didn’t work.

Most of the other staff members were talking about when they were going to be arriving and how they were getting there, but one message in particular stood out.

Unknown: Nemuri promised dancing, so I better not be disappointed.

It was you, had to be, as he had everyone else’s number saved in his phone. His heart beat a little faster, the familiar uneasiness pumping through his veins.

He should cancel.

He should really, really cancel.

If it weren’t for the fact that he was quite certain Midnight would actually murder him, he probably would have.

Alas, some incredible feat of strength had possessed him the entire drive to Lucky’s, and even further into the main entrance.

He nearly puffed out a breath of relief when he saw the familiar faces of his coworkers. You weren’t there yet, and he found himself able to relax for just a minute to adjust to the new environment.

It was a nightclub, but not one super high energy. There were enough tables and chairs that only the people dancing were standing up. The place was busy, but not overcrowded, and the dim lights still provided enough illumination to properly see.

“I was starting to think you weren’t going to show after all,” Nemuri offered as a greeting, a sly smirk on her features.

All Might took a seat at the large table they'd reserved just for them, placing his hands awkwardly in the space in front of himself.

Aizawa, who looked like he was sleeping, popped his head up long enough to slide a drink in the aforementioned place.

“You’re going to need it,” he grunted, dropping his head again.

Toshi blinked, tentatively reaching for the drink. He had never been a large fan of drinking, even less so after the injury. Still, he sipped at it, curiously swirling the bitter flavor in his mouth.

“Yo, yo, yo, look who I found!” Hizashi’s voice was louder than the music, his expression cocky as he held his hands open in flair.

Beside him stood you, your cheeks a little red as you tucked hair behind your ear. At UA you had been wearing standard, baggy scrubs. Here, however, you were wearing a tiny black dress that showed off the expanse of your legs. It fell to mid thigh, and the adjective “cute” that Toshinori had associated with you earlier was entirely wrong. You were…

He swallowed thickly, an unfamiliar tug in his stomach alerting him to a desire he’d buried deep long ago.

He was drinking up every bit of skin you had on display, and when he finally managed to respectfully avert his gaze, he met the suggestive gaze of Midnight.

Deciding to take Aizawa’s advice, he swallowed a large gulp of the offered drink, staring a hole into the table in front of him.

Nemuri wasn’t one to let a look that sinful be ignored however, and she gave you her sweetest smile.

“Sit by me!” She suggested frantically, gesturing you over to the seat directly by her, which just so happened to also be by Toshinori.

The air seemed to grow warmer with your presence as you occupied the previously empty seat.

“Sorry I’m late, guess I just lost track of time.”

Nemuri waved off your apology with a smile.

“Hizashi can get us drinks, I need a new one anyways.” The sound hero looked like he was about to protest, but then decided against it and walked towards the bar. “Everyone,” she introduced, “This is (Y/N). She’s a nurse.”

There were small greetings exchanged as you wriggled in your seat a little. “Thank you, but I’m not a nurse.”

That sparked some confusion.

“But you were in the…”

Toshi turned to you, nearly regretting it the moment he did. Were your eyes always so soulful, or was he just studying them very intently?

“I work with Recovery Girl,” you affirmed, assuring him that he hadn’t got medication from some random person, and you were in fact qualified to do so. “I’m a biochemist.”

“Oh,” Toshinori replied dumbly, not quite sure how to respond.

Keeping his gaze on you was even more difficult, and he turned away nervously.

“Toshinori went to college in America too,” Nemuri spoke for him, ignoring the heat that had crept up his cheeks.

That woman had really done her research.

“Yeah?“ You prompted, giving the man in question your full attention. He fought the anxiety in his chest as he maintained eye contact. “How’d you like it?”

“I loved it,” he admitted shyly, flicking his gaze to Nemuri often almost as assurance that he was engaging in conversation properly.

The smile she returned could only be described as prideful.

“I bet you got into all sorts of crazy adventures,” you enthused, resting your head on your fist as you prepared to hear whatever story he would tell.

Toshinori didn’t disappoint.

Once he started talking, reminiscing, he got more excited, more theatrical. Story after story he regaled a lifetime of adventure, and whenever he would ask about you, you would politely defer back to him.

Before he knew it, the bartender was yelling last call.

Your cheeks were a pretty red, tinted from the consumption of alcohol that you’d been steadily sipping on through the night. He had swapped after one drink, no longer needing the courage it offered once he found his rhythm.

Now, though, with the rest of the UA faculty long since retiring, and faced with the reality it was just the two of you, blood curdling fear settled in his bones. This was not, and had never been, his element.

The terror must have shown in his eyes however, as you murmured a soft, “Walk me home?”

Your eyes glistened beneath the length of your lashes, a premeditated pout forming on your wetted lips, as if there were a chance he could deny you anything.

He nodded mutely, trying to get words out, yet not able to form a sentence. His reply was enthusiastic enough for you, as you linked your arm in his and began walking, surprisingly steady despite the liquor.

“I’m glad you showed up,” you interrupted the silence, your voice cutting through him more than the crisp air.

“Nemuri said you don’t always come to these.” You explained further at his quirked brow.

“Not always, no,” he confirmed, finally able to find his voice.

It was difficult for him to concentrate on much past the warm, gentle grip of your hand. Each accidental bump of your body set his on fire.

#toshinori yagi x you #toshinori yagi x reader #all might x reader #all might x you #all might imagine #just a little blurb #don’t mind me

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miniaturesuitgladiator · 3 months ago

Text

Batfam x Neglected Mortal

Kombat Reader

Notes: this is part 9 to lucid dreams.

Warnings ⚠️: child neglect.

As you step through the blue portal memories of your life that lead up to this exact moment ,flash through your mind.

Some memories good....like when you first met Jason or when you had gotten taller then your mother.

And some memories bad... like when your mother forgot your birthday... or when your grandmother died...

Each memory more painfulthen the last. And for a moment you begin wondering if you even had good memories from gotham.

But you do.... and each good memory has one thing in common.

Jason.

Your jason the one who stood by you through everything..

The jason who used to cry thinking you'd leave him. Just like his mother.

The jason who'd you comfort and not only promise but pinky promise that you'd never leave him.

The same jason who you left in tears.

Your jason.

Your brother.

Jason what was kept you alive. Or atleast that's what it felt like. Every milestone every journey jason was there.... and now he wasn't.

Not because he didn't want to be. But because you left him. This is a choice you made.

A choice you'll have to live with.

So you push your guilt and regret away as your feet finally touch the ground of the place you left so many years ago.

The soft snow crunches under your shoes and it's cold. No, it's freezing. It always is here.

Any normal person would probably freeze but your body is quick to adjust to the weather. You were born here this is natural to you.

The cold never really bothered you anyway do to your fire abilities.

Standing right infront of you is two men. Your father's soldiers no doubt. They were his symbol of the dragon across their chest.

Their tall and old. But you can tell their strong. But you suppose they have to be strong.

Because this world isn't kind to anything weak.

The have four horses with them. Two for you and Kion and two for them. Kion pulls you with him towards them as he walks. They bow out of respect.

"Welcome princess." They say in sync.

Princess....it's been so long since you've been called that. And truthfully you don't want that title but it's yours to bare. So you nod your head.

Kion helps you as you get onto the horse. It's a big horse and the color is a perfect black. It's a far nicer horse then what the two other soldiers will be riding.

Once Kion sees your safely on the horse he gets on his. Kion leads the way and your horse follows in suit.

As if your horse wasn't even listening to you but to Kion. Kions horse slows down so that your horse matches its pace perfectly.

Riding side by side ,kion begins speaking. "You made the right decision sister..this is where you belong. This is your home." He says.

And glancing around the snowy forest and tall trees you feel like he's right....this is where you belong. This is your home.

You ride your horse in silence for a few minutes taking in his words and their truth.

"This is my home...." You repeat quietly testing the words on your tongue..... but you can't help but miss what you left behind... No, you miss who you left behind.

And like he always does Kion senses your distress.

"Regret weighs down the mind ,sister....Don't regret what's already done. It's pointless." Kion says and his words are true. But they still don't help.

"You sound like father." You say because you know that's where he got it from.

"Father, is wise sister... you should take what he says seriously. " he says with a stern voice. He obviously didn't understand that you were trying to make a joke. But Jason would've.......

"I always do. " You say quietly. The pit of regret in your stomach growing.

"Father won't be there to welcome you when we arrive..... he's out on a short trip...he'll be back by morning." He assured almost ashamed that your father won't be there.

You smile sheepishly knowing the reason.

"He didn't think I would come?" You question already knowing the answer.

"It's been years sister...he didn't doubt you.. he just doubted what your mother could've made you into." Kion says and by the way he says it you can tell. He believed the same thing.

"My mother didn't turn me into anything." You say and the atmosphere gets so tense that even the horses under you can feel it.

One soldiers behind you speak up trying to ease the tension. "Your brother means no disrespect princess...but everyone's glad to know that your loyalty lays with us." One says. But you stay silent still angry with kions words.

Did everyone here think you're a toy? Or clay that could be molded into anything?

You sigh knowing that that's what they probably think. Because here it's common...

Here it's common for your parents to decide exactly what kind of person you become.

"Make no mistake the princesses loyalty lays with her kin." Kion says almost possessively and your hands clench the ranes of the horse.

"Of course my prince." The soldiers say and you can tell their scared. Their scared of your brother.

Because of what he is. Who he is....did they fear you just the same? You ask yourself.

The ride to your village is quiet other then the sound of your horses hooves walking.

It's snowing lightly casting a beautiful scenery if only the silence wasn't so tense.....

After a while of riding your horse into the snowy forest you're greeted with the walls that you were raised in...

The walls that you had once escaped. And now you welcome them....?

It's a strange feeling. Somethings have changed. You've changed. You've matured.

Grown mentally and physically.

Your no longer the small girl who'd your mentors hit when you'd make a mistake.

No, now. Your strong. And much likely stronger then any of your past mentors.

The walls around your village are tall. And you can't help but feel like there trapping you in as the big gate closes behind you.

The people in your village both old and young are formed into a line in both sides of the path that leads straight toward the palace.

The all bow as you pass them on your horse. You look at them studying each one of them as your ride your horse passes them.

Your peoples eyes watch you. Study you right back. Taking in every little detail about you.

Your clan was nothing if not observant.

You can see there already whispering things about. But you don't care anymore if it's good or bad. Or maybe....deep down you do.

"This is your home sister... your legacy." Kion say and his chin is held high as you both ride your horses through the path.

Like a prince.

He is a prince.

.....he's wrong. This is his legacy.....not yours.

Where do you belong?

'Regret weighs down the mind...don't regret something you can't change.' Kions words stick to you. They always will....

The moon shine brightly tonight and it's rays hit the palace peaceful eliminating the beauty of this place.

Mounting off of your horse with ease. You sigh. And walk up the stairs of the tall ancient palace.

It's been so long since last walked the halls...but you remember each one.

The colors on the walls haven't faded...and the walls carry something deeper than color.

Memories...they carry memories.

Most of fighting, learning or rare occasions you'd take a walk with your father.

"Dinner is being prepared..." kion says as you walk through the halls.

"I'm not hungry" You say and you continue walking through the halls of the palace ignoring kions protest for you to eat.

Eventually you do reach the place you've been dying to see.... your room.

It's smaller then you remember and all of your stuff sits untouched. Almost as if you left it yesterday. But no, you left it years ago....

It's been cleaned there's not a spot of dust to be seen. But everything in perfect place.

Your pencil lays on your desk and so does your old school work. Some of your drawings lay on the desk too.

All memories you thought you forgot about. You sit on the big bed. Because despite your small room it still had a big bed.

You were royalty after all.

This bed is way softer then the small bed you had in gotham. It doesn't creak and it's springs aren't broken.

And spriseingly it's warm...

Laying down on the soft bed kion sighs. And finally moves away from the door frame.

"This room isn't big enough for you. I'll have you a room prepared." He says turning away but he stops as he hears your protest.

"I like this room....I'll stay in this room."

"I'm not asking sister." He says defensively almost like it pains him to see you in a room that isn't to his taste.

Because it does.

"Neither was I." Your voice is calm as you lay on your bed. But he knows you won't back down.

So he sighs and decides to let it go.

"As you wish...are you certain you aren't hungry?" He asks and you can tell he's still disappointed that you willing want to stay in this room.

But his concern out ways his disappointment.

"Positive." You reply. Not missing a beat.

"Alright then...goodnight sister.." He mumbles quietly.

"Goodnight Kion..." You say quietly deep in your thoughts.

But you catch how he stays for a moment longer wanting you to say something else.

Something more.

So you speak up quietly but Kion catches your words.

Because he's been dying to hear them.

"I love you brother...." Your voice is no louder then a whisper and you almost think he doesn't hear them.

But when you sit up to see him he smiles.... and quickly wipes his eyes..

He's crying..because you said you loved him?

You had honestly said those words out of pressure. But you can tell how much they mean to him.

To you he was crying because you had said you loved him. But to him you had not only said you loved him.

But you called him your brother...

Your brother.

You had never called him that. Never.

Always Kion. Never brother.

Despite his tears you can see he's happy. It's as of the weight he's been carrying has finally been lifted.

And your about to stand up to hug him. And it probably would've been an awkward hug like before.

But before you can even stand up Kion speaks up.

"I love you too ,sister.......very much." His voice is small... and tender. Kind of like him.

He's walks away before you can stand.

You can't see him but he's smiling like an absolute idiot. But he doesn't care...because you love him.

You actually love him.

Him.

He's your brother. Not jason.

You lay back down on your bed drifting between sleep and worry. You feel uncomfortable on your bed.

It feels almost like it's not yours. But it is...

Many worries cloud your mind as you remain laying down. Each worse then the last.

What if your father dislikes you? No, he wants you here..he needs to here... right?

What if he's disappointed in your fighting abilities? No, your strong. You know pretty much everything...right?

What if you stutter when you see him. You know how much he hated when you used to stutter out of fear.

No, your diffrent now....stronger...right?

You know deep down these worries are useless think about. But you can't help yourself.

Tomorrow you'd see the man you ran away from. So many years ago.

Soon enough your mind does eventually give into sleep......tomorrow you'd see someone that you've tried to pretend that you've hated for so long...the man who you've seen in the mirror all your life.

The man who raised you. Made you.

The man that despite your past you care for deeply.. you love deeply...... your father...

Thanks for reading! All comments and likes are very much appreciated! They really keep me writing! 💗💗

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#batfamily x reader #yandere batfam #yandere batfamily #batsis reader #mk x dc #batfamily x batsis reader #mortal combat reader #yandere batfam x reader #neglected reader

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