#sorry Richard for leaving you out this time

[crimsonwolf715]

What Have I Done?

{I know canonically that Dick’s fears are all mental hurdles (failure, his family not loving him, etc), but I like the idea of that soul eating guilt. So enjoy this definitely far (maybe not really far, but still far) from canon fic about Dick on fear toxin 🫡}

Scarecrow’s been out of Arkham for three days. Tim managed to find his location and the Bats are at the place so they can get him back to Arkham before he causes a major incident. 

“Scarecrow’s in the warehouse, so proceed with caution,” Bruce says. 

“You got it, old man,” Jason says. 

“I’m always cautious,” Damian says. 

“That is a lie,” Tim replies. 

“Don’t fight, you two,” Dick says. “Focus on Scarecrow.” 

The five split up and start searching the warehouse. 

Dick’s cautious when walking into each area, making sure he has an exit route. After searching half of his area, he walks into a room with his escrima sticks at the ready. There’s nothing in the room beside a large bookcase partially against one wall. Dick checks behind it for anything, then turns to leave. The door slams shut and he hears some kind of click. He runs over and starts trying to open the door. 

Gas starts coming in through the vents and Dick pulls his mask on. He keeps trying to manhandle the door open when something comes flying at him. He ducks and realizes that it’s a small rock. He turns the way it came from in just enough time to see another rock hit his mask. His mask cracks and he starts cursing. Gas fills the room and Dick continues to try to get out, but the door stays firmly in place. 

He’s holding his breath, trying to avoid inhaling any at all, but that doesn’t work. He can’t hold his breath long enough. He breathes it in and starts coughing immediately. It feels like it’s burning his nose and throat. He keeps trying to get out the door until he hears it. 

“Richard.” 

Dick turns and Bruce is standing there in full Batman uniform, giving Dick the full power of the Batglare™. 

“You’re a disgrace, a plague on this family,” Bruce says. “You failed me. You’re not a part of this family anymore.” 

“No, don’t do this,” Dick pleads. “I’m sorry, Dad.” 

“You should be. You’re a sorry excuse for a partner and a son.” 

Tears well up in Dick’s eyes. “ Please, stop. ” 

“You should just go back to Blüdhaven and never come back.” 

Dick starts crying. “ Dad. ” 

Bruce starts shouting that Dick needs to leave and Dick claws his comm out of his ear so he can better cover his ears. He hears his family start screaming in pain. He opens his eyes and sees all of them being brutally tortured by Joker, Two-Face, and Scarecrow. Dick squeezes his eyes shut, refusing to believe that’s what’s happening. A loud bang interrupts his family’s screams. Dick turns and Scarecrow’s there with a big ass sword. Dick pulls out his escrima sticks and attacks Scarecrow. The two start sparring, Dick having the upper hand. 

“Dick, snap out of it.”  

Scarecrow’s not going down with the usual amount of force, so Dick stops pulling his punches as much. 

“You’re worthless. You’ve failed the city and your family. My toxins will turn this city into a hellhole of despair.” 

Scarecrow uses his sword to disarm Dick. Dick throws a kick at him but he manages to dodge it. Scarecrow raises the sword and Dick grabs the knife out of his boot that he only keeps for emergencies. He throws it and it nails Scarecrow in the side. Scarecrow drops as Dick’s vision blurs. 

“No, I need to get him into custody and stop the bleeding.” 

Dick’s body gives out and he passes out. 

Dick wakes up and he’s in the warehouse. He sits up and Tim’s beside him, bleeding. It seemed like he was trying to stop the bleeding, but he passed out before he could. Dick goes over and realizes that he can’t move his right arm without excruciating pain. He ignores it and starts putting pressure on the wound. Jason runs into the room. 

“What the hell did you do?” Jason asks. 

“What did I do?” Dick replies, confused. 

“Tim was fighting you, so yes I’m asking you.” 

Dick backs away from Tim, realizing that he wasn’t fighting Scarecrow. He was fighting Tim. Jason rushes over to Tim. 

“What is wrong with you right now?” Jason asks. 

Dick’s back hits the wall and pain shoots through his shoulder. He ignores it as tears well up in his eyes. 

“What have I done?” Dick asks. 

Dick runs out of the room and he hears Jason shouting his name but he ignores it entirely. He makes it outside and trips. He lands on his knees, then throws up. Once he finally stops throwing up or dry heaving, which takes almost ten minutes, he looks for his comm. He doesn’t find it though. 

I must have left it inside. I remember I took it out because all I could hear was Bruce saying that I was a… I am a failure. I almost killed my little brother. Tim’s been through so much and I probably just gave him so much more trauma. He’ll never trust me again.  

Tears start falling and Dick quietly sobs there, unsure what else to do. 

“Dick.” 

Dick turns and even though he can barely see past the tears, he recognizes the outline of Batman. He starts crying harder, all of the things Bruce said earlier rushing back into his head. He feels Bruce’s hand on his good shoulder and he tries to push the hand away. He doesn’t deserve any kind of comfort. 

“Jason’s gotten Tim to Leslie and he’s gonna be fine,” Bruce says. “We need to get you there too.” 

“No.” 

“Tonight isn’t your fault.” 

“Yes it is. I’m supposed to protect my siblings, and I almost killed Tim. How am I supposed to live with myself, Dad?” 

Bruce pulls Dick into a hug, careful of Dick’s shoulder even though he didn’t tell him about the injury. Dick hugs Bruce back tightly and the sobbing resumes. 

“You’ll take it one day at a time, like we always do.” 

Bruce rubs Dick’s back until a small beep sounds. 

“I hear you. We’re on our way back now,” Bruce says to whoever’s on comms. 

“I… I can’t face him, Dad.” 

“I’m gonna take you to Leslie. We can discuss you talking to Tim once you’ve completely detoxed. I’m going to pick you up now, is that alright?” 

“Sure.” 

Bruce gently picks Dick up and takes him to the Batmobile. The drive is silent, Dick silently crying. When they get to the Cave, Tim’s nowhere to be seen. Leslie’s waiting for them though. 

“Go see Tim, Dad. I’ll be fine,” Dick says. 

“Are you…?” 

“Yeah, I’m sure.” 

Leslie gives him a checkup and aside from having to bite down on his lip hard enough to draw blood when she checks his shoulder, she doesn’t seem concerned. Dick’s barely hearing what she’s saying, but nothing concerning. 

“I don’t know exactly what’s wrong with your shoulder.” 

Dick turns to look at her. 

“I want to take you in to get scans,” Leslie says.

“Great, sounds perfect,” Dick replies.

“Don’t be sarcastic with me.” 

“I’m not. Get off my ass about it.” 

Leslie looks surprised and Dick sighs. “Sorry, I don’t mean that. I just… I don’t really want to be around right now, and I don’t really want to go to the hospital.” 

The elevator opens and Damian comes out. Dick watches as Damian makes a beeline for him. He braces himself for a lecture or criticism, anything to live up to how people should be treating him. 

“Are you alright, Grayson?” 

“God only knows what’s wrong with my shoulder, but other than that I’m peachy. Is Tim alright?” 

“Yes, Timothy’s fine. He didn’t lose too much blood thanks to the three of you and I apprehended Scarecrow with Father. Nothing for you to worry about.” 

“I hurt Tim.” 

“Under the influence of fear toxin. You clearly thought that you were protecting yourself from someone that would cause you permanent harm. No one blames you.” 

“Other than me,” Dick says. 

“Other than you,” Damian echoes. “I’m going to stay here with you for a while. Father’s speaking with Timothy and Alfred’s otherwise occupied.” 

Dick notices that Leslie’s in the elevator, but he doesn’t care to say anything. 

She’ll be back.  

Damian sits in front of Dick and leans against him. Dick runs his hand through Damian’s hair, quietly humming. 

“What song is this?” Damian asks. 

“I don’t know,” Dick answers. “My mom used to sing it but I can’t remember the words well enough to look it up.” 

“My mother used to sing to me as well.” 

“Yeah, it kinda seems to be a thing that moms do. Jason said that his mother always used to sing this one song to him and he always knew that it was time to settle down. He didn’t tell me what song it was because I would abuse that, which he technically isn’t wrong about, but even Tim said that his mother sang to him when she was around.” 

Damian nods and Dick goes back to humming. Damian falls asleep after a short while and Dick keeps running a hand through his hair, trying not to cry again. Jason comes down with his hands in his pockets. 

“What the hell did you do?”  

Dick looks back down at Damian so Jason can’t see the tears starting to fall. 

“My sweet baby,” Dick whispers. 

“Hey. Can we talk, Dickie?” Jason asks quietly. 

“Sure,” Dick answers, surprising himself with how steady his voice is. 

“I… You…” Jason takes a breath. “I’m sorry.” 

Dick looks up at Jason. “For what?” 

“I… Tim told us that you possibly had been affected by some kind of drugs and I blamed you the second I saw Tim’s condition.” 

“It’s my fault, Jason.” 

“It was the drugs.” 

“It was me. Drugs or not, it was my hands that hurt him. That wasn’t Scarecrow.” 

“Get your head out of your ass,” Jason says. “That’s not how this works. Those drugs make you completely hallucinate something different than what’s really there. As someone who’s killed people on that before, it’s not black and white. Tim’s fine and that’s great, but you need to get out of your head.” 

Dick goes to snap back at Jason and he finds he has nothing to say. Jason’s not wrong, but all Dick can think is that he hurt his little brother. That it could have been Damian. That Tim could have been a little less prepared and died because of him. 

“Jason…” 

“Yeah?” 

“I forgive you. You took the exact approach I did.” 

“Thanks. Leslie’s probably gonna be storming down here any minute.” 

“Did she tell Dad that I was refusing the hospital?” 

“Oh, she was going when I saw her. If that approach doesn’t work, then she’ll just come down here and give you a lecture.” 

“Yeah, sounds nice. As long as she isn’t too loud and wakes Damian.” 

“Oh, Damian got the normal fear toxin and the cure administered. He’ll be sleeping till morning regardless.” 

“Well, that makes him falling asleep in this position make more sense.” 

“He likes you.” 

“I’m sure he does, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s sleeping on me in a way that was perfectly normal for me with Bruce.” 

Leslie comes down with a triumphant look. 

“Bruce must have told her that you should go,” Jason says. 

“When was the last time he was the boss of me? I’m not moving.” 

“Alfred said that you had to get your shoulder checked out,” Leslie says. 

“Fine, I’ll go,” Dick says. “Jason, can you take Damian?” 

Jason gently picks up Damian, who huffs, but doesn’t wake up. Dick gets up and follows Leslie. She drives him to the hospital and she must have called ahead because it was ready when they got there. Dick goes through the process without complaint, even though he’d rather complain a lot. 

“How did this happen?” Leslie asks as she looks over the scans. 

“I don’t know,” Dick answers. “I barely remember most of tonight. That probably won’t stick, but I don’t know.” 

“Alright, I’ll see if Tim can let me know. If not, that’s fine. Your injury, thankfully, isn’t as bad as I thought it was. You’ll still have a recovery time for it, but it’s not too bad. No working while this is healing.” 

“I think I’m just gonna stay at home and hug my baby brother.” 

“I doubt Damian will let you hug him that long, but feel free to do that with one arm.” 

She goes through the plan with him and gets his arm in a sling, which is annoying. She takes him back to the manor and when he walks in, Bruce is sitting at the dining room table. 

“Hey, Dad,” Dick says. 

“Hey,” Bruce replies. “How’s your shoulder?” 

“Fine. I’ll be in this thing for a little while, but that’s not the end of the world. Why aren’t you with Tim?” 

“Tim wants to talk to you, so I was waiting for you.” 

Dick takes a breath, then nods. The two walk upstairs and Tim’s arguing with Jason about the proper way to hold Damian. 

“I am holding him just fine. He’s still asleep and he’s not complaining,” Jason says. 

“Hey, Dick,” Tim says. 

Jason turns. “Hey, Dickie.” 

“Hey, you two.” 

“I’ll give you guys a minute,” Jason says. “I’m gonna get Damian into his bed.” 

Jason heads out and Dick takes a seat. 

“I’m not mad at you,” Tim says. “I know it wasn’t you.” 

“Thanks, buddy. I’m sorry that I hurt you,” Dick replies. 

“Did I hurt your shoulder?” Tim asks. “I don’t really remember the end of the fight.” 

“I actually don’t know. I don’t really remember my shoulder getting hurt. I’ll be in this for a while and be fine, so it doesn’t really matter who hurt my shoulder.” 

“Hey, Dick?” 

“Yeah?” 

“You still see us as equals, right?” 

“Of course.” 

“So no hard feelings then. Batman’s kicked the shit out of ninety percent of the Justice League and they still don’t hold a grudge, much.” 

Dick nods. “Okay, deal. I didn’t think of it like that.” 

Tim shrugs. “Sometimes you need a more objective view. I’m trying not to be so objective about my relationships with you guys, but it’s good for things like this.” 

Dick ruffles Tim’s hair. “Alright, I’m gonna try to get some rest.” 

“I’ll see you in the morning, Dick.” 

“See you in the morning, Tim.” 

Dick heads to his room to try to get some rest.

[fandoms-in-law]

Ophelia's Son: Abigail

Summary: Abigail Adams turns up at the Harrington house to try and get Steve to help her schemes. Nobody agrees with her.

Following on from these Ophelia's Son Smoking and What Will Grow

Mostly inspired by the Feud in the Addams Family episode for those who know the 60's series.

/\

Since meeting the Addams’s and especially since he first had the flower crown take root, Steve had come to expect a few new reactions when customers entered Family Video. None of those helped when Nancy came storming in, not even reacting to him as she seized the phone, “Hello, Welcome to Family – Hey! Nancy, you can’t just use the phone.” He switched to complaining mid greeting.

As he impatiently watched, she dialled a number that looked like it was noted in his handwriting and held a finger up to emphasise she wanted him to wait while she called rather than complain about it immediately.

“Hello Mr Addams, I’m Nancy, a friend of Steve’s.” She greeted cheerfully and he snorted at the formality. He was sure the first reply would be something about calling him Gomez but resolved to carry on listening to why-ever his uncle had been called.

“Yes, he’s well… Yes, I’ll tell him, but I am calling for a reason sir… Yes sir, an Abigail Adams turned up at his house this morning. I was dropping something off and… Okay… I’ll do what I can… I’ll let Steve know to expect her. Thank you.” Nancy stared at the phone for a moment, a little surprised the call had finished so quickly though Steve wasn’t. While Morticia took her time to speak and think through her words, Gomez often spoke quickly and acted impulsively.

He cleared his throat after a moment of her staring though, still annoyed that Nancy had come all the way to Family Video to make a call she clearly could have done at his house. All the party knew where his spare key was kept after all.

“Sorry.” She apologised a little sheepishly, “That Abigail woman wasn’t leaving so I didn’t want to unlock the door after I’d locked it. I think she’s still parked outside your house, set on waiting until you’re home.”

“Okay, that explains why you called from here, but not why you’d brought the number with you or why you wanted to call them before telling me this.” Steve stated, unimpressed with her actions still. “Also who should I be expecting other than Abigail?”

Nancy glanced back at the phone. “Mama? Granmama? I think for you it’d be the latter, apparently she wants to fight Abigail over something, or they all dislike her, maybe. And I wanted to call them because Abigail mentioned how you or she should be head of the Addams family rather than Gomez. I didn’t mention that to him, did I?”

“Nope, but if she’s tried taking over before that might explain them disliking her.” He offered. “Maybe you could head to the library to see if anything about her has reached Hawkins newspapers.”

Nancy smiled, nodding and clearly happy to have something to research over the encounter that must have been more than stated given how unsettled she still seemed.

/\

He knew Abigail was someone disliked by his Aunt and Uncle and knew that she was probably still outside his house, but Steve was not expecting to have “Mr Harrington!” called out as soon as he got out of his car, nor the dark haired lady in a dress suit and kitten heels hurrying over to him while he straightened up.

“Steve, if I may. I so wanted to meet you. I’m your relative, Abigail Adams. Richard suggested I visit and I’m sure you’re just as charming as your father is.” The words were genially said but immediately soured him on her. Anyone his father liked was someone to be wary of, but also likely to be mentioned and bring anger if he scorned her.

Steve decided to worry over his fathers reaction later and headed towards the house, “Congratulations Abigail, you’ve met me.” He sarcastically called. “Leave now and you can keep that impression. Stay and I’ll have a fair few families helping you leave soon enough.”

“What?” She asked, shocked but so far keeping pace and intent on inviting herself in.

Steve smiled coldly, unlocking and stepping through the door fully enough to block her entry as he turned around. “Delighted. Goodbye.” He slammed the door, biting back an annoyed groan as locked it and heard knocking immediately start up.

He wondered what would happen in an hour when everyone started arriving for Hellfire since she was likely to still be there it seemed.

/\

“Hey, Harrington?” Gareth popped his head into the kitchen uncertainly.

Steve smiled warmly, carrying on setting out the snacks for the evening, “Yup, what’s up?”

“A couple ladies just invited themselves in and seem like they’re having the most polite fight ever.” Gareth glanced back over his shoulder as Eddie’s voice could be heard cheerfully greeting Granmama.

For a moment Steve frowned, “Was one of them the woman in a dress suit who’s been sat in her car all evening?”

“Yes. I know you said we shouldn’t let her in, but-”

“Don’t worry about it,” He interrupted the apology he could hear coming. “Perhaps if I let her say whatever it is she wants I’ll get her to actually leave.”

For all he hadn’t expected that to actually work, Abigail did leave to find a hotel after making her case for the head of the Addams family to him, often raising her voice as Granmama corrected, challenged or just interrupted her. He was sure that wasn’t the end of it though, especially when Nancy mentioned while picking Mike and Will up that this would be the fourth attempt Abigail had made to take control of the Addams fortune.

/\

Robin had come over to hang out and Dustin had refused to go home, even with Eddie giving everyone lifts. Both of them claimed they wanted to meet an actual Addams, not a Frump like Steve and his mother and had been getting along with Granmama for most of it.

Steve had been telling them about his first encounter with Abigail which had led to Robin and him joking over Starcourt and the Russian code, laughing between themselves since Dustin rarely found it funny given what happened next.

“Ah, young love.” Granmama smiled at the sight of the pair.

Dustin nodded, grinning broadly, “I know right! I keep telling them-”

“We’re not dating.” Steve and Robin cut off his insistence that that should date, matching glares on their faces as they stopped giggling together.

Granmama looked indignant at the words. “Only you reacted happily to her Russian. It’s only reasonable.”

“We went through stuff together around Russians. It’s not a romance language.” Steve explained, brow furrowed and shaking his head at how little sense she made.

“I’ll whip up some love dust. That’ll sort you.” Granmama nodded.

“No!” Both snapped, Steve adding on, “In fact you’re banned from the kitchen while you’re here. I’ll do the cooking as normal, thank you.”

Granmama nodded, “Well that’s just good manners, but I’ll still get some. It’ll do you good if the Russian reaction says anything. Just like the French one.”

Robin and Steve shared a look. “We’re not going to ask right now, and we’re never going to date. No need for any dust love or otherwise to fail at that.” Robin spoke for them this time. “It’s Platonic with a capital P.”

“And they’ll always say that.” Nancy agreed, knocking on the door frame. “That Abigail is a piece of work from everything I’ve read. Actually, before we all met Ophelia, that’s how I’d imagined her.”

“Can’t blame you there but it’s my father who acts like her.” Steve shrugged. “I think Will offered to have El try spying to figure out a way to get her to back off too.”

Nancy smiled, letting out a heavy breath. “Good. I really don’t like what I found.”

“I said Fester should’ve come with me. He might not be one for travel but he will shoot her in the back quick as you like. Might even hit her.” Granmama cheerfully suggested. “I’ve got my axe but that’s messy and I know Ophelia will plant daisies in our garden if I upset this house.”

“Hm, I could do that, but let’s see what secrets we can get to silence her first.” Nancy nodded, as if the suggestion was reasonable when they weren’t facing the Upside Down.

Steve held his hands up, looking commandingly between the two, “No. We do not condone murder outside of Hawkins events here. What would the kids start doing if we did?”

“Torture?” Granmama offered, as if that was a better suggestion.

He huffed, “Yes, they probably would start doing that too. So we won’t. See what you and El find out. Then blackmail her gone.”

/\

Apparently nothing more needed doing for Abigail to leave. She did stop by before going, asking Steve to call off the cousins or ghosts.

He played innocent and wondered if there were invisible Addams cousins or if El had decided to go further than just spying and instead moved things around to make Abigail think she was getting haunted. Either way she seemed to have given up on taking over the Addams family once more and that hopefully meant she’d leave him alone too.

“Morticia and Gomez will be visiting with the kids when school holidays start, but they’ll be happy to hear about you before then.” Granmama brightly said as a car pulled up outside. “And I’ll make sure they have love dust with them then.”

“You really don’t have to.” Steve gave a false smile. “I’ve got a partner already.”

He really hoped that meeting more of the Addams family wouldn’t get more pressures on him to date Robin, even if he was curious why reacting to a language being spoken would equate to love.

[deadsetobsessions]

Damian Wayne was like a duckling. A violent, stab-happy, danger-prone duckling, yes, but a duckling all the same. Which means when Danny almost got stabbed by a sleepy, instinct driven Damian, he was able to wave it off with a laugh. Damian, on the other hand, stared in horror at the butter knife firmly lodged in Danny’s arm.

“PENNYWORTH!” Danny jerked back at Damian’s scream. “RICHARD! FATHER!”

God damn, the kid had a pair of lungs on him. Danny’s wince was interpreted as pain to Damian, who gently grabbed his injured arm and started to pull him towards the kitchen’s marble island.

Danny blinked, non plussed as his hearing picked up a thundering of feet as the present family members scrambled towards Damian’s distress call.

“Wait, Damian, I’m fine. It’s-”

“You have been impaled, you imbecile! Had it been any of the other simpletons, they would have-!”

“Ouch.” Danny put his other hand in mock hurt over his slow-beating heart. He literally doesn’t care about the butter knife. He’s just impressed there was enough force in there to impale him. “Are you calling me names now? After- gasp- stabbing me?”

Before Damian could reply, the beginnings of regret, remorse, and guilt on his face, Alfred, Dick, and Bruce burst into the kitchen.

“What happened?!”

“My word, master Danny!”

“What is it?!”

“I’m fine. It’s like a small stab. Not even a big stab. I’m good.”

Dick paled, seeing Danny’s arm clutched in Damian’s hand.

“That’s- that’s a knife. In your arm. How is that ‘fine’?!”

“What happened.” Bruce asked Damian, gently removing Danny’s arm from Damian’s death clutch.

“I- I did not mean to,” Damian starts, guilt coloring his voice.

“He didn’t,” Danny cuts in. “I startled him and got stabbed for being dumb. I won’t fault him for having a defense mechanism like that, ancient knows what I might do if you guys startled me.”

The awkward silence that settled at his words made Danny twitch awkwardly.

“Uh, so, can I add this knife to my collection? Even if I didn’t get mugged?”

“Danny.”

“Bruce.” Danny stared stubbornly back. With his uninsured hand, he patted Damian on the head. He was going to enjoy the fluffiness before Damian’s guilt was no longer enough to hold him back from snapping at Danny’s hand like a grumpy alligator. Bruce loses, obviously. He’s a teenager who was also an ex-vigilante. Batman’s got nothing on a determined halfa.

“Master Danny, I must insist you refrain from getting stabbed. There is only so much gauze and antiseptic cream in the house.” Alfred returned- huh, when did he leave?- with a med kit.

Danny called bullshit because he knows there’s a whole ass medical bay beneath the manor.

“Sorry.”

“No need to apologize.” Alfred said, promptly beginning the extraction of the butter knife.

“Are you okay?” Dick asked, hovering worriedly. “He- are you…?”

Damian was allowing Danny to ruffle his hair, so…

“Yep, I’m good. This isn’t even on my top thirty most painful stabbings,” and it really wasn’t. That honor was given to the GIW and that one time Jazz accidentally stabbed him with her earrings. “That was pretty impressive, actually. It’s like, a butter knife. The other ones had pointy ends.”

“Do not clump me with those pathetic wastes of spaces. I am naturally superior and would… would never harm you on purpose.” Damian said, getting quiet at the end like he was trying to plead to Danny to believe him.

“Of course not. But- if you want help me keep the knife, you can hit me with a mug, it would technically be a mugging.”

The pun got the desired effect. Damian leaned away with a disgruntled look and Dick stopped hovering as close in order to let out a small cackle.

“Done.”

“You should go get changed, kiddo. We’re going to see Tim’s photography at the Gotham Gallery today.”

“Oh, for real?” Danny patted Damian’s fluffy hair one last time, pushing away from the counter. “Oh, I’ll clean up here first and-”

“That will not be necessary,” Alfred scolded, a mop somehow already in his hands. “Please see to it you are prepared for the day.”

“Thanks, Alfred. Can I keep the knife.”

“Very well.”

“Sweet. See you guys later?” Danny pranced off after seeing the nods.

——

“He’s… he got stabbed a lot. Before us, I mean.” Dick tapped a furious rhythm onto the counter. “Not that we’ve stabbed him until now but even once is concerning for a civilian.”

“He was used to it.” Bruce replied.

“Perhaps we should join Todd in his endeavor and ensure that his worthless tormentors are permanently out of the picture.”

“God, he said top thirty. He was counting.”

Damian silently withdrew a kitchen knife.

“No murder with my quality chef’s knives, Master Damian.”

“Tt.”

“Master Jason follows the same rules. Now, out of the kitchen. I may be old, but I remember the last time master Bruce and master Dick stepped foot in here and I will not have a repeat.”

[hawkinsbnbg]

“Can we keep him, Uncle Wayne?”

Wayne didn’t look up from his newspaper, too used to his nephew picking up strays and bringing them home. God blessed the boy’s big young heart, but their trailer didn’t have space for another kitty or pup.

“I told ya before and I told ya it now,” Wayne said gruffly but not unkindly. “We don’t have space for your pet, son.”

“He’s not–”

“Eds, I’ll be fine on my own,” a quiet voice cut in before Eddie could start his usual speech.

That garnered Wayne’s attention immediately. And there standing next to his nephew was Steve Harrington who looked worse for wear—red puffy eyes, split lips, disheveled hair, and rumpled clothes.

“What happened?” Wayne set his newspaper aside and straightened up in his chair. He had a few good guesses already given what he knew of Richard and Amanda, but he still wanted to hear their side of the story first.

“His parents kicked him out,” Eddie hissed, hand clutching Steve’s fiercely in case the other boy tried to get away. He didn’t, just deflated as soon as the words were out of Eddie’s mouth.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Steve mumbled, eyes shining stubbornly as they locked with Wayne’s. “I just need a place to stay until tomorrow and then I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

“Stevie,” Eddie turned to him with an exasperated look. “You can’t believe that I’d let you leave after everything, right?”

“I know you want to help,” Steve rubbed a hand down his face tiredly, like he needed to hide a part of himself, vulnerable and slightly worn-out. “But I don’t wanna intrude.”

“You won’t,” Eddie shook his head rapidly and then looked at Wayne. “Right, Wayne? He’s not bothering you or anything, right?”

Wayne took in the sight of the Harrington boy, scared and lost, and knew his decision had been made for him. It wasn’t his first time taking in a stray anyway.

“Just call me Wayne or Uncle Wayne, kid,” he offered Steve a closed-mouthed smile, his most amiable one. “We don’t have much here, but feel free to ask me anything you need.”

When Steve ducked his head with a shy smile and sniffled a small Thank you, Wayne didn’t regret his choice.

It didn’t hurt that his nephew also beamed at him like Wayne had just saved the world.

And in a sense, to Eddie, it was true.

Because Wayne could see how much the Harrington boy meant to him, see the way they looked at each other without admitting it aloud.

Perhaps, Wayne picked up his newspaper again as Eddie offered the Munson’s new member a mug of warm milk, he was going to have another son soon enough.

[depresssant]

Shades of Cool

NEGLECTFUL!PLATONIC!YAN!batfam x GN!reader

synopsis : growing up with a shit mom and constant step-dads and mom's boyfriends, your view on life has grown pretty bleak. you just want to die, since it doesn't seem to get better than this. things can't get any worse, can they?

wsp guys. it's been pretty long, huh?... OK IM SORRY FOR NOT POSTING IT QUICKLY. here, damn 🙄. anyways, i hope yall enjoy n im glad u guys liked the first chapter. lets just hope this one lives up to yalls expectations 😭. follow me and repost this if u want a chapter three. also I NEED SOMEONE TO EDUCATE ME ABOUT SUNDAY FROM HSR BC I WANNA WRITE FICS ABOUT HIM SO BAD SO PLS SOMEONE EDUCATE ME N ALSO IF U KNOW LOVE AND DEEP SPACE??? PLS HIT ME UP AND EXPLAIN THIS LORE BC I WANNA WRITE YANDERE FICS FOR THEM SO BAD

“Why are balls called balls when testicles sounds hella fancier?”

At your friend’s bizarre question, the face of your other friend, Zarian, twinges in disgust. “Jayelene… why do you feel the need to put that out there?”

You huff in amusement, focusing on your pizza before what Jaylene says ruins your entire mood.

“I’m just saying! Testicles just seems more appropriate⏤the type of fancy shit drake and his family would say.”

Tim Drake Wayne…

Dinner with him and his freak-a-zoid family was like trying to make it past no-man’s land without any help to shield you from the straight up chilling vibes they gave off with their constant comments about bat facts. Bats. The atmosphere during the entire time you spent there was dreadful and quite literally heavy since Tim's youngest little brother wanted to sneak stares at you as if you wouldn’t notice his bug-looking eyes creeping into your soul.

Rich people really are weird, huh?

The Wayne family is nothing like how you expected them to be. They’re supposed to be cold, mysterious, and irresistibly enchanting, but all you’ve got are creepy vibes and a strong urge to stay away from them as much as possible. From the way Mr. Wayne made that weird comment about your father in the limo to how forcibly happy Richard or “Dick” was with you, you’ve come to an understanding that rich people are complete lunatics.

The Wayne family is full of a bunch of lunatics.

And you’re not afraid to voice that.

“There you go again,” Jaylene sighs when she notices the irritated expression on your face. “It’s never that serious, [Name]. You just hate everyone.”

“No, you don't get it! They were creepy as hell! Like… Like bats in dark caves coming at you all at once. They talk funny, they look funny⏤they act funny! What normal man name drops your mother’s name after knowing each other for about thirty minutes?”

Zarian huffs in amusement. “That’s the creepy part. How does Mr. Wayne know your name?”

“I dont know.” You run your fingers through your hair and lean back against the booth seat. “I don't want anything to do with them. Billionaire or not, how the hell does he know my mother’s name.”

It was perhaps towards the end of your stay at the Wayne’s manor for dinner, and you knew you had to go home, so you had largely hinted at leaving to Drake. Everything had gotten wrapped up, but when you were just about to leave, Mr. Wayne had told you, “make sure to tell [M/n] I said hi.”

You could only stare at him in shock as your body carried along, because how does a man as famous and wealthy as bruce wayne know your mother⏤your mother? He’s the chief executive officer of Wayne Enterprises yet mentions your mother?

That moment alone is enough to wave every red flag in your brain that screams at you, telling you something is up with these shady people. The only question is what? What can a billionaire possibly want from you? Out of everything the world has to offer, the most influential billionaire in America wants to target some meager high school kid?

What do these people want from you? Is it a rich people thing to play around with those below you? Well, you guess it probably is. Like, is Mr. Wayne gonna pop out with his soulless eyes and say, ‘you’re my long lost child?’ or something?

You still don’t know why you’re being a goat stuffed before slaughtering. These people want something from you, but you? You’ve got nothing to offer that they could want. Why the hell do they even bother? If there's one thing you really hate, it’s being left in the dark like this. Not knowing is terrifying. It's dangerous. Not knowing means not being prepared, and if you’re not prepared, you won’t make it out. Damn it, you should’ve booked it the moment Mr. Wayne mentioned your father in the limo. Movies and shows always display rich people as eccentric and psychopathic weirdos, and now you’re finally believing it.

Damn it.

You’re in danger. Okay.

Maybe that’s an exaggeration. But maybe it’s not.

You’ve watched enough true crime and have enough intuition and trust in your gut to know when something is wrong.

It’s not adding up.

You’re not dumb. You see all the warnings there, but what if you're exaggerating. What if this is just the nature of the Waynes, and you think you’re special enough to be noticed by them? Mr. Wayne is a damn billionaire! He’s got the money to do whatever he wants, so it’s only natural for him to do a background check on everybody that interacts with his sons, right?

It’s all in your head… It’s all in your head.

Sighing, you stare at the plate of food in front of you, appetite long gone. Still, you grab a fork and continue to eat as Zarian and Jaylene scream back and forth next to you. Drake, who had accompanied the three of you to the diner after practice, has left, thankfully. He left as soon as his food arrived while talking about some family emergency, and honestly, you’re pretty damn grateful for that.

Ever since dinner at his house, he’s surrounded you like a pillow smothering you, and you can’t do anything about it. He’s a billionaire’s son, for fuck’s sake.

It doesn’t take long for you and your friends to finish up, and you all part ways at the door of the diner before you clutch the straps of your backpack and walk around the city endlessly. This is a habit for you now⏤a way to put off going home as much as possible ever since you found out your mother’s boyfriend doesn’t come home until one or two in the morning.

That balding, ugly, sleazy piece of shit.

He’s as gross as every other man your mother’s brought home under the terribly veiled illusion that he’ll provide her a good life and treat her right. No matter how many times you try to tell that blind bitc… No. It's wrong. It’s not your mother’s fault.

But it sometimes feels like that, though.

Most mother’s destroy their own lives for their children, yet yours cannot even think about leaving the man that beats her child on a daily. Those types of mothers leave their spouses the second they see something wrong, while your mother treats those finger-print bruises around your neck like a necklace instead of abuse.

You’ve given up on her. You gave up on her back when you were eleven years old locked in a room with her boyfriend, and she didn’t listen. Or when you were twelve. Or thirteen. Or fourteen. Or fifteen. Or sixteen. Or seventeen. And now eighteen.

And each day feels like a repetition of the same. Wake up, go to school, practice, walk around, go home, get beat, and sleep like none of it all happens. It’s a routine you despise with every fiber of your being⏤makes you wanna jump over Gotham City Bridge before thinking about returning home because who would want to? Who wants this average life?

A life where you’re not happy enough, not sad enough. Not good enough, not bad enough. Not energized enough, not tired enough. You feel like a survivor of a plane crash floating on a raft at the center of the endless ocean with no way out. Everything just seems so vast, wide, and unreachable. How can you find the shore on a simple raft? How can you find a way out of inescapable misery if it’s not by drowning?

You’ve been waiting to find the shore, but it’s been a whole eighteen years since you’ve found yourself floating along the ocean.

That whole “it’ll get better” shit is a tragic lie.

Whatever.

It doesn’t matter⏤not anymore, at least. You’re going to get far away from this place and never look back. Never have to relieve this wretched city. Never have to be confined by chains again. You’ve only a few months left before you’re free.

Until then, you’ll have to be patient and go home because the sun has fully disappeared.

Nothing but satellites twinkle in the disgustingly polluted sky of Gotham City, and the streets have come to a staggering halt as you stroll about the sidewalks, trying to find the longest path to get home. One in the morning is always the perfect time in Gotham because it’s too late and too early to be outside, so it’s generally safe for a walk.

Of course, the universe likes to prove you wrong at every point.

The sound of a thud followed by a pained groan behind you has your legs locked and ready to run with your brain screaming alerts, but you take a deep breath and turn around. How bad can it get, anyways? The sight before you surprised you nonetheless. It’s… Nightwing, a Bludhaven hero, here in Gotham, just randomly popping up behind you?

With clear bleeding cuts and sprouting bruises across his body.

In the random alley you just happen to be in?

No. You’re looking into it too much.

His eyes lock onto and they make you freeze right then and there like he’s cast some spell upon you. But that’s for a cold, brief second before you’re hooking your thumbs under the straps of your backpacks and turning around hot on your heels, refusing to spare him a single second. 

You even hear him murmur a strained, “wait,” but you don't care. 

It’s rude, mean, cruel, and it’s also none of your business. All you simply do is walk ahead to your approaching doom with an pit of unease and bitter understanding of your helplessness in your stomach. You can already feel the soon-to-be new bruises blooming along your back.

You’re not a good person.

But, really, who is?

Smoking really does skill.

But now you know why people do it.

Each drag is more out of necessity than it is a choice ever since you’ve met your friend’s plug at the dumb age of sixteen, but it's a way to dull the harsh truth of reality. The world just fades into nothing but muted and mixed colors like the loud city underneath your balcony it blurs into a faint hum the longer you stare at the spiral puffs of smoke that disappear into the air. 

Everything’s bitter⏤the joint and you.

Really bitter at the blood semi-dried on your face and the dull ache along your back.

You’ve got about an hour and a half until you have to head out to school, so what other way is there to spend it than smoking away your brain? The joint’s a temporary escape, but it helps you stall whatever new feeling of despair you’ll feel for the day. Until you’re interrupted by your phone buzzing⏤the sound still a dull hum in your ears

“... Hello?”

“[Name]!”

Zarian’s voice?

“Where the hell are you? Hurry up and get to school or else you’re gonna get in trouble for not helping to set up the club fair, and coach will be on our ass! And don't forget to bring money for the tickets!”

Coach?... Club fair?... Club fair! Holy shit!

Your eyes shoot open, and you frantically scramble up, tossing the joint over the balcony railing before hectically staggering through the living room like a drunk man. Damn it, how could you be so clueless and forget such an important event? Especially one you need money for! Damn it⏤damnit! What do you do?

… Mom! She’s got a box of money somewhere in her closet, right? You’ve seen it before! It's just twenty dollars, and she wont notice. Okay… Okay. You’re quick to get ready. You wash away all the blood that’s dried on your face, brush your teeth, and change into baggy jeans and a clean shirt before storming into your mother’s bedroom and rummaging through her things. 

She’s off at work. Her bastard boyfriend doesn't come home until late at night, which means he’s probably already taken money for the day. Okay. That's fine. They won't notice.

But you can't find anything! What the hell? Where is that fucking box? You could’ve sworn it was there on the top shelf last night, but as you swipe your hands across everything on the shelf, you can’t find it. All of a sudden, something made of wood hits the top of your head and falls to the ground with a crack. You hiss, palm moving to cover where you got hit, but your eyes land on the box that now has money strewn all across the floor and a broken… false bottom?

What the fuck.

You pull away at the rest of the false bottom to only be met with countless photos of you as a child with your mother. Mom’s shit boyfriend had all the family photos taken down for some weird reason, so they’ve been here this entire time? All of these photos are full of you throughout every stage of your life, but some have different people in them as well. Their faces are either scratched out or they’re ripped out of the photo entirely.

From what you can gather, the figures are a man and what seems to be a teenage boy. The absurdity and even slight creepiness of the scratched out faces has you laughing, yet even with your now dulled senses, your eyes land on a photo you failed to notice earlier. Maybe you’re hallucinating. There must be something wrong with your brain. Or your eyes. The universe must be playing with you because is that a photo of you and a teenage-looking dick grayson?

Your eyes widen because it looks just like the strange man you had the unfortunate opportunity of having a conversation with during dinner with the Waynes. It’s him! More importantly, why the hell is he holding a ‘three year old’ you’s hand? You probably should be screaming. Yelling. Maybe panicking? But all you can do is shuffle through the rest of the box before your fingers graze against something metal that has your heart jumping.

It’s a small camera.

With a bat engraved on its side.

Ears ringing so loudly in your head you can't even think, you wipe your teary and red eyes hastily before grabbing a twenty dollar bill, putting everything except for the photo and camera in the box, set it back on the closet shelf, and hastily grab your backpack before making way to school.

The second you reach the damned place, you seek out your now three friends and drop into a seat with a heavy thud, sighing and meeting Tim's eyes with a burning gaze.

“You mean to tell me [Name] found the camera? And you decided to tell me after school?”

Time Drake Wayne sighs and runs his fingers through his black hair, shrugging apathetically while scrolling through every photo in his phone that he’s taken of you during the club fair. His brother, Richard, is pacing throughout his room anxiously as he rambles off about their latest fuckup. 

“Look, Bruce doesn't let any slip ups happen,” Tim murmurs in exasperation. “He wouldn't let this happen because [Name]’s mom and him talked this morning. Relax, he probably knows.”

It's not a lot, but it’s enough to calm Richard down. The man takes a deep breath but finds himself sitting down next to Tim, trying to get a good look at the pictures. “How mad was [Name]?”

“High, for starters, but clearly pissed off. Very observant, too.”

“Don’t tell anyone else. Not until Bruce gives us the okay.”

TAGLIST :

@ilovemyhusbandnanami (so real), @missikkj, @ferakillia, @darlinqvi, @soriansick, @sleepydhanie, @h0rr0r-10ver-69 (love ur blog aesthetic bae), @anuttellaa (OK WINX 😽), @feral-childs-word (love the pfp), @shycreatorreview, @friesandfixations, @stuff6969fuckyou, @babiebubsie, @jsprien213, @cattioo, @cherrydaisymanic (cheetah?leopard? printttt 😍), @00hellohello00, @princessloveweird, @amber-content, @idonthaveanameforthisacc, @f1lover4ever, @dreamsarenicer, @imaginarydreams, @solkara (love the calm aesthetic), @bobfood, @toast-on-dandelioms, @ijustfuckme, @cantfindmelol, @xx1shadow1xx, @azulawayne, @box-of-kinderjoy, @iamaunknownsecret, @missybabes, @phoenixgurl030, @couldeatthatgirlforlunch, @devils-blackrose, @arevvv, @freakthis, @yourhornysister, @kirahhhh, @perfectparadisegardener, @testishere, @spaceunicorn293, @vanilliona (love the pfpp), @uknowimdumb, @esposadomd, @dakotali, @lilyalone, @kore-of-the-underworld, @pix-stuff, @hellcatsworld, @chericia, @mspoisoncoil (love the bannnnerrr) , @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @cheeseburgercasserole (love the aesthetic), @twismare

so follow me n repost if u want part lll. and somebody pls explain hsr and love and deepspace lore to me. making a taglistttttt. if this post doesnt get as many likes as the first one, im deleting this series 😭. if u see a grammatical mistake, no u didnt 😃🔪

if anybody’s got requests about this series or in general, feel free to ask!!!

WAIT!! FOLLOW MY WATTPAD ACCOUNT : @depresssant. I JUS PUBLISHED A HISTORICAL YANDERE X READER STORY

[teddypines]

Fight

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

Sumary: Dick and Batmom!reader got into a fight which upset both of them in the end.

Dick x Batmom!reader, Fem!reader (Use of she/her pronounce)

Note: Dick might be a bit out of character in this. Art/picture is from Pintrest, credits go to whoever made it.

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

“Get back here, Richard!” Y/N yelled as Dick stormed off towards his room. The two of them had been in a fight. Dick had gotten really hurt on a patrol, but refused to seek medical attention. This, of course, upsetting Y/N. Hating to see one of her birds hurt like this. Yes, Dick was the oldest. yes he was old enough to deal with things on his own, but not with injuries like this. "Richard! Don’t you dare walk away right now!” Y/N yelled after Dick as she walked up the stairs. 

Dick ignored Y/N as he continued to struggle with walking towards his room. “Richard Grayson!!” Y/N yelled out one last time before Dick turned around to face Y/N. “Stop it! i am fine! I don't need you to baby me!” Dick hissed at Y/N. He was tired and just wanted to go to bed, but no Y/N needed to be a worried mother hen. “Just let me sleep! I do not need to be patched up!”

“Dick have you looked into a mirror? You look like hell, you need medical attention. Those wounds will get infected.” Y/N answered while trying to reach out for Dick. “I don’t need that, now stop being so annoying and let me be”

“Dickie, come on, please you really need to clean those. I am your mother, let me help you” Y/N Said, her anger slowly fading more and more as she looked at the beaten up boy. Something snapped in Dick’s tired mind and he got furious. “You are not my mother! Stop acting like you are!” Dick didn’t realize what he had said, because he turned around too fast to see the upset look on Y/N’s face. “I… I’m sorry Dick, i’ll let you be.” She said before Dick slammed his bedroom door shut. 

Y/N turned around and slowly walked towards the master bedroom, tears rolling down her face as she crawled into bed. After a while Bruce joined her in bed and wrapped his arms around her. “What’s wrong, love? Did something happen with Dick?” Bruce asked, but he didn’t get an answer. not until the next morning. Bruce understood Y/N didn’t want to talk about it just yet and just held her even closer to him.

<----------------------------------------------------------------------->

The next morning Y/N did come down for breakfast, but she was rather quiet. Not like her usual self, not telling Damian to not mess with his brothers or telling Jason to put his book down. Everyone noticed but Dick. He was still upset, but he did feel bad. Once he shut his door last night he realized what he had said and that broke him more than the wounds he had. Breakfast was quiet but not awkward. 

After breakfast Y/N just got ready for work and waved Damian and Tim goodbye as they went to school. She kissed Bruce’s cheek when he went to work. Dick looked on as Y/N did her normal routine, only feeling left out since they didn’t give him his hug.

“Mom?” Dick called out to Y/N, but she didn’t answer, too busy getting her bag ready. Dick carefully tapped Y/N’s shoulder which made her stop packing her bag. “Yes?” She answered a bit on the dry side. “Mom… I…” Dick started but he couldn’t find the right words. “It’s okay, Dick, you don’t have to call me mom if you don’t want to.” Y/N said, upsetting them both in the process. She gave Dick a sad smile before leaving for work. 

Dick sighs and gets ready for uni. “What was that?!” Jason asked shocked as he looked at Dick from the living room. He had a day off so he was going to do nothing all day, maybe bother Alfred a bit. “Nothing.” Dick answered his brother. “That was most definitely not nothing!” Jason gasped. “Oh my god, you and mom had a fight!”

“We did not have a fight,” Dick said as he shoved one of his books into his bag. “I just said something I regret…” Jason narrowed his eyes and glared at Dick. “What did you say?”

Dick groaned a bit when he stretched his arm the wrong way when grabbing another book to put in his bag. “I might have said that she wasn't my mom so she should stop acting like it” This made Jason gasp. “Yeah, I know, I screwed up...”

<---------------------------------------------------------------------->

A few days go by in which both Dick and Y/N are upset over what happened, everyone saw it. Dick did get some medical attention for his wounds but the sad smile Y/N wore that week hurt more than anything else. Dick sighed and started to make his way around the manor in search of Y/N. He eventually found her in the Batcave looking over some files and homework Damian did. He carefully sat down next to her at the Batcomputer. “Mom?” He said, which made Y/N turn her head towards Dick. “I’m sorry mom. I never meant to yell at you or say you’re not my mother. Because I do love you as my mom even with my own mom being, well not here… I was just so tired and patrol didn’t go well, and uni wasn’t great that day and… and.. I just don’t know anymore. But I don’t want you to be upset… That hurts…” Dick said through his tears.

Dick was surprised when he felt two arms around him. Y/N held Dick close to her. “I forgive you, sweetie, but please don’t ever say it again. It really hurts, when all I wanted to do was make sure you were taken care of. Maybe I shouldn't have yelled, though.” Y/N said as she slowly leaned back and started to whip Dick’s tears away with her thumb. She carefully leaned over and kissed Dick’s forehead. “I love you, Bluebird.”

“I love you too, ma”

[dcxdpdabbles]

I've been thinking about a pit assumed mermaid Danny so long. Like the GIW gets their hands on Danny and Danny ends up running away after being dissected and lands right into one of the Lazarus pits not the one that the league of assassin has and he ends up finding out that all of the pits are connected to each other so he uses them to like you know travel around and not be stuck in one place while healing. Damien standing by the pits without being supervised though something down there like just a child being curious he been here is a grumbling thank you. After a while Damien and Danny just get a big brother little sibling relationship and Damian when he leaves to go to his dad is like I promise to come back to save you Free you from the Lazarus pits. Couple years later after Damien established himself as Robin and a barrel agent with his family Damien's always been talking about going back and saving his friend Danny and the rest of the Batfamily is just convinced that Danny's like I'm imaginary friend. So when Damien gets kidnapped by the League of assassins and they're all getting ready to go back home Damian just walked up to the Lazarus pits and goes Daddy I'm here to save you you can come out now then it starts rumbling and outcomes this giant electric glowing green eyes mermaid being like Oh Damian you came back. Sorry for the rambling it's just that I really been thinking about this idea also I love your works.

"Robin! Where are you going!?"

Damian ignores Richard's call. He knows they should be running to the exit where Drake or Todd should fly around with the escape helicopter. He also knows they don't have time to make detours because if they missed that window of escape, the League would not allow them a second chance.

Damian knows. But this is the closest he's gotten to Danny since he was sent away. Now that he knows better, now that he is aware of just how horrible Grandfather and his lot really were, he couldn't just leave his friend here.

Every day that passed, Danny was at risk of being discovered, and who knew what the League of Assassins would want to do to him?

He needed to get him out.

Tonight, Danny was coming to Gotham with him, one way or another.

"Robin, we don't have time for this!"

"I know! I know, but I can't just leave him!" he shouted back, breaking into a sprint down familiar hallways. He dodged a sword swing, tucking and rolling between the legs of an assassin. He twists mid-landing to throw in a Scorpio kick to the head.

He only waits long enough to hear the man grunt. Damian is running away even before the thump of the body hits the ground. He's so close.

"Robin! Nightwing! We're fighting them off, but we can't hold the position for long," Drake shouts into the com that Richard had given him. "We need to do the extraction in two minutes or we're all going to be trapped here!"

He wants to shout at them but can't waste even a second. Damian forces himself to push faster and ignore the burn in his legs as he rounds down the last hallway, attacking the special guards at the gate of the pits.

Unlike the rest of the castle, these two are some of the best the league offers. Damian struggles to find an opening between them and their teamwork. He can also feel the time ticking away with each punch, swing, dodge, and heart-pounding killing blow that nearly lands on his person.

Just a little further. He thinks, panting as he blocks sword after sword, hissing in pain every time one of them manages to make small cuts through his defense. I just have to get a little further!

Bang! Bang!

The two bullets fly, breaking the guard's knees and pinning him down in a sword stalemate. Damian has a moment to thank the heavens that Todd and Richard appeared not even a second later—fighting away the two remaining guards. He watches them fight for a moment, trying to catch his breath.

One minute! Drake hisses, the sounds of gunfire and the wind of the helicopters' wind nearly drowning his voice.

Damian glances at the door, and then his brothers fight, and he makes his decision. He rushes to the door, kicks it open, and sprints down the pathway into the cave. He hears the battle pick up speed behind him, along with Todd's outraged cry of his name, but he does not slow down until the slight green glow comes into view.

"Danny!" he shouts, hoping his voice's sound waves can travel through the green liquid to what is hidden below. "I've come to rescue you!"

Are you kidding me? Todd yells in the coms. We're risking everything while being outnumbered and outgunned so Demon Brat can get his imaginary best friend!?

Damin tushes to the pit, leaning over, trying to spot the mermaid in the glowing water. He splashes the surfaces in the same way he used as a child, when calling for the creature, face darkening at the causation meanwhile. "He is not imaginary! Danny is real!"

Robin, we don't have time for this! Richard screams. We have to go! Now!

"In a minute!" Damian splashes the water more urgently. He could stick his head in, but he was healthy right now, minus the few cuts, and he could not afford to lose his head mid-escape.

We don't have a minute! Drake cries. A worrisome beeping noise accompanies his words. A loud boom is heard along with Drake's screech. I've been hit! I'm going down!

No!

"Danny, please! I need you!"

A small head of pure white hair peaks up from the water, gentle green eyes staring at him. The glowing green hides the rest of his face since the creature did not go further than his nose about the water, but Damian can tell he's smiling.

"Hello, little one."

Damian allows himself one moment of relief before the world starts to shake, and Danny leaves the Lazarus Pits for the first time in fourteen years. He rises out of the water, long, glowing angle fish tail darkening into shadows as his form shifts into a thing of nightmares.

Damian smiles up at him. "Hello, brother. Can you help my other brothers and me escape? "

Danny doesn't even have to consider the request already growing bigger and bigger until Damian is no bigger than his thumb. He then moves grabbing Damian in his ice-cold grasp.

Danny flies through the walls and picks up Ricard and Todd before they go up and out through solid stone. Damian closes his eyes, pressing against Danny's body to protect himself from whiplash and the strong wind.

Danny is insanely fast, which he proves by diving for the falling aircraft and not only catching up to it but also managing to lift it out of the sky. He angles his hand against the doorway, shaking his palm so Damian, Ricahrd, and Todd all tumble out of the gaint being hand into the safety of the chopper.

Danny then swings his massive body towards the horizon, ignoring the Leauge's attempts to capture him. The island is out of sight in seconds, and Damian can breathe a little easier, even though he is pressed against the wall with his screaming siblings.

Danny is going a little too fast in his escape.

"What's happening!?" Drake cries and checks to wiggle back a little from how fast they traveled.

"I invited Danny to live with us!"

"You did what!?"

[httpsserene]

𝖍𝖙𝖙𝖕𝖘𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖓𝖊’𝖘 1𝖐 𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖑 - 𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖐 𝖑𝖎𝖒𝖎𝖙𝖘

𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐨: 𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫

summary: slightly less innocent, virgin!reader has had her view of pleasure shifted. her libido has increased to insane levels after she finally allowed her boyfriends to fix her…dry spell. charles and max have no issues with helping her ride out her newfound sexual appetite, and figure that she may be ready to take the next step. or, more accurately, take the next hand. content warning: 18+ only. explicit. no penetrative sex. corruption kink. handjobs. thigh riding. praise kink. dom/sub undertones. charles leclerc is a brat. orgasm denial. there's smidge of humor in here somewhere i think. slight humiliation kink. word count: 4.2k words pairing: charles leclerc / max verstappen x fem!black!reader soundtrack: gun • doja cat

preface: AHHHH OMG I HAD THIS IN MY QUEUE AND THE DATE WAS 9/12 INSTEAD OF 12/9 I WAS IN THE WOODS WITH SPOTTY CONNECTION ALL DAY AND I HAVE TBLR NOTIFICATIONS OFF ON MY PHONE I AM SO SORRY I HOPE YOU ALL LIKE IT! ALL FUTURE EPISODES WILL BE POSTED AT 12 PM ON THEIR RELEASE DAYS!

prev 1k special join taglist feedback & requests table of contents next ↻

it’s laughable. you can’t believe that you almost bought a vibrator instead of telling your boyfriends that you were ready to start the sexual aspect of your relationship. actually, it kind of makes you mad—you could’ve been experiencing the most mind blowing levels of pleasure years ago, if you had just gotten over your own insecurity.

max and charles had been dating each other for a couple years before they found you. you were a friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend, and they were enamored with you as soon as they were introduced. you cringe whenever they reminisce over the first time you met them—the men think it’s the cutest first meeting ever.

they met you on a yacht in monaco. an older member of the ferrari team was retiring and decided to have a relaxed celebratory brunch on a chartered yacht. charles, of course, would be attending; he’s sure he’s most likely contractually obligated to go, but he also enjoys going to these sorts of events, he flourishes and thrives in social settings. however, on this particular day, max and charles had already planned for a date. 

when charles had been forwarded the invitation from andrea (his trainer), who had texted him threats of bodily harm if he didn’t show up—he whined and groveled to max about having to reschedule their date. max had shushed charles’ dramatics, and simply pulled out his phone to show a text thread between him and brad (his trainer), who sent him the invitation to the yacht party. charles made a noise of surprise; this brunch is more relaxed than he thought. max shrugged and pressed a kiss to charles cheek–all they have to do is make an appearance, greet who needs to be greeted, congratulate who needs to be congratulated, and then they can sneak away and leave early for their date.

that was the plan. and everything seemed to be going according to the plan. they had boarded the vessel (nobody knew the rivals had come together), everyone assumed they had just arrived at the same time. they quickly congratulated the retiree, and charles separated from max to go and charm everybody on the boat, while max had gone to take advantage of the brunch spread.

the dutchman was halfway through his second plate of finger food when charles had returned to his side, bringing their trainers and a few engineers along with him. the monegasque was stealing bites of food off his plate, and max gently tapped on the face of his richard mille watch to remind charles that they needed to start wrapping up. 

except, joris had just boarded the yacht—and you were at his side.

charles choked on his bite of stolen food, and max distractedly patted his back to clear his airways. it was like time slowed down, their vision tunneled, and the noise of conversations around them quieted; at the sight of you. you were wearing this light, flowy, orange sundress that complimented your warm brown skin, accessorized with gold jewlery, a pair of heeled tan sandals, and your curly hair was free and blowing in the breeze. you kept your gaze lowered, like you were fearing making eye contact with anybody on board, and you turned to slightly hide behind joris as you frantically whispered to him.

charles and max had decided then and there; they need to know you.

you had parted from joris at the sound of someone calling for you and the sight of you walking away, broke the trance the two drivers had been under.

when charles’ friend made his way over, they were quick to interrogate him about you, and why exactly he’s never introduced you to them before. joris threatened them before he gave them permission to pursue you (not that they needed it), and refused to answer any of their questions about you. he told them to go talk to you, and warned them to be gentle with you—as you have a more shy and introverted personality. it took nearly thirty minutes for charles and max to find where you disappeared too. you were chatting to the retiree, and as soon as you wrapped up the conversation—max inserted himself in your path, and ‘accidentally’ bumped into you.

you stumbled briefly, finding yourself bumping into charles as well. you frantically apologized to the two drivers, eyes wide with embarrassment—and max and charles found themselves vehemently reassuring you that it was their fault, and that you don’t need to apologize.

once you calmed, max started to test the waters.

“it was completely my fault. i should’ve been paying more attention to where i was walking but, i got distracted—because you look too beautiful in this dress.”

your mouth parted in surprise and you giggled awkwardly, not expecting the compliment (charles had to muffle his snort, max is incredibly corny), “oh! thank you—it’s really the dress that’s beautiful.”

the monegasque stepped in, “ah, no that cannot be. the dress only compliments how pretty you are.”

you hummed, eyes flickering between the two of them nervously, and caved to their flattery.

“mmm, thank you…the orange works with my skin tone pretty well.”

“it does,” max agreed with a soft smile, “i must be your favorite driver—since, you’ve dressed in dutch orange.”

your eyes widened, as you giggled at his bold claim, laughing harder when charles’ pretends to be angry at max’s words. the couple watches as your smile shifted from something sweet, to something teasing as you fumbled over what to say in response.

“oh? well, if i did dress for my favorite driver, it would be lando norris. because, this color is more similar to papaya than your dutch orange.”

max scoffed, and charles bursted out laughing—the two of them not expecting the teasing from you, based on how joris led them to believe that you were the shyest thing to walk on earth. 

that interaction had completely cemented their urge to date you. they ended up staying at the yacht party, just talking to you the entire time, enjoying making you blush and fluster, flirting around the limits of how much affection you could take from them. they missed their dinner reservation, but found themselves taking you out to dinner somewhere near the waterfront. 

at the end of the night, you exchanged phone numbers with them and they sweetly told you that they’d reach out to you for a second date. you had made a noise of surprise, completely disbelieving that you were on a date, or that they’d want to see you again. but, charles and max were quick to make their intentions clear as they realized they may have been moving too quickly for you.

you can’t believe that was over two years ago. the boys had been so kind with working hard for your trust, and with a final conversation about how this relationship would work—you had agreed to be their girlfriend. of course, you had your stipulation of not being ready to have sex, but the boys did take that in stride and didn’t try to coerce you into changing that boundary. matter of fact, they had even offered to stop having sex between the two of them if it made you uncomfortable—which you disagreed with on the spot; they didn’t need to limit their actions with each other just because you needed extra time. 

and extra time, ended up being two years. charles and max had waited two years without complaining once, about the fact that you still weren’t ready to have sex with them. apparently, the final aspects that you needed to realize you were ready to have sex were: being unable to get yourself off for a month while they were in the midst of a triple header…and also that, you trust them with your entire soul. 

and goddamn, did their patience result in a valuable reward.

ever since max and charles had cured your dry spell by giving you the most life-changing orgasm from riding max’s thigh, you’ve been insatiable.

it’s like your horny-meter was struck by lightning and was overloaded and stuck at the highest setting—it feels like a perpetual ovulation week. it feels like you can’t look at max’s thighs without getting wet, it feels like you can’t hold charles’ hand without your knees buckling. it wasn’t like you were never horny before the thigh-riding incident (max finds the title hilarious), but to be consistently desperate—you’ve never felt like this before. it’s like the monegasque and the dutchman have awoken your sex drive and shifted it into high gear. your libido has been so insanely high that the men have pretty much offered themselves to you as free-use.

you wake up horny? choose your fighter: charles’ thigh or max’s thigh. you get turned on by charles kissing your cheek? ride his thigh. your tummy knots up when max calls you pretty girl? ride his thigh. your panties get wet when charles comes back from getting a haircut? ride his thigh. your clothes fall off when max smiles at you? ride his thigh. your brain turns to mush when charles and max make out? ride their thighs, twice.

you’ve been so pleasure-crazed that you ended up getting a friction burn from how often you were using their thighs. 

you whimpered in shame as charles rubbed aloe vera on the irritated skin between your legs.

“vior (see)?” charles said to max, who was sitting on the bed next to you holding your hand, “she has sensitive skin—we should not have let her use our thighs so often.”

“ah,” max dismissed, ignoring your mortified whine, he smirked at charles, “she’s just learned how good we can make her feel—forgive her desperation, schatje?”

charles lightly presses on the inflamed skin, and you slightly hiss in pain. he stares at max with an unimpressed expression, 

“and now feeling good too often has her feeling bad, non?”

charles resumed his gentle massage of aloe vera, as he continued to bicker with max about you, like you weren’t lying right there. mortification had the melanated skin of your cheeks flushing with a visible blush, and you muffled your embarrassed whimper into max’s thigh. the humiliation of your boyfriends discussing your barely-sex related injury as if you aren’t present should have been horny-level reduction material—but secretly, you enjoyed it; just a little bit. 

with a pained gasp, you slammed your thighs shut around charles’ hand when he passed over a more seriously-raw area of skin. his hand was forced up, and it brushed firmly against your cunt—and that previously pained gasp transformed into a moan of pleasure. the conversation around you silenced abruptly. you kept your eyes tightly shut, refusing to pull away from the safe haven of max’s thigh. you heard charles laugh disbelievingly, and with his free hand he easily pulled your thighs apart with little effort. the casual show of strength only had you getting wet. 

he made a show of flexing the hand that was entrapped between your thighs, before he dropped two of his fingers on top of your panties and guided them to circle over your clit through the thin cloth. your eyes flew open, and with a squeal your hips bucked up to chase his hand; but he was too quick, and pulled away, using that same hand to hold your hips down on the bed.

“you’re so horny that you completely forgot about the friction-burn you have on your thighs from your previously extremely horny activities,” max deadpanned, staring down at you with a blank expression.

“i can’t help it,” you murmured shyly, “sorry.”

“don’t apologize,” max stated, releasing his grasp of your hand to brush his thumb across your cheek, “nothing’s touching your cunt for a week.”

“huh? WHAT? why? no—why not?” you blurted out in confusion, ignoring charles’ snort.

“liefje—you could barely handle charles rubbing the gel into your skin; you are too sore and inflamed. no pillows, no hands, no thighs.”

you humphed, knowing max is right, but not wanting to admit it. 

“that’s torture! i just started getting to experience real pleasure and now i can’t even cum for a week?!” you whined up at max with pleading eyes.

“you went without using our thighs for two years—you can handle a week, mon coeur,” charles patted your hip with an annoying smile, before he climbed off the bed to put the gel away.

“charles, don’t tease her,” max sighed, “it’s just a week, pretty girl. you’ll be fine.”

you are not fine.

it’s the slowest time has ever passed in your entire life. honestly, the nerve of your boyfriends to have beautifully muscled thighs around you. you’ve been put in horny jail–seriously! the two men seem to have a radar for whenever you start to get turned on. no matter how hard you try to suppress any changes in your body language or facial expression, they sus you out in a few seconds. it’s uncanny; before you even open your mouth to try and persuade them into anything, they squish your cheeks together and say, “not yet,” and then walk away to give you space to calm down. every instance of this in the first couple of days was more mortifying than the aloe-vera gel application situation (which max now applies for you since charles couldn’t refrain from teasing you), but you quickly became desensitized.

max will not budge. he lets you whine, grovel, beg, promise, and plead. he sits through your whole monologue of desperation on day four, and smiles the entire time. when you finish your expertly delivered request to be allowed one orgasm from his thigh, he pats you on the ass and walks away. the amount of rage that filled you was probably unhealthy–how the fuck does he manage to be so unfazed?

charles, on the other hand, you could break. on day five, you trapped him in bed, sneakily convincing him to spend five more minutes with you while max brushed his teeth. you were quick to initiate sweet kisses, humming into the press of his lips, before you pull away and squirm on top of him to straddle his torso. 

the love-tinted haze cleared from his eyes as soon a he puzzled out your motive, and the monegasque moved to guide you off his body, but you halted him, pressing a firm hand in the middle of his bare chest. 

“c’mon cha–just let me, it’s been so long,” you pout down at him, doe-eyes wide and pleading, “don’t you wanna make me feel good?”

charles wavered–it has been so long. he doesn’t think he’d forget how your face looks as you orgasm, but it would be nice to see it again. you slowly grind your hips down on his, and charles manages to hold back any noises, but his eyes flutter in pleasure. the brunet halts your hips when he sees the brief flicker of discomfort appear in the furrow of your brows.

“ah, regarde toi (look at you)!” charles tuts disapprovingly, “you know you aren’t ready, just wait a little longer!”

you climb off of his lap, and bury your face in the pillow next to him, muffling a dramatic scream to make sure he knows how displeased you are. he rubs your back soothingly, letting you release your anger, before you flip over and huff.

“fine–whatever. two more days. two more days…for me,” you murmur, ignoring charles’ squint at your words, “just because i can’t do anything doesn’t mean you two can’t, right?”

charles shrugs his agreement, “yes, i guess. we haven’t came since you can’t. we were just planning to wait for your skin to recover.”

your heart warms at their abstinence, and the gears of your brain start turning. 

“hmm. you know you don’t have to wait for me? i kind of got myself into this situation and it’s not fair for–”

“no. max and i are both responsible too,” charles cut you off, “we should’ve taken more care to make sure you weren’t pushing yourself too far.”

“i don’t blame you guys–i was jumping the two of you everytime you so much as breathed in the same room as me. but, that’s not the point! i was going to say: shouldn’t i thank you guys properly?” 

“quoi? how?” he tilted his head to the side in question.

“i mean, isn’t it time i learn how to make you feel good too? i’ve kind of taken advantage of you, and never thought about making sure you guys feel good, like me.”

“how can you say that, mon amour? you make us feel good everytime we make you feel good,” charles sees that you don’t quite believe him, “you don’t notice how tight our pants get when you sit on our thighs? after you’ve finished, we sneak away to the bathroom to relieve ourselves! trust me, we feel very good with you.”

“hey! that’s my point–i want to make you guys…cum,” you whispered, “not have you sneak away to go do it yourself. can’t you teach me? isn’t now the best time for me to learn when i can’t be distracted by my own orgasm?”

“as long as you avoid rubbing yourself on anything, i’m actually okay with this,” max’s voice carried from the doorway, causing you and charles to jump in surprise. neither of you heard him open the en-suite door.

the dutchman walked over and sat on the bed next to charles, who eagerly supported your suggestion now that max said it was okay. 

“c-can…can we do it now?” you asked quietly, simultaneously afraid of a possible rejection and the idea itself.

the younger man hummed, and sat up next to max. he smirked at the blonde, “i’m sure he can’t say no to the opportunity of having me teach you how to touch him just the way he likes.”

you may have miscalculated, to some degree. does everything about max have to big? big mouth, big hands, big thighs, big…dick. your brain stops functioning at the sight—max sitting with his back against the headboard, legs spread open comfortably, uncaring of how exposed he is, his cock half-hard and still growing where it rests on his thigh, and don’t forget his self-satisfied smirk at the sight of your shock. you squirm from your seat in between his legs and charles steadies you from his position behind you, bracketing your body within the two of them.

the monegasque shifts forward, hooking his chin on your shoulder with his chest pressed along your back, and hums softly, “all of that ,” charles pauses and moves his right hand to apply pressure on your navel, “is going to be deep inside of you soon.”

“ ‘s not gonna fit in me.”

“we’ll make it fit,” max states. you whimpered at his confident tone, and you could feel charles muffle his chuckle in the crook of your neck. 

the click of the lube bottle opening caused you to flinch back into charles, who soothed you with a pat on the hip. the brunet carefully squeezed out a small amount of lube into your right palm and murmured instructions for you to warm up the liquid. he then guided your hand to grasp max’s dick, who sighed softly at your touch.

“touch him however you want, mon ange,” the monegasque directed, “get used to how he feels and then we can make him feel good.”

swallowing down your apprehension, you lightly trace a finger down his shaft, marveling at how he’s a few of your fingers in girth and decently longer than the size of your hand (that’s definitely not fitting inside of you, they have no idea what they’re talking about). you drag the tip of your pointer finger up along the vein on his underside to the head of his cock. the tip is flushed with an attractive shade of pink complimenting the pale skin of his body, and it’s a beautiful contrast to the brown skin on the back of your hand. you wrap your palm around him gently and brush your thumb over the head, making a noise of surprise at his cock twitching in your grasp. a drop of pre-cum beads in the slit and you curiously drag a finger to collect it; you pause, before you bring your finger to your mouth and flick out your tongue to taste it.

it almost tastes like nothing? slightly bitter, a little salty—but, it’s good. he tastes good. 

max groans and the sound of his head falling back and hitting the headboard reminds you that the cock you’re feeling up is attached to him. 

a broken rasp of, “fuck,” slips from his lips, and charles kisses your cheek in approval.

“ah-you’re so good at this already, mon amour,” charles cheered, “let’s give him a hand, together.”

he brings his left hand around your body to join yours around max’s, and leads you through the motions. he starts you on half strokes, having you circle your hand around the head, while he focuses on mimicking your motions around the base. you can see the muscles of max’s abdomen and thighs clenching with the effort of not thrusting forward into your hand.

“shit,” max moans, “the two of you will be the death of me.”

charles nips a mark right behind you ear, “move your hand like this—oui, just like that—and press your palm around the head—good girl—just keep doing that for me, mon amor.”

max groans roughly at the focused attention on the sensitive tip of his dick; he’s going to come embarrassingly quickly. the sight of charles teaching you how to give him a proper handjob is going to keep him up at night.

“liefje, you’re doing such a good job,” max pants, “going to make come already, pretty girl—are you going to lick my cum off your fingers too?”

you moan highly at his words, nodding your head quickly in agreement, eager to keep being good for him. max continues to run his mouth as he gets closer to orgasm: ‘you and charles should taste the cum off your hand together,’ ‘he can’t wait to get his hands and mouth on you,’ etc.

with a stuttered breath, max warns you that he’s cumming—and charles yanks your hand off of him; ruining max’s orgasm. the dutchman shouts in frustration, his hips bucking up freely now, trying to chase the delicious friction that was stolen from him.

with flushed cheeks, max yells, “what the fuck, charles!” and you turn to look at charles, who’s sitting behind you with an extra-pleased smirk on his face. the brat shrugs nonchalantly, not offering an explanation. you bring your hand back to grasp max’s cock—and repeat the same motion of twisting your palm around the head, to lead max back to an orgasm. he moans in relief, thankfully the edge of release didn’t slip away from him entirely—and then you bring your other hand up to make up for charles’. 

all it takes is a few more synced strokes, and max cums. you feel the warmth of his release coat your fingers, but your eyes are stuck on his expression. his mouth parted slightly, eyes shut, his chest heaving, mouth red and flushed from where he was biting at his bottom lip, and you can see the pleasure washing over his face—goddamn, you wish you were feeling what he is. in the haze of appreciating how he looks when he comes, you fail to stop your hands from continuing your motions and max’s hands fly down to halt you once the pleasure slips into too-much.

when he makes eye-contact with you, you raise your cum-covered hand to your mouth and make a show out of tasting his cum. you moan sweetly and smack your lips—honestly, you don’t particularly like or dislike the taste, but the way max’s eyes widen at your display makes you think you’ll learn to love it. he watches you lick your hands clean, and murmurs out a faint, “what the actual hell, liefje.”

“and, you,” the older man’s expression hardens as he directs his cold gaze on charles, “we’re not touching you for two weeks.”

“por quoi?!,” the monegasque pretends as if he doesn’t know exactly what he did.

you and max both ignore charles’ whining, and you smile extra sweetly at max as you wiggle onto his lap, “may i use your thigh, please?”

he digs his thumb into the sensitive skin of your thigh, and you yelp lightly. 

“two more days, liefje,” max orders, “and if you’re patient, you can have more than just my thigh.”

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© httpsserene2023

[toast-on-dandelioms]

Disclaimer

I am not the biggest fan of dc but I do know the story and everything, so if any character from the batfamily is wrong please tell me so I will try to fix it.

Another story of Neglect

You were another one of Bruce's children, born by one of his nightstands with a model to which he just gave child support and didn't really visit.

You never cared, you didn't even know that he was your father since you were happy with just your mom and the life you were living at the moment, but everything changed because of a stupid drunk driver that ended up crashing the car against your mom's one and killing both of them at the impact. You were only 12 and your life just changed in one night.

You had no one else, or at least no one that could take you in since everyone was busy or couldn't be bothered to have another mouth to feed so you ended up in front of Wayne's Manor, two suitcases full of stuff plus all the boxes from your old room and house that you managed to save from the relatives who tried to grab everything valuable in the house.

After getting in your room and setting everything up, making sure your photos with your mom and you were safe and sound, you tried to interact with your new family, wanting to make the best out of a bad situation but you didn't think that they would be so different from what you saw in the media.

•Bruce Wayne: you heard that he was a playboy but very nice to his kids, you saw how he looked at Damian or Dick, a look full of love and adoration that your mom used to give it to you.

But to you, he looked at you like you were just a nuisance that wasn't supposed to be here, he made sure to tell you the first day that you came here to not expect much since he wouldn't have the time to take care of every small needs and to just tell him or Alfred if you wanted to do something out of the school activities since you would be changing schools.

You tried to interact with him, to learn from what he likes so you could just try and hold a conversation with him but he always left you behind for another one of his kids that needed him at the moment, leaving you there with a small smile and just a small light of hope that maybe he will come back to talk to you.

But he never did.

•Richard/Dick Grayson: you thought he was the nicest big brother you ever seen, especially from what you saw him talking or playing with Damian, Tim or even Jason.

(You did find out pretty soon that they were the famous vigilantes since they didn't really keep it hidden from you, especially since you saw them in costumes and even training while they ignored you or didn't even notice your presence.)

You tried to talk to him but he was just like Bruce, leaving you for Damian mostly or using any excuse to not spend time with you.

Even when you tried to ask him to do some acrobatics since you knew he was from the circus, he just gave you an excuse 'sorry but it's been a while since Damian and Tim saw me and I wanted to go out with them, maybe next time (wrong/name)", leaving you before you even had the time to correct him about your name.

•Jason Todd: honestly he was the most decent family member, second to Alfred who treated you better whenever you were left alone, since he just straight up told you that he didn't care and to not bother with him.

You did try a few more times, thinking he was one with a tough exterior but a softie inside, thinking that he just needed time but him accidentally punching you in the face and leaving you with a black eye from you walking up behind him made you understand that he didn't care, especially with the way that he looked at you with an annoyed expression before walking away.

At least you didn't have to spend months trying to gain his favor, he already made it clear that he didn't care about you.

But it still hurts you know?

• Tim Drake: he was the only one you couldn't really put a pin on who he really is, not of some double life or something like that.

It's just that sometimes he would act nice, talking to you but the next time you would see him, even if the time passed between the two intervals could be of 1 hour, he would act like you were an annoying thing or would just ignore you.

You understood that he was sleep deprived and just started leaving him some candies that could help him sleep, wanting to help in a small way, especially since he was the only one you could actually help a little.

And the last, but especially the worst one was none other than Damian Wayne/al Ghul since he first acted like you were gonna steal something from him, especially considered that you were a year or two older than him.

He harassed you, using his animals or just his assassin skills to torment you for years even though you never gave him reasons to do so.

Not more than once you had to patch yourself in the bathroom because of his harassment, the scars still visible but luckily in places you could hide so no one would question you for them.

After two or three years he finally stopped and went to be one of the family members to give you attention to completely ignore your existence, acting like you weren't even someone worthy of his attention.

You always wanted to just hit him back but it would be relatively impossible to even try to land a hit on him because of his assassin training that he had.

But one thing you still had that connected you to your old life, to when you were happy and still with someone who loved you was dancing, which you still went to practice everyday and tried to invite your family but everyone was either busy or straight up told you that they didn't care.

Only Alfred would show up but it was also rare, but it would fill your heart with joy everytime you saw him in the audience of whatever ballet you were casted in, even if you weren't the main protagonist and just a side character.

You also tried to be the best in school, just to show it to Bruce and make him proud like your mother was whenever you were in the top but with a family filled with geniuses like Tim Drake and Damian Wayne, it was difficult to even compare to them.

But every day, you still had hope that maybe, if you opened the doors of your heart they will finally enter and make you part of the family.

That you can finally be accepted again, and maybe even join them in their vigilante jobs but alas, they always had excuses, excuses and even more excuses.

You were getting tired of all their excuses.

After a while you understand that maybe the problem is not you, it never was.

You opened up many times in the past years. You gave them every piece of your broken heart to hold but they would always break it in even more little pieces.

But, not everything always goes to plan does it?

So, instead of continuing to try, you also decided to ignore them back and live your life, counting the days of your eighteen birthday so you could finally get out and be free from the mansion you were supposed to call home.

Part 2 is here!

[roxineedstosleep]

Could you do a snippet for yandere platonic Batfam where reader accidentally gets hurt and is able to hide it for a few days until someone (May be Dick?) finds it and asks / gets upset about it? Love your writing!!! ♥️♥️♥️♥️

Hi there!!!

First of all: Thank you sweetie!

It's been a while since I've written, mostly because of the university, I'm about to graduate and I'm crazy because I'm approaching my final exams (I even have to defend my research work to be able to get my bachelor's degree)!

But, I got to thinking a bit about what you have written above… and even more so because I myself am a little bit crashed after my last film shoot for my final year of my degree. And can I just say that being in a bad way and having to hide it is terrible.

So… here goes!

(I'm sorry if I sound a bit comical in this writing, but I think the best way to get over something is to laugh at yourself a bit so you don't think about the pain too much; I hope you enjoy it anyway.)

Disclaimer: I don't know if you've noticed, but English is not my native/mother tongue. Occasionally, when I think too much, I write them in my language and then translate it in a trusted translator. So, if there's a grammatical problem or a strange term, it's the translator's fault.

Let's face it… having a large family is terribly exhausting.

It's never quiet enough, everyone is in everyone else's business, you can't leave your favorite mermelade in the fridge for less than a day. Someone is always occupying the bathroom or using your favorite shampoo or watching something on TV at too much volume and someone is probably occupying your bed at nap time.

Did I mention about meddling too much in other people's business? Yes? Well… triple it.

Having multiple siblings was new.

Having multiple siblings, a father and a butler/grandfather isn't exactly bread and butter either.

It wouldn't be so bad to belong to a large and numerous one if it was your blood family and you had lived with them all your life. I mean, sometimes blood is too thick and you have no choice but to learn to love them or just be nice to each other.

Like I said, it wouldn't be so bad if they were really your family.

But the Waynes were not your family. Not distant relatives or anything like that.

You were just living your life, as quietly as possible… and poof!

New room, new butler/grandfather, pets beyond belief, 4 new male siblings and a father with serious emotional constipation issues. And, to add more salt to your wound…. all have serious abandonment issues and death-related trauma.

After several escape attempts, sleep strikes, hunger strikes and any other kind of protest that an anarchist could be proud of… you realized that it was simply impossible to get out of this without risking the path of death.

Which, to top it all off, was also unreliable because apparently your older brother Jason had revived as well as another of your siblings. So no, dying was also not a viable option to which one could resort in the worst case scenario.

What to do?

Well, not much. Trying not to die of suffocation of affection or finding a way to have privacy while going to the bathroom just seemed to be the best survival tools you could resort to.

What does that entail?

It implies that Tim was going to give you hours and hours of lectures on his latest discovery of a case, even if you don't understand half the things he's told you or mentioned at all.

Richard and Damian trying to teach you new tricks almost every second, taking you to the Zoo or not leaving you alone to go to the bathroom.

That Jason, oh holy cow he is the only one more relaxed, takes you with him on his motorcycle to eat ice cream and to the public library. Without being able to scape, because it seems that you have a kind of GPS inserted in the bone marrow.

(Sometimes you don't know if it's true or not, but sometimes you also felt pain between your bones, almost during the cold seasons, and you didn't want to burst your poor little head thinking of different viable possibilities knowing them. No scars, no remembering anythins about any surgery).

Have a grandfather who will not hesitate to make you cookies, your favorite foods whenever you want … without leaving you aside at any time.

Plus a terribly quiet father, who if he can will carry you for as long as you spend time together, won't let you near the secret basement and enjoys being in the same room with you.

Do you see any privacy in this?

No, because even at the bathroom door would be the pets trying to get in and see you for themselves while you want to do your business.

The worst of that? Titus always judge you when you close the curtains.

As I mentioned and it was clear: Having a large family implies little privacy… Having a large, obsessive family means NO privacy.

So, knowing that you have over 50 nanochips tracking in all your clothes, two security monitors embedded - God knows how - in your body (monitors that only tell you if you are in designated safe place), 20 high definition surveillance cameras in every room and a Great Dane chasing you like a chick …. How the heck do you fall down the stairs and hit your pelvic bone without anyone noticing?

No kidding, how?

And if you had to blame someone for your fall… you'd totally blame Damian for it.

It's not that the kid pushed you down the stairs, but over time he had tamed himself into various things and relaxed into looking his age. You know!!! He started acting like a normal teenager!

What do Damian's kids do at his age? Well, they leave things lying around and have messing around them when they can, of course they do!

You just wanted some yogurt with orange marmalade. Maybe some oatmeal cookies. Alfred had left it for you in the fridge when he noticed you'd been watching video tutorials on homemade marmalade for hours. Who were you to deny such a gesture of generosity?

I mean, Alfred was the one who allowed you to hide in the attic for hours on end so you could have some time to yourself.

And how did it end? You, slipping down the main stairs of the old Wayne mansion, down a nicely polished wooden staircase, rolling all the way down (which is no small flight of stairs, it should be noted) to the bottom of the first floor.

Now, lying on the ground is not so bad in itself. What is bad is not being able to feel your legs and still not being able to understand how you manage to tidy up your neural wiring so that your legs can still move on their own and go to the kitchen to rescue all the delicacies Alfred left you in time.

And it's a good thing you managed to do it… because within seconds Bart had rushed in to ransack the fridge and the fruit basket.

But that's not the point.

The important thing is that this time you managed, I insist a little on the feat of action, to climb up to your room and not notice how you couldn't really feel your legs.

You ate, you lay down… and to your bad or good luck, you couldn't get up …. and without anyone noticing there was an emergency and everyone went out to sort it out.

Weak limbs, limited movement and you don't want to mention the embarrassing actions you did in order to go to the toilet.

It's not like you hid it either, I mean, there was no one who could even notice because they weren't entirely available to watch you. Nor is it that you would have run away, otherwise they would have been at your side in less than a second.

The detail, as they insist, is that you had probably bruised your back badly and your body was now taxing you extra for your food craving.

I insist, you did not hide anything.

But still, when you're found completely itchy on the floor, ridiculously trying to run away in the direction of the bathroom… that's when everyone really goes crazy.

First, having to carry you and not dying of embarrassment when you notice that Bruce definitely doesn't give a damn about having to carry you to the bathroom and do almost everything for you.

Or having Dick and Jason carry you and fit you into some kind of weird medical scanner they have in the cave.

Or that Tim keeps track of your periods, types of meds you take and, for fuck's sake, knows how the fuck to inject something into your spine.

Or that Damian had the gall to look a little embarrassed when he heard that a pair of boxers lying outside the laundry basket was to blame for all this.

NO matter.

At the end of the day they heal you, pamper you, leave you alone when you need to take a nap and figure out a way to fix it without looking like complete maniacs who built some kind of internal plumbing that sucks up the dirty laundry and throws it straight into the washing machine.

Like the time they didn't look like maniacs by sanding all the edges of the tables and nightstands.

Or the time they bought a whole brand of sanitary towels when they realised that not all women use tampons.

Don't worry, they're looking out for you… even if they look like deranged Arkhan freaks in the process.

[stevesbipanic]

@steddielovemonth Day 24: Love is the only thing we can take with us. 

@thefreakandthehair

Steve looked around his room, it would be the last time he did. He could hear his parents still arguing downstairs. He knew he didn't have a lot of time, soon he'd hear his father's footsteps coming up the stairs.

"You're no son of mine!"

Steve hadn't felt like his son in a long time anyway. When he thought of dads he thought of Hopper at his graduation or Wayne watching the game with him. He'd called Hopper, Dad, when he woke up in the hospital and saw the previously dead police chief at his bedside. No, Steve Harrington hadn't been Richard Harrington's son in a long time.

He knew he didn't have much time, but he'd been planning for this moment, the day they would find out. It was inevitable, small town, nosy neighbours. Steve kept his room impersonal for a reason, it wouldn't last forever. Kneeling quickly he grabbed his box, it was all he would need.

The clothes he actually liked wearing weren't in this closet anymore, the beemer had always been in his name. Nothing else in the house mattered but this box. The last piece of Steve in these four walls.

"Steven?"

He'd asked her to call him Steve all his life, she didn't.

"Can't you see what you're doing to your mother?"

Maria Harrington hadn't been Steve's mother in a long time. Mothers were there for their kids when they woke up from nightmares. Claudia never judged when he woke up screaming on the couch. A true mother looked after their son when he was sick in bed, soup and comfort and love. Joyce brought him soup last winter, when the flu had him stuck in bed, he didn't even call, she just knew.

"I know, I'm leaving now."

"Please, Steven, there are places we can go to fix you," she cried. Mothers don't think their kid's heart needs fixing.

"You were supposed to be a real man!" Richard yelled as he passed him down the stairs. Fathers are proud of their sons growing into protectors and carers.

"This will never be your home again!" Was the last thing Steve heard as he closed his car door and placed the small box on the passenger seat. Parents always have a home waiting for you, even when they think you're wrong.

"Steve?"

Wayne is the first one to spot him as he arrives at the trailer. It's sunday, family dinner at the rotating family table. Tonight was meant to be at the Munsons.

"Steve, honey? You ok?" Joyce is the first one to touch him, worry in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, son." Hopper is the first one to read his teary eyes like a book. They all knew where he'd been.

Claudia gingerly took the box from him, "I'll put this in your room, sweetheart, let Eddie know you're back home."

Steve could hear the kids yelling around the picnic table outside; could smell dinner cooking. Robins laughter piercing though the air and Eddie's boombox playing loudly.

"Baby?"

There he was.

"Hey, Eds, think we'll have to move up that moving date, if it's ok?"

Eddie's features softened from worry to sympathy, "Course, sunshine, although I'm still surprised Joyce and Hop didn't kidnap you months ago.

Later, when he'd given everyone hugs goodbye, some were a bit tighter than others, he sat on the bed with his box.

"You wanna unpack that alone, or want help?"

"You can look, it's not a secret, just special," Steve replied, patting the space next to him. Eddie plopped himself down beside his boyfriend, lifting the lid.

Inside was a mess of bits and pieces. Eddie reached in and took out a stack of photos. Steve at his graduation, a big smile with Hopper's arm around his shoulders, Dustin beaming beside him. Robin putting Steve in a headlock at the quarry last summer, he refuses to say he let her win. Eddie at his first show back, scars on full display. And countless other memories.

There were also little toys from the arcade and pebbles and ticket stubs and letters and a full life story of one Steve Harrington told through the love of his family.

"This was all I went back to get, all I needed. Wasn't expecting them to know about you already, but I knew they'd find out one day. Couldn't let them have this, not after they spent so long trying to take my heart from me."

"I think it's high time we clear some space around here for all this, Stevie, time to let your love be out on full display."

When Steve fell asleep that night, wrapped in the arms of a boy who went to hell from him and staring at the new photos on the wall, he truly felt home.

[auroreliis]

pls we need more father-daughter moments with bruce because almost all of the yandere batfam fics i’ve read in tumblr always focuses on the bros 😭��

Platonic Yandere!Bruce Wayne

Summary: Your father protects you from your brothers.

CW: mention of bugs

(not edited or proofread)

Rapid footsteps echoed through the manor. The quiet treading belonged to you and the more audible stomps were from your brother, Dick. Your panting was not missed by the individual chasing you. It was clear that you were getting worn out.

Currently, you were attempting to avoid getting hugged by Dick, who, being as touchy as he is, did not appreciate you steering clear of his squeeze. He had hugged all of his siblings and none of them were as resilient as you, so why did you have to avoid him like this?

You darted past all possible hiding places, since you were sure it would only be a matter of time until he found you, instead opting to run. Your knees bent slightly as you were rounding the corner, in order to be able to push yourself forward with a little more power.

What you couldn't have expected, was that you would run directly into your father's chest. The sudden blockage caused you to stop and look up at him, before remembering that you were on the run. Your head turned and you saw Dick getting closer to you. Out of panic, you hid behind Bruce, who raised a brow at your eldest brother.

Dick came to a halt directly in front of Bruce, who had crossed his arms by now.

"Richard, would you explain the situation to me? I don't quite understand why your sibling is running from you", he said, not mentioning the fact that your nails were digging into his back.

"They've been running from me every time I try to even touch them. I don't want them to distance themselves, they need to be involved more", said Richard, distressed by your sidestepping.

Bruce hummed in thought. "I'll talk to them", his tone signaling that Richard should leave.

Dick huffed before stomping away.

Your father finally turned to you and waited for your explanation.

A sigh escaped your lips and you dropped your head, "Sorry, I just...felt overwhelmed. I'm not really fond of physical contact, but I'll work on it, I promise." You did slightly cringe at your own words, but by now you had learned that complying with their wishes was much more rewarding than disobeying them.

You kept your head low, waiting for his acknowledgement, when a hand landed on your head. You looked up at him, eyebrow raised in confusion, but he just looked at you. He gave your head two light pats before smiling and walking away.

Looking around, you remembered that you had escaped Richard without giving in to his affection.

A radiant smile lit up your face as you scurried off to your room.

~~~~~

"Oh come on! It won't hurt you, will it?", shouted your brother, Jason, as he chased you through the manor, cockroach in hand, ready to be shoved in your face.

He had found it in his helmet and you immediately expressed your repulsion and highlighted the fact that he must be very filthy.

Jason, offended by this comment, decided to make you filthy too, by rubbing a bug on your nose, or at least attempting to. You bolted out of his room at a speed that would put The Flash to shame, but he caught up with you and promised that he wouldn't leave you alone as long as you were clean.

You barely paid attention to your surroundings as you ran through the halls and turned every nearing corner, yet you somehow ended up in the kitchen, where your father was currently conversing with Alfred.

"DAD HELP!", was all you needed to say to have Bruce step between you and Jason, taking on a protective stance.

Jason saw this and stopped, not even having entered the kitchen yet.

Both of them stared at each other silently before Jason turned around and left, presumably deciding that he had better things to do than getting scolded by Bruce.

He muttered a few curse words under his breath and for a moment you feared that you would wake up to him at the foot of your bed, holding a handful of bugs.

"Why was he chasing you?", your father's question brought you back to the situation at hand. "Uh..", you weren't sure how to phrase this without making Jason seem nefarious, "He wanted to show me a bug, but I didn't want to see it, so I ran!"

Bruce inhaled, as if he was about to talk, but you beat him to it, "But! You saved me, thank you!" You hugged him and smiled innocently, praying he stops asking questions.

It seems that he noticed your reluctance to elaborate, so he left it at that and you disappeared within seconds.

This wasn't the first time your father had saved you from your brothers and it most certainly won't be the last.

It was kind of funny how you always seemed to run into him when you were in trouble.

Perhaps it was fate guiding you to your saviour.

It matters not.

All that mattered was that you were thankful for your father's help and understanding, even if his timing was suspiciously accurate.

[l0vem41l]

something's wrong with the morning.

「 tws + notes: no tws, unedited 2 the max, potentially ooc but WHO GAF (me. igaf), he misreads tone over text and it's totally not me projecting, bros just a little anxious and its totally not me projecting, richard "acts of service" grayson in the real, pretty heavily romantic implied but it can be interpreted as platonic becuz we fw that here!!!!! 」

「 gn!reader, can be platonic or romantic <3 」

↳ ft. richard "dick" grayson/nightwing

author's note: yes i am uh. doing More dc stuff. guys im really sorry but its literally leeching off my brain like a parasite i fear. enjoy!!!!!!! ♪(´▽｀) <3 the lyric below is what i based this off of but as usual, GENDER NEUTRAL READER!!!

"and how something's wrong with the morning / when he doesn't phone to say he loves me"

dick has been staring at the text since the minute he received it.

“gm.”

you sent two letters. and a period at the end.

immediately, there's a weird feeling he gets— a pit forming in the depths of his stomach as he reads it over and over again, as if he expects it to magically change in front of his eyes.

you usually send something… more in the morning. you greet him happily and use a silly nickname, he greets you and uses a silly nickname back. it's sort of tradition for the two of you, mainly built on the fact that him being a vigilante leaves very little time for the two of you.

so what the hell happened to that tradition? where’s his “good morning pookie!” or “hope you slept well, sunshine :]” that he's grown so accustomed to?

of course, he has to go on with his day like usual. at least, he's trying his best. to his credit, he does pretty well. after all, dick grayson is a performer at heart! even if it secretly feels like a part of his world just collapsed in on itself, he does not sulk about it.

but to the observant, there's obviously been a shift.

the slightly irritable mood he’s been in? definitely normal. the fact that he’s been swiping away every notification with disinterest if it’s not you? totally nothing.

more astute criminals in blüdhaven are a little off put by the fact that nightwing is still at full quip capacity while hitting just a little harder and being just a teeny bit more bitchy.

there nervous speculation going around that next week he'll be in the discowing fit

nightwing notices that his mask is slipping a bit. but does he care? well... not really. what's more important to him is what's going on inside his head. and he's been thinking— hardcore reflecting on every single recent previous interaction with you, looking back to everything that must’ve made things go wrong.

maybe he should’ve let you win that one argument last monday, even though he’d been pretty certain he was right because you really aren't supposed to stack cards in uno that way.

or maybe “anything’s fine” as a response to you asking what he wanted for dinner was the wrong move— he knew you hated when he didn’t help your indecisiveness.

was it the movie he picked for movie night on your hangout? fuck, that might've been it, you totally hate the main actor. how could he have forgotten?

either way, he’s dead set on the fact he did something to piss you off and now you won’t even greet him good morning.

later in the afternoon, you find a cute little basket on your doorstep containing your favorite flowers, your favorite snacks… and an apology note??

“dick,” you message, “what’s going on?”

he doesn’t reply back. instead, he calls you.

before you can even greet him, his voice chimes in with a whole spiel you didn't expect to be hit with.

“i messed up. i know i did and i should've done better. and i’m so sorry, i wanna make this work and i just— from the bottom of my heart— i really, truly apologize—”

you blink several times at your phone before interrupting. “oookay, woah, woah, woah. let's slow down. the fuck are you apologizing for?”

“...your message this morning.” he mumbles out, barely audible. you can hear the pout in his voice somehow.

“what? the one i typed up while rushing to work?” it’s hard to stifle your laughter. “dude, i just woke up a little late. i promise i still love you.”

he doesn't know whether to feel more relieved that you're not actually upset with him or embarrassed about the drastic, immediate measures he took to make things right. things being absolutely nothing, because obviously you weren't gonna be petty over uno rules, nondecisions, or movies.

"you should come over. we can share the snacks if you get here in time." click.

he'll be at your door the minute patrol is done. not for the snacks though it is a nice bonus but to see you. lord knows you need the time together.

— reblogs always appreciated!

[adverbally]

I Can Never Go Home Anymore

Written for the @steddie-spooktober day twelve prompt “graveyard” | wc: 974 | rated: T | cw: death of a parent, references to abuse and neglect by a parent | tags: Steddie established relationship, funeral and burial (for Mr. Harrington), Harrington family angst, Steve’s complicated relationship with his mom

———

Steve’s hands are shaking on the steering wheel. Firmly positioned at ten and two, wrapped around the leather with the familiarity that comes from years of driving, and they’re still shaking.

“We can leave,” Eddie reminds him from the passenger seat. “You don’t even have to get out of the car.”

He shakes his head. They already missed the viewing last night and this morning’s mass. He can’t miss the burial, too. “No, I need to stay.” When Steve finally gets out of the car, Eddie follows without a word.

It’s not about paying his respects to his father. They hadn’t spoken in years, not since he found out about Eddie and kicked Steve out. A sick part of Steve, deep in the pit of his stomach, is almost glad that Richard Harrington is dead. He feels lighter without the weight of his father’s distant disapproval, can breathe and be himself without feeling guilty for his failings as a son.

But his mother had been the one to call and give him the news. God knows how she tracked down his number, but she cried to him about how sorry she was. How she regretted not standing up to his father when he disowned Steve, how she should’ve been more present in his life, how she was so lost and lonely now that she was a widow and her only son was halfway across the country.

All of it was about her, like all of his mother’s apologies, but Steve pitied her. She was just now learning the lesson he was taught in high school, that popularity was a hollow cage that trapped you while keeping everyone else out, surrounded you with people who could never reach you in the ways that mattered. All of her society friends, her husband’s business partners’ wives, would be present for the funeral mass, dressed to the nines, but not after. They would send flowers but they wouldn’t dirty their shoes for the trek to Richard Harrington’s grave.

So Steve agreed to come, at least for the burial. His parents’ church wouldn’t have appreciated his presence, but the open air of the graveyard feels safe as he and Eddie walk toward his father’s final resting place. There’s something welcoming about the gloomy setting, the overcast sky seeming to blend into the tombstones and monuments, the ground covered with dead leaves now that fall is shifting into winter.

He stands at the back of the crowd and holds Eddie’s hand without feeling everyone’s eyes or hearing the gossipy whispers about Dick’s boy, the queer. He watches the casket be lowered into the ground and tries not to feel relief. When he has to bury his face in Eddie’s shoulder for a minute as the small congregation sings “Amazing Grace,” he accepts the comfort of his partner’s embrace without shame.

It’s only when the few remaining mourners leave and Steve is face to face with his mother for the first time in nearly a decade that tears begin to prickle behind his eyes.

“Do you want me to wait in the car?” Eddie murmurs as they go to meet her on the other side of the open grave.

“Will you stay?” Steve asks, squeezing Eddie’s hand.

The silent squeeze he gets back is enough of an answer.

He squares his shoulders and takes a deep breath, bracing himself as they come to a stop in front of his mother.

Rosemary Harrington covers her mouth with her hands as she takes in the sight of him. “Oh, Steven.”

“Mom,” Steve greets her with an awkward nod.

“Can I…” Her voice trembles. “Would you mind if I—”

Steve steps forward to embrace her without a second thought. She’s a petite woman, and he towers over her despite her sensible black pumps. A lump forms in his throat when he hears her sniffle, delicate and muffled by the lapel of Steve’s coat.

When they pull away, Eddie offers her a bundle of tissues, which she gratefully accepts. She dabs at her eyes, the makeup there long since worn away, and Steve is struck by how much older she looks. He supposes he looks older, too.

“Mom, this is Eddie. My partner,” he introduces with a wave of his arm. He’s proud that his voice doesn’t wobble, even if part of him will always be terrified to say those words.

“Mrs. Harrington.” Eddie shakes her hand solemnly. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”

Her mouth twitches into a rueful smile. “Please, call me Rosemary. I don’t expect the mother-in-law treatment. You probably need to be more of a mother in the first place to get that.”

Steve interrupts, “I don’t think we need to get into that right now.” He doesn’t want to fall back into the dynamic of constantly having to reassure her that she wasn’t a terrible mother while also having her ignore the things she could change to improve their relationship. He pinches his nose as his frustration builds.

“Maybe we can take you to lunch so you and Steve can catch up?” Eddie suggests in an attempt to break the tension. Rosemary enthusiastically agrees, of course, and she takes Eddie’s arm as he leads her to the car.

Steve pauses at the edge of his father’s grave. His headstone won’t be ready for another week, at least, so there’s no indication as to who is occupying the nondescript casket down there. It could be anyone. Steve pictures a stranger, a man who could’ve been a good father and a faithful husband, laid to rest with love and genuine grief. He pictures the way his life could’ve been different if his dad had been more like that, the way his mom’s life could’ve been different.

When he whispers, “Bye,” that life is what Steve is saying goodbye to. Not Dick Harrington.

[reareaotaku]

Watcher or Stalker?

Summary: After your little encounter, Richard has taken a keen interest in you. Sadly, you only know his hero alter-ego, Robin the Boy Wonder. Though, he plans to change that Taglist: @adorabluesposts, @swetearss, @person124billion Pt I: Save Me, Baby Pt III: Death 2 Love Linktree 4 Palestine

Dick sighed, leaning on his hand. He looked around the buildings, before spotting a familiar apartment complex. One that he kept finding himself going to. He knew he shouldn't- But he couldn't help himself. He told himself he just needed to make sure Penguin didn't come for you, but he knew it wasn't like that.

He had learned your schedule in less than a month. He knew where you went to school, when you got home, when you got in the shower, how long your showers lasted, your friends, etc,. Sure, it was weird, but he was a hero, so he was just looking out for you. You just happened to be really easy to learn your schedule.

The apartments, like the rest of Gotham, were filthy. Imagine his surprise when he had been in your room and it was nice and neat. It looked exactly how he imagined a teenage girl's room to look. It made him giddy just being in there.

He shouldn't be acting like a schoolboy, but he couldn't help it. He was entranced with you. He felt bad that he was invading your privacy, but he didn't feel bad enough to stop.

He wanted to approach you as 'Dick', but he didn't know how to do it. You didn't go out by yourself very often, so he couldn't get you alone and make it seem like an accident when he approaches you.

But he finally gets his chance.

He watches a familiar figure leaving the building and he lights up. This was his chance- But where were you going so late? He should follow you, just to make sure you were safe.

---

He watches you enter a convenience store and frowns. What could you possibly need so bad? He looks down at his phone to see a text from Bruce, but he ignores it, pocketing his phone.

"Hello. Welcome!"

Dick turns to the store clerk, smiling and waving, trying to void conversation. He goes back to the aisles, before he sees you getting a drink from the vending machine. This was it.

He walks towards you, but miscalculated his steps, because you turn just at the time he walks by and you end up spilling your drink all over him.

You quickly apologized, feeling terrible. Though, when you looked up to see who you had bumped into, you froze realizing that it was the sun of Bruce Wayne; The richest man in Gotham. His father practically owned your family. If you made him mad, his father could ruin your family.

"I- I'm so so so sorry." You were quick to grab napkins so that you could wipe off the drink- Or at least try too, but it wasn't working.

Dick hadn't planned for you to actually talk, so now that he was in front of you, he felt his mouth was dry. You both stood in silence, before you finally decided to walk past him and leave the store, without buying what you wanted. Dick wanted to facepalm at his own stupidity.

He looked back at the items you had put back, before deciding to buy it and find you.

[curseofaphrodite]

PRE-OWNED RECORDS

Sirius Black x muggle!reader || fluff

summary: the time Sirius sneaked away from Hogwarts to see you.

The thrift store looked as cozy as ever, which was the obvious effect of a place filled with things that people had previously loved. The crooked statues and trinkets near the door, the sound of a Little Richard record playing somewhere behind the back, the huge stack of battered old books — all of them made you excited like the very first time you stepped inside.

You looked at the boy you came with and saw a gleam in his eyes that you haven't ever seen before.

"Pretty, isn't it?" you asked, taking a brown butterfly hairclip from the basket near him. Sirius still hasn't finished taking in the shop's eccentrics.

"It's so cool," he said in awe.

You laughed. You could see why he'd be so surprised. Sirius Black had been homeschooled all his life, or that's what he says anyway. All you know is that your strange, rich, pretty neighbour never comes out of his house unless it's the holiday season. When you ask him about it, he says his mother is old-fashioned and traditional. You hadn't understood what he meant until you saw her once yourself. From her attire to her cold glare, that particular cameo still gave you shudders.

Even the times you do see him, he's covered in leaves and dirt, as if he climbed down the window without anyone seeing. Sometimes you wonder if you ought to get him legal help to get him emancipated. But he never looked physically harmed, but he never looked completely okay either.

Str̥angely enough, your holiday friend wasn't out on a holiday though. This visit was right in the middle of the school year. When asked about it, he said something about apparition or desperation that you just decided not to ask further. He looked particularly worn out that day, so you decided to take him to somewhere he'd never been before, which happened to be a very long list. The thrift store was close, so that's the story of how he ended up gawking at the records beside you.

"Who's your favorite?" you asked, actually curious. Apart from his unusual attire and confused looks when you mention anything from music, you haven't had the faintest clue as to who he even listened to.

"Stubby Boardman?"

You blinked. "Uhm, you mean Buddy Holly?"

"Yeah, sure." Sirius looked more interested in the records before him. He brushed past the unorganized stack with a faraway look in his eyes. He then turned to you questioningly. You jumped a little and looked away because you realized you might have been staring a little too much at him.

"Look at this!" You were thankfully saved by the orange and red album in front of you. You reached for it gleefully, making a happy sound. "I've been looking for this edition for such a long time! Oh, I can't believe they have it!"

"Are they any good?" he asked, matching your level of excitement.

"The best," you sighed, hugging it closer.

This particularly sweet moment was cut short when you heard a small commotion at the front of the store.

Sirius's face showed immediate panic. "I knew that cat looked familiar!" He said, rushing to the cashier's area.

"The cat?" you blinked in confusion, then followed him.

A woman stood in the spot, wearing the biggest black hat you'd ever seen. She had small spectacles and smart, shrewd eyes behind them. She looked exhaustingly mad, as if she'd been in plenty of situations like this before.

"I'm still learning the ropes of apparition?" Sirius tried, smiling meekly. "I've no clue how I've ended up here."

"Mr. Black, you've excelled in apparition and rest assured, even the most horrible student wouldn't end up hundreds of miles away from where they are. I'm sorry to interrupt your date but you're coming with me right this instant!"

"Who is this?" you asked. The woman turned her gaze on you, and the wheels seemed to turn in her head.

"Let's go," she said more sharply.

"I enrolled in a boarding school?" Sirius directed the answer at you, though it sounded more like a lame excuse. The woman did not look happy to be ignored. "I've to go now but I'll explain everything when I'm back okay?"

"No, you won't!" the woman said shrilly.

"I'm sorry but you all have to leave," the cashier said, looking like she's had enough. "We don't have squabbles inside the store."

Sirius looked a tiny bit sad. Being unofficially thrown out of the store was not how you thought how the day would go, but you sighed and walked out anyways.

Your phone rang. It was your father, asking you to pick up the groceries on your wy back. By the time you hung up, both Sirius and the lady was nowhere to be seen.

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"You're young and that's a fancy word for naive," Minerva said, walking or slightly running down the hall. Sirius struggled to keep up.

"She's going to understand."

She stopped in her tracks and Sirius almost crashed into her.

"That's not what I meant. How do you think your mother would take the fact that you're friends with a muggle? Let alone more than friends?"

Sirius blushed. "There's not more—"

"Oh, I'm not stupid. But that's not what this is about either. You're bringing her to her doom if you keep visiting her under Walburga's nose."

"She's all I have at that place!"

"That's not true. There's a person in your own house who needs you, but you seem to forget that."

"Regulus is like the rest of them. He's not who he was," Sirius said promptly. His words were harder than before. "If you doubt it, look for the mark in his arm."

Without waiting for her reply, he stormed away. To hell with the detentions, he thought. I have to do one more thing back in my town.

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The next morning, the first thing you thought of while waking up was the boy with dark long curls and brown pretty eyes. You wondered if you dreamt him up.

There was a part of you that wanted to be mad that he left without a goodbye, but you actually didn't mind. Something said he'd be back soon enough.

"Hey kiddo," your dad knocked on your door and walked in, holding something familiar in his hands. "Someone left this at the door. Must be for you."

You gasped, grabbing the red and orange record from his hands.

"How—?"

"There was no note." He shook his head. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you have a secret admirer. Now come down to the kitchen, we made pancakes."

"I'll be right there," you mumbled, examining the album once again. Once he left the room, you immediately went to the player.

While you took out the record, you noted something eerily familiar to dog hair sticking on the sides.

THE END

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