#surprising absolutely fucking nobody

[snakesandstone]

anya my darling you deserved the world

[px-0]

when the new vivre cards name a bunch of complete randos and u come back giggling n kicking ur legs a little

[unproduciblesmackdown]

winston my quant of billions

[malachitezmeyka]

So turns out, when I said I was sure I heard the name Sunat in one of my grandma's turkish dramas before, I was wrong, and instead in the one she's watching right now there's a Suna and an Asumat, and I really wish the filmmakers would stop naming their characters so similarly, I already struggle to tell them all apart and my grandma's getting annoyed at me for the constant questions

[byfulcrums]

I hate it when the Flash (Wally, Barry, and honestly just the speedsters in general) is made... dumb. People completely ignore the magnitude of those fuckers's powers, and since they're so goddamn OP, they make them stupid to nerf them

That's why I love it when I see a realistic scene of them showing their actual speed. The other people's faces are always hilarious and it feels so good to see a version of them that isn't made so dirty

[campirebitesarchive]

.

[dorothywonderland]

Loving all the tags and comments under this comic being just everybody outting themselves as old hamilton trash

Is it considered plagiarism if you're copying your own comic?

╮ (. ❛ ᴗ ❛.) ╭

[roxirinart]

say what you will but 'small animal running on a wheel and then tripping and getting getting put on the spin and drain cycle at 1000 rpm' will be funny until the end of time

[exopelagic]

i can’t believe i managed to get fucking mono and didn’t even get it by doing anything fun

[autumnfangirler]

thinking about teo (my first proper oc) again and like. wow. what the hell was i on. i dont even know where i got the idea for him from???? past me you were in sixth grade, Why are you trying to figure out the nuances of abusers and how to live life with past actions that genuinely hurt somebody. girl you are failing math.

[singmyaubade]

Good Luck Babe

poly!marauders x nerd!female!reader

summary: after being a wallflower throughout your first five years at hogwarts, you always thought that you could be invisible. but when you hear the marauders talking cruelly about you and proceeding to ask for your forgiveness after, well good luck babe.

warnings: eventual smut! 18+ heavy angst, cursing, reader wants to kill the marauders , swearing, unprotected sex, praise, oral (male receiving), jealousy

a/n: oh hey... this is kinda based on those cliche 2000's movies where the girl is ugly but not really and she has that glow up or whatever. this was written so quick and not proofread, don't kill me. i hope you enjoy and as always, i apologize if you hate this!

STARTING off your sixth year at Hogwarts being an entirely new person wasn't something that you had planned or expected.

On the inside, you felt exactly the same, the same girl who was bold and could ferociously win a fight when it came to her character.

The same girl who was witty and sarcastic, surprising half of the people around you when you made a joke once in a lifetime.

But on the outside, you didn't have an awkward mis-shaped bob and you no longer wore baggy jackets that didn't do a thing for your figure.

And you didn't hide your face anymore, trying your best to be invisible.

It wasn't that you were shy or that you felt like a loser but you thought social hierarchy was bullshit and the only thing you wanted to focus on was your studies.

You may have been a brave Gryffindor on the inside but on the outside, you had to play the part of a shy mouse as corny as that sounds.

Unfortunately for you, invisibility only tends to last for so long until one moment, you are a nobody and then all eyes are upon you.

And maybe, just maybe, if you hadn't heard the Marauders discussing you the previous year, you would have stayed the same.

You had passed by the boys dormitory to give Remus his textbooks back as you always did when you let you borrow when you heard them speaking of the very person behind the door,

"I still have yet to understand why Lily and the rest of them act like she's some charity case," James huffed, "I mean, she's not some sick patient, they only feel the need to pity her because of how she looks."

You always knew that James had a foul mouth but to be speaking about someone like this, it was cruel.

Remus hissed, "That's not nice Prongs,"

"I'm not even saying it to be a dick!" James groaned, "I just mean, I pity her more for the fact that they don't even invite her to anything outside of breakfast and dinner," He explained, causing Remus to go silent.

Sirius chuckled, shaking his head. "That's absolutely horrid."

James reclined on his bed, a smirk playing on his lips. "I’m just saying, if I were Y/N, I’d be mortified."

Your eyes widened as they began to water, they were speaking about you.

Remus leaned against the wall, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "Maybe she just doesn’t want to hang out with Lily and the others."

"Moony, seriously," James shot back, sitting up. "Where is Y/N right now, and where are the other girls?" His eyebrow cocked, trying to make his point as Remus silenced.

Sirius raised an eyebrow, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Why don’t we investigate for ourselves?" He unfolded the Marauder's Map with a flourish. "Alright, we’ve got Lily, Dorcas, Mary, and Marlene all at Hogsmeade, but Y/N is..." His voice trailed off, eyes narrowing.

James leaned closer, annoyance creeping into his tone as he grabbed the map, "She's-" He stopped, the color fading from his face.

"Fucking spit it out!" Remus said next as he snatched the map finally and saw that the map had shown that you were right outside their door.

"Shit!" You heard Remus say as he started making his way to the door.

Hearing his footsteps approaching, you quickly moved away from the door, bolting for your room.

Once you made it back to your dorm, you had sinked the floor. You put your hand on your mouth, muffling yourself as you cried silently.

You honestly hated to even say it but you did consider Lily and the rest of them your friends. You had never really thought about how they didn't invite you to places.

And if you were being truthful, they had never asked you to have breakfast or dinner with them.

You had always just assumed that you could join but they never told you to leave or swooshed you off. Another part of you hated how stupid you were, trying to intrude on their private time.

You didn't want to let it get to you what a bunch of seventeen year old boys were saying but it did sting horribly.

But in a way, it also motivated you to be who you were on the inside. You already had the top marks in your entire year and your plan to work in the Ministry after Hogwarts had already been set.

And now your chance to be something at Hogwarts was right in front of you, an opportunity that you couldn't miss.

You had to do it for yourself.

The Marauders had no idea who you truly were or even cared to know. And although Remus was kind to you, you could always see that he never made any effort to be your friend.

Not that you expected him to but it only taught you that they truly thought you were some hopeless case.

And an assignment to make the Marauders bite their tongues was one that you couldn't bare to fail.

After hearing that, you decided to avoid the Marauders for the next month, especially with summer break approaching. To your surprise, you barely saw them outside of classes, never giving them a chance to reach out—even Remus.

And then that summer, everything changed. You let your hair grow past your shoulders, embracing your natural curls instead of straightening them. You started wearing clothes that were trendy and form-fitting, a huge contrast to your old style.

You discovered a newfound love for self-care, enjoying the process far more than you expected. Each day felt like a transformation, and by the end of summer, your mother couldn’t help but notice. “Finally listening to me about your style, huh?” she teased.

You only laughed as you embraced her,

If only she knew what had caused it in the first place.

As you said goodbye to your family, anticipation mingled with dread. You knew the train ride would be the least of your worries, but the welcome dinner and the ceremony ahead felt like they might just be hell reincarnate.

As you entered Hogwarts, you admired it as much as you did when you were a first year. The castle was something you considered a second home and everything about it was magical, there was no doubting that.

A crowd of students, including yourself, moved toward the Great Hall, and you settled into your usual seat at the Gryffindor table.

You spotted the Marauders and the usual group of girls approaching, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. They took their usual spots in front of you, with the girls on one side and the boys on the other. James sat beside you, and Lily was directly in front of him.

You never quite understood why they arranged themselves like that, but it hardly mattered in the moment.

They were busy in conversation before James had noticed someone next to him, his eyes widening. You couldn't quite read his face but it seemed like a mix of confusion and flustered.

You stared at him back but he still had yet to mutter a word. You cleared your throat, "Uh hello," You practically whispered.

He snapped back into reality, "Oh sorry, hi," He muttered back.

Silence took over you both as James couldn't find the words of what to say to you.

On one hand, he wanted to call you beautiful, to tell you that you were one of the prettiest girls he’d ever seen. On the other, he just wanted to stare at you for a few more minutes like a creep.

Lily noticed his gaze and leaned in, smirking. "Excuse my friend; we’re still trying to figure out if he has a brain."

"I thought we solved that decades ago," Marlene chimed in, stifling a laugh.

Lily turned to you with a curious smile. "I don’t believe I’ve seen you before. What’s your name?"

Are you actually fucking kidding me?

You scoffed, "I'm Y/N,"

The entire group looked at you in awe, even the ones who weren't chimed in on the conversation.

"Y/N L/N?" Sirius asked, mouth gaping.

"Yep, that one," You snorted.

They all looked like they had seen a ghost, "You look different," Marlene said as Mary shoved her.

"She means in a good way!" Mary added.

"Uh thanks," You said, awkwardly.

They all continued to stare at you like you were an exhibit in a museum, their eyes scanning you up and down.

"Do you all mind not staring at me?" you asked, trying to break the tension. They all looked away, feigning innocence as they muttered apologies.

"How have you been?" Lily asked, clearly trying to ease the awkwardness.

"Fine," you replied, your tone clipped.

You caught the pained expressions on the Marauders' faces, realizing they were the reason for your dismissive attitude.

"That's great," Lily said, forcing a smile.

You felt a wave of frustration at the awkwardness surrouding you and decided it was time to escape. "I'm gonna go to the bathroom," you announced, heading toward the exit before they could respond.

As you walked away, you could already here the mutters and whispers emerging from the table, the fascinating topic being you.

You paced as you heard footsteps trailing behind you, but you ignored them, letting your gaze wander around the castle.

"Y/N!" someone called out, startling you.

You turned to see Sirius, James, and Remus hurrying after you. You only let out a snort before continuing your same way.

A hand suddenly reached around your forearm as you turned to see Remus. You quickly snatched your hand away, finally stopping to look at the group of boys who you despised.

Crossing your arms, you shot them a hostile look. "What?"

"We just wanna—"

"We're so—"

"Listen, we just—"

They all spoke at once, but you scoffed and turned back toward the bathroom, starting to walk away.

You were hoping that they would realize you wanted nothing to do with them but instead, it only made them want to chase you more.

They quickened their pace, and you spun around sharply. "For fuck's sake, what do you want?" you snapped.

James took a breath, his expression earnest. "I'm sorry for what I said. I've been thinking about it since you left. I was an awful twat, and you didn't deserve a thing of what I said."

You let out a sarcastic laugh, "Are you serious?" You asked as your expression changed to furious, "You basically called me a loser and said that Lily and the rest of them were only hanging out with me out of pity,"

James hissed as your statement, feeling the razor in your voice.

"-And now you all want to act as if I should just forgive you since I don't look the same anymore," You got closer to James's face, "Fuck off."

You turned your heel again and this time, the boys didn't follow you.

You finally entered the bathroom and shut the door behind you. Staring at your reflection in the mirror, you struggled to read the expression on your face. You were furious at the Marauders, and the idea of forgiving them felt impossible.

Yet, there was a flicker of gratitude that you felt for the change you’d undergone. You’d gained a new confidence that felt good, but the sting of their cruel words still lingered in your mind.

And you knew that you couldn't let it get to you but knowing they thought that of you, even Remus. It still did things to you that you would never admit out loud.

Snapping out of your thoughts, you realized it was almost time to head to the dormitory.

The rest of the night had flown by, with first years being introduced to their new home for the next six years while everyone else relaxed in the common room. Despite curfews, fifth years and above knew they could hang out longer—the curfew was mostly for the first years anyway.

"Caput Draconis," you muttered, and the Fat Lady nodded, granting you entrance.

Stepping into the common room, your heart sank as you spotted the last group you wanted to see. They noticed you just as quickly, encouraging you to pick up your pace toward the dorm.

"Hey, Y/N!" Dorcas called out, making you wince as you turned to see her waving.

The Marauders looked down, shame etched on their faces, avoiding your gaze as if you were Medusa.

You approached them slowly, dread settling in your stomach as they eyed you like a science project.

"We were just about to play a fun little game," Dorcas said enticingly, while Marlene snorted beside her.

"I don’t know if Spin the Bottle is a great idea for the first night back," Marlene added, taking a sip of her beer.

"A little peck never hurt anyone," Lily chimed in, clapping her hands together.

Of all people, you’d never expect Lily Evans to approve such a thing. This was the same girl who nearly fainted when she heard about Marlene and Dorcas kissing the previous year.

"I don’t know if this is the game for me," you replied, eyeing the group warily.

"Of course it is!" Lily insisted, but you raised an eyebrow. "Oh my gosh! Not like that, I just mean it's a fun game for us all to play," she quickly added, looking flustered.

Part of you wanted to say no and retreat to your bed, but that was the old you, and you knew it wouldn’t help. This was a new year, and you were determined to embrace new experiences.

Besides, you’d never participated in any scandalous games for all of the years you've been at Hogwarts—it felt like a crime in itself.

So, after a moment’s hesitation, you said, "Okay, sure." The girls erupted in cheers, while the Marauders exchanged worried glances.

What if you had to kiss one of them? Would you refuse and create a scene? Would you want to strangle them for even suggesting it?

The possibilities raced through their mind, but there was no turning back as everyone began to form a circle.

As you sat in the circle, a shiver of nervousness enveloped you. You had never kissed anyone before and the whole thought made you nervous within itself.

Don't get it wrong, you've had chances but they never seemed right and you certainly weren't kissing Matthew Trunchbull underneath the bleachers of the Quidditch field.

So when you got offered a shot of firewhiskey to cool your nerves by Marlene, you took it happily as it burned down your throat.

You brushed off all the negative thoughts entering your mind,

What really is the worst thing that could happen?

[thephantomsdream]

"If you keep staring at me like that, I'll have to ask you what are we?" Imagine being the witness of a serious crime, but the team thought you were involved somehow and needed to rule you out. Cue to big, scary, mysterious, masked Ghost trying to intimidate you by existing near you.

Soap snorts and pats Ghost on the back, which earns a glare from him, all after the man blinked confused. He had pretty eyes. Gaz moves to a corner to smile way too much, and Price sighs loudly.

After a few more minutes of explaining that you were just on your way to your shitty job and that they needed to wrap this up before you are to inevitably getting fired, Ghost still looks straight into your soul, now with more intensity somehow.

At this point, you grit your teeth. You might legit not have a job after this, since you're already half an hour late, and this (weirdly cute) fucker is trying to read your thoughts.

"Oh, you're really into me, aren't you?" He blinks seemingly uninterested and you raise a brow at him, starting a staring contest until Price (as he previously introduced himself) got in between you two.

"I don't think you understand the situation that you're in." It took all of your will to not groan like a child and roll your eyes at him.

Cue to another round of you doubling down and explaining that you're extremely lame but a good person, all while Gaz still looks you up.

"She might be telling the truth, boss." He whispered to Price in the corner of the abandoned shop they broke onto to have some privacy. The man has been trying to confirm your identity all this time, meanwhile you looked up at your number one fan to say "I told you so" and gave him an exasperated sigh when you already caught him intensely staring into your eyes.

"Seriously..." You mutter and you almost believe seeing a crinkle of amusement in his eyes. Your eyes almost twitched. "I pronounce us husband and wife." You say, rolling your eyes at him. Yeah, take that, fuck-face. You childishly thought, absolutely thriving at his slow, surprised blink. Soap cackled and tried to hide it with a cough.

Long story (not) short, you were indeed let go after Gaz confirmed you're broke, lame and basic. No secret villain or anything. After they kinda apologized, Price basically tried to gaslight you into thinking everything is fine then tried to dip his toes into mansplaining the importance of greater things beyond you, he nodded to himself and patted you on the back before barking an order to his soldiers to move. Pretty brown eyes stayed glued onto your soul until you were pretty much skipping away out of sight, rushing to your job incredibly annoyed.

You couldn't really explain your absence to your boss and he didn't care much either, he told you to get to work.

Surprise, surprise, though, because at the end of your shift, he sugarly informed you that you're fired. He gave you the pay he owed you and there you were. Jobless. And probably homeless in a month's time.

A week later and some intense job hunting done, you're at your wit's end, truly. Job market is shit and nobody is looking to hire. As you enter your ratty apartment, you sigh and almost want to cry in frustration. You've been cursing the terrorists, soldiers and any motherfucker involved in last week's incident, entering your kitchen to grab a drink and eat some air since you needed to save money, when you froze in place.

In the middle of your tiny living room stood a massive dark frame, the outside lights shining through the balcony door behind him made the man unrecognizable. You were getting robbed. You just caught a dude right in the middle of robbing you. As if it was the cherry on top, every frustration you felt erupted out of you, and while you were still terrified by the massive frame, you growled a "Get the fuck out of my house."

A deep chuckle was your only response and you felt dread.

"You got spunk. And a shit survival instinct." He stepped closer. You stepped back immediately, calculating your route to the door, hoping he wouldn't be able to catch you. Denial. You knew. But you froze again in surprise. You knew that mask.

"What the fuck are you doing in my house?" It came more of a whisper, thinking you'd never meet those people again. Even standing up in front of him, he's massive. Maybe he came back for those dumbass comments you made. Oh, this is revenge, isn't it? He's built, he can legit destroy you with a punch. Oh, God, you're fucking dead. They still think you're a terrorist or some shit and he's here to destroy you out of existence.

Your mind rambled until he moved, and when he did, you tensed, mind blank. The man, the Ghost took a couple of steps towards you and placed his large hand on the back of your neck, pulling you close. Oh, you're gonna fucking die for sure. He leaned down to your eye level, making you stare into his dark eyes as he studied you.

"Came back to take care of my wife." He said. It was your turn to slowly blink at him. What?

[inkskinned]

you know, you know. no gods, no masters, no kings on pedestals. everyone is fallible. death of the author. you know! you are balanced about your intake of media - you allow the wiggle room, the grace, the gratitude, the skepticism. nobody above criticism.

but still. a weird gut-punch feeling, something akin to betrayal. you read the article. surprise! an author you love is actually: a serial fucking predator.

well, shit. what now. no, you knew he was a person (all people are), but now you're wondering - what have i overlooked by accident? what messages have i internalized that are strange and cruel? and also, like, what the fuck?

his actions lay a thick glaze on top of everything. like each place is now ruined, opaque in a new way. but okay, fine, you've done this before. you knew better, right? you've been betrayed by many a cherished childhood author.

still, this stickiness. fuck. can you pick up that book again. will you read it to your children. you've recommended it to others - will you ever do that again? and of course, of course, no parasocial relationships. you were theoretically above this kind of sentiment. but the artist informs the art, right.

so it's not something as clear-cut as feeling he owed you, specifically (a stranger) better behavior - just that you kind of, in a distant and odd way... sort of trusted him to do better. it's not like a real trust or something speakable, just the faint hope that the product (good books) was a thin representation of the soul. now it feels like the product (good? books?) was a mask. in some small or insignificant way, your previous support of this person lent them power. your money and your time and your laughter.

and the thing is - you have this terrible, echoing sensation. how many times will this happen? over and over. you find out that the singer you love is actually a predator. you learn over drinks that your favorite high school english teacher is in jail for what he did to her. you listen to the news idly and suddenly discover that a woman you used to idolize has been abusing her kids for an actual eon.

what can you touch without the static melting off. you can't even really complain about it too much (you were supposed to know better, and besides, you don't want the same re-split "it's not your fault, love what you love" basic advice), but now it's here. somehow, it feels like - you let him into your life.

it's not that things need to be pure or an artist has to be like, endlessly perfect, mindful. demure. it's more just this terrible truth that has been replayed through your veins so often it feels criminally vain. power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely. did you want any one person to be worth that power?

it's just that he wrote books where he seemed to understand that. he seemed to know about hierarchies and unfair systems and bigotry and privilege. you thought they were books about what it means to struggle. you thought they were about having power and still using it for good rather than for control. he spooned you a narrative of being a good guy, a kind soul. you fucking bought what that fucking monster sold.

maybe that's why they were fantasies, after all.

[dcvina-claires]

the year is 2006. you’re an avid fan of collegiate exy. kevin day recently transferred from the best team in the league to the worst after breaking his hand in a skiing accident. before the season starts, janie smalls attempts suicide. she’s a fox, so absolutely no one is surprised by this. however, this means that david wymack has to find a new striker. he picks up a neglected, unremarkable kid from millport. for some reason, this mysterious nobody thinks it’s okay to publicly humiliate riko moriyama, king of exy. apparently, neil josten and kevin day talk shit about riko all the time (this confuses you. kevin and riko are supposed to be best friends). not long after, seth gordon dies of an overdose. once again, it’s the foxes, so no one should be surprised, but something is… off. seth was clean, and it didn’t seem likely for him to throw it away. the foxes don’t get anyone to replace him. despite being short a player, they’re performing better than ever before. you don’t want to admit it, but neil josten can probably be credited with a lot of the foxes success. and something is off about that kid, too. he’s a 5’3 brunette with brown eyes, and then suddenly he’s not. he comes back from winter break with red hair and blue eyes, but more interesting than that is the number four tattooed onto his face, marked for the ravens, marked for the perfect court. the normal minyard twin murders someone in cold blood. neil josten is actually nathaniel wesninski. his father, the butcher of baltimore, tortures him and burns his tattoo off. the trojans throw away their shot at winning. kevin covers up his tattoo with a queen chess piece. he’s never been skiing, the theories behind what happened to his hand are endless. jean moreau transfers to the trojans. this isn’t helping with the abuse allegations. despite everything stacked against them, the foxes beat the ravens. the unhinged minyard twin shatters riko’s hand to stop him from murdering the mafia kid on live tv. for some reason, this is riko’s final straw and he kills himself. some people are blaming kevin, andrew, and neil, but you personally believe that it’s a tad bit dramatic to commit suicide after losing one game and breaking a hand. the rest of the ravens don’t seem to agree, as they’re all suddenly in the most fucked up game of “follow the leader” known to man. jean moreau is spotted being escorted from the foxes dorm room a bloody mess, but that’s only the beginning. one of the ravens stabs himself with a letter opener, another steps onto the subway tracks, and a third overdoses. it’s 2007, and you started saying that the ravens were in a cult as a joke, but you don’t know if it’s a joke anymore. you’re seriously starting to consider that your favorite sport was created solely as a front for the mafia

[rainrot4me]

Ticci Toby General Headcannons

Summary: Basic, SFW, and NSFW head-cannons. My personal thoughts, feelings, and opinions about Toby as a character.

TW: NSFW below the cut, minors dni! Above the cut is sfw!

Words: 1.6k

A/N: NSFW is reader with female anatomy.

Basic:

- Even though he is socially awkward and tense, he’s a master at people watching. Can read a room and know more details about a person within seconds of watching them interact.

- Likes his alone time.

- He would probably say Tim and Brian are his closest friends, the same can’t be said about Masky and Hoodie, however.

- A pro at zoning out. Takes you waving your hand in his face before he snaps back.

- Bipolar? More-so emotional switch. Tends to be soft-spoken and awkward, trying his best to keep conversation while fidgeting his hands, looking anywhere but at your face. Otherwise, he’s an in-your-face, aggressive, no emotional resistance when that flip is switched. Lots of teeth gritting and yelling, swings his ax around like it’s a toy to intimidate. It takes a lot for him to get to that point, but it takes double the time for him to come back down from it.

- Not easily scared. Will throw himself into a fight and come out victorious somehow.

- Sleeper build. Wears lots of baggy clothing and layers so you can’t tell, but secretly he’s jacked. He may look scrawny, but don’t be fooled. Really strong shoulder and chest muscles from dually swinging his ax and dragging bodies around. He doesn’t think it’s all that impressive. Wishes he was bigger.

- The worst posture you’ve ever seen.

- Let his facial hair grow out from time to time. Thinks it makes him look too mature, but appreciates the compliments he gets.

- Has a secret hobby of playing a guitar he found on a mission. His tics mess him up a lot, but it’s worth the trip out deeper into the woods where no one can hear to practice a little.

- A little shit.

- Hates the heat. Would rather freeze to death than spend one moment in the too hot sun. Favorite season is late fall, around the first snowfall time.

- Big on territory. Never had privacy or respect as a kid so he values having his own things and belongs that nobody else can touch.

- Definitely shy, but not in the “UwU” way, in the “Can you get this from the gas station for me? The girl in there looks mean.”

- Bites his nails, the skin around his nails, and his cuticles LIKE A MF.

- Very light sleeper. Unless he’s absolutely dead beat exhausted, he’ll wake up from just the floorboards creaking. Has to be physically exhausted to actually rest.

- When listening to music, he needs it as loud and close as possible. Headphones are a must and they must be at max. He wants to feel that bass.

- A stray animal lover, feels similar to them in a way.

- Breaks down a lot. Hard to console or even talk to in those moments but some time alone in his room will do the trick.

- Has the education level of a middle schooler.

- Enjoys Gorillaz, Rainbow Kitten Surprise, and surprisingly, older country artists like Johnny Cash and Willie Nelson. “Outlaw shit.”

Dating Him/SFW:

- “Love” “Y/N…” “Baby”

- Loves when he touches you and you don’t pull away. Like when his knee accidentally rests against yours or his elbow bumps your arm while sitting on the couch and you don’t tug away, just sitting there letting him rest. He gets all giddy.

- Playing with your hair. Currently trying to learn how to braid.

- “Wait. O- Okay, so, right th- then left? No? F- Fuck, okay…”

- Favorite sleeping position is with you wrapping around each other, legs and arms tangled together as he hooks his chin onto the top of your head, rubbing your back. Even though you both get extremely hot and sweaty after a while, Toby enjoys the moment before you eventually shove him off.

- Likes to feel your body weight on him, whether it’s laying or sitting, he just likes the pressure and warmth you give.

- Big on physical touch, could really care less if he’s mad or not, just needs to have some part of his body touching yours.

- You could wear or look like absolutely anything and he’d still think you’re the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen.

- Loves how you smell after getting out of the shower, can’t get enough of it while he kisses your warm, damp skin.

- Loves the way it feels when you comb through his hair with your fingers, practically purrs as he melts into your warmth, angling his head so you have better access.

- An admirer for sure, stares even when you catch on, studying every freckle or sunspot on your cheek.

- Self conscious about being your boyfriend. In reality, he’s an amazing lover, but he’s been conditioned his whole life that he’s not good enough and that ideal carries over.

- Tried to lick you through the hole in his cheek once, you both freaked out.

- Sensitive to high stress situations or loud noises so constantly reaches for your hand or crams himself into your side to block out the panic he can feel oncoming. You really help.

- Slasher movie date nights are always a bust because he’ll describe just how inaccurate that blood splatter was, followed by what would actually happen in detail.

- “If he c- cut the arm like that, it wou- wouldn’t spray out that far. This g- guy doesn’t even l- look like he’s ever even he- held an ax before.”

- Didn’t have a favorite color until you told him yours. Says his is the same, just cause it’s your favorite.

- Very immature in the sense of relationship problems. He thinks everything can be solved if he just avoids it, and that includes you. It takes a lot of bickering and patience, but he’ll eventually get over himself and force a solution.

- Doesn’t open up about anything ever. You’ve gotta fight tooth and nail for him to even mention his mother’s name. Will tell you all about his latest mission, however, whether you want to hear or not.

- Throws things or hits you playfully just to turn around and go “Who did that??”

Dating Him/NSFW:

- Boobs. Tits. Breasts. He needs them in his palms immediately.

- A big biter. Will never bite hard enough to draw blood but gets so turned on at seeing his teeth marks in your skin. Big territory thing.

- “Mine. See, I m- marked ‘ya. You’re mine.”

- His dream is to fuck your tits, too shy to ask though.

- Always been a “jerk off as fast as you can” kind of guy, fisting his cock fast to just get off. So when you slowly slide down his cock for the first time, taking your time to adjust and grind your hips at a steady pace, he nearly cums on the spot from how overwhelming it is.

- Bisexual, definitely.

- Starts at a fast pace at first, thrusting and grinding until both of your hips hurt, but then slowly his pace changes, more intentional movements and sinking deeper, more focused on stretching you out then getting deep. Just wants to get you dizzy before he gives you the good stuff lol.

- “Th- That feel good? You’re sq- squeezin’ so tight, ah-”

- His fingernail imprints all over your skin from how hard he holds you.

- Pervert but not in a creepy way. Pervert as in gets a boner from just watching your ass as you walk across the room. Has to clench his fists every time you bend over or raise your shirt up. Can barely breathe if you’re showing too much skin.

- Not big on degradation, but is very big on affirmation, loves to be told he’s doing good.

- Secretly, sooooo secretly loves the idea of anal. For both you and him. He wants to be buried in your ass, your back laid into his chest as he shoves his fingers into your cunt, panting into your neck. But at the same time, wishes you would just read his mind and push your fingers into his, fisting his cock as you stretched him so well.

- Surprisingly, very flexible. Whatever position you’re in he can easily contort to get the best angle to sink his cock in.

- Jealousy sex. Another resident of the mansion catches your glance for too long and suddenly you’re shoved into the bathroom, pants at your ankles as the brunette swipes the pads of his fingers against your clit, biting against your shoulder as he ruts into your ass.

- “Mine, mine, m- mine, nobody els- else makes you feel this good. Right? R- Right? Yeah?”

- A WHINER. Grade A pro at burying his face into your neck/pillow/chest and just sobbing his pleasure through tears and moans. He’s so loud, obnoxiously groaning and huffing as you slap your hand over his mouth. It doesn’t help though, as soon as your hand pushes down his tongue is already out and licking your palms.

- You in his hoodie? Yeah, it’s the only thing you’re wearing while he snaps his hips, pushing your knees back as far as they’ll go to get even deeper, mewling about how good you look.

- Loves to sit back and watch you suck his cock, his fingers pushing strands of hair out of your face as you try to take it all in, eyes twitching the further down you get. He’s not insanely big, just lengthy enough to make you choke and reach all the best parts. Likes to put his goggles on your forehead and watch them dangle as you bob up and down.

- Cumming in you? No. Cumming on you? Every single time. Goes absolutely crazy when he sees his seed shot across your stomach or thighs, your flushed skin and post-orgasm twitches getting him so turned on he can’t focus.

- “You ju- just look so good… Couldn’t he- help myself, okay? Sorry… Can we, u- uh… Can we go ag- again?”

Thank you for reading!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

[solelifauna]

So this NOT to imply the writing is bad

But so far the Batfam fic as me genuinely shaking in anger , the fact that dick is convinced that y/n as to prove herself to be "worthy" genuinely got to me to the point I need a pallete cleanser

Could we please get a small drabble of reader growing close with one of the "outside" batfam members?

Like maybe Kate(batwoman) and Luke (batwing) because they are under used

Or hell, maybe to really grind the family gears, reader gets close to azrael

(you know Bruce would've able to do shit if reader got close with Kate, she would fucking eat him alive)

Hey, You're all good bro! I also just want to put out that my fic is based on an au! The portrayals of any characters in my fic are based off of their canon and fanon counterparts, just with my own twist. Since this is a darker universe/au, the Bats along with other heroes are going to be a lot more brutal and jaded.

Also love your idea bro. But, I'll do you one better. Constantine. Bruce absolutely can't stand him and the reader being friends with/getting along with him? Oh, that's bound to grind Bruce's gears. It would also be easier to meet Constantine too.

Let's just say one day the reader gets caught up in some Justice League Dark stuff that Constantine is trying to solve. She gets kidnapped by a cult that wants to use her as a sacrifice. I mean, she is a pretty huge target, being the daughter of a Billionaire after all. Anyways, shes kidnapped, nobody is coming to get her, not from her family at least. Long story short, Constantine arrives too late to stop the ritual, but things don't go according to plan for the cultists anyway. Turns out that the person sacrificed wouldn't be killed, but would instead become a vessel.

Great, now you have some old, eldrich being living rent-free in your mind. The being is old, donning the title "Keeper of Hell", but you'll just call it (they? him? her?), Adam. Yeah, Adam wasn't too happy with the name. When Constantine arrives, however, hes pleasantly surprised to find you alive. When he realizes that you, a 15-year-old, now carry the presence and power of an eldritch being older than Gotham itself, he groans while lighting up a cigarette. Looks like he'd have to deal with you now.

He checks over you making sure you have no internal and external injuries before explaining your situation. He feels a little sorry for you, but he is in no condition to train you. He asks around to other JL dark members, hoping to see if anyone is willing to help you control your new powers. He sighs again when nobody steps up to the plate, too busy with their own sidekicks and quests.

Reluctantly, he tells you he'd help you figure stuff out. And there begins the blossoming of the amazing "Grumpy old man and kid they didn't ask for" troupe. When you tell Constantine your name, he blanks, because of course he gets stuck with one of the bat's kids. However, based on your tone of voice when discussing your family (and the way you begged him not to let Bruce/Batman know of your predicament), he's guessing things aren't all too great between you all. Well, thats not his problem, his only job was to train you and make sure you don't end up accidentally killing someone.

Yeah...like that thought process is going to last. Training sessions start out bleak and professional, he's only doing a job. Then as time continues, he finds himself enjoying your company, your enthusiasm to learn and your rambunctious/sarcastic comebacks always have him fighting off a smile. It's been a while since he's had company like this. Soon, you're both going out on missions, and then ice cream breaks afterward. He lets you fall asleep on his shoulder, drooling all over his trench coat after particularly difficult missions and he can't bring himself to mind.

He's fond of you, although he never admits it out loud. It's okay though, because even though he's never said it out loud, his actions speak louder than words. You could feel his love and pride for you. Although he wasn't exactly your dad per se, he was still something to you, maybe the wine uncle? You don't know, and you don't particularly care to put a label on what Constantine was to you, you're just glad that he's there.

Shit hits the fan, however, when one day you decide to go on a solo mission. It's nothing crazy, just getting rid of some poltergeists and low-level demons and shades. Now, were you given permission to go on this mission alone? No, but in a normal teenage manner, you decide to go anyway. Everything was fine, you got rid of all the poltergeists in the area and even some of the shades too! It's all going well until you realize that the demon mentioned before was not as weak as you were told. You gulped when its blood red eyes turned to you.

"Well shit." Constantine was going to kill you.

It immediately lunges at you, you barely rolling out of its sharp claws. You hit it with a couple of spells, causing the demon to roar out in pain, burn marks now littering its side. Its tail whips at you, colliding with your stomach as you fly into a wall with a loud thud. You groan as you pick yourself up, clutching your ribs, each breath a jagged pain that ripples through your chest. Your arm is slick with blood, the gashes from the demon's claws burning as if its very essence were trying to sear your flesh. You grit your teeth and weave another spell, calling on Adam’s power to knock the demon back. This time, a burst of raw energy slams into it, shattering its leg with a sickening crack.

For a brief moment, you think it's over, ready to strike the final blow. But the demon’s leg snaps back into place, bone and flesh knitting together as if the injury had never happened.

“Of course,” you mutter under your breath. “Why would this be easy?”

The demon lunges again, and you’re just a split second too slow. Burning pain flares through your right arm as its claws tear into you, ripping through your flesh like paper. You scream, the sound involuntary, but you push through the pain, refusing to go down without a fight.

Drawing back, you unleash another spell, a sharp projectile of energy aimed at its neck. The demon flinches, letting out a low growl. That reaction—panic—gives you the first glimmer of hope. Its neck. That's its weak spot.

With renewed determination, you gather every ounce of strength you have left. The cuts across your body throb, and your arm feels like it’s on fire, but you push it all aside. You can do this. You have to do this.

You unleash a volley of cutting spells, each one aimed at the demon’s throat. It fights back viciously, throwing you around the room with a strength that makes your vision blur. Every hit you take feels like your bones are splintering, but you keep going. You keep attacking.

Finally, one of your spells strikes true.

The demon lets out a gurgling screech as your spell cuts deep into its neck. Blood—thick and dark—pours from the wound, and it claws at its own throat, choking. Its body spasms violently, and then, as if collapsing in on itself, it begins to disintegrate. In a few seconds, all that’s left is dust.

You stand there, panting, barely able to process the fact that you did it. You won. A grin spreads across your face, and despite the pain radiating from every part of your body, you let out a weak cheer.

But the celebration is short-lived.

Pain cuts through you like a knife, sharp and sudden, reminding you of just how battered you are. Blood is still oozing from the various gashes across your body, and your arm feels like it’s hanging by a thread. You stumble, nearly falling, but catch yourself at the last second.

“Crap… I’m bleeding out,” you mumble, wincing. “Whoops.”

With what little energy you have left, you remember the spell Constantine taught you, the one that would tether you to him no matter where you were. He warned you not to use it unless it was an emergency—and bleeding out from demon-inflicted wounds definitely qualifies.

You lift your shaking hand and cast the spell, a sluggish flick of your wrist sending out a ripple of energy. A portal forms, shimmering and unstable, but functional enough. Without much grace, you stumble through it, disappearing from the demon’s lair.

What you didn’t know, however, was that Constantine was currently in a Justice League meeting.

The first thing you feel is a sudden drop, like the ground beneath you has vanished. You barely register the sensation of falling before you crash, hard, onto something solid. Groaning, you blink through the haze of pain and find yourself sprawled across a massive table.

You can hear voices—muffled, alarmed—but the world is spinning too much for you to focus. All you know is that you're lying on something cold and hard, and you’re absolutely drenched in blood.

Forcing your eyes open, you see several figures standing around you, staring in shock. Your vision is blurry, but you can make out Superman’s cape and Wonder Woman’s armor. You try to process what's happening, but the pain in your arm and ribs keeps pulling you under.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow. Fuckkkk." You cry out.

Suddenly, the scent of smoke fills the air. You don't even have to look to know who it is. Constantine’s familiar trench coat brushes against your arm as he crouches beside you, cigarette dangling loosely from his lips. His eyes flicker with a dangerous mix of exasperation and barely concealed anger.

“What in the bloody fuck, kid?” he snaps, his tone harsher than usual, but the concern underlies his words.

You wince, the situation hitting you all at once. Crap. Now I've got to deal with this.

You muster a weak, sheepish grin, wincing as you turn your head to face him. “Heyyy Constantine, how are ya?”

His brow furrows deeper, and he’s clearly not amused. “What did you do?”

You swallow hard, trying to think of how to explain yourself without getting ripped to shreds—verbally or otherwise. “I—well, promise you won’t get mad?”

“Too late for that, kid. I’m already halfway there,” he growls, his eyes narrowing as he looks over your wounds. “Now get to it.”

You bite your lip, trying to find the least disastrous way to explain. “So… I sorta… mighta… gone on a solo demon-hunting mission,” you blurt out quickly, hoping he’d just move past it.

The way Constantine’s eyes widen, and the immediate twitch in his jaw tell you that he’s definitely not going to move past it.

“You did what?!” His voice rises as he stands up, rubbing a hand over his face. “Oh bloody— I thought I specifically told you not to go by yourself! And this is what happens!”

“Hey, well, I’m alive, aren’t I?” you say, grinning nervously, trying to play it off.

“That’s besides the point!” He throws his arms up, pacing as he takes a long drag from his cigarette. “Bloody hell, I should’ve known better with you kids. I swear, this is why I never—”

Just then, a dark, grim voice cuts through the chaos, and your heart nearly stops.

“Constantine,” Batman’s tone is low, authoritative. “Why is my daughter bleeding on our table?”

Oh no. No, no, no. Not now.

You freeze, your mind going blank as you feel the weight of Batman’s presence at the end of the table. You slowly, painfully turn your head to see him standing there, cape draped over his shoulders, his gaze icy and locked onto you. His usual stoic expression somehow looks even more intense.

“Ah… shit,” you mutter under your breath, groaning inwardly as you realize you’ve just landed yourself in the absolute worst situation imaginable. “I completely forgot he was still here.” Wait, did you say that out loud?

Constantine gives you a sidelong glance, raising an eyebrow. “Yes, kid, you did. And now we’ve got more than just your wounds to worry about, don’t we?” He sighs deeply, rubbing his temples, already anticipating the fallout.

Batman’s eyes narrow, arms crossed as he takes a step closer to you, his voice low and dangerous. “Care to explain yourself?”

You’re still bleeding, your head is pounding, and you’re pretty sure at least a few bones are broken, but none of that compares to the fear creeping up your spine as you look up at your father. Your mind races for an answer, but every excuse you can think of feels flimsy at best.

Constantine clears his throat, sensing the rising tension in the room. “Right. Let’s get her fixed up before this turns into an interrogation, yeah? Kid’s bleeding all over the place, and she’s already taken a beating. We’ll save the lecture for later.” He waves his hand, muttering something under his breath as he kneels beside you again.

The tension between Constantine and Batman lingers in the air, thick and heavy, but Batman finally relents. His eyes soften—slightly—as he watches Constantine work to stabilize your injuries with magic.

You can feel yourself growing weaker, the adrenaline finally wearing off as the pain becomes unbearable. Constantine mutters a healing spell, one that slows the bleeding and knits some of the less serious cuts together. It's not perfect, but it’s enough for now.

“I think it’s time to get you all fixed up, huh?” Constantine says softly, his earlier anger tempered by concern as he helps you sit up, his hand firm on your back to support you.

You nod weakly, not daring to meet Batman’s eyes again. You’re in deep trouble, but for now, at least, you’re still breathing. As Constantine gets ready to teleport you to a safer place to heal, you hear Batman’s voice, calm but steely.

“We’re not done here.”

And with that ominous promise hanging in the air, Constantine picks you up, and the world around you shifts once again.

Constantine gently carries you through the halls toward the Justice League’s med bay, muttering curses under his breath with every step. You could feel his frustration radiating off him, and now, in the quiet aftermath of the fight, guilt begins to settle in your chest. The adrenaline from the battle has worn off, and now you're left with the consequences of your reckless actions.

“Hey, Constantine… I—I’m sorry for not listening to you. I really am,” you say, your voice soft and heavy with regret.

He sighs, not looking at you, but his tone is stern. “I’m not going to lie and say I’m not mad at you, kid. You didn’t just ignore my warnings—you put yourself in danger. There are rules for a reason. What if you got seriously hurt and couldn’t cast a spell back to me? Even worse, what if you died or got possessed?”

His words hit you hard, and you wither under the weight of them. You know he’s right. All those rules and restrictions aren’t just him being overprotective or controlling, they’re because he cares. He’s seen the kind of darkness that can swallow people whole, and the thought of that happening to you terrifies him, even if he’ll never say it out loud.

By the time you reach the med bay, the guilt feels like it’s pressing down on you as much as the pain in your ribs. Constantine lowers you onto a cot, tucking you in with a gruff gentleness that only he could pull off. He sits down on the side of the bed, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it with a quick flick of his fingers, his eyes never leaving yours.

“What I’m trying to say, kid,” he starts, exhaling a cloud of smoke, “is that I care. I care about you, I care about what happens to you. I don’t want—” He pauses, his voice softening. “I don’t want to ever have to find your body one day. So please, from now on, let me know before you do something stupid like this.”

His words hang in the air, raw and unfiltered. You nod, trying to process it all, and then something clicks in your mind. Wait… did he just say let him know?

“Let you know? Does this mean—” Your eyes widen as realization hits you. “Does this mean I can go on solo missions?”

Constantine lets out a resigned sigh. “Yes, yes, you can start going on solo missions—”

“Hell yeah!” you exclaim, sitting up a little too quickly. Pain shoots through your ribs, but you can’t help the excitement bubbling inside you.

“—but, only the ones I sanction and authorize,” Constantine finishes, cutting through your excitement with a stern look. You deflate a little at his words, but it’s still a victory in your book.

Without thinking, you throw your arms around him, ignoring the sharp pain it causes in your ribs. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you! I promise I won’t let you down!”

He chuckles, patting your back awkwardly before pulling away. “Yeah, yeah, I know you won’t. Now, lay back down and get some rest. You still have dark and brooding to deal with.” He gestures toward the direction of the meeting room, clearly dreading the inevitable confrontation with Batman. “And by extension, I do too,” he adds with a heavy sigh.

You groan, sinking back into the cot, the exhaustion finally catching up with you. “I don’t know why he even cares. If he did, he would’ve figured this out ages ago.”

Constantine glances at you, his expression softening for a moment. He takes a long drag of his cigarette before speaking. “He cares, kid. He just… doesn’t always show it the way you want him to. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel it.”

You scoff, though part of you knows he’s right. “Yeah, well, doesn’t feel like it.”

Constantine stands, taking one last drag of his cigarette before flicking it into a nearby ashtray. “Doesn’t matter how it feels right now. The Bat’s going to want answers, and if I know him, he’s going to want to have a very long talk with you. You’re not out of the woods yet.”

You wince at the thought of the upcoming conversation, knowing that Batman’s interrogation will be thorough and far less forgiving than Constantine’s.

“Great,” you mutter, closing your eyes and sinking deeper into the cot. “Just what I need.”

Constantine gives you a small, almost affectionate smile before turning to leave. “Get some rest, kid. You’ve earned it. I’ll deal with the big bad Bat for now.”

And with that, he walks out, leaving you alone in the med bay. As much as you’re dreading what’s to come, you can’t help but feel a sense of relief. Despite the pain and the mistakes you made, you know that Constantine’s got your back. And, maybe, just maybe, Batman does too, even if it’s buried under a mountain of brooding and silence.

For now, though, you let the exhaustion pull you under, trusting that everything else can wait until tomorrow.

-

As you rest, your body finally succumbing to the exhaustion, your breathing evens out and your mind drifts into sleep. The med bay is quiet, sterile, but the tension in the air lingers, waiting for the inevitable. Eventually, a dark, caped figure glides into the room silently, his form casting long shadows across the walls.

Batman—no, Bruce—stands over you, his sharp eyes tracing every bruise, every cut that mars your face. His jaw clenches as a million thoughts swirl in his head, none of them offering any comfort.

What the hell happened to you? Why are you and Constantine so close? How did you even know Constantine? How much had he missed—how little attention had he been paying—to not notice any of this?

Bruce sighs, a deep and frustrated sound. He removes his cowl, setting it on the side table with a weary hand. Without it, he seems less intimidating, less imposing. He stares down at you, seeing the cuts and bruises marking your skin, but what hits him harder is the way your face, in sleep, is still so achingly young. You're his daughter, and yet it feels like you're a stranger to him now.

How did you get so far away?

He knows the answer. The fault lies with him, with the choices he made, the excuses he repeated to himself—telling himself he was too busy, telling himself he would check in later. Later never came, though, and the space between you widened, until it wasn't just him you were drifting away from, but your brothers too.

Bruce noticed the way your brothers treated you, the harsh words, the cold shoulders. He saw the distance, but he justified it, telling himself it was sibling rivalry or something that would pass. He didn't step in. And now, as he looks at you lying there, bruised and battered from a fight he wasn’t even aware of, the reality sinks in: he has no excuse.

With a heavy sigh, Bruce reaches out, his rough but careful hand carding gently through your hair. The gesture is tender, hesitant, as if he's not sure whether he has the right to touch you like this anymore. But as his fingers comb through your hair, you stir in your sleep, a quiet murmur escaping your lips as you unconsciously lean into his touch. It's such a sweet, innocent moment, and for a brief second, Bruce allows himself to feel the warmth of it.

But the moment is fleeting.

He feels the presence before he sees it, the unmistakable smell of cigarette smoke filling the room. His jaw tightens as his hand stills. He doesn’t turn right away, but his voice cuts through the silence.

“Constantine,” Bruce says, his tone gruff even without the cowl to disguise it.

Constantine steps into the room more fully, leaning against the wall, a half-smoked cigarette between his lips. He regards Bruce with that same nonchalance he carries everywhere, though there's a flicker of something else in his eyes—something more cautious.

"Thought you’d still be brooding over in the corner," Constantine says, taking a drag of his cigarette. His eyes drift to you, lying peacefully on the cot. “Didn’t expect to see this version of you.”

Bruce doesn’t respond right away. He pulls his hand back from your hair, his gaze hardening. "What happened?" The question is direct, but underneath it, Constantine can hear the concern, the frustration Bruce doesn't voice aloud.

"She went off on her own," Constantine mutters, taking another drag before blowing out a cloud of smoke. "Went after a demon. Got roughed up pretty bad, but she handled it in the end. Strong kid. Stubborn too. Wonder where she gets that from, eh?"

Bruce's eyes narrow. "And you let her?"

"Let her?" Constantine laughs, a short, sharp sound. "Mate, I didn’t let her. She went behind my back, just like she’s gone behind yours for who knows how long. Difference is, I’m the one she actually came back to.”

That lands like a punch to Bruce's gut. He doesn’t react visibly, but Constantine can see the tension in his posture.

"I didn't know she was…" Bruce starts, then stops, shaking his head. The words feel inadequate. "I didn't know she was involved with this stuff, i didn't even know she was a meta. Or that she knew you."

"Yeah, well, she found her way to me," Constantine says with a shrug, stubbing out his cigarette on the wall. “And she's not a meta by the way, she's a vessel for some eldritch being"

A vague expression of surprise appears on Bruce's face.

"I don't blame you, mate. I was surprised to find her alive afterwards. Not just anyone survives that kind of transformation, she's strong.”

Bruce crosses his arms, his gaze flickering between you and Constantine. “I know she’s strong.”

“Do you?” Constantine raises an eyebrow, the challenge clear in his tone. “Because she’s been running herself ragged trying to prove it. To you. To herself. And, hell, maybe to me too, but at least I see it.”

There’s silence for a moment. Bruce clenches his jaw, turning to look at you again, sleeping soundly despite the tension in the room. He knew Constantine was right. You'd been pushing yourself, fighting to show that you didn’t need them—that you were strong enough on your own. And he had let you. He'd let you because he didn't even care to notice.

Constantine sighs, sensing the weight of the silence. “Look, I didn’t come here to throw stones. But you’ve got to get your shit together with her. She’s tough, but she’s still a kid, and she’s your kid. She needs you.”

Bruce doesn’t answer, but his silence speaks volumes. He watches you, the soft rise and fall of your chest, and feels the regret gnawing at him.

“I’ll handle it,” Bruce finally says, though the words feel hollow.

Constantine gives him a long look, then nods. “You better. Because if you don’t, she’ll be right back with me..”

With that, Constantine pushes off the wall, flicking away the last of his cigarette. “I’ll check in on her later. Try not to fuck this up, mate.” And with one last glance at you, Constantine leaves, the tension in the room ebbing with him.

Bruce remains, standing over you, his mind a whirlwind of regret, guilt, and the desire to fix what’s been broken for far too long. He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead—something he hasn’t done in what feels like years—before stepping back, pulling the chair beside your bed to sit vigil over you.

He’s still not sure how to bridge the gap, but for now, he stays. It’s a start.

Well, thats all folks! I really enjoyed writing this au, so thanks for the idea! Maybe ill even make a pt. 2 to this? Who knows? Anyways, I hope you enjoyed it.