#the penguin x oc

[tirnalilc]

Oz Cobb x Reader!Falcone daughter.

200 words.

I uploaded this to my tik tok account, I modified it to be an Oz cobb x reader story, but in my videos it's Oz x Oc.

English is not my first language, so sorry for the mistakes :(.

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMhQhC3BC/

There was something about Oz, something explainable and inexplicable.

It that moment, she did not understand what it was about Oz that attracted her to him. At the time, he was her sister driver. He had no important power, nor was Carmine Falcone's right-hand man.

So why did she fall so quickly deeply in love with him?

It was true that Oz always had a flirtatious or sarcastic comment that immediately made her day. She wasn't going to deny it, others could say the same words as Oz, even with the same tone, but it wasn't the same. With the other guys she had to give her best fake smile and play along, but with Oz? It was all so real, the blushes and the nerves, the shyness his presence aroused.

She had to hate him, because of him her beloved older sister, was in that damned place she hated to think, but in just three years her feelings were changing, from hate to interest, from interest to friendship and from friendship to wanting everything from him.

She wanted his love, his revenge, she wanted it all, she would kill for him and Oz would kill for her.

tirnalilc.

[ladylaviniya]

No but wait cause-

I'm eating this the fuck up because you somehow read my mind!!! All of this is him. ✨Thankyou for writing this omg

⸻ being oz cobb’s sugar baby would include:

The first time he sees you, he’s taken with you.

Hell, he’s a man from the East Side. of course he likes pretty lil’ things. 

That’s not saying he likes only ‘lil’. Curvy women? Sign him the fuck up. Curves & softness & love-handles to hold onto? Goddamn, a man can only get so erect, sweetheart.

He’s watching you from an upper floor while you sit at the bar, sipping at your drink, shyly tucking hair behind your ears, laughing quietly at the way your friend flirts with the men around her.

You don’t know your beauty—your feminine power. But he fuckin’ does.

You sure as hell deserve some male attention of your own. 

So he pulls aside one of his girls.

❝You see that sweetheart right there? The one in the purple sequin dress? Yeah, you get her another of whatever she’s drinkin’. She asks? You tell ‘er it’s from me.❞

You glance around once you’ve been given your drink, searching for your mysterious suitor—sure the young woman must be wrong about it being the Penguin himself.

You’re not sure whether to be flattered or afraid. The powerful man he is…will he expect something in return?

And then your eyes meet his—he stands balconies above where you sit, watching you with a small smile upon his scarred lips.

And he merely gives you a small nod while you shyly raise your glass in a silent thanks.

And then the young woman asks if you’d like to meet him.

You’re sure she’s part of some ploy to get you into his bed, but with a heady amount of alcohol running through your veins, you go against your better judgement…& tell her yes out of simple curiosity.

A few girls are mingling around when you’re taken up, so you stand aside awkwardly until you see movement from the corner of your eye & watch as he steps out of his office, with an unexpected limp to his gait.

You flush, watching him take step after step toward you.

A limp, heavy-set, scarred, well-dressed, older…he’s so handsome.

But you can’t let on that you think that, because you don’t do one-night stands. Don’t do casual flings of any sort.

You’re very much the committed, romantic relationship type. And, well, look at the women he surrounds himself with. He most certainly is not, you’re sure.

❝Would you like to sit, sweetheart?❞ He asks, gesturing to the dark, plush couch situated before a row of polished glass windows that overlook the Iceberg Lounge below.  You nod nervously, smoothing your skirt beneath you before seating yourself—hyper-aware of your every move as you cross your legs at the ankles and delicately rest your hands in your lap.

God, you’re a real sweet young fuckin’ lady is what he thinks of you. What—with those innocent, wide eyes, soft smile, & flushed cheeks, how can he not?

❝You mind?❞ He asks, pointing to the seat next to you.  You shake your head, smiling invitingly. He seats himself heavily next to you and you bite back a grin at the way the cushion dips under his weight. You have no control over the way your cheeks have remained warm since the moment you set eyes on him, however. He rests an arm behind you, and with your head lightly swimming, you have half-a-mind to cuddle into his side—sure that he feels soft, yet firm. Steady. Safe. And then you get a whiff of his cologne. You don’t know the scent by-heart, or anything, but it’s intoxicating.  You want to bury your face in his chest, you think, admiring the dark hairs that peek out from the top of his shirt where it’s slightly unbuttoned, wanting to run your fingers through them. ❝So,❞ he says, leaning back. ❝You been here before?❞ God, his accent… It causes a pleasant feeling of warmth to bloom between your thighs. You want him to shove his large hand between them and ease his fingers inside of you—rings and all. Your eyes flit to his and you shake your head.  ❝First time,❞ he says, nodding. ❝You come with a date?❞ You giggle from the alcohol, shaking your head, and he grins at the beautiful fuckin’ sound. ❝You like it, then, doll?❞ He asks, glancing to the glittering, thumping club below, then back to you.  You shrug slightly, leaning back. ❝It’s very…noisy. Busy.❞ He smirks. ❝Yeah, you’ll have that at the biggest nightclub in town, huh?❞ ❝It’s the first one I’ve been to. My friend wanted me to come. She said I have to come out of my shell.❞ You lean your head against the soft cushion, pulling your legs onto the sofa while you turn toward him, tossing your heels onto the floor. Makin’ yourself comfortable? He likes that. ❝You shy, baby?❞ He asks, wanting to desperately to reach out and fuckin’ touch you—to run his fingers through your soft, curled hair, or along your young, supple body.  But he knows the minute he makes a move, you’ll do like all the rest and scram—disgusted and scared. He can look—but even then, only in measured glances—but never touch. Not unless he’s payin’ for it. And you ain’t no prostitute. You nod quietly, smiling slightly, as if you’re sharing a private joke with yourself. Maybe he’s the punchline, he thinks. Wouldn’t be the first time. ❝Somethin’ funny, sweetheart?❞ You grin, glancing down and you giggle quietly. ❝You’re very handsome.❞ He’s immediately dumbstruck. Did you just call him fuckin’ handsome? Ain’t no broad ever called him that ‘cept his ma. Never. He raises a brow. ❝Had a bit much to drink, then.❞ You shrug slightly. ❝Not so much to have beer goggles, if that’s what you mean. I just get giggly is all. And it makes conversation easier.❞

He stays silent for a moment, watching as your eyes trail along his body, and he fights against shifting nervously under your…it ain’t a lustful gaze, is it? Maybe ya ain’t all there. Done some time in Arkham, for all he knows. God, he’s fuckin’ pathetic. To think the only way a woman could ever want him is if she’s batshit. ❝I like heavy-set men,❞ you state quietly. ❝And I don’t mind older. They…they know what they want, at least. How to treat women, I think. Well, some of them. A lot of men are the same…❞ He rests his head against his fist. ❝Sounds like y’know from experience.❞ You shake your head. ❝I just know young men aren’t what I want. Things aren’t like they used to be.❞ Your eyes meet his.   ❝I’m a romantic,❞ you say with a soft smile. ���And men my age only want—❞ He chuckles, cutting you short. ❝If you’re gonna say sex, doll, ‘fraid to tell ya they’re all after that.❞ You waver for a moment. ❝Are you?❞ He immediately clocks the tinge of doubt to your voice; knows you’re probably worried that that’s why he bought you a drink and invited you up here. ❝Nah,❞ he says with a shake of his head. ❝Just wanted to have a conversation with a pretty girl.❞ You smile broadly at that and his heart fuckin’ skips a beat when you do. Already you’re doin’ a goddamn number on ‘im. ❝You think I’m pretty?❞ You whisper, glancing around to the tall, slender women around—who look like they just walked off the pages of a magazine—then back to him. ❝Got eyes, don’t I?❞ He asks, gesturing with his hand. You tug nervously at the hem of your dress, trying to conceal as much of your legs as you can, lest he look too close and see you’re not nearly as attractive as what this dim lighting must make you instead seem.  ❝Don’t do that,❞ he says, reaching out, taking your hand in his, and you quickly look at him.  ❝You’re fuckin’ perfect, baby. Every inch. Caught my attention from all the way up here. And my eyes ain’t what they used to be, but I couldn’t take ‘em off of ya.❞ He leans in slightly toward you, sliding a hand up your thigh. ❝Any man who doesn’t treat you like the goddess you are ain’t worth a second of your time. Ya understand?❞ You nod, nervously biting your lower lip, and he nearly groans at the sight. And then he lets you go and you fill with disappointment.  ❝So, you ain’t got a man is what I’m hearin’. Find that hard to believe. They must chase you down the street, I’d say, if I didn’t know any better.❞ You shake your head, running your fingertips through the sequins on your dress. ❝I stopped trying a long time ago.❞ His scarred mouth tugs into a frown. 

Somethin’ young & sweet & beautiful like you given’ up on love already? You’re breakin’ his fuckin’ heart.

❝Can’t tell me you don’t ever get lonely,❞ he states. You pull at a loose sequin. ❝I always am. But I don’t see anyone coming along to change that anytime soon.❞ You shrug, fighting back the tears that sting your eyes, not wanting to sour the evening.  That makes two of you, then, he thinks.  He glances around—only a couple girls still left upstairs then, talking amongst themselves—then back to you. He can’t believe he’s about to fuckin’ say this—offer it—and he can’t even blame it on bein’ drunk. He’s only had one martini tonight. But you all on your own—just your voice and the look of you and the brief touches he’s already been granted have already intoxicated him in another way. ❝What if you was wrong?❞ He asks, his voice quiet and evenly leveled. You glance to him with furrowed brows. ❝Hm?❞ He shrugs slightly, reaching up and smoothing the hair at the back of his head. ❝You ain’t the only one who’s lonely, doll. Maybe we, uh, come to an arrangement?❞ Your stomach drops and the hairs on the back of your neck stand on-end. You should’ve never come up here. Should’ve never accepted that drink. ❝I… I appreciate the offer, but—❞ He raises both of his hands, palms facing toward you. ❝Just let me finish, hon.❞ You grow silent again. ❝I’m not askin’ you to go down on me, or nothin’. I ain’t that kinda gent. Just…❞ He sighs. ❝I know we only just met. And I’m just suggestin’ a trial run for the time bein’ ‘til we’re both sure we know what the hell we want and what we’re doin’.❞ He takes your hand in his once more. ❝I got more dough than I know what to do with most days. And livin’ in Gotham ain’t always cheap. Who knows, maybe you come from money. Either way, we keep each other company. Just…spend time together. Let me take you to dinner a couple of times, and we talk—keep gettin’ to know one another. That sort of thing.❞ You glance down to where your hand rests in his and he continues.  ❝If you decide you’re not interested—that it ain't what you’re lookin’ for—we part ways on good terms. No hard feelings. But maybe you like what you see—like what I got to offer—and we see where things go.❞ He rests his hand back in his lap then, in disbelief at himself. Is he that fuckin’ desperate for female companionship that he’s willing to offer himself up to some girl he’s only just met to be her personal piggy bank? But he knows that’ll only ever be his real value to a woman. What else does he have to give one? ❝Are…you suggesting you be my…❞ You waver for a moment before saying it, your eyes staring to his own of warm brown. ❝Sugar daddy?❞ He grins slightly, chuckling. ❝I guess so.❞ You chew your lip nervously for a moment, unsure how to respond. You're supposed to say no. That's what decent good girls do when propositioned like this. But like he said, the two of you can start things out with a trial run. And you're feeling more bold than usual with being somewhat under the influence. And he seems nice. Well, nice enough so far, that is. ❝Okay,❞ you say with a smile. He returns it. ❝Might want to start out by tellin' me your name, doll.❞ ❝Y/N,❞ you say shyly, scooting the least bit more toward him in interest. He chuckles, pulling out his cellphone. ❝Thinkin' maybe we should exchange numbers.❞

Oz sends you home in a cab that he paid for.

And come the morning, you’ve got a slight hangover, along with a text from your new benefactor.

It doesn’t take long for you & Oz to begin getting along with utter ease, simply via text alone. 

He’s very easy to talk to; kind, easygoing, sweet.  

And then the day finally comes where he invites you to dinner. 

And, while nervous, you agree to go.

He of course, the gentleman he is, asks if he can be the one to pick you up, & you consent.

When he pulls up outside your apartment, he shoots you a text & you come right down.

And god, if you ain’t fuckin’ beautiful.

Oz stands at the passenger side of the car, holding the door open for you, utterly fuckin’ speechless at the sight of you. From your curls, to your glossy smile, to that sweet little dress you got on. How lucky a man is he that you’re the woman he gets to have on his arm tonight? You shyly step over to him and smile, then laugh quietly—nervously. You can’t believe you’re going on a dinner date with one of the most notorious mobsters in Gotham. Even in your most ridiculous daydreams you never could’ve plotted such a story. Oz rests a hand on your hip and presses a soft kiss to your cheek and you flush at the gesture.  ❝You look beautiful, doll. Absolutely breathtakin’,❞ he says, tucking a curl behind your ear. You slip your fingers down his black satin tie. ❝Thank you.❞ Your eyes flit to his. ❝You look very handsome. But we don’t… You didn’t have to make reservations at some fancy restaurant. Burgers and fries are perfectly fine with me.❞ He grins at that. ❝Gotta make a good impression on our first date, don’t I?❞ You climb into his car then.

Dinner goes really well.

The two of you laugh & eat & you quickly come to learn that Oz's drink of choice are martinis.

He orders a ridiculously expensive bottle of red wine & you down a glass, but pace yourself after, not wanting to seem a lush.

And you let him order for you, in regards to your dinner, & he gets you an extravagant lobster & pasta.

He orders for himself a steak.

You like how he cleans his plate.

And by the end of the evening, you decide that you’re his. 

You like spending time with him.

He’s not as intimidating as you’d imagined he’d be. 

Or maybe it’s just because it’s you that he’s complimentary & kind & gentle.

Either way, you really like the way he treats you, & touches you, & looks at & speaks to you...

And it honestly kind of turns you on the way some people look at him in fear, or avert their eyes when they speak to him in timid tones.

It makes him seem so…powerful.

❝You really mean that, sweetheart?❞ You smile widely, nodding. ❝Even if all we do is talk, I’m happy. It’s nice…having your attentions.❞ You take his hand in yours, sliding your thumb along the cool metal of his ring. He cups your cheek in his hand then. ❝You don’t know what the fuck you’re doin’ to me, baby.❞

You quickly manage to wrap Oz tightly around your finger without so much as trying.

You go to visit him at the loft on days off from work, simply so you don’t have to sit around lonely all day.

He tells you to make yourself at home—that what’s his is yours.

He likes to ‘joke’ about movin’ you in with him, lettin’ him take care of you—makin’ you a kept woman.

In truth, you don’t mind the sound of that, but you can’t just up & change your life that drastically.

What if things go sideways & you’re out of a job & left hurting for money.

And then Oz starts giving you an allowance—begins to regularly wire money to you every week.

More than you’d have ever expected.

More than you make at your job in a month.

❝Just want to make sure you’re taken care of ‘s all.❞ ❝I don’t… Oz, I don’t care about the money. I’m just happy not to be lonely anymore.❞ He presses his lips to yours. ❝I know. It’s what makes you all the more deservin’ of it.❞

You begin to occasionally spend the night. 

Your long days together sometimes tend to run over into the evening, because you’re reluctant to leave you’re having such a good time.

And then the later it gets, the more tired you are. And, well, he has no issue with sharin’ his bed with you.

Likes it when you use his shower.

Likes it even more on the nights when you use his soaps instead of the expensive designer ones he purchased for you. Likes it when you smell like him.

And then, when you pad into his bedroom & drop your towel & slip on one of his shirts to sleep in... Fuck, do you want to give this old man a heart attack?

The two of you haven’t been intimate yet, & he’s not holdin’ his breath on that, but just havin’ you sleepin’ next to him? It’s enough to give him a hard-on.

Especially when you cuddle into his side & rest your hand atop his broad chest & the two of you talk quietly in the dark about everything & nothing.

Like you’ve been doin’ it for years.

And when he wakes up in the morning to you cookin’ him breakfast? Swayin’ your hips in his kitchen to music while you fix him pancakes, or bacon & eggs?

He can imagine havin’ his days start like this every day.

So he gives you a key to the place & tells you to come & go as you please. 

Hell, you’re already there more than you are at your own place now. Might as well start callin’ it your second home.

And while you can be a homebody, he still likes to take you out shopping when he gets a break from business.

❝Ozzy, I don’t… This necklace is five hundred dollars. It’s just a piece of jewelry. Do you know what I could get for this same amount at a thrift shop, or—❞ ❝It’s chump change for me, sweetheart. You know how I love spoilin’ you. So let me. C’mon, let’s take it up. Unless you wanna keep browsin’?❞ You shake your head, not even wanting to have him buy this. And while it’s done with his money, he always likes watching you be the one to pay with his black card.

You quickly come to learn why when the two of you get back in his car & you glance between his legs & see his erection.

Your eyes flit to his & instead of shying away from it, he shrugs.

❝You see what you do to me?❞ He turns the Maserati over. ❝Guess you finally get why I like blowin' money on you now, doll.❞ You flush, biting your lower lip while you slip your necklace on, leaning your head back against the seat while you give him a sultry look. ❝Can I show you how grateful I am back at the loft?❞ He raises a brow in utter fuckin’ shock. ❝Baby, you don’t gotta—❞ You run your hand over his erection, feeling a pleasant pulse settling firmly between your slick thighs. ❝I want to,❞ you whisper. And then you do something most unexpected. You reach under your dress and slip off your soaked panties, and reach over, stuffing them in his pocket. ❝Now you see what you do to me, too,❞ you say, brushing a kiss over his lips.

He stands there silently as you unbutton his shirt with slightly shaking hands.

He tries to talk you out of it more than once, until you finally tell him something to calm him.

❝I’m insecure, too. I…I can find something wrong with myself literally from the top of my head to the soles of my feet. Why do you think I like to wear such…conservative clothing? Why I don’t like to show much skin? I hate…my body.❞ Tears sting your eyes and you drop your hands, slowly changing your mind. But for his sake. To not have to see what lies under your clothes. Not the stretch marks or cellulite or your pudgy thighs or stomach, or— He takes your face between his hands, brushing his thumb over your lips. ❝There ain’t nothin’ you could show me that could drive me away, angel. I want what I want, doll. And what I want is you.❞ He slides his hands down your waist. ❝All of you.❞

You blush madly once he’d undressed.

But he insists on keeping on the sock on his right foot. That it’s not something he’s ready for yet. He needs you to be patient with that.

So you are. Thankful he’s willing to even try.

You climb into his lap, & run your hands down his large chest before wrapping your arms around his neck, sinking down the length of him, rocking your hips against his own. 

And Oz fucking worships your body.

Your calves, & your thighs that you think are too big—have too many stretch marks.

He tells you he’ll get to it once he looks over every inch of you, but he fully intends to shove his face between ‘em to taste you.

He kisses your stomach & grips your round, squishy hips in his hands, squeezing tightly. 

He tells you they’re fuckin’ perfect for holdin’ onto.

He grabs your ass, smacking it gently, liking how it spills out of his palms.

And your breasts? 

Christ have mercy.

They’re fuckin’ perfect no matter what size—what your nipples look like. Whether they’re perky, or they sag. They’re breasts. That’s all he needs to know.

What any man does, really.

He just incessantly praises you. He tells you how beautiful you are. How unbelievably fuckin' perfect.

More than he deserves. Thought he'd ever have.

Your heart is near to bursting when you repay the sentiments.

Relay to him how his heavy weight makes you feel so safe & secure.

How sexy you think his limp is.

And his scars—good lord you just want to run your tongue over them.

His voice, though? It's all that's needed to make you wet.

When you come on his cock & in his arms, he holds you close while you cry softly from happiness.

He follows along right after.

He already knew you were a keeper before, but now that he gets to have you in bed? I mean really have you?

Forget about it.

He buys you a fucking car.

When you come over, it's always to gifts waiting for you—clothes, jewelry, shoes, purses.

He doesn't listen a bit when you insist it's all too much.

He feels like it's not near enough.

Not for the gift you're given 'im.

❝I wanna make sure you're looked after, baby. Have everythin' you want. I wanna spoil you fuckin' rotten. Gets me so hard seein' you wearin' the things I picked out for you.❞ You crawl into his lap, pressing your body and lips to his own. ❝I love you.❞ His heart actually skips. ❝Hon—❞ ❝I do, Ozzy.❞ You run your fingers through his thinning hair. ❝I really do.❞ His eyes flit between your own before a satisfied grin spreads across his lips while he slides a hand up your thigh and beneath his button-up that you have on which dwarfs you. ❝I love you too, baby. Every part of me.❞

Oz takes you to meet his mother one day.

And while you're shy & very nervous about making a good impression, you give her your best.

You can't lie. She's a tough & intimidating woman.

But Oz clearly loves her & it warms your heart to see that he still looks after her.

How many others would do the same for their parents at his age?

So the three of you have dinner together & you remain fairly shy & quiet throughout the evening.

You worry it will make her think less of you. Or give her the impression that you don't like her, you're stuck-up, etc.

After dinner, Oz tells you to go make yourself comfortable in the living room.

So you do, until you get thirsty & go to retrieve yourself a glass of water & overhear what is supposed to clearly be a private conversation.

Once the two of you are back to the loft, it's when you let him know you heard every word.

❝She seems real quiet, Oswald.❞ ❝She's always like that, Ma. She still gets shy around me sometimes. Just her nature. I don't mind.❞ ❝Well, she loves ya, I can tell. And you love her?❞ A beat of silence. ❝With my whole fuckin' heart.❞ You fight back a teary smile. You hear dishes clanging. ❝You going to give her a ring, then, or—❞ ❝Ma—❞ ❝I'm not gonna be around forever, Oswald. I want to see you settled. Married. Maybe with a kid runnin' around. She's a good girl. Sweet. She'll do you good. Already has from the looks of things. You ain't gonna find another one like her.❞

He sighs in exasperation. ❝She deserves better than spendin' her life next to a broken down old man. I'll die before her, leavin' her all alone. I ain't gonna subject her to that.❞

And that maybe instead of just deciding for you, he should ask you what you want so you can give him your own answer.

❝Doll, I'm not—❞ You climb into his lap—your favorite position when it comes to not only getting your way, but forcing him to listen to you. ❝You're the man that I love. I'm not... Forcing you to ask me that if you truly don't want to. I'm just saying that... If you do, to do so: ask. When you're ready.❞

And the time comes when he does.

His Ma had given him her old wedding ring the same night she met you.

He seems the picture of composure the night he asks.

He does it over dinner in the loft which he had made—salad and bread and one of your favorite pasta dishes.

You stand, put yourself in his lap and tell him, with tears running down your cheeks, yes, yes, yes.

You have a small wedding at a Catholic church he & his Ma used to attend services at in his younger years.

You wear a designer dress that he had flown in all the way from Paris.

He finds himself in constant disbelief that you're all his & want to be. Much more since you know the things he does.

You've washed the damn blood out of his clothes before, for Christ's sake.

He knows you're too good for him. That you'll have always deserved better.

Even if you tell him... That he's the best there is.

[sakura-rose12]

4x single page comic commissions for @queenmimi2817! 😊😊

[wintfleur]

₊˚ෆ you’re my future . . .

𝓹airing ∿ stella hughes (oc) x rutger mcgroarty

𝓢. rutger telling Stella about the trade

𝔀. angst ( happy ending ) sad stella n rut :( 𝔀c. 1984

𝓻oro's note. so sorry that this took me foreverrrr to post! I missed my babies so much omg, I’m sos sorry for the lack of fics lately ����🏻

“It's open!” Ellen called out when she heard a soft and rhythmic knock on the back door, knowing that only people close to the family would knock on the back door and not the front. Ellen pauses on cutting up the cucumbers for the salad, to look up at who was walking into the kitchen. A surprised smile gracing her face when she sees rutger walking into the kitchen. 

“Oh, hi rut, i didn't know you were coming over tonight” Ellen smiled as she set down the knife on the cutting board, wiping her hands on her apron as she stepped around the kitchen island to pull him into a quick hug. Rutger smiled and hugged her back, before he could say anything back, she was continuing, resting her hands on his shoulders as she stepped back to ask "Are you staying for dinner?” 

“Oh, uh i’m not sure yet” he gave her an unsure smile, he didn't know how Stella was going to take the news, and he didn't want to make things awkward by staying or dinner if things didn't go well between them. God he really hoped things went well. Ellen smiled and waved her hand dismissively as she moved back to her spot at the island “Oh that's alright, just let me know so i can set a spot for you at the table” 

Ellen looked up from the cutting board, pausing her cutting once again when she noticed that rutger didn't answer, and still hasn't moved from his spot. She frowned when she noticed the spaced out look on his face as he looked down at his feet, not knowing that he was internally starting to panic as he thought of stella being upset as he broke the news, stella was already having a rough summer, he really didn't want to make it worse…but he couldn't keep it from her. 

“You okay sweetie?” her concerned tone broke the silence and tore him out of his negative thoughts. Rutger blinked a few times and looked up from his feet, giving Ellen a fake smile “Oh yeah I'm okay, just got lost in thought, Stella in her room?” 

“Yeah, i think she’s painting, just go on up” 

Rutger gave Ellen one more smile before making his way through the Hughes house that he knew like the back of his hand, slipping his shoes off at the front door before making his way upstairs. Taking in every detail of the pictures that decorated the long hallway, despite having them memorized already. His eyes lingered on the picture of Stella who was dressed up in her team usa jacket as she smiled and held up her silver Olympic medal, a large bouquet of flowers in her other hand. 

Rutger cleared his throat and continued to make his way towards his girlfriend's room, the corner of his lips turning up into a smile when he heard the faint sound of her singing along to the music playing in her room, through the door. He swallowed his nerves and knocked on the door, grabbing the door handle and opening it once he heard her sweetly call out “come in!” 

Stella looked away from her large canvas that she had placed on her easel right in front of her bay window seat, turning around on the small stool she was sitting on to see who it was. A smile quickly gracing her face at the sight of her boyfriend stepping into her room, closing the door behind him. 

Stella sets her sketching pencil down and quickly stands up from her stool, her back aching from leaning forward awkwardly to sketch out her cubism painting on her canvas. She ignores the subtle ache in her back and shoulders and moves towards her boyfriend, exclaiming happily “Rut!” 

He dropped his backpack onto the fluffy carpet she had at the end of her bed and pulled her into his arms once she was close enough. While his hands went to her waist to pull her flush against him, her hands went to softly hold his face, pulling him down into a sweet and much needed kiss. Their lips slowly moved in tandem in a searing kiss. 

Stella slowly pulled away from the kiss, her eyes fluttering open, smiling when she saw rutger instinctively leaning forward to attach their lips together again. The feeling of Stella softly caressing his cheek causes him to open his eyes. Locking eyes with her as she whispered happily “You didn't tell me you were coming over” 

“Well, it wouldn't be a surprise if i did” rutger smiled softly with a small hum as he looked at her, her now short hair was a little messy and he could see the lack of sleep in her face, his heart aching at the sight. It was no secret to him that Stella had been struggling with sleep for the past few weeks, the past month or so has been incredibly hard on her ever since her and juraj’s past relationship was exposed. The hate she was receiving and the paranoia she felt was all too much for her . . . so he really didn't want to make her feel worse by telling her, but he couldn't not tell her. 

Despite the smile on his lips, Stella could see in his eyes that something was bothering him, and the way he was fidgeting with her shirt was a tell that he was nervous and lost in his thoughts. Stella frowned as she asked, “What's wrong?” Rutger let out a heavy breath, it was now or never. 

Rutger softly held her waist as he pulled her to sit on the ledge of her bed with him, Stella immediately twisting her body to face him. Rutger took one of her hands in his, fidgeting with her fingers as he said, “i just got back from a meeting with my agents”, he let out a heavy breath before continuing “i’m being traded to the penguins” 

It felt like the world just stopped all around her, and that slight ringing in her ears seemed to be louder than usual. She didn't know this feeling, was it Fear? Sadness? Happiness? All of the above? “Pittsburgh?” Stella confirmed in a shocked tone. 

Rutger nodded and tried his best to muster up a smile “They want me to sign in a few days and then i'd be off for training camp” 

“Oh my god rut, i-i’m so happy for you” stella exclaimed as she surged forward to wrap her arms around his shoulders for a hug. She pushed any sadness or fear she felt deep down, she refused to let herself succumb to those negative feelings when she should be congratulating her boyfriend. She truly was happy for him. The tension in his shoulders melted away when he felt her touch, his shoulders sagging. Rutger wrapped his arms tightly around her waist, pulling her flush against him and nuzzling his face into her neck. 

Rutger held her close and tight, the tension and fear he felt on leaving her didn't leave. He thought he would be more happy – excited to hear that he was finally going to be playing in the NHL, that he was finally achieving his dream . . . but all he could think about was how far Pittsburgh was from Ann Arbor, from stella. He really wanted to achieve his dream, but not without her. 

“Hey hey hey, why are you crying?” Stella frowned as she pulled away from the hug once she heard his sniffle, moving her hands from his shoulders to cup his face, wiping away the tears falling from his eyes. Rutger leaned into her touch as he closed his eyes, his heart aching at the thought of having to leave her “i don't want to leave you” 

“You're not leaving me baby, i'm still with you, always” Stella tried to reassure him despite the sadness and fear she felt as well, she did her best to muster up a smile as they locked eyes once he finally opened his. She continued to softly caress his face, a smile on her lips as she looked into his beautiful teary eyes, her eyes watering as she whispered softly “Don't focus on the negative rut, this is your dream, it's finally happening” 

Rutger moved his hands from her waist to cup her soft face, he stared into her beautiful brown eyes with love as he whispered tenderly “It might be my dream but you’re my future – i’m scared to do this without you” 

“Oh rut” stella cooed sadly with a small frown of understanding, surging forward to pull him into another hug. Rutger slides his hands from her face and down her body, holding her waist tightly as he pulls her with him, changing their position. Stella laid on her back, resting her head on her soft pillows while rutger laid on his stomach, hugging her waist and resting his head on her stomach. 

Stella moved her hands up and down his shoulder blades, massaging them the way she knew would help sooth him, her heart ached seeing him so upset, he should be enjoying this, not worrying about her, she felt guilty in a way “Rut this has always been your dream…it's time for you to take your next step in life” 

Rutger squeezed his eyes shut, snuggling his face into her stomach as he held her tighter, scared that if he let go, she would disappear “I don't want to take that step without you” – ‘I don't want to be alone’ were his unsaid words, but stella knew him so well that she knew what he had meant. 

“I will be here for you the whole-time baby, you're not going to be alone” 

“You promise?” rutger mumbled as he lifted his head up from her stomach to look up at her. Stella's eyes softened when she saw the vulnerability in her boyfriend's eyes, she moved one of her hands to cup his jaw, her thumb caressing his cheek as she smiled “I promise”  

Stella brought her other hand to softly play with his hair, his eyes fluttering close at her soft and soothing touch. she felt an ache in her chest as she thought of him leaving her, she couldn't go with him, she had made a promise to herself that she would finish college. the thought of not being able to see him every day and feel his touch really scared her “It's going to take some time to get used to – but we can adjust, i know it” 

Rutger was quick to open his eyes once he heard Stella's voice crack, a tell sign that she was trying not to cry, she wanted to hold it in and be strong for him. Rutger moved closer to her, scooting up so he could cup her cheek and place a soft kiss on her forehead “No no no please don't cry, if you cry i'll start crying again” 

Stella lets out a pitiful sniffle before wrapping her arms around her boyfriend's waist and hiding her face in his neck, holding him tight as she cried “I’m sorry, i’m just so fucking proud of you rut” 

Rutger internally awed at her words and how cute she sounded, rutger smiled lovingly and placed a bunch of kisses on the top of her head and forehead before whispering “I love you so much stella, i couldn't have done this without you” 

Stella tried to push back the fear she felt creeping on her and instead tried to focus on the love she had with him, she couldn't think negatively of the future. The love they shared was strong, and Stella refused to lose him and the love they shared, no matter how far he was. Stella let out a shaky breath and another sniffle before whispering “I love you too rutger, so so so much” 

au masterlist - you can find everything under #👩🏻‍🎨 ͡ ꒱ Stella Hughes!

𝓻oro's note. this is honestly not the best, and it’s kinda rushed !! The dialogue could definitely be better :( i hope you guys still enjoy it <3 it was so hard to write angst for my two babies, i just never want them to be sad 😭

˖ ་ taglist : @cixrosie @toasttt11 @lovings4turn @bunbunbl0gs @petite-potato4 @winterbarnesblog @yoontwin @iceflwers @dancerbailey3

©️WINTFLEUR

[synthc0re]

yearly club penguin self ship art! herbert and pepper have been together 12 years now!! 🧡🐻‍❄️🌈🐧💙

[daddiel-ish]

Do you think Shachi and Peng would ever get kids? Also can we get Shachi and Peng babysittinf Lulaw kids ? 🙏

Idk, for having a kid, they need to take their brain out of their butt and confess to each other. But Shachi would absolutely love to see her Pen pregnant with their kid (maybe Iva-chan can help them once they stop pinning like postcards on a board)

[ozs-twink-boytoy]

[Farrell!Oz x Biographer!OC] - Fic Preview/Concept

SUMMARY:

Oswald "Oz" Cobblepot, the Kingpin of Gotham. Previously only known as the right hand of Carmine Falcone, blah blah, everyone knows that story.

He had given up trying to tell it, he had sat down in front of his mother's old typewriter (no way in hell he would trust a fucking computer with the feds all up his ass). So naturally, the next best thing was getting someone else to tell it.

He got the contact information from Eve. A freelancer. Some kid from L.A. who had made a name for himself to tell real-life chronicles of different controversial personalities across the country.

So yeah, he called the kid to write his memoir.

[thedevilrisen]

Hospital - 5

TW: HOSPITALS, nothing bad, just a description of someone in a hospital.

Nova Crosby -

1:16am

Theorising while sitting in an intensive care waiting room at quarter past one in the morning is never a good idea. Particularly after being given fodder such as an unplanned emergency surgery, both men had their own ideas on what could have happened. Knowing the extent of Nova's condition before she was whisked away at the emergency room Luke was trying to use Sid's aged wisdom to conclude what happened. But both of them had absolutely nothing.

Standing, leaning against the granite kitchenette counter which was more so holding the exhausted form of Sidney up while he skulled the dregs of his third coffee. Religiously Sid only had one coffee a day on decaf, but in such a drastic situation where he needed to be as awake as possible if the promised Nurse ever actually came. Each time a pair of lone footsteps clacked down the hall Sid or Luke, whoever was closest to the door looked out to check if it was a Nurse.

Two times it was the food delivery, bringing in product for the next day, one it was the cleaner and three times orderlies who were moving wheelchairs back to the spots they needed to go to. Every time Sid became more agitated, the patient Canadian niceness was wearing thin, exceptionally fast. Each time it wasn't a nurse with answers and every minute that ticked by that the phone didn't ring with answers his frustration exponentially increased.

"I think I'm going fucking insane Luke." Sid mumbled, pouring hot water into another cup loaded with instant coffee. His incessant grumbling and almost permanently creased brow was giving away the fact that he hadn't had an emotional outlet since he left the game almost six hours prior. He had held Luke through his initial crash when he first arrived and had gave him a pat on the back and or shoulder rub depending on where he was when Luke needed a little extra comforting.

Luke was now almost apathetic, but Sid. Sidney was dangerously toeing the line of complete and utter meltdown. He prided himself on his sturdy and tentative nature. He was kind, never raised his voice, except when Nova goes joy riding with a bunch of college boys to New Jersey for the weekend- ... but thats a different story. Sidney solidly believed that any rebellious situation Nova had been in would be better than this right now. He could control it, make sure she was safe and okay. See with his own two eyes, not matter how red they were hazed with his rage that she was okay.

"I know what you're talking about Sid. I feel like I could drop asleep any minute but it's Murphy's law. I do that and suddenly she's awake and we can see her." Luke half slurred, half grumbled.

"This is fucking ridiculous, where did they say the ICU room is?" Sid spoke firmly, leaving no room for argument, although Luke tried.

"Sid, I'm as upset as you. It's only been a little while since the call, they are probably getting her sorted." The optimism coming from Luke slathered in monotonous tonality fell about as flat as a crepe to floor.

"No, that's my fucking daughter!" Sid launched back, the string holding him up seemed to fray ever so thinner. "Give me th-"

A gentle knocking sounded from the door, as a young Nurse, clad in burgundy scrubs poked her head in, pushing the door open, "Are you with Nova Crosby?"

"About fucking time!" Sidney crows, the clench of his fist in the fabric of his suit pant pocket is enough to give away the fact that he is fuming.

"I'm sorry Sir, we've been as quick as we could, you can come see her now if you want." The Nurse was desperately trying to diffuse Sid's anger, not directed at her but rather the situation.

"We'd love that." He spoke through gritted teeth. Checking Luke was following him as they began down the hall where they met a coded door that the nurse typed in and were led into a a white room with two sinks.

"If you could please wash your hands before coming in, it assists us in making sure the patients aren't compromised." before she had even finished both boys had started scrubbing, very thoroughly for their waning patience. When they finished the nurse led them through the ICU department towards the back where surrounded by a blue medical curtain was a bed. In that bed Nova laid, a fraction of consciousness, behind her bed was a plethora of machines which beeped and rang in their timely fashion. Sidney couldn't figure out when he went from fine to hyperventilating as he stared at his daughter, so young and fragile swaddled in white hospital blankets, akin to the ones she was handed to him for the first time he held her.

The ugly tubes coming out of her arms, cannulas in her elbow and top of her hand, a feeding tube coming out of her nose, a heart monitor connected directly to her chest. It was all too much, he didn't know he was crying and how obvious it had become that his mental capacity for the situation was declining greatly.

"Sir." A middle aged man in a white coat coxed him towards a door, leading him away from Nova. Pushing him outside as he looked a Luke who had sat down beside her, the moment romantic but catastrophic.

"That's my girl!" Sid roared in anguish, "Thats- THATS MY BABY."

"Sir, you need to calm down."

"NO DON'T TELL ME ANYTHING. Thats my baby girl! I have raised her for nineteen years, I of all people deserved to know what happened to her as soon as I arrived! Do you know how much she means to me, seeing her like is equivalent to ripping my heart out and piercing it with a stake!" Sid was hysterically now, loud voice echoing throughout the deserted hallway. "I need to know! I need you to do your fucking job and not be incompetent! Please."

The doctor led Sid to a chair and sat him down. "I'm a father too, I understand your anguish." he took a deep breath, "I will tell you everything but I must warn you, it will hurt and be a shock to the system. My team and I are dedicated to helping your daughter though, I want you to trust we will do everything in our power to help."

Sid took a deep breath, this was going to be a long conversation.

[bqstqnbruin]

Tattoos of You

Look, I know this gif is ancient but I love this one don't judge me.

ANYWAY here I am with my entry for @wyattjohnston's summer 2024 fic exchange! I had the pleasure of writing for @senditcolton so I hope you enjoy this because I have literally been thinking about this fic so much for the last like three months (yes I have been working on this idea for too long)

These following links are some of the tik toks that I used for inspo for this fic: X X X X X

Special shoutout to @nicohischier for reading this the entire time I was writing it, love you (I swear you'll get a happy fic at some point)

Warnings: Swearing, drinking, aNGST (Nicole you asked for it)

WC: 11k

________________________________

an open book with a sunset coming out of it

The sun was shining, children were running around and laughing, people were splashing around in the water.

Colette was under an umbrella, trying to stay in its shade as much as possible, with a hat on her head and her sunglasses on. 

“Can you please enjoy yourself?” Becca asks. 

“This is as close to enjoying myself as you’re going to get,” Colette mumbles, not looking up from the book that she was reading. It’s not that she hated the beach, it’s that she hated the sun, the sand, the heat, the noise, the crowds of people.

Maybe she did hate the beach.

“Do you want to go back up to the house?” The house was not much better: the AC barely worked when they got in last night, and Colette spent most of the night not sleeping because of how hot the room was. She was also pretty sure that there was a raccoon somewhere in the walls of the house, since the scratching she could swear was coming from behind her head when she was in her bed only happened at night, and magically stopped once the sun came up. 

“Do you want to go back to the house?” Colette asks.

“Not at all.” 

“Well, I’m not going to walk the two miles back alone, am I?”

Becca rolls her eyes, shielding them from the sun despite the huge sunglasses on her face. She looks out to the water and lets out a long sigh. “Everyone else is in the water having fun, why don’t we join them?”

Colette makes a face as she looks out at the rest of her friend group. They were playing some horrible version of chicken, given the fact that she was sure she and Becca were the only ones sober at this point. “Then when you get out of the water, the sand sticks to you because you’re all wet and it’s impossible to get off.” 

“You’re, like, the only person I know who hates the beach this much.”

“I wanted to go to a cabin near the lake we used to go to when we were younger, and you all wanted to ‘try something new,’” Colette points out. “I told you I didn’t like the beach, but you guys said you wouldn’t go away without me.” 

Becca rolls her eyes again, “That’s because we like you, Lettie. You’re the responsible one in the group.” 

Becca gets up without another word, going to join the rest of their friends in the water. “Great,” Colette mumbles, going back to her book.  

She loses track of time, her friends never even coming back to talk to her while she finishes one book and quickly moves on to the next. The people around her come and go, the beach slowly emptying out as people leave for dinner. She wasn’t sure how long her friends would last without food, given the amount of alcohol they had consumed and how little they had come back to their spots in the sand to even grab the snacks they ran around packing that morning. 

“Watch out!” she hears coming from her left, a ball hitting the book out of her hands and into the sand a few feet away before she even has the chance to react.

“You bastards,” she shrieks as two guys come running over to get the ball. “That’s a library book.” 

“Your book is fine,” one of them says, holding up the book with two fingers as if it had a disease or something else rancid oozing out of it. 

“Are you ok?” the other one asks, Colette holding up her hand to shield her eyes so she could at least see the guys she was scowling at with the sun behind them. 

Despite her anger at them for nearly probably injuring her, they were, unfortunately for her, attractive. Not that made her less angry, but if Becca were there next to her, she would somehow manage to force Colette to acknowledge it to their faces. 

“I’m fine, but my book is not,” she says, ripping the thing out of the darker haired boy. “You ripped one of the pages when you picked it up.”

The one with lighter hair looked behind his friend, scoffed and thrust the ball into his friend's chest to pick up the now missing page. “You’re giving her money to pay for a replacement book,” he says, handing Colette the page.

“Fine, I’ll give her the ten dollars.”

“This book cost twenty five,” she tells him, showing him the price from the back of the book.

“Books are twenty five dollars?” he scoffs. “For what?”

“If you could read above a fourth grade reading level, maybe you would know,” Colette mutters, earning a laugh from the lighter haired boy. 

“I’m not paying that much for a book.”

“You’re the one who kicked the ball that ruined her book. You’re the one who’s going to pay for her to replace it so she doesn’t have to. You get, like, a hundred and seventy five thousand dollars a week for your paycheck, you can handle twenty five dollars, you jackass.”

Colette nearly chokes when she hears the number he casually spit out, the two sending themselves into a bickering match over the money. She gets out her phone, wincing as she stands up for the first time in hours to hand it to the dark haired boy. “Send the money here.”

He starts mumbling something under his breath, Colette rolling her eyes as he does as instructed. One of the guys from their group calls for them, him running back to them with the ball.

“Sorry about Mat,” his friend says, standing over Colette as she sits back down.

“He seems like a delight,” she deadpans, trying to hide the combination of disgust and excitement as he sits down with her, laughing at her words.

“He’s an asshole,” he tells her, squinting as he looks out at the water. Colette couldn’t help but study him, the green of his eyes, the sharp angle of his jawline, his somehow perfectly styled hair, all combining to something she didn’t understand her need to look at. “And thankfully, my opposite.”

“People don’t talk like that,” Colette blurts out before thinking.

“Excuse me?”

“‘And thankfully, my opposite,’” she imitates him, lowering her voice and earning another laugh from him. “That’s something people say in rom coms.”

“You’re awfully judgemental for someone who doesn’t have to pay for a damaged book.”

Colette laughs, a smile forming on his face that, for some reason, she didn’t want to stop seeing. “It’s part of my charm. I’m Colette, by the way.”

“Anthony.”

Colette loses track of time again, not because of her now ruined book. Becca eventually comes back, as do the rest of the friends, letting her know that they were running to grab food before coming back to watch the sunset. Anthony’s friends had seemingly all but forgotten about him, at one point leaving without him realizing it, only to come back with Colette’s friends with food for both of them. 

“You guys came all the way to Canada when you live in Pittsburgh?” Mat asks.

“We go somewhere every year together, Lettie picked Vancouver for her turn,” Eddy says.

“I did not pick the beach, though,” she says, only loud enough for Anthony to hear. 

“Glad you did,” he replies, again, only loud enough for her to hear. He smiles at her, his hand inching towards hers in the sand as the sun sets over the water. 

a tent on the ground with a pine tree next to it, the moon and shooting star over both

“Those guys from the beach said they wanted to go camping with us this weekend,” Eddy says during their group facetime. 

Becca immediately started making plans of who was driving with who, Addison talking about the tents and sleeping bags she could borrow from her dad and brothers from their scouting days, Devyn talking about the food they would be able to bring, Franco talking about the beer. 

“Hold on, guys,” Colette interrupted, doubting that any of her friends was actually listening to the others. “Since when do we camp?”

“Since hot guys ask us to,” Eddy says.

“You liked those guys?” Colette asks, the rest of her friends laughing at her.

“Oh, come on, Lettie,” Addison teases her. “You ignored us for the entire three days we were there because you were talking to Anthony.” 

Colette rolls her eyes, thankful that her friends couldn’t see the rapid succession of texts from Anthony appearing on her screen at that moment. She didn’t want to tell them that they were right that she liked talking with him that weekend two months ago, so much so that she had been texting him almost as often as she was texting the group chat. She didn’t want to admit that she thought she was starting to fall for a guy she had only interacted with in person once, because who the hell did that? 

But, this was an excuse to see him again, without her friends nagging her about her crush, that may or may not exist, in a way that wouldn’t be a date. 

“I’m not driving.” 

“Does that mean you’re coming?” Eddy asks, all of her friends faces’ way too close to their cameras for her to do anything other than groan.

“Unfortunately.” 

By the time they got to the camping site, the guys already had enough tents set up for a small army. Eddy stops the car, Devyn and Franco getting out and immediately starting to unpack the trunk full of their stuff. 

“Damn,” Eddy drools, Colette laughing. “I never knew setting up tents was hot.”

“It’s not.”

Eddy fans himself, taking in a deep breath. “It is once you realize that that active bakery over there is attached to your boyfriend.” 

Colette cringes, trying not to let Eddy see her looking at Tito with his back towards them, bent over at his waist, his ass right there. “Not my boyfriend.”

“Not yet, babe,” Eddy corrects her. “That could change tonight.”

“And how, praytell, do you see that happening?”

“You’ll share a tent with him, you’ll share all your secrets, fall madly in love, get married with me as the bridesman of honor, of course, have tons of babies, and die in each others arms like that one couple on the Titanic.” 

“You could eat and shit out a bunch of Scrabble tiles and whatever they spelled out would still make more sense than whatever just came out of your mouth,” she says, getting out of the car just as Becca and Addison pull up behind them. 

Eddy laughs, locking the car doors. “Just because I don’t make sense to you doesn’t mean I’m not right. I’ve never seen two people who align so well before you and Tito. You are so meant to be.”

Colette laughs. “I’ll remember that next time you’re fawning over Devyn and Franco’s relationship,” she tells him, gesturing over to their two friends who had already claimed a tent to share together. 

Eddy had a sly smile forming on his face, one that Colette knew was going to lead to something she hated. “Hey, Anthony,” he calls.

Anthony perks up once he sees who calls his name, Colette telling herself that it was simply because he heard his name and he had ‘golden retriever vibes’ in general, not because he saw her, despite the fact that he was looking at her the entire time he came over. “What’s up, Ed?”

Eddy visibly swoons at the sound of Anthony calling him a nickname, trying to collect his composure before Anthony actually notices or Colette calls him out for it. “Lettie here said that she wanted to share a tent with someone since she’s never been camping before.”

“What?”

“Ok?”

“Well, I snore like a jet ski, so I would never want to subject our girl to that,” Eddy continues, throwing his arm around Colette and pulling her close to him, throwing her off balance, “So we were wondering if you wanted to share with her?”

“Oh!” Anthony says, his face turning red. Colette tries to discreetly pinch Eddy’s side as payback, her heart racing as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean, I was going to ask you that anyway, but I guess you beat me to it.” 

Eddy walks away without another word, leaving an angry Colette and an embarrassed Anthony behind in his wake. “He’s lying, I’m fine on my own if you don’t-”

“You don’t-” he cuts her off, looking down at the ground, “You don’t want to share a tent?”

“No, I mean,” she starts, trying to find the right words. How do you tell someone you want to be near them without it sounding weird? “If you want to, I wouldn't say no to sharing.”

“Oh, I want to,” he says quickly, a small laugh escaping his lips that matched Colettes. “I want to.”

Colette could feel her face getting hot as she smiled at him. “Let’s go set up our tent?”

Their friends wander off again, just like the day they met at the beach, as the day wore on, leaving Anthony and Colette to finish setting up where they were going to start their fire for the night. 

“Hold on,” Colette says, trying not to laugh so hard that she couldn’t get the words out, “She threw what?”

“A dildo.”

“So that photo you sent me of your black eye from last season?”

Anthony’s face was bright red, biting his lip and nodding, “Yeah. yeah, it wasn’t from practice. It was from Tamsin throwing a dildo at me when she thought I was breaking into our apartment.”

Colette cackled, the ugliest sounding laugh she had ever heard bubbling up from her stomach. “I’m so sorry.”

“Like you’ve never had any embarrassing encounters with an ex.”

“The worst I’ve had is a guy named Mason sprinkled packets of those instant mashed potatoes around the lawn outside my apartment complex after a bad break up when we were in college.”

“How’d you know it was him?”

“He texted me right before it rained asking if I liked mashed potatoes, and then I never heard from him again.” 

Anthony laughs, the voice in Colette's head telling her that she wanted to hear that sound as much as she could. They keep talking about nothing as the sun sets, starting the fire before it gets too dark out.

“So,” Anthony says, sitting down on one of the chairs, the shadows from the flames illuminating every Colette had been mesmerized by the first time they met. “We’ve got Dildo Throwing Tamsin and Mashed Potato Mason as our exes.” 

“I think they’d like each other,” she laughs, plopping down on a chair next to him. Colette looks up to the sky. The stars streaked the sky like nothing she had ever seen before. She knew there were millions of stars up there, but she never thought she would see them. “God, you never get to see the stars with all the city lights. It’s beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful,” she hears Anthony say, his face red yet again when she turns her attention to him and smiles. Before she can say anything, he starts, “Do you think we can see each other?”

“Do you think I’m imaginary or something?”

“No, I mean,” he starts, the sounds of their friends coming back to start eating making him jump. He pulls his chair so close to Colette’s they practically overlap as he lowers his voice. “Can we go out when we’re back in the city? Just the two of us?”

Colette felt her face getting hot again, charmed by the nerves he showed around her. “Yes.” 

a mirror with an outline of a head in it, no face

“What are you doing right now?”

“I’m getting ready for work.”

“Do you want to hang out?”

“Did you not hear me?” 

Colette hears Anthony laugh on the other end of the phone. “I heard you, but I still want to hang out. I miss you.”

Colette cringed as she felt her heart skip a beat. She hated that she missed him too, and she wanted to see him, but, “I have to leave in the next two minutes if I want to be on time for my meeting, I can’t. What about tonight?”

“We have a home game at seven tonight. Tomorrow morning?”

“I’m watching my cousin and taking him to his soccer game for my aunt tomorrow.”

“What time?”

“You’re not coming to watch pee wee soccer.”

“What time are you leaving to pick him up?”

“You’re really bad at listening,” Colette says, grabbing the last of her stuff as she heads out the door. 

“What time?” he repeats, clearly not going to stop until she gives him an answer as she rushes out the door. 

“I don’t remember. Can I let you know after work tonight?” 

“Sure. Talk later?” he asks, alarm bells going off in Colette’s head about something she was sure he was scheming.

He hangs up before he can say anything, leaving Colette to stew as to what he was going to do. Anthony wasn’t going to show up at her apartment when she was supposed to leave to get her cousin, was he?

“Why do you look like that?” Addison asks once she sees Colette at work. 

Colette snaps out of the trance she didn’t realize she was in, looking away from her computer for the first time in a while. “I don’t know, genetics?” she asks, a slightly offended tone in her voice. 

“No, I mean,” she says, sitting down on Colette’s desk. “You look concerned.”

Colette shakes her head. “I was just working,” she says, leaning back in her chair and rubbing her eyes. She lets out a sigh. “Anthony was really adamant about hanging out.”

“Oh, no,” she says, fake concern dripping through her voice as Colette rolls her eyes. “The guy you’re dating wants to see you.” 

“He was kind of weird about it, though. He wanted to come over this morning, and I think he wants to hang out tomorrow.”

“Well, that’s not weird.”

“I’m watching Grayson tomorrow.”

“And?”

“And he knows that.”

“So?”

Colette rolls her eyes again out of frustration for herself. Why couldn’t she explain how she felt to her friend? “So we just saw each other, like, two nights ago. Isn’t it too soon to see each other again?”

Addison shakes her head. “Don’t you want to see him?”

“Well, yeah, but what if he’s only asking to see me because he knows I want to see him and he doesn’t actually want to see me? I have to take Grayson to his soccer game. That’s so boring. Why would he want to do that?”

Addison rolls her eyes. “Because he’s obsessed with you?”

Colette groans. “Don’t you have a meeting in a minute?”

The next morning, Colette wakes up to knocking on her door. She gets up, surprised to find Anthony standing on the other side of the door with coffees in hand. “What are you doing here?” she whines.

“You never texted me,” he tells her, pushing past her and heading to her room.

“I, uh,” she hesitates. “Sorry, I forgot.” 

Anthony sets the coffees down on her nightstand, pulling up her sheets as if he was going to start making her bed. “No you didn’t.” 

“I did,” Colette tells him, her voice sounding more sure of her lie. 

“You just didn’t text me.” 

“Look, I love taking Grayson to his soccer games when my aunt can’t, but they’re really boring for other people. Last time I took Eddy, he complained the entire time,” she explains, taking the coffee from him. “I didn’t think you’d really want to sit through that.” Colette starts to get ready, sitting in front of the mirror in her room to get her hair together. 

She makes eye contact through the glass with Anthony as he sits down on her now made bed. “I don’t do anything I don’t want to do.” 

a cartoon cinnamon bun

Anthony had his arms around Colette before they were even through the door, pinning her against the wall outside her apartment, his lips on hers. They had been like this since they were in the bar with the rest of their friends, them being teased that they needed to get a room. Since Anthony’s eyes got darker when he turned to her, his hands on her waist as he asked her who’s place was closer for them to get in a bed as soon as possible. 

They barely made it through her door and had it shut when Anthony’s fingers danced along the hem of her shirt, pleading with her to take it off and practically ripping his off at the same time. Anthony and Colette stumbled their way to her bed, nearly losing contact with each other when they collapsed onto her mattress, skin to skin and Colette already deliriously happy. 

They woke up the next morning, the sheets a mess, their clothing in a trail leading from her entryway to her bed. Colette’s phone was somehow on her nightstand next to her, buzzing continuously for what seemed like any hour. Anthony let out a groan, a result of the hangover he was probably feeling. 

“Don’t get it,” he mumbles into her pillow, his arm wrapped around her pulling her closer. She could feel herself relax as his heartbeat gently thumped against her back. It buzzes again, Anthony starting to kiss his way from the nape of her neck down her spine, a giggle escaping her lips at his attempt to distract her.

“If it’s going off this much, it has to be something bad.”

“One time it was Eddy melting down and calling to tell you he got water on his new shoes.”

Colette scrolls through her phone, multiple missed calls from her friend group as Anthony’s mouth works his way back up to her neck, propping himself up to try to get her cheeks. Another call from Eddy appears on her screen, her heart racing that something bad happened to one of her friends. 

“Hello?”

“Oh my god,” Eddy screams, “I thought Anthony murdered you.” 

Anthony and Colette laugh, Colette switching over to speaker phone even though Anthony had no problem hearing their conversation without it. “No, we were asleep. What’s wrong?”

“I’ve been praying to God all morning that you were ok.”

“Eddy, it’s like 9 am, and you don’t believe in God.”

“I found God so I could pray that you were ok.”

“I didn’t realize she was lost, but sure. What’s wrong?”

“Your parents are on their way. They said they’d be at your place at 9 am.”

Colette looks at the time at the top of her screen: 8:56 am. 

“Fucking shit,” she screams, dropping her phone on her bed and practically falling over the sheets as she launched herself off the mattress to collect the clothes scattered around her floor. 

“What, what’s wrong?” Anthony calls after her, picking up what he can and throwing on the shirt that was still sitting by her front door. 

“My parents are coming.” 

“And?”

“You’re here.”

“Do you not want me here?”

Colette whips around to face him, thrusting his underwearing and pants from last night into his chest while trying to get her own shirt back over her head. “Of course, I do.” She runs past him and back into her room to throw clothes on and panic make her bed. “It’s just, you don’t have enough time to leave before they get here. And, if you’re here, then they’re going to start asking questions about whether or not you’re my boyfriend, and probably a bunch of other things, too.”

“Then we tell them I am,” Colette hears, seeing Anthony appear on the other side of her bed to help her straighten up. 

She stops, standing straight up to stare at him. “What?”

“We tell them I’m your boyfriend.” He walks around to the other side of her bed to meet her. “Unless, you don’t want me to be your boyfriend.” 

Colette opens her mouth, no words coming out. “Do you want to be my boyfriend?”

Anthony throws his head back in laughter, pulling her in for a hug and kissing the top of her head. “Of course I do.” Colette gives him a kiss, a knock at her door pulling them apart. “You get more clothes on, I’ll go meet your parents.”

Colette scrambles to find something presentable enough for her parents liking, trying her best to fix her hair and the makeup that she never took off from the night before when she hears laughter coming from her kitchen. She finally comes out of her room, her mom’s hand over Anthony’s while her dad is animated talking to him, a pink bag from her favorite bakery near their house on the table filling the room with the scent of the cinnamon buns that made her mouth water. 

“Sweetie, we brought you some breakfast, but we didn’t know you had your boyfriend over,” her mom says, no hint of the fakeness Colette expected in her voice. 

“Why don’t we all go out for breakfast?” Anthony says, getting up from his seat, “My treat. Colette and I can have the cinnamon buns later.”

Her mother swoons as he takes her hand and leads her to the door, a wink from Anthony sent Colette’s way that made her cheeks burn. 

Her dad pulls her in for a hug, his arm around her shoulder as they follow Anthony and her mom down to his car. “Boyfriend, huh? Is he good enough for you?”

Colette hesitates, not sure why she did so before saying, “I think so.”

What if she wasn’t good enough for him?

a phone with an incoming call, no contact on the screen

“Franco, please, you’re giving me a headache,” Addison groans, her hands on her head to massage the headache away.

“No, I don’t care, you guys don’t understand how amazing she was.”

“We do, babe, I promise, but it’s 1 am,” Devyn tells him, giving him a gentle squeeze on his thigh. 

“No, you don’t get it. She has only lost the all-around once on the national and international level in the eleven years she’s been qualified for elite,” Franco argues back, launching into a rant about Simone Biles that none of them wanted to hear when they wanted to go to sleep.

Eddy groans the loudest. “I think you talk this much about your fiance,” he points out Devyn taking a minute before she realized he was right and giving Franco a glare. 

The rest of the group launches into an argument when Colette’s phone rings, Anthony’s name coming up with a picture of the two of them from one night when they fell asleep on the couch together. Eddy had taken the photo and immediately gotten a bucket of water to pour over them to wake them up because he wanted to go out and get food with someone. Despite the aftermath of the photo, seeing it made her smile every time.

“Hey,” she says, walking out of Devyn and Franco’s living room without her friends noticing. “How was the game?”

“We won,” Anthony tells her. They were on a west coast road trip that was supposed to end tomorrow with a game against Seattle. 

“Why do you sound so sad, then?” Colette asks. Before they left, he told her they needed to do well this road trip in order to get into the wild card spot since the playoffs were right around the corner. They needed this win to get the cap between them and the next team even wider.

He lets out a long sigh. “I didn’t really play that well or that much.”

Colette could hear the sadness in his voice. She knew that he had been bouncing around to a few teams in the last couple of years, finally finding what he hoped was a more permanent home in Pittsburgh. “Did anyone score while you were on the ice?”

“No.”

“Did you get an assist or score?”

“Two assists, yeah.”

“Then what happened?”

She knew Anthony was scrunching his face. “I don’t know, I just felt off.”

Colette nodded. “I get that.” Anthony lets out a long breath. “Are you guys leaving after the game tomorrow or the next morning?”

“I actually don’t know. I guess I’ll find out when I’m on the plane,” he jokes, Colette laughing. “I can come over whenever I get in?”

“Yeah,” she says, smiling at the thought of seeing him. “If it’s tomorrow night, just wake me up when you come in.” 

“Nah, I’ll let you sleep,” he says.

“No,” she argues, “I want to see you.” Eddy comes up behind her, making kissing noises at her. 

“Tell Eddy I can hear him,” he laughs, Colette following suit. Anthony lets out a yawn. “Ok, I’m gonna go.”

“Bye, babe.”

“I love you, bye,” he yawns, hanging up before she could say anything else. 

Colette stands there, staring at her phone with her mouth hanging open. 

“What did he do? Do I have to kill him? I have enough gas in my car and money in my bank account to drive to San Jose and commit a felony,” Eddy starts, dragging her back into the living room with the rest of their friends.

“Lettie, what’s wrong?” Addison asks.

“Anthony just told me he loves me.”

The entire group’s jaws dropped, Eddy screaming loud enough that Colette was sure Devyn and Franco's neighbors could hear him. “What did you tell him?”

Colette shook her head. “Nothing. He said it and hung up the phone.”

“That rat bastard.”

“Eddy, say something helpful for once, please?”

Her friends start asking her a hundred questions, all coming at once. Why didn’t she call him back? Was she going to tell him she loved him? When was she going to tell him? When was she going to talk to him again in the first place?

Becca asked the question that made her stop. “Do you love him?”

Colette didn’t know what to say, trying to find the words. She knew she liked him, a lot. He was probably the person she could see herself loving for the rest of her life if he would let her. 

“We should let her tell Anthony first, not us,” Devyn says, Colette letting out a little bit of an exhale as her friend told everyone it was probably time for them to go to bed.

She spent the night on their couch, Becca and Addison in their guest room, Eddy bringing his own blow up mattress and snoring on the floor near Colette. 

She barely slept. Could she tell Anthony that she loved him? She could tell him anything, but if she did, would she mean it? It shouldn’t have surprised her that he would say it first, and it didn’t even surprise her that he said it at all. What shocked her most was that she wasn’t sure what she would say back. 

Anthony was the kindest person to her, the one she wanted to call and see and be with all the time. She would do anything for him, but did that mean she loved him?

What if her love wasn’t enough? What if he ended up loving her more than she was capable of loving him? 

“Eddy,” she whispers, trying not to scare him into waking up. She throws her pillow over to his mattress, hitting his face.

“The fish escaped,” he says, startled out of whatever his dream was. He rubs his eyes, groaning. “I was just about to save the country from the dinosaur fish.”

“You can go back to that in a minute,” Colette says, turning on the lamp on the end table next to her, despite Eddy’s groans. “When you were with Alex, how did you feel when you said ‘I love you.’”

“I think I was drunk and then blacked out.” Colette groans. “Lettie, if you’re freaking out about telling him you love him, then you don’t have to tell him right now. It’s ok for you to not say it if you aren’t comfortable with it.”

“That was out of character for you.”

“A stopped clock is right once a day.”

“Twice, Eddy.”

“Whatever, I’m going back to sleep. I hope this dream lets me play with kittens instead.”

Colette spent the next day stressing, running on pure anxiety due to her lack of sleep the night before. She hadn’t been able to watch Anthony’s game that night, falling asleep before it even started. She woke up Saturday morning to the sound of someone coming in her front door, hoping that it was Anthony and not an intruder.

“Colette?” Anthony calls, wandering into her bedroom to find her just sitting up, yawning and rubbing her eyes. “It’s nearly two pm, are you just waking up?”

“Don’t judge, I couldn’t sleep the other night. I guess it just caught up with me now.”

“I feel like I freaked you out after the game against San Jose,” Anthony says, sitting down. They had barely talked the day before, Colette purposely avoiding him under the guise of being busy all day with something at work. It wasn’t technically a lie, she just also hid her phone in her desk and forgot about it on purpose.

“No, you di-” she starts.

“I do mean it, though,” he says, pulling her in for a hug. “I do love you.”

Colette felt her heart start to race as she felt his hand on the back of her head. She could say it. She was sure it felt right. “Anthony,” she starts, feeling herself start to sweat as she pulls away to look at him. “I love you, too.” 

Anthony smiles, kissing her.

Saying it felt just fine. She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to feel more. 

wheel of fortune tarot card

Colette was exhausted. 

The entire last week was spent with her and Anthony unpacking all the things they had into their new apartment, trying to figure out what to get rid of and what to keep when they realized that consolidating their things meant they now had two of everything they needed to share with each other; two sets of silverware, two sets of plates and bowls, two bedroom sets, two sets of living room furniture. 

Anthony was willing to get rid of anything he needed to, but Colette was having a harder time going through her things. She didn’t mind sharing, but she wanted her own stuff. What if she, for whatever reason, had to move out, or if Anthony got traded and had to take stuff with him and left her with nothing because the stuff he took was technically “his” and not her own?

“Hey, babe,” she calls into the apartment, a little bit of an echo following her through the few rooms they hadn’t finished unpacking yet. 

“In here,” Colette hears, following Anthony’s voice into their bedroom. He was standing in front of the bookshelf he had built into the wall (by someone who knew what they were doing, not by him), putting up all the books she had brought from her old place.

“I told you I would organize these,” she told him, coming up behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist, kissing his back. “I have a system.”

Anthony laughs, spinning around and hugging her back, kissing her on the lips. “Your system is ‘I have a bunch of books by this author, so they need to be together.’”

“And?”

“I’m not even touching your books yet,” he points out, turning her attention to all the boxes she left in the corner that were still, in fact, untouched. “These are my books.”

“I didn’t know you read.”

“Not all hockey players are illiterate, Colette,” he jokes, earning a laugh from her.

“No, I mean,” she starts, heading over to one of her boxes to start trying to organize them. “I know you normally don’t have time to do things other than, like, eat, sleep, and play hockey. Reading didn’t seem like something you had time for.”

“Well, you read a lot, so I thought I could do the same,” he tells her, his voice lower than normal. Colette looks up at the shelf he was putting books on; The Familiar by Leigh Bardugo and Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn amongst other books she loved and already had copies of sitting there on their own shelf. 

“I already have these, you could have borrowed them at any time,” she points out, feeling Anthony’s arms around her, his chin resting on the top of her head. 

“Yeah, but this way I can take them with me on the road and you’d still have your copies. I’d have a piece of you with me.”

What piece of him would she have with her while he was gone? She couldn’t think of anything as he spun her around in his arms to kiss her, feeling his smile against her lips while all she could feel was distress coursing through her.

a laundry basket full of clothes with a piece of clothing crumpled up in front of it

“What the hell?” Colette comes home from work to find that everything Anthony said he was going to get done was not done. He had promised he would get everything cleaned up before his friends came over tomorrow. “Anthony?”

Her boyfriend peers his head into the kitchen where she was standing, a smile on his face immediately fading when he sees the anger on hers. “Oh, shit.”

“Yeah, oh shit,” she says, gesturing around her. “This is the third day in a row that you said you would clean up.”

“I’m sorry, I got caught up.” He tells her, approaching her slowly, as if she were a tiger going to pounce on him with any sudden movement. “I’ll start now.”

Colette scoffs as he reaches out to her. He did this all the time. He would tell her that he would help her clean, especially when more than half of it was his mess to begin with, and then it always fell on her. “That’s not the point, Anthony,” she snaps at him.

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“No, you aren’t. You tell me that every time you do this. You said you would help with the laundry, and look at where all the clothes are, not even in the basket still sitting on front of the washer and dryer where you left them two days ago,” she starts, gesturing to the mountain of dirty clothes she could see in their little laundry alcove that she swore she could smell from where she was standing. “The dishes from dinner on Monday are still here because you promised me after I cooked that you would clean them, but you disappeared instead and didn’t come home until after I went to bed. You have your coffee cup sitting on the table with coffee in it that I’m pretty sure is from at least three days ago. What the fuck is going on with you?”

“Nothing,” he says quickly, his face getting red as he turns towards the sink to start the dishes. “And, to be fair, you do this to me all the time. I come home from road trips and find you haven’t taken out the trash the entire time, or the dishwasher hasn’t been started. I’m sorry I forgot the last couple of days, but I’ve been busy.”

Colette bit her lip, knowing he was right. She was picking a fight with him they didn’t need to have, yet here she was anyway. “With what?”

“My job?” he says, shrugging, despite the slightest hint of a wavering going through his voice. It wasn’t just hockey. They were in the middle of a homestand and he had the day off today anyway. 

Colette studies him for a second. “You’re lying to me,” she tells him. She could tell he tensed up from behind, the way he does when he’s not telling her the truth about something.

“I’m not.”

“Then what has been going on with you?”

Anthony hesitates, shaking his head and opening his mouth, clearly trying to figure out what to tell her. “Nothing. Like I said, I just got caught up.”

“With what?”

“Mat needed some help with something.” 

Colette scoffed again, walking out of the kitchen and to their bedroom. She knew Anthony was following her, but shut the door behind her anyway. “Why would Mat need your help so urgently that he, on Long Island, needed to take you away from cleaning for the entire day here in Pittsburgh?” she asks, sitting on their bed as he opens the door back up.

“I can’t tell you that, it’s Mat’s business.”

Colette nods, knowing he was still lying. She pulls out her phone, pulling up her boyfriend's best friend's contact. “Hey,” she says when he picks up, seeing the wave of panic flash in Anthonys eyes as he pulled out his phone and started typing furiously on his own phone. She knew he was texting Mat. “Have you heard from Anthony today?”

“Uh, no, why?” Mat says, Anthony throwing his head back, sucking on his teeth and muttering ‘fuck’ under his breath. 

“He just seemed a little off this morning when I left for work, I thought maybe hearing from you would cheer him up a little,” she lies to him.

“Oh, sure?” Mat tells her clearly confused before they hang up with each other.

“I can explain,” Anthony starts, sitting next to her on the bed and putting his hands in her lap. 

Colette waits for a moment. “Then do it.”

“Tomorrow, I promise.” 

She lets out a laugh. “No, now.”

“I can’t.” 

Colette stares at him for a second, him still not looking directly at her but a pleading look in his eyes. “Are you cheating on me?”

Anthony finally looks at her. “What? Of course not.”

“Then what the hell is going on?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Anthony, you know everything about me. I tell you everything,” she says, looking around at the room they shared that he filled with her favorite things. She still hadn’t figured out what she would do for him. She could feel herself starting to panic, a year since they moved in together and she still barely knew anything about him. Colette shakes her head, looking down at his hands still in her lap. “We can’t do this.”

“Do what?”

“If we want to be in a relationship like this, we have to tell each other what’s going on,” she lies. She couldn’t do this anymore. 

“I told you, I can tell you tomorrow.”

“What is so important that you can’t tell me now?” she asks, getting up from the bed and starting to pace. Her mind started spiraling, thinking the absolute worst of what he could be hiding from her. She was self destructing, and blaming it on him was the easier way out. She knew it was. “You’re cheating on me, you’re going to break up with me, you have a child you haven’t told me about, you’re dying or you’re seriously sick.”

“Hey woah,” Anthony says, stopping her and standing in front of her. He puts his hands on her shoulders. “Colette, why don’t you trust me?”

Colette stares at him for a second, trying to find her words. “I don’t know.” 

Anthony’s expression drops, his hands sliding down her arms as he shakes his head. “I can’t be with someone who doesn’t trust me like this.” 

Colette tries to hide the hurt that came with his statement. “I can’t be with someone who doesn’t tell me the truth when I ask him for it.” The two of them stare at each other for a few moments in silence. “Does that mean we’re done?”

Anthony nods, his eyes not reaching Colette’s again. “I think so.” 

a glass looking liquor bottle with a small amount of liquid inside, a solo cup on its side tipped over in front of it

The guy in front of Colette was so cute. At least, he was cute enough to flirt with while she was drunk and still wanting more drinks she didn’t want to pay for. The cup of rum and coke in her drink never seemed to empty for long enough with him standing there with her.

She wasn’t even sure what his name was. She wasn’t sure she cared what his name was.

She was pretending to listen to him while twirling a lock of her hair in her fingers, trying her best to make it look like she was intrigued so that he would get her a refill of her almost empty drink. It wasn’t how she normally flirted, but it was working for him, so why not? 

“Lettie, babe, come on,” she hears Anthony behind her, his hands wrapping themselves around her waist and pulling her ever so slightly towards him. 

A month ago, she would have done anything to feel his body against hers like this. 

Now, she wanted nothing more than to get out of his arms. 

“Anthony,” she tries to fight.

“This your bodyguard?” the guy asks her, looking incredibly pissed off. 

“Boyfriend,” Anthony corrects him.

The guy scoffs, running his hands through his hair. “Nice.” He walks away despite her protests, not listening to her as she tries to pry herself free of Anthony’s grasp. 

He laughs, leading her back to their friends. Colette sits down, a now empty cup in front of her since she didn’t get that last refill that she wanted. None of her friends noticed her not participating in their conversation, her anger toward Anthony increasing along with her sobriety.

“I think I’m going to call it a night,” she stands abruptly, nearly knocking over the table holding all of their drinks. 

Anthony gets up with her, Colette not hearing him say, “I’m gonna turn in too, I’ll walk her home,” before she pushes her way out of the bar and into the muggy air outside.  

“I don’t know how you could stand there and let him flirt with you when you made it pretty clear that you weren’t even interested in him,” Anthony whines, not noticing how annoyed she was with him. He was acting like a hero when he shouldn’t have been. “I mean, I can’t believe I had to step in and help you.”

“You didn’t,” she snaps at him, catching him off guard. “I was interested in him. He was nice. He was buying me drinks. That’s why he was flirting with me, because I was flirting with him.”

Colette thought that they were actually going to be friends, like they said they would be. They had been out together since they broke up. They had hung out with their friends in the exact same setting and had the exact same scenario happen but without this ending to the night. There was no reason why he should have stepped all over her like that to ‘save her,’ as he put it. 

“What? Oh, come on, I know how you act when you’re flirting with a guy.”

“Do you?” she asks him, followed by him giving her a confident, ‘yes.’ “Really? So what do I do?”

“You, you,” he starts, knowing that he dug himself into a hole. “You smile at him, you laugh at everything he says, even if it isn’t funny. You run your hands through your hair because you know that fucking collar bone of yours drives me crazy.” He stops, both of them shocked that he just said that. That isn’t how she flirts with anyone, that’s how she acted around him when they were together. “Fuck.”

“Anthony, you cannot keep doing this. We broke up,” she starts, not adding that it was her fault, even though she still felt like it was. “Stop interfering when I’m with another guy.”

“I’m just trying to protect you,” he tries to defend himself.

“From what? From who? What could you possibly be protecting me from? Other guys? Why, Anthony?”

“Fuck, Colette, you think it’s easy watching you flirt with another guy? Just because we broke up, that doesn’t mean I stopped loving you,” he spits out.

Colette stands there, trying to process what he just told her. She could feel her heart racing, the sound of it beating the only thing she could hear. “I didn’t know you still loved me.”

Anthony scoffs, looking down at the ground, shaking his head. “Of course I did. I do. You haven’t noticed that I haven’t looked at another girl since we broke up? I want you, and only you.”

“I didn’t,” she tells him. “Anthony, you’re just saying this because you’re drunk.”

Anthony raises an eyebrow, shaking his head and biting his lip. “Look, I might be. But I know that drunk or not, I cannot sit around and watch you flirt with every guy in existence, while you, the one who was supposed to be my best friend, didn’t even notice that I was miserable while it was happening.”

“What do you want from me?” she snaps. “What am I supposed to do? We tried. We didn’t work. As much as we both wanted to, we did not work.” 

They stared at each other for a moment, neither of them knowing what to say. He had to know it was her fault they broke up. It wasn’t mutual, not really.

“I guess, nothing,” he tells her, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Nothing at all.” He looks down at the ground and lets out a long sigh. “I’ll see you at the wedding,” is the last thing Anthony says to her before turning on his heels, leaving Colette alone on the sidewalk. 

a ring, not on the ring finger

“Devyn really picked the worst shade of blue she could find for these dresses, didn’t she?” Devyn’s youngest sister, Blake, complains to the rest of the bridesmaids.

Devyn had just stepped out of the room to do her first look with Franco, leaving the girls alone to finish getting ready. 

“She picked sapphire,” Becca said.

“You know,” Colette continues. “Her birthstone?”

“She should have picked a lighter blue. This dark blue totally clashes with my skintone.”

“Blake,” Kendall, her other sister scolds her, “Devyn didn’t give a fuck about your skintone when she picked her favorite color. Either you’re wearing the dress without complaint or I’m telling mom and you’re not in the wedding.”

The sisters keep bickering, Addison, Becca, and Colette slowly moving away from them. 

“I always forget that Blake is still in high school,” Addison says, grabbing her bouquet before checking her makeup one last time.

“I don’t know how you could when she’s constantly tagging Devyn in her posts,” Colette points out.

“Especially the ones she’s not even in.” 

“To increase her visibility,” Colette starts, reciting word for word what Blake had tried to explain to them during Devyn’s bachelorette party. “So she has more people who know her brand when she becomes famous.” 

“Teenagers make no sense,” Devyn appears, a nervous look on her face. “I think we’re almost ready to start.”

“What’s wrong?” Addison asks.

“Colette, we have a problem.” 

“What did I do?”

“Sebby thinks Becca is hot and wants to walk down the aisle with her.”

Colette could feel the color draining from her face at the realization of what this switch would mean for her.

“Is he Franco’s older or younger brother?” Becca asks.

“The older one.”

Becca turns to Colette. “I’m not coming back to the hotel room tonight,” she tells her, practically giddy. “Oh, wait.”

“That means Colette has to walk with-” Addison starts.

“Anthony,” the four girls say at the same time. 

“I’ll be fine,” Colette says, her voice noticeably higher than it should be. She clears her throat, trying to calm herself considering the last time she talked to Anthony was the night he told her he loved her. “I’m fine.”

Devyn’s wedding planner, Jax, comes over to tell them it’s time to line up to enter with the groomsmen. 

“I love you,” Devyn calls after her bridesmaids, all of them calling back to her the same sentiment. 

Colette nearly stops breathing when she sees Anthony in his suit, helping Eddy adjust his tie. The suit fit him perfectly, Colette silently cursing the fact that Franco picked dark gray as the color. She hated to admit that she still thought about that one suit of his that he wore on game day, one that looked identical to the one he had on now. 

“Hi,” she says, standing next to him, trying to not look at him. 

“Hi,” he repeats, staring straight ahead at the back of Eddy’s neck.

The music starts, both of them rigid while everyone else around them is relaxed.

“I thought this would be us one day,” Anthony breaks their silence as the first couple starts to walk arm in arm down the aisle towards where Franco was already standing.

“What?” Colette asks, caught off guard.

Anthony nods, still staring in front of him as they move closer to the entrance of their venue. “I had the proposal all planned out. Had the ring. Had the reservation for dinner. Had a photographer. Everything. And then, the night before I was going to ask you, we broke up. That’s why I couldn’t tell you what was going on. It was supposed to be a surprise.”

Colette looks at him, not noticing that they were next to go down the aisle, Anthony taking Colette’s arm in his as Jax tells them to start walking. 

a candle with a long wick, uncut, the lid propped up against the glass

“Are you sure you’re ok to come to this?” Franco asks her.

Colette hesitates for a minute. She hadn’t seen him in months, so she wasn’t sure why she was being invited to his apartment. She hadn’t been to his place since he moved in over a year ago, and honestly, Colette hasn’t intended on going. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because you’ve looked like you were going to vomit since we picked you up for this?” Devyn twists her body from the front seat to face her. “We can take you back home if you want.”

Franco pulls up in front of Anthony’s new place, knowing that she couldn’t ask them now to turn around and drive the entire way to and from her place again. “No, I’ll be fine.”

Colette takes in a deep breath as Devyn and Franco get out of the car, leaving her behind in the back seat to stare up at the building they were all supposed to be heading into. There was no need for her to be this nervous. She and Anthony were friends. They talked still, occasionally. Maybe once a week. And the conversations were never more than half an hour long, just to check in, but that’s adult friendships.

Right?

She gets out of the car, jogging to catch up with her friends as they were already to the elevator. 

“You’re going to be ok, you know,” Devyn says, putting her arm around Colette.

“Yeah, we’ll kill him if you want us to.”

Devyn smacks her husband's chest with her free hand, scolding him as Colette laughs. 

She could do this. 

They make their way up to Anthony’s place, getting turned around and somehow ending up two floors above where they were supposed to be, thanks to Franco not being able to read a text message properly and upsetting one of Anthony’s elderly building neighbors. By the time they find his apartment, the place is full, their friends and Anthony’s taking up so much space they could barely move. Franco and Devyn break off from Colette, leaving her alone to scope the place out.

She wanders through his place, people in every single one of his rooms. She stumbles across what she assumes to be a guest room. It was way too neat to be Anthony’s own room, despite him always making her bed when they were together. 

Mat appears behind her, laughing at the sight of the room. “I guess it’s easy to figure out which room is Tito’s, huh?”

Colette lets out a small laugh. “I was just thinking that.” 

“How have you been?” he asks, sitting down on the bed. 

She goes to join him, sighing. “I’m at my ex’s place for the first time since we moved out of the place we got together. Clearly, I’m on top of the world.” 

“It could be worse.”

“Maybe,” she shrugs.

“Ok, what animal are you least afraid of?” Colette looks at him, confused by the non sequitur. “I’m trying to distract you.” 

“Fine, fine,” she rolls her eyes as he nudges her shoulder. “I guess fish?”

“No, I said an animal.”

“And I said a fish.”

“No, a real animal?”

“Are fish fake?”

“You can’t find a fish at a zoo. Have you heard of fish zoos?”

“Yeah, they’re called aquariums, you fucking walnut,” Colette tells him, laughing so hard she could feel pain in her sides.

“Oh. Oh, yeah,” Mat sits there for a second, looking down at his hands with a smirk on his face while Colette continues to laugh. “I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you laugh that hard since you broke up with him.”

“This is the first time we’ve seen each other since before he and I broke up,” Colette points out once she catches her breath.

Mat sighs. “I don’t think he’s laughed as hard as you just did since you two broke up.” 

“Yeah, sure,” she says, not believing him. 

“Colette, you make him want to live as long as possible so he can have as much time sharing the planet with you as he can. He has all of your favorite things in his Notes App on his phone that he will not delete. That one picture I took of you guys way back when we all met is still one of his lock screens, again that he won’t delete. I mean, look around his whole place. You are in every corner.”

Colette shakes her head. “Come on.”

“Look at that bookcase,” Mat says, bringing her over to the other side of the room. A picture of Devyn and Franco’s wedding party is framed on one of the shelves, one where he is looking at her so lovingly that someone in passing would assume they were the ones getting married while she was looking at the camera if not for what they were wearing. Her favorite candle scents were still unlit, sitting on the shelf next to all the books she loved by Leigh Bardugo and Gillian Flynn, the same ones from when they first moved in together, their spines now noticeably more worn, the copies loved by someone who had to have read them multiple times. She picked up the copy of Ninth House, seeing his writing in it and comments saying things like ‘remember when you said this to me?’ or ‘this has to be your favorite scene because’ left unfinished. 

“He was writing these to me,” she realizes, not noticing Mat leaving the room.

“Of course I was,” Anthony says, her turning around so fast she loses her grasp on the book in her hands to send it falling to the floor. “I can’t really read these books anymore without thinking of you.”

“Why do you still have them all then?”

Anthony looks at the book on the floor. “How could I get rid of them?”

The two of them stand there in silence for what feels like forever. She wasn’t used to having Anthony in front of her and barely being able to find the words to say to him. She hated herself for losing him, but how could she have kept him? Colette takes in a deep breath. “We made a mistake breaking up, didn’t we?”

Anthony nods, shrugging. “Yeah, probably.” 

“I don’t think we could ever go back, either.” Anthony sighs, opening his mouth to say something when Colette cuts him off. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

“Do what?”

“I think I’m still in love with you, but we can’t be together. We don’t trust each other,” Colette hears herself say, shocked at the words that come out of her.

Anthony closes the distance between them, taking her in his arms and hugging her so fiercely she could barely breathe. “I still love you, too.” 

The two of them pull apart, both of them crying. They knew what this was for them.

“God, this sucks,” Anthony laments.

 “It’s kind of amazing, though, isn’t it?”

“What?” Anthony asks, shock in his voice.

“How lucky we are that we got to love each other so much, that a simple goodbye could feel as devastating as this.”

two sets of eyes, one opened set, one closed set

“Don’t panic,” Addison says, Eddy rolling his eyes behind her.

“Yeah, because only good things come from people saying that,” Colette says, handing her friends the drinks she bought them. Becca was somewhere with Devyn and Franco, the six of them out together for one of their increasingly rare nights when they could all be together without having to worry about anything outside the building they were in. 

“She thinks she saw some of Anthony’s teammates,” Eddy explains, guiding them back to the rest of their friends. 

Colette rolls her eyes, looking back to her friend who had already downed more than half her drink. She knew that Addison had a drunken habit of mistaking strangers for people she actually knew, or thought she knew. Just because she thought she saw some of his teammates, that didn’t actually mean anything. “I think we can save the panic for when we know we see him, instead.” 

“You’re already panicking about seeing him again?” Becca asks, overhearing only the last part of the conversation as they arrive back at the table. 

“We are talking about different people,” Colette says. “I was just with Carter last night.”

“That’s, what, almost every night that’s he’s not away for the last five months that you’ve spent the night together, isn’t it?” Devyn asks, stirring her drink with her straw.

“Yeah,” Colette sighs.

“Oh, no,” Franco groans.

“You guys seem really in to each other.” Becca points out.

“I mean, physically, it’s great. But, he just,” Colette starts, trying to figure out what to say. She knew exactly what bothered her; it was why she broke up with Anthony in the first place. “He doesn’t really know me.” 

“Holy shit,” Eddy says, nearly choking on his drink. The group follows his gaze to see that Addison was right; Anthony’s teammates were there at the bar, but so was Anthony. 

Not only was he there, but he had his arm around a girl, guiding her through the place to see if they could find an open table, the only one close to them being the one right next to them. 

“You make it worse if you freak out,” Devyn scolds him.

“Hi,” Anthony says when he sees her, standing right next to their table. 

“Hey, bud,” Eddy greets him, Franco punching him in the arm for the over enthusiasm. 

“We’re going to go get more drinks,” Becca says, all of Colette’s friends grabbing their clearly new drinks in front of them and excusing themselves from the table. 

Anthony awkwardly chuckles as they all leave, just him and Colette alone for the first time in what felt like forever. “So they haven’t changed.”

Colette felt a pit in her stomach. “You didn’t have to stop talking to them because we don’t talk that much. I mean, you were in Devyn and Franco’s wedding.”

Anthony nods, taking a sip of his drink before setting it down on the table in front of her. He was still standing awkwardly, Colette knowing that he wouldn’t ask to sit down with her. “Talking to them made me think about talking to you.”

The two of them sit in an awkward silence for a moment. 

“So who was-”

“I saw you-” they start to say at the same time, both of them letting out a laugh in hopes it would calm them down.

“You first,” Colette tells him.

“I saw you started seeing someone,” he brings up, leaning against the table as he looks down at his drink, a sad smile on his face.

Colette cringes, nodding. She forgot she still had him on her private story. “Yeah, but it won’t last much longer.”

“Oh.”

“I saw you were here with someone?” she asks, gesturing to the girl who was with his teammates.

Anthony looks over, waving at his friends and the girl. “That’s Mat’s little sister. She’s just here to visit.”

“So are you seeing anyone?”

Anthony shakes his head.

“I’m sorry,” Colette hears herself say, gesturing to him to sit down next to her.

He waves her off, taking the seat previously occupied by Franco across from her. “It’s fine. I’ll find someone else eventually.”

“No, I mean,” Colette starts, taking in a deep breath and trying to figure out what to say after all these years of not saying what she wanted to. What she should have said. They both knew they had already found each other and they let it go too soon. “I’m sorry for ending things. I’m sorry for being the reason everything fell apart. I’m sorry I didn’t show you how much I love you the way you showed me.”

Anthony looks up from his drink, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“You knew everything about me. You have my favorite books, you always knew exactly what I wanted to get when we went out to dinner before I had the chance to tell you, you know my mood based on the smallest things I do. You showed me you love me with everything. I didn’t do that for you.” 

Anthony gives her a sad smile. “You always showed me you loved me.”

“Not the way you did. I feel like I knew nothing about you the way you knew me.”

Anthony shakes his head. “You know me better than I know myself.” Colette starts to shake her head, about to dispute him when he cuts her off. “If I had a bad game, you always had a cup of tea ready for me when I got home with a note telling me how you knew I’d be fine next game. You never tried to minimize how I felt after a game and listened to everything I told you. If I had to get up early for practice or to leave for a road trip, you had my coffee ready for me before I was even awake sitting on the nightstand waiting for me, even if you hadn’t slept great the night before. I’d open my bag and find the notes you wrote for me hidden in my suit pockets so I’d have them with me in the locker room. You still text me after games to tell me you’re proud of me. You think you didn’t show me you loved me? I’ve never felt more loved by anyone before meeting you.”

“I didn’t think those things meant anything.”

“They meant everything.”

I love you

Colette walks into the studio, paper in hand. She had booked yet another appointment with her favorite artist, Eleni, months ago, going back and forth as to what she wanted. Her left arm was covered in a series of small tattoos as it was, enough space right at the start of her forearm for one last small tattoo. 

“Hey, Let,” Eleni greets her.

“Hi, Len,” she smiles back, handing her the piece of paper.

“You want the words, ‘I love you?’” Eleni asks, eyebrow cocked. Colette swallows, knowing that this was the last thing she wanted on her arm. “Whose writing is this? I know it’s not yours.”

“Anthony’s,” Colette admits after what felt like too long of a silence for it to be anyone else's. 

“Are you sure you want this?” 

Colette forces out a laugh. “Every tattoo on my arm relates to him in some way, you know that. You put them all there. The book with the sun, the solo cup, the wheel of fortune. Might as well finish it off with how we feel about each other.” 

Eleni takes in a deep breath, getting Colette ready for her tattoo. “I don’t get why you two aren’t together.”

Colette sighs. “I fucked up. And I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fix it. Not in a way that matters, anyway.” Eleni gives her a sad look, Colette shaking her head and waving it off. “Besides, just because you think you’re ‘meant to be’ with someone, doesn’t mean you’ll actually ‘be.’” 

[batmanlovesnirvana]

Chapter five | The American dream.

masterlist

universe : Reeves, the batman 2022

pairing : battinson!bruce wayne x fem!OC

words : +9k

author's note : Hello to my loyal readers !! If you’re new here, welcome !!! This chapter is packed with angst—seriously, a lot of it… So brace yourselves. We’ll delve into Maryam’s struggles, and I’d love to hear your thoughts. English isn’t my first language, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes… As always, don’t hesitate to comment; I genuinely enjoy reading your feedback, and it motivates me to keep writing :) Also, this chapter is dedicated to @gaypoetsblog bc your reblog meant so much to me and helped me finish the chapter 🫶🏽

I’m thinking of starting a taglist, so if anyone’s interested, please let me know in the comments :)

cw : Maryam going through an existential crisis, 18+, thriller, medical procedures, angst, mental health issues, depression, ptsd, noire, canon-typical violence, POV alternating, gritty, horror, illness, slow burn, action, fluff, mutual pining, forced proximity, crime families, crime, fighting ect… read at your own risk !

THE NIGHT AIR slipped through the cracked window like a whispered secret, cool and heavy with the weight of unshed tears, brushing against Maryam's skin as if it knew the burden she carried.

She pushed open the glass of her kitchen window to enter her apartment, the familiar creak of the hinges barely registering in her tired mind.

Finally, she was alone.

As soon as she crossed the threshold, her hands went to the scarves draped around her neck and head, tugging them free. The fabric fell to the floor in soft waves, revealing sweat-slicked skin and disheveled hair. 

She didn’t bother turning on the lights; she knew the space by heart.

The shadows were her refuge, offering quiet sanctuary after the whirlwind of the night. She moved through the room like a ghost, her bare feet making no sound against the cold tile.

In the silence, her thoughts caught up with her—the weight of everything she had pushed down, shoved aside, now rushing back.

Her body felt heavier with each step toward the bathroom, the scent of Gotham's streets clinging to her suit like a second skin. She trailed her fingers along the edge of the countertop as she made her way in. Inside, the soft click of the door closing felt like a final seal against the outside world.

She flicked on the light. Its harsh glare bounced off the mirror, exposing a truth she could no longer avoid.

The violet bruise on her brow stared back at her, dried blood in a thin line across the cut, a crusted reminder of the night’s violence. She muttered a curse under her breath—it's going to be hard to hide that. Her skin was still smudged with dirt from the alley.

Bracing her hands against the sink, she leaned in to inspect the damage, touching the wound gingerly, wincing at the sting. It wasn’t deep, but still noticeable. 

Sighing, she straightened and began peeling away the rest of her clothing. First, her cloak, then her suit—her fingers moving methodically, though her muscles ached with stubborn fatigue.

The Wraith was shedding her armor, piece by piece. With each discarded layer, she felt a small part of herself return.

Next came the contact lenses.

Carefully, she removed them, blinking as her natural hazel eyes, tinged with a yellow-green sheen under the light, came into focus. 

But it wasn’t her eyes that held her attention.

Dressed only in her bra and panties, her eyes fixated on the constellation of bruises that marked her body—a silent testament to the fight, to the brutality of her return to the streets. Dark violet shadows bloomed along her ribs, and bruises traced her tibia. She lifted her leg onto the counter, examining them more closely under the yellow light. At least there were no cuts, save for the one on her brow.

For a moment, she simply stared at herself. The woman in the mirror looked like a stranger—scarred, beaten, but still standing.

But beneath the bruises, the cuts, the exhaustion—anger simmered.

And she knew tonight had only been the beginning.

Then, without warning, tears pooled in her eyes.

She hadn’t expected them, hadn’t realized how close they were to the surface until her chest tightened, and the raw ache began to spread through her throat. She placed a trembling hand over her mouth, trying to stifle the sob that was clawing its way out, but it was too late.

Her red-rimmed eyes betrayed her, and the sob broke free, echoing through the cold, sterile bathroom.

It wasn’t just the physical pain or the exhaustion. It was everything. The years on the streets, the things she had seen, the violence that had become a constant in her world—it all came crashing down at once. It was too much.

She hated this life.

Hated every inch of the skin she had just shed—the suit, the cloak, the Wraith. It was a mask she’d worn since she was barely ten years old. It wasn’t some romantic notion of justice or a heroic vigilante life.

No.

It was a prison.

From the moment she was taken in, she had been molded into this.

She thought she'd escaped it two years ago, but somehow, she always found her way back—like an addict drawn to a drug. 

Her training was not empowering; it was soul-crushing torture, a brutal crucible that shattered her spirit and forged her into a weapon for the greedy hands that sought to control her. Each blow felt like a countdown, a clock ticking down to the moment she would either break or become something darker. 

Beaten and broken, she transformed into a tool, a phantom of vengeance, for those who saw her not as a person but as a means to an end. In the shadows, she learned to embrace the pain, channeling it into a deadly precision that left no room for doubt. Each lesson carved away at her innocence, leaving only a relentless hunger for survival and a chilling resolve to escape the chains that bound her.

Fish Mooney, the merciless gangster who had held the reins of her life from the very beginning, had stripped her of her innocence, her will, and her freedom. In the beginning, she wore the name Madam like a shroud, even as she felt the chill of its implications. Mooney's sweet words, laced with sickening honey, wrapped around her like a noose, promising a kind of safety that was always a mirage. 

She was the definition of a witch, weaving a web of knowledge and manipulation, knowing the darkest secrets of everyone, especially Maryam's. This power was her weapon, used to threaten and terrify, ensuring Maryam’s compliance with every command. 

To Mooney, she was a prized possession—a little spy, a puppet sculpted to perfection, a wraith in service of her sinister ambitions.

When Maryam first set foot on American soil with her family, she unknowingly crossed into a world where debts were owed and innocence was a luxury long expired. As the eldest, the burden fell on her—she was chosen to pay the price for dreams wrapped in deception.

Her family could do nothing but watch, their voices stifled by fear as threats loomed like shadows over their fragile existence. They warned her of the dangers, but what could they say to the merciless people who held their lives in the balance? 

Nothing.

Nada. 

So they stood by, hearts heavy, as she was engulfed by the seductive lies of the American dream, ensnared in the web of blackmail and veiled threats that hung like a storm cloud over their family.

They watched, helpless, as their little girl transformed into a hollow shell, caught in the very corruption that had promised freedom yet shackled her to a life of fear and deceit.

With each passing day, as she morphed into a mere instrument for the greedy, the weight of her family's helplessness settled over her like a leaden shroud. Yet, within this suffocating nightmare, a flicker of defiance began to blaze—an ember ignited by heartbreak and desperation, a fierce will to reclaim her stolen innocence and escape the clutches of a world intent on devouring her whole.

But amidst all this turmoil, becoming the Wraith was never a choice.

No— it was a matter of survival, stripped bare of all illusions and pretense, leaving only the raw, unyielding instinct to endure.

She had seen things no child should ever see. Blood, cruelty, the endless cycle of violence.

Gotham devoured its own, and she had been thrown into the thick of it before she even understood what it meant to live. 

The things she had done—things she had been forced to do—were never for any noble cause. It wasn’t about protecting the innocent or stopping crime.

It was about serving those who had power over her, doing their bidding, becoming their weapon.

The memories flooded back, each one more painful than the last. The nights spent alone on rooftops, watching the city eats itself of corruption. The cold steel of a knife in her hand, the way it felt when she was ordered to hurt someone. The screams, the fear in their eyes—those were the things that haunted her. Not the criminals, but the fact that she had become just as ruthless.

She hated herself for it.

Hated the Wraith, hated the mask, hated the world that had forced her into this life. Vigilantism wasn’t heroism—it was a cage.

A brutal reality where she had no choice but to become what others wanted her to be. And the worst part? She had never known another way.

Maryam Ben Halimi was the embodiment of the immigrant struggle, a quiet girl sitting in the back of the classroom with wide, restless eyes. 

She poured herself into her studies, each late night and early morning spent hunched over textbooks a defiant act against a world determined to render her invisible.

Yes, she made it to medical school, driven by the crushing weight of her family's dreams pressing heavily on her narrow shoulders. 

Yet, the emptiness remained, a chasm within her that no amount of achievement could fill.

Often, she found herself questioning how she managed to survive medical school while Fish Mooney lurked in the shadows, her suffocating demands as oppressive as Gotham's thick summer humidity. Mooney had her hands deep in Maryam’s life, ever ready to drag her back into darkness if she dared to stray too far. 

But somehow, against all odds, Maryam triumphed, donning the title of Doctor  like a hard-earned badge of honor— a promise she had made to her parents before their lives were cruelly extinguished.

The day she received her diploma was supposed to be a celebration, a moment of triumph.

Yet it felt more like a double-edged sword.

That piece of paper not only represented her hard work; it signified the end of her obligation to Mooney. 

That day, she was free of the Madam. 

And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, she drew in a breath untainted by fear, the shackles of her past finally falling away. It was a bittersweet victory, her heart swelling with pride even as the ghosts of her past hovered at the edges of her consciousness.

But beneath that fragile surface, weariness coursed through her veins. 

She was tired—tired of battling invisible demons that raged within her, tired of pretending she could shoulder the weight of her life alone, tired of wearing the mask that had been pressed upon her for so long. 

Though she no longer worked for Mooney or her clients, the memories lingered like an unwanted specter, always lurking just out of sight.

The nightmares, too, were relentless reminders of the wars that had marred her childhood, the chaos and destruction that had driven her from her homeland. 

Each night, she carried those haunting images and sounds into her dreams, a heavy burden coloring her waking hours. She woke up screaming, grasping at shadows, and even the therapists she consulted couldn’t unlock the depth of her torment. 

There were some truths too dark to share, especially with her remaining family, who could never truly understand. For them, the subject of Mooney was taboo, a whisper that could shatter the silence they clung to, while the past loomed as a silent monster, lurking in the shadows of their lives.

In her family, like many immigrant families, when something was wrong, silence reigned supreme. 

They had mastered the art of avoidance, burying their grief beneath layers of unspoken words, pretending nothing had ever happened. 

But Maryam could not shake the feeling that something was profoundly amiss, that her life was a web of contradictions—of duty, survival, and the relentless pursuit of an identity she could never quite grasp.

As she navigated the churning waters of her existence, the Wraith lingered in the background, a haunting reminder of the girl she had been and the woman she had been forced to become.

And so, for once, she allowed herself to cry.

Cry for the life she could never have.

Cry for the bruises on her body that told the story of a woman who had never been free.

She wept for the dreams that lay shattered at her feet, buried under the weight of expectations and the relentless demands of survival.

It was like a release, a desperate attempt to reclaim pieces of herself that had long been buried beneath the façade of the Wraith.

Her chest tightened, and her breathing became shallow.

Instinctively, she reached up to rub her neck, her fingers pressing into the tense muscles, trying to force herself to calm down. But it wasn’t working. The memories clawed at her, tearing through the thin layer of control she’d tried to hold onto.

Her hand slipped from her mouth, fingers trembling as she pressed them against her eyes, rubbing as if she could erase the blurry vision. But the world kept spinning, becoming more surreal with every passing second.

And then she heard it.

The screams—hollow, haunting, echoing in the silence.

Her heart lurched, and her breath caught as the sound of her mother’s voice echoed in her mind—a desperate scream that cut through her like a knife.

She could almost feel herself being pulled back into that moment—when everything changed.

Gunshots.

They rang out like explosions in her mind, and she gasped for air, her pulse racing wildly.

Serbian voices barked harsh commands—words she couldn’t understand, but their cruelty was unmistakable. They had been everywhere that night, flooding her home like locusts, devouring everything in their path. Her father’s face flashed in her mind, twisted with fear as he tried to protect them.

But the gunshots—the terrible, piercing gunshots—had silenced him.

Her vision swam. The bathroom lights were too bright, her breathing too loud. She could still hear the screams, the gunfire, the chaos of that night. She wasn’t here anymore, but trapped in that nightmare.

Her fingers dug into the sink, gripping it as if it were the only thing anchoring her to reality.

But it wasn’t enough.

The Serbs’ voices, their boots pounding on the floor, her mother’s terrified cries—they overwhelmed her.

Her heart raced, breaths coming in short gasps. She wasn’t the Wraith now.

She wasn’t Maryam.

She was just a little girl again, watching as her world was ripped apart.

Her hands shook violently, her knuckles white as she gripped the sink harder.

“Breathe,” she told herself, but it didn’t help. The walls were closing in, memories consuming her. She saw her father fall, heard her mother scream—it all played out like a nightmare she couldn’t wake from.

Desperate, she opened the medicine cabinet and fumbled for her pills, her fingers trembling as she grabbed two bottles— Sertraline for PTSD, Prazosin for nightmares, and Lexapro for depression. 

She swallowed them quickly, chasing them down with an ibuprofen for good measure, ignoring the bitter taste that lingered in her mouth.

It wasn’t much, but it would have to be enough.

Next, she opened the glass door of the shower. 

Stripping off the rest of her clothes, she stepped in, wincing as the warm water hit her sore muscles and cuts. It soothed her aching body, but she didn't linger. She was too tired. She just wanted to sleep.

Before that, though, she had to take her diabetes meds—something she hadn't done in two days. With everything that had been going on, she'd forgotten to take care of herself, and the familiar wave of guilt rose in her chest. She quickly washed her hair and body, feeling the exhaustion seep into her bones.

When she finished, she stepped out of the shower and slipped into a bathrobe, pulling the soft sleeves over her arms and tying it snugly around her waist. The mirror was fogged up from the steam, so she wiped a hand across it. 

Her reflection stared back at her, and her stomach plummeted. The jagged cut beside her right eyebrow stood out sharply against her once sun-kissed skin, now a sickly shade of pale, swollen and inflamed.

She grabbed the first aid kit, her movements mechanical as she cleaned and dressed the wound, pressing gauze against the cut to stem any remaining blood. Her hands moved with a tired efficiency, applying a sterile bandage over the area.

When she was done, she slipped into her pyjamas, the soft fabric a small comfort against the cold air.

Then came the part she dreaded. 

She sat down on the edge of the bed and opened the case for her blood glucose meter. Pricking her finger, she watched the small droplet of blood form before pressing it to the test strip. The familiar beep from the meter told her what she already knew—her blood sugar was too high.

Sighing, she reached for her insulin pen. After attaching a fresh needle, she dialed the correct dose, pinching the skin on her stomach before inserting the needle and pressing the plunger.

The medication stung as it went in, but she was used to it.

When she was done, she placed the pen back in its case, rubbing her eyes as the fatigue finally hit her full force.

She snuggled under the covers, pulling them close as the warmth enveloped her aching body. Reaching for her phone, she quickly scrolled through the missed messages from the night. 

As expected, the family group chat was filled with the usual chatter. Aunt Meysa had sent more links to prayers, while Uncle Fawzi shared pictures from the local market—cucumbers were apparently at a low price.

She rolled her eyes, a small smile tugging at her lips despite her exhaustion.

And, of course, there were Aunt Jamila's long-winded voice messages, probably about something trivial.

Warda had shared pictures of little shoes she'd bought for her unborn child, prompting everyone in the group to coo in excitement.

Baya, Aunt Jamila's daughter, sent a few shots of Big Ben from her time in London—just the usual family stuff.

After a quick glance at those, she moved on to other messages. There were over a hundred from Sherine, and she sent a quick reply, telling her she was fine. Well, a lie, but Sherine didn't need to know the truth right now.

Tammi had sent an article about the drops, she skimmed through it. Nothing she didn't already know.

Setting her phone to charge on the nightstand, she turned her gaze toward the balcony. Outside, Gotham was its usual icy, chaotic self—couples arguing, police sirens wailing, people swearing at each other. 

Just another night in dear old Gotham.

Her apartment didn't offer a spectacular view of the city, but from her bed, she could still make out a few stars flickering in the night sky. Her eyelids grew heavier by the second. 

Exhausted to her core, she let sleep pull her under.

The dim light from the kitchen barely illuminated the cramped apartment, cluttered with unpaid bills scattered across the counter.

Batman's eyes lingered on one of the envelopes, its name reading Selina Kyle, before the TV caught his attention. The broadcast blared a grim headline :

‘Serial Killer Claims Credit for Second Victim in Two Days — GCPD Commissioner Murdered.’

His jaw tightened beneath the cowl.

Selina came in, visibly rattled, guilt shadowing her sharp features. "Jesus, what are they going to do to her? She's just a kid," she muttered, her voice wavering with worry. "And now they know who I am too. They took my phone, everything—"

She caught sight of Batman staring at the TV, which displayed a disturbing video.

The Riddler's eerie, altered voice filled the room as a newscaster warned viewers of the graphic content.

The screen showed the killer, his face obscured by a green hood and a question mark scrawled over his chest, taunting Gotham with another murder.

The camera panned to Commissioner Savage, bound and trapped with rats circling him, his muffled screams cut short as the video ended abruptly. A photo of the Commissioner, smiling in happier times, replaced the grim scene.

"Holy shit," Selina whispered, her eyes narrowing. "I've seen that guy too. At the club."

Batman tilted his head slightly. "The Iceberg Lounge?"

Selina shook her head, her voice low. "The 44 Below. It's the club within the club—where the real stuff happens. It's a mob hangout."

He stayed silent for a moment, then asked, "That's where you work?"

She shot him a glance, caught off guard. "I work at the bar upstairs, but yeah, I see them."

"Who?" he pressed, his tone unyielding.

"People who shouldn't be there. The ones who act all respectable in public... but they're not fooling anyone. I'm not stupid. I know what's going on."

Their eyes locked, his unrelenting gaze not letting her off the hook. "You're going to help me. For your friend."

She stiffened, then took a slow breath.

"Do you know the Wraith?" he asked, almost like it was an afterthought.

Selina blinked, clearly thrown by the question. "The Wraith?" She turned toward the fridge, grabbing a carton of milk. "Yeah, I've heard of her." She took a sip, the cold liquid contrasting the tension in the room. "Kind of a myth, though, right? Some people don't even believe she's real."

Batman's only response was a grunt, deep and unreadable.

Selina let out a faint smirk, shaking her head as she set the milk down on the counter. "It's funny, really. The rich, the mob—they call her 'The Wraith,' like she's some shadow they can't pin down. But the people on the streets? They call her 'Lady Justice.'" She crossed her arms, the leather of her suit creaking, her brow furrowing as she thought back. "I saw her a few times in the Narrows, years ago. Then she just... vanished. No one's seen her since."

"Why?"

"I don't know," Selina admitted, her voice softening. "But I used to look up to her. She didn't seem real, like something out of a legend."

Batman didn't respond, slipping back into the shadows as the faint sound of police sirens echoed through the streets outside. His cape whispered against the floor. "You're not safe here," he muttered before disappearing.

"I can take care of myself," Selina shot back abruptly, her voice sharp.

But he was already gone.

She turned her attention to the TV, the grim news continuing its endless cycle.

The newscaster's voice echoed through the apartment. "...with two public figures dead in just the last two nights, and only days before the election, police and city officials are left scrambling for answers, hoping to catch the killer before he strikes again."

Maryam had barely gotten three hours of sleep when the shrill sound of her phone jolted her awake.

Groaning, she blinked her heavy eyelids open, her muscles screaming in protest as she blindly reached for the phone on her bedside table. Her hand flopped around, knocking over her lamp, her alarm clock, and a book before finally landing on the ringing device.

She squinted at the screen.

Jamie G.

Great.

She glanced at the time: 5:20 a.m.

What the hell do they want now?

With a sigh, she swiped to answer. Before she could speak, Gordon's voice came through, rushed and stressed.

"Mar, I need you to come right now. I'm in front of your building—"

"What?" Her voice, hoarse from sleep, cracked as she sat up, still rubbing her face. Her caramel curls fell messily over her eyes, adding to her confusion.

"Listen, just hurry. The killer struck again."

"You've got to be kidding me," she muttered, irritation creeping into her voice.

"Wish I was, kid. I need you for the autopsy. It's urgent."

She ran a hand through her wild curls, pushing them out of her face, annoyance clear in her tone. "Who the hell dies at this hour, making me leave my warm, comfy bed?"

Gordon's voice was grim. "It's Commissioner Savage."

The doctor froze, her eyes wide. "What the fuck."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Now get your ass down here. We don't have all day."

With another exasperated sigh, she muttered, "Give me 15 minutes. I'm coming," before hanging up and tossing her phone aside.

Maryam sat on the edge of her bed, still processing what Gordon had just said.

Commissioner Savage.

Murdered.

"What the hell is going on in this city..." she muttered to herself, rubbing her temples as the weight of the news sank in.

She dragged herself out of bed, her limbs heavy with exhaustion from te night before.

In the faint light of her apartment, Maryam shuffled to her closet, grabbing the first clean scrubs she could find—black ones.

She threw on a gray undershirt since her scrubs had no sleeves and pulled on her trench coat. She quickly slipped into a pair of sneakers before heading to the bathroom.

The harsh bathroom lights stung her eyes, making her squint until her vision adjusted. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror—dark circles under her eyes made her look just as lifeless as the people she examined. Her hazel eyes reflected green under the yellow light, and the bruise near her brow still hadn't faded. Great, she thought, another thing to explain to Gordon.

Fixing her face seemed pointless. She wasn't about to impress anyone while cutting open a dead commissioner.

Her hair, a wild mess of curls, was exactly how she'd left it. I should've listened to myself and straightened it, she thought, regretting not doing it earlier—more like three hours ago—but exhaustion had won that battle. Instead, she threw it into a quick French twist, ignoring the stubborn curls that escaped the updo.

After splashing cold water on her face and brushing her teeth, she grabbed her bag, keys, and phone, and rushed out the door.

The early morning chill hit her as soon as she stepped outside.

Gotham's streets were eerily still, save for the distant hum of police sirens—a constant reminder of the city's chaos.

As Maryam approached the curb, Gordon stood leaning against his car, the streetlight casting harsh shadows over his exhausted face. He straightened when he saw her coming.

"Fifteen minutes? More like twenty-five," he said, tapping his watch, his voice laced with weary sarcasm.

Maryam shot him a sharp look, pulling the belt of her trench coat tighter around her waist. "You woke me up at 5 a.m. You're lucky I'm even vertical."

Gordon sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, I know. Sorry, Mar. This one's bad. Real bad."

She could see it in his face—the strain, the weight of whatever mess was waiting for them. If the commissioner was dead, Gotham was about to spiral into chaos.

Without another word, she slid into the passenger seat, the cold leather biting through her scrubs. Gordon got behind the wheel as she buckled her seatbelt. "Worse than the mayor?" she asked, disbelief creeping into her voice.

He didn't answer right away, just shifted the car into gear and pulled onto the dark, empty streets of Gotham. "You'll see."

Gordon glanced sideways at her, eyes lined with fatigue. "You good?"

She sighed, pushing a stray curl from her face. "I'm here, aren't I?" She bit her thumb lightly, her gaze fixed ahead on the road. "But yeah, everything's just peachy." She turned to him with a raised perfect structured brow. "You?"

Gordon gave a hollow laugh, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. "How do you think?" He didn't look at her, just focused on the road, eyes narrowed against the dim streetlights and the occasional flash of a police cruiser speeding by.

"Yeah, thought so." Maryam leaned back into the seat, letting her head rest against the cold window.

The rhythmic hum of the car as it cut through Gotham's early morning streets was almost soothing, but her mind raced, unable to shake the weight of what Gordon had said. Worse than the mayor? That didn't leave much room for optimism.

They drove in silence for a while longer, the city slipping past in shadows and flickering lights. The distant sirens and low rumble of Gotham waking up to another day of chaos filled the quiet, and Maryam closed her eyes, trying to gather herself. But no matter how much she loved her job, sometimes it was all too much. The pit in her stomach deepened.

Gordon finally broke the silence, his voice rough and low. "This isn't just about the commissioner. It's the way it was done." His jaw clenched as he shook his head. "It's like this city's being torn apart piece by piece. I don't know how much more we can take before it completely falls apart."

Maryam didn't respond, but a cold chill crept up her spine. Gordon wasn't exaggerating. She'd seen enough of Gotham's darkness to know that when someone like the commissioner was taken out, it was never just a simple murder.

There was always something more beneath the surface, something twisted.

"Did you see the livestream?" Gordon asked, adjusting his glasses with one hand as they waited at a red light.

"Livestream?" she echoed, frowning. "What do you mean?"

"That freak recorded it live. Streamed the whole thing on social media." His voice was tight with disgust as he shook his head.

"Are you serious?" Maryam pulled out her phone, opened Twitter, and immediately saw the trending post.

Her heart sank.

Commissioner Savage, bound and trapped in a small iron cage with rats circling his head, gnawing at his flesh. His muffled screams filled the car through her phone's speakers. It already had millions of views. She scrolled through the comments—some people panicking, others making dark jokes. 'Only in Gotham,' one read.

She locked her phone, shaking her head. "What the actual fuck is wrong with this guy?"

"I don't know," Gordon muttered, "but he needs to be stopped."

As they turned the corner toward GCPD headquarters, Maryam noticed fewer police cars than she had expected. Gordon pulled up to the curb and parked, then turned to face her. His face was pale in the streetlights, worry etched deep in his features as he rubbed his mustache.

"Just so you know, the Bat's coming," he said quietly.

Maryam groaned, throwing her head back in exasperation. "Oh my god, Jamie, you invited that autistic bat?"

Gordon shot her a look as he got out of the car. "Behave, Mar," he said, slamming the door shut behind him.

With a dramatic sigh, Maryam followed suit, shivering as Gotham's morning chill wrapped around her.

She shrugged her bag over her shoulder, muttering under her breath, "I'm always behaved..." Then, jogging to catch up with his hurried steps, she called after him, "You could've warned me at least!"

They didn't enter through the front, but slipped around to the back of the station. That's when Maryam saw him—standing in the shadows by his car.

Vengeance.

Even from the distance, their eyes snapped to each other instantly. Just hours ago, they'd been chasing and fighting one another, and now here they were again, face to face. Her, in civilian clothes; him, still in his suit.

Her fingers instinctively brushed the bruise behind her brow. Anxiety twisted in her gut.

What if he recognizes me? she thought, panic creeping in.

But she quickly shook it off. Don't be ridiculous. It was night, you were both fighting.

He. didn't. see. anything.

As they approached, Gordon led the way, walking straight toward the Bat, while Maryam held back, keeping her distance—just in case.

She stayed quiet, head down, but could still feel the weight of his gaze lingering on her.

Gordon nodded at the towering figure. "Right, let's get this over with. I don't want them to see you," he said before heading inside the station.

Maryam kept her head low as they moved past, still staying behind. But she could feel Vengeance's eyes on her, even though she avoided looking directly at him.

Inside, they were greeted by Officer Martinez, who shot a dirty look at the Bat before turning to Maryam. His expression softened as he leaned in, kissing her on the cheek and handing her a small cup of coffee. "For my favorite colleague," he grinned, his mustache lifting with the smile.

She returned the gesture, a soft smile tugging at her lips. "Thank you, Lucas. You're a lifesaver."

Gordon interrupted the brief moment. "Hey, Martinez, keep an eye out while we go check the body, will you?"

Martinez looked between the trio, eyebrows raised, but nodded. "Uh— Yeah, sure thing, Lieutenant. You got it."

Without further exchange, they descended into the cold, sterile halls of the medical examiner's rooms. The familiar smell of disinfectant greeted them.

Maryam squirted some alcohol on her hands and snapped on a pair of gloves. "Which drawer?" she asked Gordon, gesturing to the rows of body fridges.

Gordon pointed to the far end of the room. "Third from the right."

She walked over, her footsteps echoing in the quiet, and tugged open the heavy metal door. The cold air hit her immediately as she pulled out the slab with Commissioner Savage's body lying still and lifeless, the weight of Gotham's madness now reduced to just another corpse.

Maryam took a deep breath, steadying herself as she pulled the drawer fully open. The sight of the commissioner's body sent a shiver down her spine. He lay there, pale and motionless, a stark reminder of the brutality that had engulfed Gotham. She couldn't help but notice the way his hands were positioned—fingers curled as if grasping at something that was no longer there.

The medical examiner grimaced at the sight in front of her, and Gordon muttered a low, "Jesus," looking away and clenching his jaw. The Bat approached from behind, cold and calculating, assessing the body over her shoulder.

"Let's see what we've got here," Maryam said, reaching for the flashlight on the autopsy tray.

She waved it over the commissioner's eyes, checking for any reaction. "No pupil dilation," she noted. "Which means he was likely already unconscious when it happened."

"He waited for him. At the gym. Pete liked to work out late at night," Gordon said, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Not the best choice in a city this volatile," Maryam added, raising her brows to drive home the point, continuing her examination. "This isn't just a simple murder... no, there's definitely a pattern."

"There's a needle mark on his neck," Batman observed, his tone flat.

"Son of a bitch injected him with—" Gordon began, only to be cut off by the vigilante.

"Rat poison."

"That seems to be his theme," Gordon replied, frustration creeping into his voice. He stepped back angrily, running a hand through his hair.

"It wouldn't have taken long," Maryam said calmly, her gloved hands moving over the body. "Depending on the dose, the poison would've shut down his organs in minutes. A cruel way to go."

Batman followed Gordon to the evidence table, while Maryam kept her focus on Savage. As she worked, something caught her eye—the creepy, hinged cage-like head box nearby. She moved closer, peering inside at the intricate network of channels.

"It's a maze," the Bat said, examining it over her shoulder.

"What kind of sicko does this to a person?" Gordon asked, disgust lacing his voice as he looked into the bloody maze.

Batman pulled out a violet light, flashing it over the channels. "More symbols." A crudely painted cipher ended in a question mark within crosshairs. "Another cipher."

"What kind of light is that?" Maryam asked curiously, her brow furrowing as she eyed the tool in his hand.

The Bat turned his gaze to her, his expression unreadable, his eyes locking onto hers. For a moment, neither of them spoke. ***

Her focus shifted back to the maze. She narrowed her eyes, her voice firm. "This isn't just torture. It's a message. A twisted game." She clicked on her own flashlight, carefully illuminating the channels in the gruesome head box. "Each path could represent something—maybe even the victim's fate."

Batman's gaze shifted to the surveillance photos Gordon was sifting through. "He blasted those out after his message went viral. This guy murders you and your reputation."

"That guy's pushing drops," Batman added, spotting a figure next to Savage in the photos, his gloved hand still holding the violet light. "On the East End."

Maryam frowned as she glanced at the photos, her heart sinking. The commissioner was emerging from the Iceberg Lounge, shaking hands with a shady figure. "This doesn't look good," she said softly. "Even in death, he's destroying reputations. This could ruin lives..."

Gordon sighed heavily. "Why would Pete get involved in this?"

"Looks like he got greedy," Batman replied.

Maryam scoffed, shooting Gordon a knowing look. "Come on, Jamie, we all know half the cops in Gotham work for you-know-who. It's not a stretch to think Pete crossed that line."

"Are you kidding me? After everything we did to bust up the Maronis? We shut down their whole operation, and now he's caving to some dealer?" Gordon's voice was incredulous.

"Maybe he wasn't who you thought he was," Batman said coldly.

"You make it sound like he had it coming," Gordon muttered, frustration evident.

"He was a cop. He crossed the line," Batman said flatly.

Maryam nodded. "Zorro's right, Gordon. Even if you arrested Maroni, the drops and drugs are still out there. New ones hit the streets every day. I've lost count of the bodies with this stuff in their systems." She glanced back at the corpse. "The system is failing us. And now, someone's turning it into a game. More lives are being sacrificed."

Gordon exhaled, weighed down by the situation. Batman noticed something taped to the back of the head box—an envelope labeled To the Batman.

He opened it, revealing another greeting card. A cartoon scientist mixing beakers smiled out at them with the words, I'm MAD About You! Want to Know My Name? Just Look Inside and See... Inside, a cartoon explosion with the words, But wait, I cannot tell you—it might spoil the chemistry!

Maryam rolled her eyes. "This is childish. Whoever did this thinks it's a game?" She leaned closer, studying the envelope with a critical eye. "But it's also an invitation. A challenge."

Batman scanned the scribbled message and read aloud, "Follow the maze till you find the rat—bring him into the light, and you'll find where I'm at."

"What the hell does that mean? Bring him into the light? Find the rat?" Gordon asked, unnerved.

Batman's eyes narrowed as he stared at his name on the envelope. "I don't know..."

Maryam crossed her arms, contemplating. "It's a metaphor, right? Exposing someone, forcing them to face the consequences of their actions." She looked at the Bat, her voice firm. "We need to figure out who this rat is before more bodies pile up." A dark look crossed her face as dread gnawed at her. "I've got a bad feeling about this."

Suddenly, Martinez hurried down the stairs, snapping the trio out of their thoughts. "Lieutenant, they're coming back."

"We need to get out of here," Gordon said sharply, turning to his two companions.

The trio made their way out of the police station through the back, where the dim streetlights flickered over the darkened alleyway.

The heavy steel door shut behind them with a metallic clank, leaving them in the cool night air. Batman's shadowed figure was already scanning the surroundings, always alert, while Gordon fumbled with his phone, the screen glowing in his hand.

Just then, Gordon's phone rang urgently, the shrill tone cutting through the quiet. He glanced down, his brow furrowing. "I've gotta take this," he muttered before answering the call. His voice grew tense after a few exchanged words. "Yeah... Yeah, I'll be there. Right away."

He hung up, slipping the phone into his coat pocket, and turned to Maryam. "I need to go. Something's come up."

Maryam gave him a reassuring smile. "It's fine, Jamie. I can walk from here."

Gordon hesitated for a moment, his expression softening as he stepped closer. He pressed a quick, fatherly kiss to her cheek—a simple gesture filled with warmth and concern. "Just be careful, alright?"

"I always am," Maryam replied with a faint smile, the weight of the night still heavy between them.

Gordon gave Batman a nod, a silent acknowledgment between the two men.

Without another word, he strode toward his car, the tension of Gotham's unrelenting chaos pulling him back into the fray.

The moment he slipped inside, he flipped on the sirens. The red and blue lights burst to life, flashing across the walls of the alley, followed by the sharp wail of the siren as the car sped off into the distance.

Maryam watched for a moment, her expression inscrutable as the siren's wail faded into the distance.

She exhaled softly, her breath misting in the cold air, then shifted her gaze to the looming figure of the Bat beside her. As she expected, he was already watching her, his shadowed eyes piercing through the darkness.

Fumbling with the belt of her trench coat, she pulled it tighter around her waist, as if it could shield her from the weight of his presence.

That gaze—it was relentless, cutting through her defenses. She swallowed hard, her heart quickening as she forced herself to look anywhere but at him. "Well... bye, I guess," she muttered abruptly, her voice sounding smaller than she intended. She turned on her heel, ready to disappear into the night.

But before she could take another step, his voice—low, grave, and unyielding—cut through the stillness of the alley. It stopped her cold.

"What happened to your face?"

She sighed, knowing he had seen it.

Gordon knew better than to ask, but him? "What are you talking about?" she replied, trying to feign confusion as she turned to face him, his form now just a few centimeters away.

"This," he said, pointing with a gloved finger at her brow, where a cut was surrounded by a bluish bruise.

"Oh," she attempted a reassuring smile, letting out a small chuckle and raising a hand dismissively. "It's nothing, really. I just banged my head against a table yesterday."

He remained silent for a moment, still looking at her, while she found herself unable to meet his gaze.

Having had enough of the silence, she crossed her arms defensively. "Can you stop looking at me like that?"

"Like what?" he asked, his tone calm yet curious.

"Like you're dissecting me," she shot back, her voice carrying a hint of irritation. "I'm fine. Really."

His eyes narrowed slightly, a mixture of skepticism and concern flickering in the shadows. "You're not fine. You're hurt. And it's not just a cut."

Maryam rolled her eyes, her defensive posture making her shoulders tense. "It's just a bruise, Zorro. I've dealt with worse." She turned her back to him, taking a step toward the alley's exit, but his presence felt like a weight she couldn't shake off.

"Doesn't look like it," he said quietly, closing the distance between them.

Their eyes locked, and she crossed her arms defiantly. "You're doing it again—looking at me like you can see right through me," she shot back, her voice tinged with frustration as she held her ground against his piercing gaze.

Vengeance tilted his head, the shadows accentuating the angles of his mask. "You think you're hiding something from me?" he asked, his tone steady but edged with curiosity.

Maryam took a step back, her heart racing as she fought to regain her composure. "It's just a bruise. It's not a big deal," she insisted, trying to force a casual demeanor despite the tension crackling between them.

He reached out and took her arm, the contact eliciting a short gasp from her lips. Then, he pulled her closer, his breath warming her neck as he examined the cut. "It's too deep to just be from bumping your head on a table."

She clenched her jaw, gripping his muscular arm, feeling the fabric of his suit tighten beneath her fingers. "Stop it," she said, her voice firm, and she pushed him away. But he caught her hand this time, refusing to let go.

"Get on the bike. You're not walking home alone."

"No."

"This isn't up for debate," he said, his voice low and commanding, though there was a hint of concern beneath the surface. "The streets aren't safe, especially not for you right now."

She met his gaze, unyielding. "I appreciate the concern, but I can take care of myself. I'm not some damsel in distress."

He let out a soft sigh, the tension between them thick. "This isn't about being a damsel. It's about the dangers out there—the ones you can't see coming."

Maryam shook her head, frustration bubbling up. "I'm not afraid of whatever's lurking in the shadows. I'm not afraid of you, either."

"Is that what this is about?" he asked, stepping closer, his intensity unwavering. "You think you can handle everything on your own? You've seen what I can do. I'm not just some myth; I'm real, and I'm trying to help."

"I don't need your help," she shot back, her heart pounding from the confrontation. "You don't get to decide what I need. I can protect myself." Her voice was firmer than she felt, muttering under her breath, "I've been doing it for years."

Silence hung heavy between them.

"Just get on the bike," he finally said.

Frustration surged within her. "Oh my god, are you deaf or something?! I can handle myself, thank you very much!" Her hands punctuated her words, a familiar gesture when she felt cornered. "And why do you even care? We barely know each other!"

His gaze narrowed as he absorbed her words. "I won't stand by and watch someone get hurt when I can do something about it."

Maryam clenched her jaw, the defiance in her eyes flickering like a dying flame. "I'm a medical examiner. I've faced danger before. I don’t need someone babysitting me."

He shook his head slowly, frustration seeping through his tight-lipped expression. "This isn't just about you anymore. Gotham's a dangerous place, and you're already in over your head. You need someone watching your back."

"Maybe I don't want anyone watching my back," she retorted, taking a step away. "Maybe I'd rather take my chances on my own than rely on someone who thinks they know better."

He exhaled sharply, the tension between them thickening. "It's not about knowing better. It's about keeping you safe."

"Safe?" Her voice rose, anger sharpening her words. "You don’t even know me. You don’t know what I’ve been through. You think you can just swoop in and—"

"I know enough," he interrupted, his voice low and steady. "I know enough to see that you're hurting. And I’m not going to let you push me away because you’re scared."

Her heart raced, caught between anger and something softer. "You think this is fear? This is me standing my ground."

"Then stand your ground on the bike," he said, his voice calm but laced with concern. "I'm not asking you to give up control. Just let me help."

She paused, torn between her stubborn pride and the truth hanging in his words. "I don't want to be a burden," she muttered, her earlier defiance weakening.

"You're not a burden," he replied, though his words came slower, more deliberate. "You're... an ally."

Maryam bit her lip, weighing her options. After a long pause, she exhaled, her resistance faltering. "Fine. But this doesn't change anything."

He almost smiled—just a flicker of amusement in his usually stoic expression. "I wouldn't dream of it." Then, his expression hardened slightly. "Wait here."

She nodded suspiciously, watching him disappear into the shadows of the alley. Minutes passed, her gaze darting around anxiously. He was gone for at least ten minutes before he reappeared, but this time, the suit was gone.

In its place stood a drifter, or at least, that's what he looked like—his lower face hidden behind a bandana, black sunglasses covering his eyes, and a cap pulled low over his brow. The baggy clothes he wore made him unrecognizable, a stark contrast to the imposing figure from earlier.

She narrowed her eyes, studying him, but she still couldn't piece together who he was. His disguise was too good.

Without a word, he gestured toward the motorcycle parked nearby, a sleek, black machine that fit the man of mystery he was. He handed her a helmet, and she hesitated for only a moment before taking it, slipping it over her head.

Once she was seated behind him, she felt the rumble of the engine beneath them as he settled in front.

Through the hum of the engine, she spoke up, giving her address. "I live on—"

"I know," he interrupted, his voice steady but muffled through the helmet.

She blinked, surprised. "What? How?"

"Just hold on," he replied without explanation, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Maryam frowned but didn't have much of a choice. She reluctantly wrapped her arms around his abdomen, feeling the solidness of his frame beneath the loose clothing.

The motorcycle roared to life, and they sped into the early morning, the city blurring around them as she tightened her grip, wondering just how much he really knew about her.

The wind whipped past them, the early morning chill biting at her skin even through her clothes.

Maryam's heart raced, not just from the speed of the bike, but from the thoughts swirling in her head.

The city lights streaked by in a blur, the darkened streets and shadowy alleys blending together as they tore through Gotham's chaotic maze.

She felt her grip tighten around him instinctively, her cheek nearly pressed to his back, sensing the calm rhythm of his breath against the wild beat of her own heart.

The streets were far from calm, even in the early hours.

She caught glimpses of figures huddled in makeshift shelters, a couple of homeless men crouched by a fire in a barrel, their faces hollowed by hunger and hardship.

Shadows flitted between the crumbling facades of abandoned buildings, home to those whom Gotham's elite had long forgotten. Maryam swallowed hard, her chest tightening with a blend of embarrassment and discomfort.

It wasn't the people that embarrassed her; she had once walked in their shoes. No, it was the man on the motorcycle—a figure that felt foreign, as if he had never known the grit of these streets.

The bike began to slow down as they neared a slightly quieter corner, still rough around the edges but not quite in the heart of the Narrows.

Maryam's heart was still pounding, her fingers curled tightly around his jacket, but she forced herself to loosen her grip as the motorcycle came to a stop.

"You can let go now," his voice broke through the rumble of the engine, a hint of amusement mixed with something more unreadable.

Exhaling shakily, Maryam removed her arms from around him and slid off the bike, her legs unsteady on the gritty concrete.

She stood there for a moment, watching him as he kicked the stand down, turning off the engine. With slightly trembling fingers, she fumbled with the helmet, removing it and shaking her head to loosen her hair.

A few stubborn curls had escaped her carefully pinned-up hair during the ride. She tried to brush them back in place, but they were wild, framing her face in soft, unruly waves.

Her cheeks were flushed from the wind, the faintest sheen of sweat glistening on her skin, but it only made her look more striking.

Despite the smudges of fatigue and tension etched around her eyes, there was a sharp beauty in her features—a hint of vulnerability hidden behind the determination in her gaze.

"How—" she began, her voice still hoarse from the ride. "How do you know where I live?"

He turned to face her, his lower face still hidden behind the bandana, his eyes obscured by those dark sunglasses. "I make it my business to know things," he replied, his tone casual, though there was an underlying weight to his words that set her on edge.

Maryam's frown deepened, her lips pressed into a thin line. "That's not an answer."

"No," he admitted with a slight tilt of his head. "But it's the one you're getting."

Her frustration flickered, and she crossed her arms tightly, struggling to calm her racing heart. "You can't just—"

"You're safe," he cut her off, his voice sharp and final. "That's what matters."

Maryam clenched her jaw, her pride stinging. "I can take care of myself."

He didn't argue, just stood there for a moment, as if sizing her up. Then, without another word, he turned back to the bike, preparing to leave.

"Wait." The word slipped out of her mouth before she could stop herself.

He paused, turning his head just slightly, though he didn't look at her fully. "What?"

She hesitated, feeling the weight of the tension between them. "Why are you doing this?"

There was a long silence before he spoke again. "Because someone has to."

And with that, the engine roared back to life. Before she could react, he sped off into the gloom, vanishing into the shadows as if he'd never been there.

Maryam stood in the dim light of the street, watching the empty space where he had been moments ago.

The cold air stung her face, her mind buzzing with unanswered questions. She shook her head, muttering to herself, "What the hell have I gotten myself into?"

As the engine hummed beneath him, Bruce felt the familiar tension ease slightly from his body.

She reminded him of someone.

Actually, she reminded him of himself.

He could still feel the ghost of her arms around his waist, the way her grip had tightened instinctively when the bike picked up speed.

She hadn't trusted him—he could feel that—but she hadn't had much of a choice, either.

The same way he hadn't had a choice but to intervene.

But why? Why had he stepped in tonight? It wasn't like him to involve himself so deeply, especially not with someone like her. Someone with a past she kept hidden, someone fiercely independent who clearly resented any intrusion.

Bruce's gloved hands tightened on the handlebars as the streets blurred past him.

There was something about Maryam that nagged at him, something he couldn't shake.

She had secrets—just like everyone else in Gotham—but hers felt especially tangled. That bruise on her face? He knew it hadn’t come from a table, no matter how convincingly she tried to spin her story.

And he actually had an idea of how... he just had to watch and analyze the night that he has captured through his contact lents.

He had a sense of how it had happened; all he needed to do was watch and analyze the night captured through his contact lenses.

But it wasn’t just the physical injuries that caught his attention.

He had seen it in her eyes—the quiet pain, the weariness that she tried so hard to mask with that bravado. She was running from something, even if she wouldn't admit it. But what? And why did he care?

Bruce shook his head, focusing on the road ahead. He wasn't supposed to care.

The mission always came first—Gotham came first.

That was the only thing that mattered. Yet, there was something about her—something about Maryam Ben Halimi—that he couldn't quite let go of.

He turned down a narrow street, heading toward the Batcave, the night wrapping around him like an old, familiar cloak.

His thoughts lingered on her words, the fire in her voice when she insisted she didn't need help. He knew that feeling, the instinct to push others away, to rely only on yourself.

He had been doing it for years.

But it was different now. She was different. He wasn't sure why, but he felt drawn to her in a way that made him uneasy. It wasn't just about protecting Gotham this time.

He pulled into the cave, the cool, dark expanse opening up around him. The bike's engine echoed off the stone walls as he came to a stop. He took off his sunglasses and slid the bandana down, revealing the familiar, stoic mask of Bruce Wayne.

But even as he shut down the bike and removed his helmet, he couldn't shake the feeling.

He couldn't shake her.

She had gotten under his skin in ways that made him question his own instincts.

Pacing toward the center of the cave, Bruce's mind kept circling back to her—her sharp words, her defensive stance, and the way her eyes had softened for just a split second when she gave in. Fine. But this doesn't change anything.

Of course, it didn't change anything. It wasn't supposed to. But something had shifted. Maybe not for her, but for him.

He rubbed a hand across his jaw, frustration simmering beneath his calm exterior.

This was why he worked alone.

This was why he kept his distance.

Attachment—any kind—was dangerous.

It clouded judgment, made things messy.

Yet, here he was, thinking about Maryam again, about her bruised face, about the vulnerability she tried to hide beneath her sharp tongue.

Maybe it was because she wasn't afraid of him.

Or maybe it was because, despite everything, she was still standing her ground.

She wasn't running from him.

And she didn't see him as a myth, a legend, or a hero. She seemed to saw him for what he was—a man, flawed and just as tangled in this city's web as everyone else.

Bruce exhaled slowly, his breath heavy in the stillness of the cave. He couldn't afford distractions.

Not now.

Not ever.

But as he stood there, in the familiar shadows, one thought kept gnawing at him:

He wasn't just trying to protect Maryam from Gotham's dangers.

He was trying to protect her from becoming something like him.

Or perhaps it was too late; perhaps, unbeknownst to him, she had already shed the city's sins, leaving her pure and untouchable.

And maybe, just maybe, he was ready to plunge into the depths with her, surrendering to the darkness that beckoned.

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[cherrybombgigi]

Point and shoot - A silly boys drabble

My first ever little drabble I might have low standards because I made myself blush lmao.

I was inspired by that scene in I think in ironman 2? Where Tony let's Natasha have a go at the iron man gauntlet and stands behind her to guide her.

This is actually with my OC Valentine but I don't use her name so it really could be x reader.

Shachi x AFAB!reader x Penguin

Content ⚠️: mention of alcohol, depiction of a gun and a gunshot, use of she/her pronouns but no body depictions. 3rd person.

A warm arm circles her waist as Shachi leans in from behind. She feels the metal of his gun, warmed by his palm trail down her arm as he lifts it up placing the grip in her hand. "Relax baby, let me guide you." Shachi's voice is low, his usual silliness gone for the moment as he guides her by the waist into the correct stance. His warm hand engulfs hers as he helps her aim. "Focus love" this time the voice comes from ahead and as she looks up to meet Penguin's eyes she sees that he has somehow balanced his half finished mimosa on his head. They can't actually mean for her to- "Safety's off, look through the sight and squeeze the trigger baby, I'll help you." A shaky breath makes its way out of her throat as she closes her eyes. Warm reassuring circles find themselves on her hip as she opens her eyes and meets Penguin's heated gaze. "Trust me" Shachi breathes into her neck "and don't close your eyes." Looking away she focused on the glass above condensation running down the side as she squeezed. Glass and orange juice splatter against the wall behind as Penguin breaks into a proud grin. "Good job my love" he says as he makes his way over to them both. Shachi lets out a laugh as he pulls her closer.

[shellysaurus-rex]

no ones sure why he found that funny

[dissvicious]

Osha would look great in a Sora cosplay. Law has good taste, for a nerd anyways, I’ll let him have that

ok it wasn't really a Sora.... Sora cosplay.........

yeah I was lowkey hoping someone would ask me this so thank you for opening the door

[daddiel-ish]

Peng/shachi kid could be a beluga whale or a narwhal

I went for the Beluga suggestion, cause I think there's already a heart that is a narwhal- btw she came out so cuteeeeee She is the ray of sunshine of her moms (and also mine ;;;;;;) <3 <3 She needs a name (don't let me choose cause I suck with names aaaa)

Now I'm thinking about her relationship with Rosie and Acer (I see her being like a tattoo artist -just cause I'm reading some modern au where Shachi is a tattoo artist and they influenced me a bit too much ahahahah)

[ozs-twink-boytoy]

Oswald "Oz" Cobb, the Kingpin of Gotham. Previously only known as the right hand of Carmine Falcone, blah blah, everyone knows that story. He had given up trying to tell it, he had sat down in front of his mother's old typewriter (no way in hell he would trust a fucking computer with the feds all up his ass). So naturally, the next best thing was getting someone else to tell it. He got the contact information from Eve. A freelancer. Some kid from L.A. who had made a name for himself to tell real-life chronicles of different controversial personalities across the country. So yeah, he called the kid to write his memoir.