#this thing just comes back with a bat sometimes

[gatorbites-imagines]

Hello gatorbite, I really liked your imagines with Mark Grayson, could you do an imagine of Mark with a Male Reader who is a vampire?

Mark Grayson x vampire king male reader

Headcanons

Cooking my own headcanons for vampires, how else are they gonna go on cute dates on the beach as the sun goes down?? Ive been listening to abracadabra by Lady Gaga for days, its been keeping me sane.

Mark and the bad bitch he pulled by being a nerd. i had a lot of fun writing this, i would love to write more about these two, or more vampire reader,,,

You guys would first have met after he became a hero, sometime during season 2. Probably before he got Oliver but after his dad left the planet and Mark wanted to fix everything and started working with Cecil.

The GDA knew of your existence of course. You were the first ever vampire, created through horrible magic and rituals against your will. This meant you couldn’t die, even from the sun or a stake or silver.

Every other vampire someone would meet would come from you in some way. Or rather, they were bitten by someone who was bitten by someone, so on and so forth until it reached you, kinda like a disease. The further out you go, the wilder and more animalistic the vampires are.

The few vampires you have bitten and turned yourself are strong and can walk in sunlight, and have other otherworldly powers, but those they bite have weaker powers, etc etc. and all other vampires but you can die. As long as life and death exist, so will you.

How you guys meet can be a mixed bag, but the most plausible is that some rabid vampires have run wild somewhere, and Mark was sent to deal with them since his skin can’t be pierced by their fangs.

The vampires he encounters are naked, human-looking creatures with warped faces, a mouth full of sharp teeth, shark bat-like features and the like. The only thing human about them is their shape.

A nest of vampires has run wild, and as the so called “vampire king”, “vampire well” or even “first vampiric ancestor”, its your duty to take care of it when it gets out of hand.

At this point Mark isn’t at his strongest, so the nest of vampire spawn gain the upper hand. Even with super strength, its hard for Mark since he also doesn’t want to kill at this point, and these technically were humans once.

So, imagine Marks shock, as he’s being overpowered by hundreds of these creatures that are more instinct than sense, when these creatures are sliced in half and turn into dust.

As the vampire king you can teleport all over the planet, you could probably even warp other planets if you focused hard enough. You might have done that once or twice, leading to vampirism spreading to different parts of the universe… but nobody has to know that…

What you wear can be up for debate, do you wear something from the time you died? Something Victorian? Or modern? I can’t imagine you are too involved with the current fashion since time passes so fast for you, so maybe it’s a bit out of fashion. You still look great though.

Maybe it’s having been beaten so hard by the now dead spawn, or maybe it’s just your vampiric influence, but Mark finds himself blushing and breathing a little harder.

The first time you meet doesn’t lead to much other than you taking care of the spawn, apologizing to Mark for causing such a mess and telling him you will take more care of your offspring. Mark just kinda goes “yeah, okay, thanks man…” before passing out.

You end up teleporting mark back to the GDA, or wherever hes being brought, like to the new guardians or whatever. Because obviously none of their protection measures can keep you out. It’s only weaker vampires that need an invitation inside.

They are all pretty damn uncomfortable when you comment about how nice Marks blood smells, because being thousands of years old also means you don’t have any shame in stating the obvious.

You say hello to Immortal before leaving. Of course, you guys know each other, both being immortal and all that. You guys play cards at least once every ten years or so, sometimes more, sometimes less.

This is also why Immortal is the most chill about you showing up, coming and going as you please, and saying Mark smells delicious. You once said he smelled delicious too when you first met, the stronger the person the better their blood and all. Now you guys are friends though, in a way.

After that you guys meet every now and then, mainly because you take his interest and Immortals friendship as an invite to come and go as you please, like a big scary housecat dressed in black.

You also follow him around (stalk him pretty much), and maybe it’s just him secretly loving steamy vampire fanfiction, or some viltrumite instinct, but being hunted is exciting.

You guys finally starting to date would also happen at some random moment when you guys are alone. You would have known about Marks attraction from the very moment you met, but your cold unbeating heart had started warming up around him too.

All his rambling about heroes and fictional stories worked like a charm. The many many questions about vampires and pop culture was cute too. He couldn’t believe that the whole weak to garlic thing started as an inside joke amongst vampires and spread out, when it wasn’t even true.

Mark was positively shocked when the whole pop culture idea that being bitten felt good turned out to be true. Later you would explain it was all about intent and reception. If you wanted it to hurt and he feared you, then it would have hurt. But because he was a little freak who was really into it, then it brought pleasure.

Mark also never thought you would be able to bite through his skin, but you could. Only because of your whole, king of the vampires, first original vampire, deal. Any other vampire wouldn’t be able to bite through vultrumite skin.

Being able to rip through vultrumites will be useful later, and not needing to breathe and being able to fly as well. But that’s for later space adventures.

When the whole thing with Oliver happens, you are of course there to support Mark, but also his family. Cecil also knows not to fuck with you, because its all thanks to you that the dead don’t rise and come for him every single day.

This may mean it doesn’t end as badly as in season 3, or, Mark just has some more support, very powerful support that the GDA knows to fear. Because how is Cecil gonna manipulate the original manipulator? The one strong enough to bewitch the entire planet if he wanted to?

You also have a better time explaining morals and powers to Oliver, since you are still stronger than him at this point, so you can put him in his place when he needs it. Being nonhuman also helps a lot, since Oliver feels his power disconnects him from humanity.

This gives Mark some more room to find himself and settle, and yeah, I feel like him and his family end up moving into wherever you stay. Be it some massive gothic castle in Romania, or a Victorian mansion at the edge of a massive cliff in England, who knows.

Both because its safer, more comfortable, and they get to feel like they don’t always have to look over their shoulder.

You don’t survive the coffin allegations though, since you sleep in a grand one, and have at least 100 different coffins you switch between. Most were gifts from your spawn, or one or two from immortal as “congrats on living another hundred” gift. You gifted him weapons or houses in return.

Mark can’t sleep in the coffins with you, since he hates how claustrophobic it makes him. But he will sleep beside the coffin. You guys keep the lid pushed to the side enough for you to stick a hand out, so you guys can hold hands.

I feel like Oliver would thrive a lot under you and your spawns, since you keep your “children” in line. Being direct descendants of you means they are powerful enough to play and roughhouse with, but also help him train.

Mark trains with you instead, and it regularly ends up with him almost giggling and kicking his feet as you pin him down, barring his neck all “oh please, vampire king, please don’t bite me”.

It takes Debbie a while to settle in, but maybe she meets one of your spawn to gets on with well, or she doesn’t at all. Maybe she just takes the time to heal and find herself when she sees her sons are happy.

You end up getting the shovel talk from her though, which all your direct descendants peek around the corner of the doorway to watch. Somehow you look meek as she points a finger at you and tell you to treat her son right and with respect.

I haven’t read very far in the comics so I cant tell you what happens after this, but Mark will have you by his side when everything goes down, and that might help change it to a more positive outcome.

It might help to have a lover who isn’t held back by his humanity and morals. You are more than willing to turn entire planets into your mindless spawn if it means keeping your dear ones safe. It does lead to a horrible argument and Mark not talking to you for a while, but he forgives you at some point.

Reading his secret fanfic does help with that, even if it means you have to dress like a man from the current era, style your hair and stalk him when he sleeps (as if you don’t already do that).

Being a super ancient and rich vampire also means you can pile gifts on Mark, Oliver and Debbie. Mostly Mark, but you don’t want his kin to be left out. So, Mark gets to live out his nerdy dreams to the extreme.

You’ll remodel a whole part of your house for him if it comes down to it. Your direct spawn will coo at you becoming soft. You let them, for now, but you’ll get your revenge, especially seeing them all tied around the Grayson’s fingers too.

You are so used to dealing with the GDA that it also isn’t hard to keep them at bay, how are they gonna invade a place that’s existed longer than democracy? You will burn the whole place down if you have too. Anything for your nerdy little hero.

[seasprincess]

Spencer Reid x reader. !fluff

Synopsis: a certain agent has picked up on a little chemistry between you and genius

warnings: none

Spencer Reid is a genius. Everyone knows it. With his 187 IQ, ability to read 20,000 words per minute and knowledge on so many subjects.

But they all mean nothing when you’re involved.

He shouldn’t get like this around you. Get all flustered and shy. Tripping over words when his eyes lock with yours. Watching as you bat your eyelashes at him when he goes on one of his rambles. Everyone else wants him to be quiet, but you? You look and listen to him like he's a prophet and you're his die hard follower.

But as Spencer lacks in the relationship department it means he doesn't catch onto the way you flirt with him. The way you smile and laugh a bit too hard at his jokes the rest of the team didn’t even crack a smile for. He’s blind when it comes to all the signs that you like him back.

But the rest of the team isn’t blind to those eyes you give him. For them it’s like watching a cartoon character’s eyes turn into hearts everytime you look at the genius.

But there’s one person on the team who notices these little glances between you too. Notices the way Spencer stares at you. And he’s decided to play cupid.

Ladies man Derek Morgan is sat across from you on the jet. Smirking as he gestures for you to take off the headphones that were blasting some new pop song.

“Yeah?” You say as you look at him, slightly on edge because of the muscular man's smirk. His eyes show that this conversation is going to make you uncomfortable. Thank god the rest of the team are either asleep or distracted doing something else.

“So you and Reid. What's going on?” The agent says as he tilts his head slightly. Of course he’s going to use his detective skills to use and analyse you.

With his words your cheeks heat up like the plane had suddenly just got really warm. You feel warm. A blush spread across your cheeks too. Usually you'd try to play off these reactions. And you're gonna do just that now.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You try to stay calm, try to not show that his words are affecting you. Why is he asking anyway? Has Reid asked about you? Oh god what if he thinks you're weird? What if Morgan tells him?

“You very much do know what I’m talking about.”

You sigh and put your hands over your face, trying to block out the smirking man that’s asking you the question that makes you want to run home and hide your face in a pillow.

“Is it that obvious?” You say as you look over at Spencer who is fast asleep. He's in the fetal position on the sofa. His arm propped under his head as a makeshift pillow. Completely knocked out from the latest case. He looks so calm which is not a usual look. He’s usually moving about or his mind is running at a million miles per hour. Seeing him like this makes your heart clench, he looks so cute and sweet and-oh my god. You've got it bad.

“It’s obvious to everyone but pretty boy.” Derek’s eyes glance to sleeping Spencer. Not looking at him with the same admiration as you.

You groan again as your forehead is placed on the table in front of you. Work strictly bans relationships between two members but there was no way in denying nor moving past the little situationship between you and the smart guy of the team. You could try to hide it but you'd never be able to get over it. Neither would he. You’re both whipped for each other in whatever geeky way that you both can be.

Spencer and you both being geeky when it comes to your interests meant you both like the same things and that you understand some of his references. Heavy on the some, cause sometimes you have no idea what he’s talking about. His references are just a bit too niche for you to grasp.

“Talk to him.” Derek says casually. Like he hasn't asked you to do one of the most stressful things you can think of involving your personal life.

“Absolutely not.” You reply as you say as you sit up straight in the seat. The jet finally coming in to land after what feels like a

“You gotta do it or you’ll regret it.” He doesn’t give you time to fire back before he leaves your gossip spot, presumably heading for the exit. Which is where he’s going. Not before he hits the sleeping boy's knee to wake him up, making your plan of sneaking past him nearly impossible. Derek just flashes you a smirk before exiting.

Sencer rubs his eyes as he slowly sits up, not wanting to move too quickly to avoid feeling dizzy. He glances down at his watch to only realise he had slept practically the whole journey. People walk past him, saying their goodbyes as he says bye too. Not coherent as he's still sleepy. He looks around the jet before his eyes land on you. You were packing up your things, getting ready to go back to your apartment and probably just crash. The case was really hard on all of you. But Spencer knows you struggle to sleep on planes otherwise he knows you would be fast asleep.

“Good nap?” You say with that sweet smile of yours that makes Spencer’s heart just melt. He has completely and utterly fallen for you. He looks at you softly. His brown eyes look at you softly. From your point of view it’s like looking into a deer's eyes. The big brown orbs looking at you with the sweetest look you've ever seen. But of course you’ll brush it off with the fact it’s because he’s just woken up and not because he could possibly like you.

“Oh um, can’t complain. Other than the fact I have more of my book to read now before I can sleep. Again.” Spencer likes to read a certain amount each night. Not that it takes him any significant amount of words per minute. He could do it in about three minutes.

Spencer reaches down to grab his book that had fallen to the ground due to his snooze.

“Hey so, um, I was wondering.” You say quickly before you can take it back and stop yourself. You know you need to get it out before you change your mind.

“Go for it.” He says with a smile. Standing up and looking into your eyes.

And your brain just melts, you can’t help it. You freeze on the spot and suddenly this seems like a really bad idea. It would be too awkward if he rejected you. What if he thought you were weird? Oh god. This is not a good idea.

“It can wait till tomorrow.” You say, covering up the emotions behind the words you wish you could say. “I’ll see you then. Good night.”

Spencer doesn’t get a chance to react before you've left.

And all he can do is wonder what the hell you were gonna say.

And what he wishes he could’ve said to you.

Part 2 soon…

a/n: not proof read😛

@littlelamy

[masonmace]

Hey, so! I haven't snapped any hearts like twigs lately.

Cw: angst.

RINSE. REPEAT.

Imagine Modern Warfare IV. Johnny's dead. Things aren't the same with the task force: they never will be. Simon's been quiet; distant. Gaz is quiet, but tries to fill the silence with jokes. A replacement for the jokester they'd lost. It's just met with grunts that are meant to be laughs.. but aren't true laughs.

It's just not the same.

John's been distant to you, too. Sure, you both had talked things out. You convinced him that he wasn't going to kill you. That it was in his head and that it was nobody's fault.

As if some shit like that would work.

Nobody expects a civilian to understand, though. John gets it.. that you didn't experience it. It's hard to sit day by day with his men when he killed their friend. He may as well've put the gun at Soap's temple. He was daft to make the scotsman wait. So . utterly . daft.

Missions are all the same. Well, they're never consistent, but they're the same. Quiet in the hawk, quiet on the field, quiet on the way home. Get into compounds, get intel, find targets, do whatever bullshit they need to do, etcetera. Get back to base, get hammered. Sometimes Gaz or Ghost will go spend the night with someone. It's all coping mechanisms.

The silence is so, so very loud.

Makarov is one of the biggest reasons why so many of John's men died. He won't stop until the bastard is dead. No matter what. Maybe that's where he went wrong. The bloodlust he carries for Makarov sits on the bloodied throne right next to the guilt. Wedded. Hand in hand ruling the war-filled place in his head.

He just isn't the same.

None of them are.

John's known Simon the longest. Gaz for a good while, too. Roach, too. They're his boys, and he wishes he could put a face on for them. John just cannot force himself to act okay this time.

None of them can.

The mission had happened so, so very fast. Too fast. Way . too . fast. What happens now? Where does he go? It was Gaz. Bullet between the eyes. Snap. Crack. Thud. Sigh. Then the blood was rushing in his ears again and he didn't have the time to even call his name. The mission roared on.

He should have called them off quicker. Told them to take a different route. Maybe if he had told Gaz to go with him instead.

Maybe.

Maybe.

What if.

If he hadn't-

There was a mandatory leave after Gaz' death. John didn't come home to you. There was no way in hell he could have. No, he didn't go home. Instead, he ran straight to the pub. Left when they closed and stayed at a hostel instead.

Rinse

Repeat.

Four days later... middle of the night. That's when he came home. It was three in the morning. The front door open and the stink of booze and a man in desperate need of a shower ran into the room. Your head immediately bounces up off of the couch's armrest.

He's a zombie as he shuffles into the house, toeing his boots off and mumbling a greeting. Even though you're half asleep, you rush up to him. Questioning where he's been, he only groans another response.

"Out." He mumbles. "I was fucking . out." John spits, glaring at you with a few harsh breaths. "Go t'sleep." He shuts down any and all conversation as he trudges down the hall and into the bathroom.

"Jonathon." You call, all groggy and discombobulated. You step into the bathroom, uncaring of the fact that he's stripping. The sight is enough to make anyone's throat dry. "John. Talk to me." You plea.

"I'll talk t'you in the mornin'." He grunts, eyebrows set into a deep furrow and jaw set into a clench.

"Right now." You insist. Eyes batting at him. "Let me shower with you. At least."

You showered earlier, but that doesn't matter to you. It takes quite a bit more convincing before John gives in - a drunken frown on his face as you don't turn the shower on, but draw a bath.

You will die.

The bath is quiet - John prefers it that way. He's already cried enough tears. He's all dried up now. He holds you in his arms most of the time, and manages to allow you to wash him the others.

Rinse.

He doesn't. John doesn't answer questions. Just closes his eyes and allows you to do what it is makes you happy.

Repeat.

The mandatory leave was only a couple weeks. Ghost, Roach, and Jonathon back onto base alongside two new transfers to replace Soap and Gaz. John's less than approving of them, but he does his best to put up and go through with an open mind.

They must kill Makarov. It's the only way to win. Things won't be right until that mother fucker is dead and burned. John has sworn that he will light his goddamn cigar with the same flames that burn that bastard alive. Swears it.

That's how it was supposed to go.

The ride to the compound was grim. But John was determined. He made sure to make very clear communication between everyone. Before they'd left, he'd hugged Ghost. It sure had been out of character, but he felt the need. He did the same to Roach.

Why must everything go to shit?

Ghost had gotten out of the building in time. But Roach's comms were finicky. He didn't hear his Captain shouting. The comms broke out, and Ghost went head first back into the crumbling building. The groan of concrete was loud. The world rushed around him and he was frozen there in time. 23:34.

Rinse.

The sound of the building crashing around him wasn't as loud as his own heartbeat. He was too late. 00:12. Price's hands clawed at the rubble, digging and forcing chunks up. Slipping himself in at the only entrance he found like some brave cave explorer. He slotted himself in and got through the rubble.

Repeat.

Price called out their names. Simon. Gary. Over and over. When he found Roach, he was already dead. John sat and tried to resuscitate. It didn't go over as planned.

He should have gotten Gary a new comm.

He didn't leave Roach there. He brought the limp body back to the surface and dove right back it. Simon was alive when he found him. His lieutenant. His breathing shook, and he fought and fought. "I've got you, son." His voice broke under the weight. Coughing from the dust. "I'm comin' to ya." He groans.

Simon's breathing was separated and wheezed; pained. Once the rubble was cleared, he had to tread carefully. A piece of rebar was staked through Ghost's lower abdomen. The blood made John's stomach twist. Not because he couldn't handle blood, but because it was Simon's. The pants coming from Simon made him want to puke.

It should've been him.

The groan of the concrete around them scared John, but he wouldn't leave Ghost here.

"Y'gotta work with me, Si." John breathes, hulking the broader man further and trying to pick him up. To save him. His last soldier. "Please. Please, son." John has to suck his lips together not to cry.

Rinse.

John pulled Simon as close as he could, clutching at him. Hauling him closer. Simon tried to fight it when Price moved to lift him, forced them both back down with a thud. "Leave me." Ghost pleas, groaning with the pain. Too many broken bones. His eyes too unfocused and the world spinning. "Let me go to Johnny, Price."

Price tried to argue, tried to drag Simon back up again. The bloke's too goddamn big. "I need a hand!" John hollers. He fights with his voice not to crack. His hands clutch for his mic. "Laswell! I need evac now." John spits, the mics cracking. His voice broken and wheezed. His face screwing up and the sob he sobbed unmatched by another. He saw the exact second Simon's eyes rolled, head lolling to the side right after. He's dead.

Repeat.

[too-much-tma-stuff]

Years Later

Previous | Masterpost

It had been almost three years since Danny and his twin brother Damian had come to live with their father and Danny thought that they had both done pretty well for themselves. Damian had settled in, bonded with the family, stopped trying to kill their siblings, and made friends with Superman’s youngest son. He still had a very hard time relating to civilians, but everyone had their issues, right?

While their father had been missing for a while they’re all had to step up, and their eldest brother Dick had become Batman and finally made Damian the new Robin. It wasn’t how they had expected that to happen, but even through the grief of losing their father both Damian and Danyal had been happy he got the roll. Dick being Batman had been temporary because both Tim and Danny had been sure Bruce was still alive, and with both of them they’d managed to convince others and free Bruce from the time stream.

When Bruce had recovered and was ready to become Batman again Damian had remained Robin and Tim had gone on to be his own hero, Dick returning to being Nightwing. Damian was happy to work with their father again, training and bonding as heroes. He was good at it too, even if his methods were a bit more violent then Batman would have liked, they were working on that.

As for Danny, he had never joined the night life properly. His siblings teased him about it a little, but Bruce had nearly cried for joy when Danny had been firm in that regard even if he couldn’t escape it entirely, being surround by it as he was, he could refuse to put on a mask. He still wanted to help keep his family safe, so he worked with Tim and Bruce on manufacturing the bat’s gear, and learned how to hack and program with Babs. He ended up an engineer and a ‘guy in the chair’ for his family while they went out to fight crime.

It was calmer, and more fun for him, not to mention less exhausting which allowed him to focus on being as much of a ‘normal kid’ as he could be. He joined more clubs then Damian, and made some civilian friends! Including Sam Manson, who had rich parents who were uncomfortable happy with their daughter hanging out with a Wayne, and Tucker who was at the private school on a scholarship because of his engineering prowess. They were good friends, and Danny was happy to have them despite Sam’s weird family, who he tried to avoid.

It was all going pretty well, except for one thing, the experiments on the Lazarus water. He had started working on it with Tim and Bruce, but been right that Bruce would hold them back, and it meant that the experiments were going nowhere. He thought that he probably could have talked Tim into doing some of the more out there things he wanted but then Tim left, and Bruce was still keeping track of what Danny was doing leaving him unable to work without fighting against his father every step of the way. His brother too, because he had been right that Damian would be loyal to Bruce once their father earned it.

Danny had theories, and charts, and things he wanted to try. But they all came from hunches and dreams which just weren’t enough proof for The Batman even though this was at least half magic and that was half instinct. Danny was nowhere near where he wanted to be at this point, and could not even manufacture his own substitute.

It hadn’t been an imminent problem until the League of Shadows finally realized neither Danny nor Damian had any plans of returning and started trying to claw them back. Talia still sent Danny bottles of Lazarus water sometimes, but it seemed like she was having to smuggle it out which meant he was getting significantly less. There were the clones too. The lack of Lazarus water seemed to be how they were trying to flush Danny out and force him to return, and the clones were being sent to drag Damian back as well.

So far there hadn’t been any clones of Danny, but he was keeping an eye out just in case. The lack of water wasn’t an immediate threat since he had some stockpiled but he was very worried, and if he didn’t figure it out soon it would turn into a problem. He wouldn’t be able to run tests anymore if he was having to save all of it, and if he couldn’t run he wouldn’t find out how to manufacture it. It would end the same way, with him having to return to the League of Shadows or try and steal more water himself which would just end in the same dilemma when he ran out again.

He could try to convince Bruce again in light of this, but they’d had multiple talks about this over the years and though the dependence on the league was becoming a bigger issue Danny wasn’t sure that would matter. Bruce’s world view was uncomfortably black and white. Besides he had bigger long-term plans.

It wasn’t just to recreate it, yes that was the initial goal but that wasn’t going to be where his experimentation ended and he knew it. He knew in his bones that once purified the waters could be used for so much more then just healing the sickly and killing the healthy. The raw energy in them was meant to be so much more! And then there were the dreams, which had never stopped and had only been getting more vivid and insistent as time went on.

More then just a voice calling him now, they showed him things. They showed him an ancient war that had torn holes in reality, an ancient king of blood and magic who had done much harm. And again and again the glowing green portal that he knew he had to build! He had never cared much for destiny, but he couldn’t just ignore this, especially when he could feel the pain of the ancient being who called to him. Just another secret to keep from his family because he didn’t want them to interfere.

It would be easier to do what he needed to do without adult supervision, and he had some ideas about how to go about it. He needed space first, and equipment. Money could get all of that, but how much could he steal without father noticing? He had already started of course, skimming a bit here and a bit there off the top and stashing it away, but the way that was going it would be far to long before he had enough money for everything he needed.

There was another thing that worried Danny too, that he’d seen during his time as ‘the guy in the chair’. The new player in Crime Alley, that Bruce was… worried about, but not hugely yet, he was just getting established after all. The problem was, he was incredibly violent, and his techniques reeked of the league, and of something more. Danny had the uncomfortable feeling he knew exactly who it was beneath the red hood, another secret that he’d kept coming back to bite him. But everything in him still rejected the idea of just coming out and telling all his secrets. Knowledge was power after all, and maybe he could still use this as well.

In fact, he was sure that he could use it. He just had to play the game right, and this might turn out to be exactly what he needed.

 It had been easy to steal some of the other bat’s gear, just a mask, and a few weapons just in case. Easier still to sneak out on a night when they were already out on patrol and head to crime alley with put being spotted. They rarely patrolled there anyway, not that there wasn’t crime there, but because all of it was so integrated in gangs and organized crime there wasn’t time for the little fish and trying usually just lead to more trouble. He would have heard if there was a planned strike because it would have been all hands on deck.

So he put on the mask, and the symbol of the bat, and simply wandered into the territory of the Red Hood. He grappled to an inaccessible roof where he wouldn’t be easy prey for petty thugs and simply waited knowing that Red Hood would find him. It wasn’t long before he heard the thump of someone much heavier landing on the roof behind him and turned to see a familiar hulking man. Danny felt his breath catch in his throat with the chill and he breathed carefully through the odd sense of Pit being nearby that he hadn’t felt since leaving the league confirming his suspicions.

“Well well, you’re a long way from the roost aren’t you birdy? And all on your own?” Red Hood asked, a modulator disguised the sound of his voice, but not really his patterns, Danny smiled and rocked back on his heels.

“All by my lonesome. Because I wanted to talk to you, I recognize league training when I see it. Did they send you?” He asked cocking his head to the side. He refused to tense up or act like he was intimidated or afraid, that would only make him seem like prey and wouldn’t do any good. He was here now, and wasn’t sure he could beat Jason so if the other did attack… well Danny would just have to lay in the grave he’d dug for himself.

“No,” Jason snarled, his fingers twitching around the gun in his hand as he stepped forward. “I don’t work for those fuckers. But they told me, they told me what Bruce did, and how quickly he replaced the last robin with another blue eyes black haired boy. Are you the next one in the chain? He needs to pay for the way he treats those kids.”

“Ah so they cocked you like a gun and pointed you in our direction,” Danny said with a sigh. “No, I’m not the next robin, and that’s not why I’m here. I’m here because I have a deal to offer you, Jason.”

Jason snarled and moved quickly, before Danny could blink the gun was pointed straight at his head. “What sort of deal Brat? Because if you’re planning on blackmailing me what’s stopping me from just shooting you? You won’t be able to tell anyone then.”

“I don’t think you’d shoot a child Jason,” Danny said softly. “But no, I mean, not telling Bruce is part of the deal but I have more to offer then that. There are experiments I want to do, things I want to find out that father will not let me. I need a space and equipment for a lab. In return, I won’t tell anyone your secret identity and I can get you access to Bat tech, and build some new things for you. I’ve been building and adding to bat tech for years, without the Batman’s strict morals holding me back I bet I can build you some… interesting weapons.”

There was a long moment of silence between the two of them before Jason threw his head back and laughed, lowering his weapon. “Well I want to get back at Bruce, and I think enabling another one of his kids to turn against him is an excellent start.”

Danny relaxed and grinned as well, he wasn’t actually planning on turning against his father or siblings but he didn’t feel like arguing about it. Especially when they probably would see this as a betrayal. As if they hadn’t all kept secrets. As if Tim still hadn’t told Damian or Bruce about the Legue of Shadows bases he had blown up and all the people he’d killed while searching for Bruce. Not that Danny was going to out his brother of course.

“I’ve been clearing out any gangs that use kids from the Lanes,” Jason said, his posture relaxed now. “They left plenty of empty warehouses, you can have one of those for your lab. I can get you a decent amount of equipment taken from mad scientist and drug rings I’ve busted but I’m not getting you a fucking grocery list. Anything you want that’s missing you’ll have to get yourself,” Jason said, pointing at Danny.

“I wasn’t expecting you to play nursemaid. Anything you can’t get I can get a hold of myself. I still have access to Bruce’s bank account and he’s used to me regularly making orders of mechanical parts and scientific instruments for the work I do for him. I can get what I need.”

“Good, I know you’re a kid, but I’m not holding your hand,” Jason sneered.

Danny laughed and shook his head; “You should know that none of us Batman take in are kidsin any way that matters. Dick had already been out fighting crime for four years by the time he was my age. I’m no different, I was raised in the league even before moving in with dad. If you tried to hold my hand, I’d cut it off.”

“Feisty,” Jason said in a tone of approval. “Meet me at the docks same time next week. I’ll have gotten what I can for you by then, you can set it up on your own.”

“I can handle it. I’ll build you something to start, but after that I won’t be keeping a schedule. You can make requests if there are things you need but I have a lot of work to do,” He said before he rolled off the roof backwards and slowed his fall enough to get the grapple out and swing away.

To his disappointment his powers hadn’t really grown as he did, so slowing himself was still the best he could do. Just lessen gravity’s effects on him a bit, density shift his limbs for a few seconds but not longer, and not his whole body, blend into shadows but not disappear. He was stronger, faster, and a little more sensitive then the average person, but that was all which was both annoying, and confusing because the voice in his dreams promised him he could be so much more.

He was home that night before his brother and father, and he had a proper fucking plan! He was going to have a lab, a secret place that he could do what he needed to do free of restrictions. He would need a secret identity of his own, a suit that would hide him fully so not even Damian would be able to recognize. A full helmet and a vocal distorter like Jason had, maybe one that sort of matched though he’d have to run that by Jason. So much for not putting on a mask he supposed, though he wasn’t exactly planning to be a hero.

 He couldn’t wait!

---------

It was easy to ask Sam to act as a cover for if Danny was caught out of the house. He would get in trouble for sneaking out to stay the night with a girl of course, but that was much better than his lab being found. She was happy to enable his rebellion though he hadn’t told her the entire truth about what he would be doing, just asked that is his family called she would say he was with her.

He spent his down time in that week using scrap from the cave to build his helmet and since he was always tinkering with one thing or another no one really noticed. He left cosmetic details for later so he could ask about making it match with Red Hood’s a little bit. For now, he kept it black for the most part. He’d need a suit too. Black, white, and red sounded good, he could easily get the black and red material since it was used in Batman’s and Robin’s suits, the white would be something he’d have to make himself.

With that in mind he started working on his suit as well. He was going to be essentially a villain for now, he might as well lean into the aesthetics of it and have some fun right? He wasn’t planning on hurting anyone or being ‘evil’ but he was going against Batman and teaming up with Red Hood so he knew how that would look. He didn’t know fully what he wanted it to look like, but he knew that he wanted claws so he started with that and after a few sketches he had a design.

All of the vital areas of his body were clothed in black, a vest tunic that went down to mid thigh with a red wrap belt to keep it from flapping around too much. The long sleeved shirt underneath was white, going down over his hands in tight gloves tipped with red claws like they were stained with old blood. Each arm was wrapped elbow to wrist, and around the palm with black bandages of thick material that made them nearly gauntlets. The pants underneath were loose and white, stuffed and secured into black boots with thick durable tread and laces in red.

The helmet was black as well, with red eyes and white detailing along the seems and forming a sort of mouth. It would do for now, he could always change it later but he wanted to have this done by the time he started working on his lab so there was a pretty tight deadline. He was still putting the finishing touches on it the day before he went to see Red Hood again, on a weekend night of course, the bats would be busy and everyone could sleep in in the morning.

He fully suited up with tools tucked into his belt and his weapons strapped to his back and snuck out the window not long after the bats flew the roost, making his way quickly to the Alley and down to the docks. Landing on one of the taller roofs he pulled out a pair of small binoculars equipped with night vision and thermo sensors and scanned the area, quickly spotting Jason and a few, what looked like workmen, bringing boxes into the warehouse. Just in case it was a trap Danny waited for them to leave, and once Jason was alone dropped down and slid into the warehouse.

There were tables set up around and boxes on the floor, the lights were on which was good, he’d need electricity. And there was Red Hood, standing in the middle of the warehouse with his arms crossed, his posture tense and impatient. He turned and looked Danny up and down, letting out a distorted chuckle. “You really committed to the bit huh?” He asked, amusement coming through the distortion.

“Well I’m going to be doing this, I might as well. The last thing I want it to be recognized coming in and out, or caught by any of the bats or birds,” He hummed, reaching up to turn off his own vocal distortion which made his voice sound like ghostly whispers. “By the way, I am trained to fight and I practice daily. If you need backup call me. I won’t hurt father or our siblings, but if anything is compromising our deal or my lab I’ll defend it.” He started to open boxes, seeing what equipment Jason had found for him.

“They’re not my siblings,” Jason snarled, his fingers twitching on his crossed arms.

“As you say,” Danny said blandly, rolling his eyes under his mask. “I should warn you as well that I’m going to be working with Lazarus water here.”

“What?!” Jason practically roared. “You’re going to be bringing Lazarus water HERE?!”

Danny dodged on instinct, and was almost surprised when he found Jason hadn’t tried to shoot him. “Yes. I know what the league uses it for, but it clearly has a lot of untapped potential. I think if I can purify it and harness it right I can use it for something Good. I know you’ve had a bad experience with it, I have too,” Danny said, turning back towards Jason with his hands on his hips.

“I died too, when I was eight and they dunked me in the stuff as well. I saw what you were like after they pulled you out, I know why you’re afraid of it. But I know what it’s like and I swear that is Not what I will be using it for. And I’m not doing it for the league either, I don’t want any of this research getting back to them. I have my own motivations, and that includes healing the lasting effects the Pit had on me, hopefully I can heal you as well. I’m not making any promises since I haven’t even started yet, but I might.”

Jason took deep, slow breaths and even through the eyeholes of the mask Danny could see Jason’s eyes were glowing green with familiar maddening rage. “Fine,” Jason growled and stocked out of the building.

Danny let him go. Jason clearly needed time to cool off, but Danny hoped he would come back before he had to leave so that they could talk more about check ins and how to contact each other. If he didn’t it wasn’t the end of the world. Danny would be coming back regularly and didn’t need permission to do so. Jason would know where to find Danny when he was ready to talk about whatever.

Danny pulled a trip wire and a few bombs and batteries out of his pouches and set up a first perimeter with alerts and a second one with traps. Once he felt more secure in his space Danny started to empty the boxes and set up the burners, beakers, distillers and the other equipment Jason had managed to get for him. Danny was surprised and pleased to find a generator as well! This way if he needed extra power he had a way to get it without raising any flags.

It took him a few hours to get everything set up and make a list of the things he still needed, which was mostly more advanced and sensitive. He muttered to himself as he checked over the building knowing the rudimentary security he’d set up was Barely enough for a regular lab, he’d need much more substantial protections for this. Probably a fail safe to destroy the research if someone unauthorized gets in as well. Despite wanting to rush there was no way he could start working with the Lazarus water for at least a month, till then he could tinker with weapons between deliveries of equipment and other things to do.

He didn’t see Jason again before he headed home, but he wanted to be there a bit before he knew dad and Damian would to avoid running into them. He stripped off his costume leaving him in the white pants and a tank top before carefully climbed back through the window to his bedroom. He knew the placements of the cameras like the back of his hand and was sure he could sneak in and out without being seen but just in case he’d rather be spotted in civilian clothes. He wasn’t a known yet and he wanted to stay off his family’s radar as long as possible. Especially because despite having a costume he hadn’t thought of a name yet!

He could always just wait and see what his family started calling him when they eventually became aware of his… rogue persona, and go with that but they didn’t always have the best taste. With his assassin training and his abilities, he thought that it would make sense to have some sort of name referencing a ghost. He didn’t want one that was too obvious though so it was probably time to do a little bit of research to find a ghost that would suit him. Maybe on a school computer so it couldn’t be easily traced back to him.

He should ask Sam too, she was really into this spooky stuff so she’d enjoy helping him pick a name. He wouldn’t be fully honest about what he was looking for, just that he was researching different ghosts, she’d be happy with that. She might put two and two together once his ‘rogue persona’ became known, but as long as he didn’t hurt anyone he thought she’d be on board. He just didn’t plan to tell them till he had to, one less potential avenue for exposure.

There were a lot of things he hadn’t told her or Tucker, that was the problem with having a family like his, whether he was involved or not any relationship had to be built on lies. He couldn’t tell them about being raised in a cult of assassins, about being heir the Demon Head and the Batman, he couldn’t tell them about his family’s hero work. What was one more secret on top of all the ones he and the family were already keeping?

[blank-potato]

I Hate Your Stupid Face

Summary:

“That arrogant, smug, scarf-wearing-” "All he did was ask for extra caramel syrup," Scott comments as he sweeps. "It wasn't what he said, it's how he said it. Like I was beneath him. Not to mention the countless other times he's waltzed in here with a superiority complex the size of California." - Stiles is a barista, and Isaac is a vet. They hate each other.

A/N:

The title is from I Hate Your Stupid Face by Kaden MacKay because it felt very Stisaac to me. Also, Stisaac is the main ship with a tiny bit of background Scira because I love them. Enjoy!

☕︎☕︎☕︎

"I hate him."

"You don't even know him."

Stiles sighed. He liked this job and was damn good at it. With his quick wit, infectious energy, and overall "puppy-like" charm (Kira's words, not his), he was a natural.

He balanced the line between lovable scamp and sarcastic asshole very well, and everyone seemed to appreciate it. Well, everyone except him.

“That arrogant, smug, scarf-wearing-”

"All he did was ask for extra caramel syrup," Scott comments as he sweeps.

"It wasn't what he said, it's how he said it. Like I was beneath him. Not to mention the countless other times he's waltzed in here with a superiority complex the size of California."

By other times, Stiles meant the way the guy always had a snide remark or a condescending question. He wondered why the guy kept coming back if he hated the coffee so damn much. There are about 4 coffee joints in this area but this particular idiot keeps walking into his particular shop. It was driving him beyond crazy and no matter how hard he tried to stay focused on work, his mind kept drifting to a blue-eyed brunette with a penchant for being rude to him. Without fail, he'd come in after the morning rush like a bat out of hell, order some sugary monstrosity, and leave but not before picking some sort of fight with Stiles.

Stiles thought back to when he first saw him. Curly brown hair and a scarf, but at that point it was appropriate for the middle of winter so Stiles couldn’t protest. His cheeks were tinted red from the biting cold, and he looked almost endearing with how he tried to warm his hands by rubbing them together. But then he opened his mouth.

“Mocha frappuccino, triple shot, extra whip.”

“Sweet tooth?”

“I didn’t realize I ordered snark with my coffee,” Isaac mutters as he slings his bag over one shoulder, barely sparing Stiles a glance.

Stiles can’t believe it. He wasn’t even being snarky (for once). It’s one thing to insult him, but to do it without even looking at him? Rude.

“On the house for customers as charming as yourself,” Stiles deadpans, punching in the order, “Name?”

“Isaac.”

Isaac replies then goes back to idly tapping on his phone while Stiles gets to work. The café hums with the low murmur of conversation and the whir of the espresso machine as Stiles prepares the drink—triple shot, extra whip, just as ordered. He slides the cup across the counter with a saccharine smile.

Isaac takes one sip and pauses. “Is this nutmeg?”

“That’s what you asked for,” Stiles replies, unbothered. “Our house blend comes with a dash of cinnamon, a hint of nutmeg—”

Isaac sets the cup down with an audible thud. “Yeah, no. Make it again.”

Stiles exhales through his nose. He could argue. He wants to argue. But technically, customer service dictates he keeps his mouth shut. Barely.

Wordlessly, he remakes the drink, his movements precise, deliberate but aggressive. Mixing, pouring, topping it with an exaggerated swirl of whipped cream before sliding it back to Isaac with a pointed grin.

“Your coffee, Isaac.”

Then Isaac’s gaze dropped to the side of the cup, where his name was written in bold black ink.

“You spelt my name wrong.”

“I know,” Stiles said with an evil little smile.

From then on, it was an unspoken war between the two, both worryingly determined to ruin each other’s day. Sometimes Isaac would repeatedly change his order, only to ultimately decide on nothing, while Stiles, in retaliation, stooped so low as to serve him nothing but a cup of boiling water.

Stiles could remember it as if it were yesterday. The sense of satisfaction when he handed over the cup and said, "Have a nice day." Scott had told him he was smiling like the Grinch that day. It was one of his favourite victories over Isaac so far, in what had otherwise been an intense draw for most of their verbal sparring matches. Just as he began to replay it all in his head, his spiral was abruptly interrupted.

"Stiles?"

His head snapped towards Scott who had been calling his name for almost a minute.

"You fell into some sort of trance.”

“I can’t help it…”

Stiles started playing with a straw, furrowing his brows in pure concentration. By this point, the shop was desolate, with just a few patrons lingering over some cake, which left Stiles free to pace about like a restless lunatic.

"It’s just Isaac," he muttered, his name sounding like an evil spell on his tongue. A crackle of thunder rang out as the rain poured onto the streets.

"What the hell is his problem?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Scott replied, glancing up at Stiles’s unimpressed and thoroughly pissed-off face but at least he’d stopped moving.

“Seriously dude. You’ll be having a totally normal day then he shows up and you turn into a…maniac.”

“How sweet.”

Stiles thought maniac was more than a mild exaggeration. He couldn’t possibly be that bad.

“Stiles. I mean this with the best of intentions but you need to sort this out. Whatever this is, it isn’t healthy. You need to put this energy into something productive or at the very least positive.”

Stiles sighs tossing his straw towards the bin but missing. As he goes to throw it away he looks over at Scott and realises he’s already put on his jacket.

“You alright to lock up on your own? Kira and I are going out to dinner.”

“Of course, what are best friends for?” he says with a teasing smile, though the hint of sarcasm in his voice doesn’t escape him. Between work and the endless cycle of binge-watching shows, there was nothing and no one he was rushing home to every night so locking up was no problem at all. Scott stops at the door and looks over with a cheeky smile, “Maybe you should put your energy into finding someone.”

“Haha very funny,” Stiles says deadpan throwing an empty cup at him that Scott skillfully dodges because of course he does.

“Just think about it,” he says as he heads towards the door and Stiles is just happy he didn’t push him on it. Who needed a relationship? He considered himself the type of guy who was prone to hopelessly and recklessly pining over someone or hopelessly and recklessly hating someone and that sort of thing takes up a lot of time.

After Scott leaves in favour of his social life, Stiles starts closing up shop. Not that he minded, he actually liked this job, remember? His sarcasm was liked by the staff, which was a fun change from his previous job where his sense of humour wasn't shared. The customers for the most part were nice or at least too busy to give him any lip. Everything about his job was (almost) perfect so how could he complain?

Snapping out of his thoughts he stepped out into the rain in a dimly lit alleyway as he locked the door behind him. And cursed his brain but he noted that it seemed like the perfect place for a mugging. He felt particularly jumpy after reading about recent crime reports, and knowing that muggings had been on the rise in the neighbourhood only made it worse.

Bark.

Stiles screams, nearly jumping out of his skin and regrets not having his baseball bat.

Bark.

His heart rate began to settle. It must be his imagination, he thought. The late nights and copious amounts of coffee must've messed him up.

Bark!

Now Stiles definitely heard that. He spotted a little bundle of grey fur in a box, shivering and letting out a pitiful whimper. He glanced around the area and saw no note and no sign of anyone nearby. The dog yipped and barked up at him and Stiles felt his heart melt. How could anyone leave such an adorable puppy out in the cold?

"Hey, hey, there ya go," he murmured, gently scooping the puppy into his arms, running his fingers through its soft, wet fur. He hurried to his bicycle, carefully wrapping the little pup in his jacket to keep it warm and placing it in the basket. He takes out his phone wiping away the rain from the screen as he tries to find a vet nearby. The sigh of relief he let out when he saw one just a 2-minute bike ride away was a big one. So making haste, he raced off into the night hoping he’d get there before the place closed.

☕︎☕︎☕︎

He arrives at the door with just a minute to spare. The lights were still on and he could see a figure moving in the background through the windows. He picks up the puppy carefully and places it in his jacket, hoping to keep it warm. The door jingles softly as he opens it, and he steps forward, his eyes on the ground.

Before he can even speak, he hears a familiar voice.

"Sorry, but we're closed. You can come back tomorrow—"

"Are you sure there's nothing you can—?" he begins, but his words get caught in his throat.

It didn't register immediately, but then it hit him.

Time seems to slow as Stiles looks up, and there, standing before him is the face that’s been on his mind all week, all month and if his antics persisted, all year.

"Isaac."

"Oh, coffee shop guy."

Isaac's lips formed a small smirk, and Stiles had to admit he looked fine. Just fine, because any more than that and his pride might take a hit.

“It’s Stiles.”

“Well Stiles as I just said we’re closed so you can take yourself and just—"

A bark interrupted him, coming from inside Stiles’s coat.

"Is there a dog inside your coat?" Isaac says in disbelief.

"...Maybe."

A brief pause hung between them as the puppy yipped for more attention. Stiles was almost grateful for it, the absurdity of the situation would give him something to laugh about later when he was alone.

"Fine. Come to the back, I'm feeling generous," Isaac said, leading him inside.

“I feel honoured.”

"I'm doing this for the dog, not for you," Isaac snaps, his voice sharp, the emphasis on "you" dripping with contempt.

Stiles placed the puppy on the examination table, watching as Isaac carefully looked over the little creature. Isaac's soft hands moved gently, and the puppy leaned into his touch.

Then, Isaac smiled. It was a genuine one and that caught Stiles off guard.

“He’s yours?”

“No. Well… I found him.”

“Found?”

“Outside the coffee shop, left in a box in the rain. I couldn’t just leave him there so…” Stiles says before trailing off.

“I see. Well I'll check him over and see about getting him adopted or—"

And Stiles swears in that moment the puppy looked at him, his pleading eyes, the way his little tail swooshed and wagged back and forth. He was perfect and he knew he had to keep him. It was fate.

"I wanna keep him."

The words flew out of Stiles's mouth before he could stop them, his filter apparently out of commission.

"Keeping a dog is a big responsibility," Isaac cautioned, his tone firm.

"I'm responsible," Stiles shot back, gritting his teeth. He could practically feel Isaac’s judgment from miles away, a weight pressing down on him as his frustration simmered.

"Right..." Isaac replied, his scepticism unmistakable.

Stiles squared his shoulders. "Going home with me would be better than going to the shelter, so I’ll take him."

Isaac shrugged, his expression unreadable. "If you say so… but he’s a malamute, so he’s gonna get pretty big."

"I don’t mind," Stiles replied, his voice more resolute than he felt.

Stiles watched as Isaac carefully examined the dog, his hands moving with a surprising gentleness. Each touch seemed to have a calming effect, the dog visibly relaxing as if Isaac’s hands held some kind of quiet magic, soothing away the fear and uncertainty with every careful motion. For a moment, Stiles wondered if Isaac knew just how good he was at this.

"You’ll have to bring him back to get neutered and for his shots," Isaac added, his tone still all business.

"Of course," Stiles responded quickly, nodding. He hoped his voice sounded more confident than he felt, trying not to focus on the weight of the responsibility he’d just taken on.

☕︎☕︎☕︎

He goes back outside, and somehow the rain has managed to get even worse. The wind picks up, whipping through the streets and lashing against his skin like needles. There was no way he was cycling home.

“Shit,” Stiles mutters under his breath, squinting at his phone in a futile attempt to find an Uber amidst the downpour. Just as he’s about to give up, he hears the door open again behind him. The wind picks up, howling around him and soaking him to the bone and Isaac takes notice.

Isaac hesitated before speaking. "I can give you a ride." Stiles looked back at him incredulously. "I'm not a complete asshole," Isaac added, noticing the look. Stiles was still staring at him as if he were half lizard. Isaac sighed, wrapping his scarf around his neck. “And I’m doing it for the dog. Don’t want the little guy to freeze in that sad excuse of a bike.”

“Asshole.”

“Is that a no?” Isaac says with a quirk of his eyebrow. He had the high ground and they both knew it.

Stiles hesitated, but after a moment, hearing the dog panting and barking, he nodded and accepted the offer. “Fine. Just this once.” A reluctant smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he watched Isaac’s expression shift to one of triumph.

He’s about to load up his bike before forgetting the fact that he’s holding a dog.

“Hold him for a second?” he asks, placing the puppy into Isaac’s arms because if it wasn’t clear enough to Isaac, he wasn’t taking no for an answer. He attaches the bike to the back before climbing into the front seat.

As he looks to his side, he sees Isaac being attacked by the dog’s playful licks, a genuine smile breaking across his face. It’s not his usual evil smirk or that annoying shit-eating grin; it’s a soft, warm smile that makes Stiles feel his heart melt for a second time that night. At least until the memories of Isaac and all the feelings associated with him rush back in, solidifying his heart in an instant.

Isaac hands the puppy back to him, clearing his throat as he does so. He had let the mask slip and he didn’t plan on doing that again.

The car ride is mostly silent, punctuated only by the occasional barking of the dog in the back (the only one truly comfortable there) and the sound of the rain lashing against the windows. Then again, that all paled compared to the sound of his heart rattling in his chest.

“So…you do this for everyone that stops by your clinic?”

“Only the pathetic ones,” Isaac retorts almost instantly like he was just waiting for the opportunity to insult him. If he weren’t giving him a ride home, he probably would’ve verbally eviscerated him but he couldn’t afford to be left on the side of the highway in what felt like the rainstorm of the century. They continue down winding roads, Stiles interjecting every once in a while to give directions.

“It’s on the left.”

Looking over at Isaac's face, Stiles found himself memorising every detail, the curve of his nose, the way his brow furrowed when he concentrated. He had never spent this much time with him before. Their interactions typically lasted only five to ten minutes, filled with quick insults and scathing looks. It felt strange just being next to him, devoid of the usual defensive posturing.

Before he could confront these thoughts further, the car pulled up to his apartment building.

“Bring the dog by, and I’ll check to make sure everything’s okay,” Isaac said, turning to him with an earnestness that caught Stiles off guard.

“Yeah, I told you I would. You must really want to see me again,” Stiles replied teasingly, feeling a spark of the old competitive energy rise within him.

“Not on your life,” Isaac shot back, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips, but the glint in his eyes was serious.

☕︎☕︎☕︎

“And now you have a dog,” Kira says, raising her eyebrows. It’s clear she’s confused but supportive.

“A really cute one,” Stiles replies, beaming at her.

“Is this a responsible decision?” she asks, concern etched on her face.

“I’ve had enough of people questioning my responsibility lately,” Stiles replies, a hint of annoyance creeping into his voice. “I’m the most responsible guy I know.”

“Who’s been questioning your responsibility?” Kira presses, crossing her arms.

“Isaac,” he says, seething at the thought of the other guy.

“Isaac?” Kira raises an eyebrow, turning to Scott, who grins.

“Stiles’s archnemesis, the evil scarf guy,” Scott interjects.

“Oh him? Wait, how was he questioning your responsibility? And what does he have to do with the dog?” Kira asks, her curiosity piqued.

Stiles hesitates for a moment, remembering their conversation. “He was the vet that I took Matcha to and he basically said I wouldn’t be able to handle having a dog and that I’m not ready for the commitment. Can you believe it?”

“Now, did he actually say those words, or did you infer that?” Kira asks, raising an eyebrow.

“In my defence, he inferred it very heavily,” Stiles replies, crossing his arms defensively. Just thinking about it had him feeling annoyed again.

“You’re making him sound like a supervillain,” she comments, shaking her head.

“He is!” Stiles insists, frustration bubbling over, “He’s smarmy and smug and he wears scarves in this weather! I’m sweating my ass off, and he’s probably wrapped in one right now like a douche.”

“He’s on your mind then…” Kira observes, a sly smile creeping onto her face. Scott and Kira exchange knowing glances, their amusement evident. “We’re not saying anything…” Kira teases.

“Because I don’t think we have to,” Scott finishes her sentence and Stiles has never felt more betrayed. He knew what they were implying and he didn’t like it one bit.

Just then, the door swings open and the devil himself walks in.

“Evil scarf guy?” Kira whispers, trying to stifle a laugh.

“The evil scarf guy,” Stiles confirms, his eyes narrowing. Isaac strides up to the counter, his hair in an adorable mess, clearly in a rush.

“The usual. I’m in a hurry,” he says, glancing at Stiles, barely paying him any mind.

“What’s the usual?” the barista replies, not looking up from the counter. He refused to dignify him with his full attention if he wouldn’t do the same. Isaac scoffs, crossing his arms. If Stiles wanted to play, Isaac would play too.

“You and I both know you know what I order, so make it for me.”

“I’m sorry but I haven’t a clue what you order.”

“Stiles—”

Stiles? That was new. He wasn’t used to hearing his name on his so-called archnemesis’s lips but it had a nice lilt to it especially when said in his familiar tone.

“Not. A. Clue.”

“I’ve been coming here for about eight months—”

“Congratulations, but I’m afraid I don’t know your usual. Eric? Is that your name?” Stiles shoots back, his voice laced with sarcasm.

“Isaac,” he snaps, biting back a smirk as his expression twists into a deeper frown. He’s only mildly annoyed, but it’s clear Stiles is getting under his skin.

“Right, Isaac. So what would you like to order?” the barista asks with mock politeness.

“I’ll have a mocha frappucino, triple shot, with extra whip and caramel syrup. Make sure you remember it for me. It’s my usual,” Isaac says, leaning on the counter and invading Stiles’s bubble.

“We’ll see,” Stiles mutters, trying to keep his focus as he starts making the order. The air felt lighter as he could feel Isaac’s eyes following his every move. To get one over on him was a beautiful thing, and the way Isaac’s brows furrowed just slightly in playful annoyance made him cherish it all the more.

“Order for Eri—sorry, Isaac?” Stiles calls out, placing the cup on the counter.

Isaac snatches the cup, inspecting it with a critical eye. His brows knit together in confusion. “These are just random consonants.”

“And…? Goodbye,” Stiles replies as he fights the urge to roll his eyes.

“Don’t think I won’t remember this next time,” Isaac counters.

“I’m looking forward to it.”

Isaac swallows his insults, stepping away from the counter with a huff.

“I don’t think he’s evil scarf guy; I think you’re evil coffee guy,” Scott quips as he restocks the muffin display next to him.

“The evil coffee guy,” Kira corrects with a cheeky grin, her laughter ringing out as Stiles shoots them an annoyed glance before heading into the back room. The spare coffee cups couldn’t tease them, could they?

☕︎☕︎☕︎

The day Stiles had been dreading had arrived. He had to bring in Matcha to get his shots.

He stood outside the vet clinic, hesitant to go in. Sure he could have gone to a different vet but he didn’t want to give in to his fear.

The bell above the door lets out a cheerful jingle as he enters, and Isaac’s head snaps up, his face lighting with a faint smirk.

“You came.”

“Well, you’re my favourite vet…well, actually the only vet I know, but…” Stiles shrugs, trying to play it cool despite the nervous energy radiating off him.

Isaac chuckles dryly. “It’s the thought that counts, I suppose.”

Without missing a beat, Isaac turns on his heel and gestures for Stiles to follow, leading him down the hall to the familiar room. The walls, painted a calming pale blue, do little to settle Stiles’ nerves as Isaac starts gathering supplies.

The door clicks shut behind them, the soft hum of the overhead light filling the silence as Stiles sets Matcha’s carrier on the metal table. Isaac’s practised movements are calm and efficient, but there’s an unmistakable softness in his eyes as he glances at the wide-eyed dog peeking out nervously from the carrier.

“Cute,” Stiles says, smirking as he watches Isaac scratch behind Matcha’s ears.

“My dog, not you. You’re as cute as a gremlin, so…”

“Right back at you,” Isaac shoots back without missing a beat, his lips curling into a teasing grin.

Stiles huffs out a laugh, folding his arms as he leans against the counter. “Well, at least gremlins have personality. Better than being all broody and mysterious like some people I know.”

Isaac arches a brow, leaning slightly closer. “Broody? Mysterious? You’ve been watching me too much, Stiles. Starting to sound like you’ve got a crush.”

“Not on your life,” he replies, relishing the opportunity to throw Isaac’s own words back at him. The look on Isaac’s face is absolutely delicious as he swallows his words, just like he’s had to do so many times before and gets back to the task at hand.

After the appointment, Stiles had walked away with one and only one thing to say about Isaac: he was good at his job. Annoyingly good. The kind of good that made it hard for Stiles to come up with a decent comeback or find a flaw to poke at.

It wasn’t just the steady way Isaac handled Matcha, or how he talked Stiles through every step of the process like it was no big deal. It was the way he smiled afterwards, soft and smug all at once, that stuck with Stiles as he headed out the door.

“Stupid, stupid, annoyingly perfect vet,” Stiles muttered under his breath, glancing down at Matcha, who looked far too content for someone who had just betrayed his human.

Matcha yawned, oblivious, and Stiles sighed. “You’re not supposed to like him more than me.”

☕︎☕︎☕︎

Stiles was bothered, unbelievably bothered, even more bothered than the time Scott went to stay with his dad and left him on read for an entire weekend. It’s been a whole week. A whole week without his snippy remarks or his stupid face or his kinda perfect smile and Stiles was bothered and annoyed and… worried. In all the 8 months he had known him there was never a time where he went more than 3 days without stopping by. Did Stiles weird him out at the vet appointment or did Isaac find some other barista to argue with? The questions were eating him alive. He sighs heavily curling his toes into his blanket as he mindlessly scrolls from channel to channel.

Amidst his anxiety-induced spiral into self-doubt, he hears a knock at his door. He gets up and walks over with a reluctant grumble, expecting nothing more than a delivery or a wrong address. To his surprise, the face that’s been plaguing his thoughts all week stands in front of him, slightly damp from the rain and looking as exasperated as ever.

Before he could fully register the moment or process what was happening, he felt a wave of relief wash over him, grateful that Isaac was okay. It had been a week of silence, and the tension that had built up inside him began to dissipate.

As Isaac starts to ramble, his words spilling out in a rush, Stiles can’t help but focus on how distraught he looks. It was a look he was very unfamiliar with Isaac and he didn’t like it one bit.

“I know you hate me, and I …but I just didn’t have anywhere to go. Fuck, I’m sorry this was a stupid idea-”

“Come in.”

“Really?”

“No, stay outside and freeze to death in your ridiculously thin hoodie,” Stiles quips, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe.

Isaac, clearly too emotionally and physically tired to argue, comes in without another word.

“I’m sorry for just showing up here like this. I never do this kind of stuff I was just…” Isaac paused, struggling to piece together the words in a way that felt comfortable for him. There was just far too much going through his mind, far too much for him to mince his words into coherent sentences. Stiles sees him start to fiddle with the sleeves of his sweater, his demeanour so different from the cocky asshole he had become acquainted with. This Isaac looked tired and scared.

“Um, welcome to Casa Stilinski. Have a seat. We have questionable snacks and mediocre entertainment, but a good time is always guaranteed,” Stiles announces, trying to keep the mood light.

Isaac takes off his jacket shakily, his fingers fumbling with the fabric. “Where can I…?” he starts, glancing around the living room as if unsure where to put it.

“I’ll take that,” Stiles says, stepping forward and reaching for Isaac's hoodie. Their fingers brush against each other, sending an unexpected spark of electricity coursing through him. He quickly pulls back, clearing his throat as he puts the jacket on a hook.

“So, Mario Kart, movie, ice cream, or a one-man play performed by me?” he suggests, a playful grin spreading across his face.

“Don’t you want to know why I showed up here in the middle of the night?” Isaac asks with a half chuckle, keeping his eyes trained on the ground as if the floor had suddenly become the most fascinating thing in the room.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Stiles replies gently, his tone softening. “If you do, I’m here to listen. If not, I’m totally down to perform that play.”

Isaac attempts to stifle a smile at the absurdity of the offer, the corners of his mouth twitching up slightly. “You really think you’re that entertaining?”

“Absolutely,” Stiles retorts, a playful glint in his eyes. “But in all seriousness. Whatever you need, we can figure it out together.”

Isaac looks up, meeting Stiles’s gaze for a moment. The warmth in Stiles’s eyes makes him feel a little more at ease. Isaac pauses to take it all in the closest thing he had to an archnemesis and yet here he was basically offering ice cream and hugs. He lets out a sigh, too exhausted to resist something that sounded so good after the past couple of days he’s had.

“Mario Kart then?”

Stiles smirks, a glimmer of confidence in his expression. “You’re on, Isaac.”

☕︎☕︎☕︎

They sit together, huddled close, surprisingly comfortable as they try to best each other in Mario Kart. The room fills with laughter and the occasional playful nudge, each one timed perfectly to throw the other off when they’re ahead. It feels strangely easy, this camaraderie that neither of them expected.

For all their usual banter and one-upmanship, there’s a rhythm to it now, a balance that feels natural. It’s weird to Stiles but a good weird?

“Cheap shot,” Stiles mutters after Isaac bumps his elbow mid-turn, sending him careening off the track.

“Strategic gameplay,” Isaac counters with a grin, his eyes glinting with victory as the finish line approaches.

Stiles can’t help but laugh, the sound breaking the competitive tension. Yeah, this was starting to feel a lot less like hate. Isaac was sad and that called for a strategic retreat on their little feud, a seize fire if you will.

☕︎☕︎☕︎

They spent another hour talking about life, about nothing, about everything. Meaningless stuff that somehow felt important and eventually landed on each other's names.

“Isaac Lahey,” Stiles repeats, letting the name roll off his tongue like he’s testing it out. “Huh. Not bad. Pretty straightforward. Kinda boring, though.”

Isaac raises an eyebrow, his lips twitching upward. “Boring? Says the guy whose full name is apparently a state secret.”

“Hey,” Stiles shoots back, holding up a finger. “It’s not boring… it’s mysterious. There’s a difference.”

Isaac leans back on the couch, crossing his arms. “Sure there is. But now I’m dying to know. Is it something embarrassing? Like... Stanley? Stephen? Stewart?”

“Not even close,” Stiles says with a smirk, clearly enjoying Isaac’s growing curiosity.

“Guess I’ll just have to figure it out,” Isaac replies, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Stiles snorts. “Good luck with that, Lahey.”

Suddenly barking comes from the other room, and Stiles chuckles. “Oh, we must’ve woken Matcha up.”

The dog yips excitedly and bounds up to Isaac with unrestrained enthusiasm, tail wagging furiously as if it’s just seen his long-lost best friend. Matcha leaps into Isaac’s lap, nudging him with a wet nose and licking at his chin, clearly thrilled to have the attention.

“Hey there, buddy!” Isaac laughs, his earlier tension melting away as he scratches Matcha behind the ears. The pup seems to bask in the affection, wagging his tail even faster, and for a moment, all worries fade into the background.

Stiles watches the scene unfold, feeling a warmth spread in his chest. It’s a simple moment, but seeing Isaac interact with Matcha reminds him just how much he appreciates this guy. “Looks like someone missed you,” he remarks, unable to hide his smile.

“Yeah, well, who wouldn’t miss a face like this?” Isaac replies, grinning as he cradles Matcha in his arms. Stiles scoffs but finds himself thinking about how true that statement was but he catches that egregious thought and pushes it down to a place where he can’t find it.

Matcha eventually falls asleep on Isaac’s lap, his head nestled in the crook of his elbow as he rubbed circles along his fur.

“He looks happy.”

“He sure does, doesn’t he?”

☕︎☕︎☕︎

Isaac is awoken by the sound of clattering dishes and music playing in the distance. Only when he hears humming does he snap back to reality and remember that he’s not in his apartment. The window is facing him, sunlight pouring in from the slightly cracked blinds, painting stripes across the bed. The faint hum of early morning traffic seeps through the glass, mingling with the warm, homey chaos coming from what he assumes is the kitchen.

He blinks a few times, trying to shake off the grogginess, and stumbles into the kitchen. The moment he steps inside, he’s met with the delightful aroma of breakfast cooking. Bacon sizzling in a pan and something sweet baking in the oven. Stiles was cooking up a storm and he looked good doing it much to Isaac’s chagrin.

“I’m making eggs. If you don’t like them scrambled then shit I guess.”

Issac’s hair was messy and ruffled like he fell out of bed during the night and wrestled with a bear. But he looked cute at least Stiles thought so. The thought caught him off guard as his sleep-addled mind continued to fuck with him.

“Bacon?”

“Coming right up.”

Stiles serves him a cup of coffee and slides a plate of deliciousness right in front of him, and Isaac swears he’s never been so hungry. The crispy bacon, eggs, and toast almost seem to glow under the light, and Isaac digs in without hesitation. As he chews, a shift in the air settles between them, and Isaac can feel it. Before the tension can settle too deep, Stiles breaks the silence.

“You can stay here in my spare room if you need to.”

Isaac’s movements still. He pauses mid-bite, the words hanging in the air longer than they should. He looks down at his plate, trying to ignore the heat crawling up his neck. There’s something about the offer, he said it so casually and that makes him feel oddly vulnerable.

“I just mean if you don’t want to be alone tonight, my spare room is open.”

“I know,” Isaac says with a lopsided smile as he stirs his coffee and Stiles feels his heart leap in his chest yet again, betraying him for the umpteenth time.

“I think I’ll be okay but thanks for offering.”

Isaac made his glorious return to the coffee shop the next day, his signature grey scarf wrapped around his neck despite the sweltering heat. The way he wore it looked almost absurd, but something was endearing about how he clung to it like a comfort blanket.

“Back from the dead, I see,” Stiles quipped, leaning against the counter with a smirk.

“Reluctantly,” Isaac replied with a playful eye roll. “Can I have a—?”

“Mocha frappucino, triple shot, with extra whipped cream and caramel syrup,” he says as he passes him the cup.

“Thanks,” he says slowly as if suspicious.

Stiles scoffs, “Don’t look at me like I asked for your firstborn child. You show up at almost the same time every day and order the same thing. Blame yourself for being predictable.”

“Whatever and thanks,” he says as he digs in his pocket looking for a 5-dollar bill.

“Keep it.”

“Stiles, I don’t need your charity,” Isaac grumbles, pity was the last thing he wanted right now.

“It’s not charity, consider it my apology for giving you only boiling water that one time.”

Isaac gasps in horror, “I knew that wasn’t a mistake! You’re pure evil.”

“I’m apologising now, aren’t I?”

“You're lucky this is the closest coffee shop to the vets’ office otherwise I’d be taking my business elsewhere.”

“Oh no, whatever would I do without you?”

They both lean in closer and the closeness felt so natural to the two of them like they had been friends longer than they had been enemies.

“Shut up, Stilinski.”

“You first, Lahey.”

Stiles’s manager clears her throat and he tries to regain some modicum of professionalism.

Isaac nods at him to say goodbye but just before he walks away with it he looks at the cup and stops in his tracks.

“You spelt my name right.”

“Look at that. Miracles do happen.”

Isaac laughed and Stiles had never heard anything so sweet.

☕︎☕︎☕︎

He’s sitting on his couch one night when a knock on his door breaks him away from his thoughts, pulling him back to reality. He opens it to find Isaac standing there, looking more vulnerable than Stiles had ever seen him. His eyes were bloodshot and his skin pale. His lips were dry and bitten, and he had his hands curled tightly into the fabric of his sweater as if he were trying to hold himself together.

Without a word, Stiles ushered him in, feeling a surge of anxiety rush through him. The unspoken weight of the moment hung heavily in the air as Isaac stepped inside, his shoulders slumped and his demeanour withdrawn.

“Hey,” Stiles said softly, closing the door behind them. “What happened?”

Isaac took a moment before answering, his voice barely above a whisper. “He’s gone,” his breaths came out fast and panicked like he couldn’t catch his breath even as he spoke.

“Just take your time.”

“My dad’s gone. He uh… he died today. Heart attack.”

“Isaac, I’m so…I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. He was…he wasn’t the best father.”

Isaac’s words came out disjointed, starting and stopping sentences… unable to organise his thoughts, as if each one was tangled in a web he couldn’t escape.

“He um… and I should miss him, right? But … He wasn’t the same after my mom… and my brother… But he was an abusive asshole but he was still my dad and I don’t know how I’m supposed to just….deal with all of this. Shit, I’m getting overly emotional, aren’t I?”

“There’s nothing you should feel. Grief is weird like that I guess… and you can vent, I’m a barista therefore an exceptionally good listener.”

“I thought people vent to bartenders.”

“Same difference,” Stiles says with a smile, nudging Isaac’s shoulder playfully. They both fell into a comfortable silence, neither looking at the other but content in each other’s presence.

“You lost someone too, I can tell,” Isaac says, breaking the stillness, his tone more serious.

“My mom,” Stiles replies, his voice softening. “She died … I still remember the happy memories. I think about her a lot, especially when I’m cooking. She loved to experiment in the kitchen, and I guess I inherited that from her.”

Isaac smiles softly, the weight of the conversation creating a deeper bond between them. “That’s a nice way to remember her. It sounds like you have some great memories.”

“Yeah, I do,” Stiles replies, warmth flooding his chest at the thought. “It makes me feel like she’s always with me even though she couldn’t be further away.”

Isaac looks at him, his blue eyes sincere. “I get that. It’s like… we carry those people with us in different ways.”

Stiles nods, appreciating Isaac’s insight. “And it’s okay to talk about them, even when it hurts. I get that it might be different for you but… we can talk about it.”

Isaac lets go of a deep breath that was trapped in his lungs and turns to Stiles hoping he doesn’t reject what he’s about to say.

“I’m having him cremated. I know this is weird and borderline insane but would you come with me? I just don’t wanna go alone and there’s no one else.”

“I’ll come with you.”

☕︎☕︎☕︎

Watching his father burn was no easy thing. The sense of relief was overwhelming, almost suffocating, but it wasn’t a simple thing. It was tangled with guilt, with anger, with years of unresolved feelings. The relief felt like it shouldn’t be there like it was wrong, but it was there all the same. He had never thought he’d feel like this, free and trapped at the same time. He had felt like he was carrying a weight for so long, and now it was gone… but it was so complicated, so tricky.

“I’m not sad,” Isaac finally said, his voice steady despite the chaos around them. “I’m kind of… happy. Or at least glad to have this behind me. To know that he’s not coming back, that he can never hurt me again. Is that bad of me to say?”

Stiles, standing beside him, squeezed his hand tightly. The warmth of his grip was reassuring, grounding Isaac in a moment that could easily spiral into something overwhelming. “No, it’s not bad,” Stiles replied softly, his eyes fixed on the flames. “It’s normal. You’re allowed to feel relief, especially after everything.”

They stood in silence, hands intertwined, as the fire crackled and popped. It felt cathartic like it was his first step to letting go of the past.

As the flames began to diminish, leaving only embers glowing softly in the night, Isaac couldn’t help but smile, feeling lighter than he had in a long time. “Thank you for being here with me,” he murmured, gratitude spilling from his heart.

“Always,” Stiles replied, turning to meet Isaac’s gaze. And for the first time in a long time, Isaac didn’t feel alone.

“Wanna get ice cream?” Stiles asked, his eyes lighting up with a playful gleam.

“Is that your solution to everything?” Isaac shot back, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Basically, yeah,” Stiles replied, his enthusiasm infectious.

They made their way to the seaside, the salty breeze tousling their hair as they walked along the shore. With each step, the weight of the past seemed to lift a little more. After grabbing their ice cream, Stiles opted for a double scoop of mint chocolate chip while Isaac settled for a classic vanilla, they headed to the spot where they had decided to scatter the ashes.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting vibrant hues of orange and pink across the sky, Isaac took a deep breath and knelt, gently letting the ashes slip from his fingers. “Bye, Dad,” he whispered, a mix of sadness and relief washing over him as the wind carried his words away.

Stiles knelt beside him, offering quiet support. He placed a hand on Isaac’s back, a comforting presence as they both took in the moment.

As they stood up, the weight of what they had just done began to settle. Stiles turned to Isaac, feeling a rush of gratitude and a sense of closeness that had blossomed between them. “Here,” Stiles said, tossing him a set of keys.

Isaac caught them with a surprised look. “What are—?”

“Keys to my place,” Stiles explained, a grin spreading across his face. “You’re always over here anyway so take them. I trust you not to rob me.”

“Did you have these cut for me?”

Feeling his ears burning red, “Do you want the keys or should I give them to the other vet down the street?”

“No, no…I want them,” Isaac says softly. So softly, it almost felt like Isaac had just stolen the words right out of Stiles’ mouth, the way his voice held a weight that Stiles wasn’t expecting. Isaac had never really spoken like that before. It was something sweet like candy floss or a freshly baked cookie. It created a whole new feeling between them, one neither of them had anticipated, one neither knew how to navigate.

☕︎☕︎☕︎

If you told Stiles Stilinski he’d be sitting on a couch with Isaac, the biggest menace in his life, and a puppy he decided to adopt, he might just keel over and die.

Sitting on the couch, Matcha nuzzled between the two, his small body a comforting warmth against their sides.

“Why’d you become a vet anyway?”

Isaac paused, glancing down at Matcha before replying. “And one day after school, I saw... the dog was hurt. I brought her to the vet and I stayed because I just had to know she’d be okay. By the end of the visit, she was all better and I wanted to be able to do that too, to be able to take away their pain. It’s beautiful.”

Isaac doesn’t notice it, but Stiles is looking at him in awe, his eyes wide and soft. He hadn’t expected that kind of openness. No sarcasm, no defences up. Just... him. As Isaac rambles on he suddenly feels self-conscious.

“I rambled, didn’t I?”

“Not at all…” Stiles replies, his voice a little breathy, almost dreamy. He knew for sure that he was staring at him like some dope, but he couldn’t help it. Isaac had this way of being completely real without even realising it, and it made Stiles feel like he was seeing him for the first time.

Just then, Matcha lets out a soft yawn and falls asleep in Isaac’s lap. Stiles takes a sneaky photo but is caught by Isaac’s sharp eyes.

“No no no, stay put or you’ll wake him up.”

“Plus… it’s a cute picture.”

Isaac felt his heart thud lightly in his chest, a warmth creeping up his neck. It was a feeling he hadn’t had in a long time. The way Stiles had looked at him, soft and easy, like they weren’t two people constantly at odds like they weren’t walking on a line they hadn’t figured out yet. And Matcha, just there, nestled between them like this was the most natural thing in the world.

It felt warm and exciting but terrifying at the same time. Like any minute now, the pin would finally drop and the magic of the moment would disappear. That twang of anxiety always pulsed when he felt himself get comfortable like he was about to lose something precious.

But for now, he let himself sit there, and maybe just for a second, he could enjoy the feeling.

☕︎☕︎☕︎

It was a quiet, tense day when the pin dropped. Isaac had woken up feeling like the weight of everything was crashing down on him, suffocating him with thoughts he couldn’t escape. The truth was, he was on edge and irritable, battling with a spiral of self-doubt. He hadn't been over to Stiles’ in a couple of days, dodging calls and texts, too afraid to face him. The truth was harder to ignore now. Isaac had been distant, and standoffish for no real reason, and every little thing about the situation felt like it was falling apart.

And now, here he was, standing in front of Stiles, the tension palpable between them.

“Don’t pretend like you know anything about me, okay?” Isaac spat, his voice rising despite his attempt to keep it under control. “I’m not what you think I am.”

Stiles paused for a second, his eyebrows raised in confusion, his lips curling into a sarcastic smirk. “Who are you then? The Easter Bunny? What are you talking about?”

Isaac rolled his eyes, his fists clenching at his sides. “You’re so... naive and... clueless. But really, this is just... it’s not even worth it.”

The words hit Stiles harder than expected. He knew Isaac was acting off, but this? This was different. “Where is this coming from?” he asked, trying to keep his voice calm, though the confusion and hurt were creeping through.

Isaac shook his head, the self-loathing rising in him like a wave. “You don’t get it, Stiles. You don’t know me like you think you do. I don’t deserve you. I’m not the guy you think I am, and I’m not good for you. So don’t act like this is some fairy tale.”

Stiles’ face dropped for a second, a sharp pain threading through him. It wasn’t just the words, but the way Isaac said them like he was convinced they were true. The sarcasm faded from Stiles’ voice as he took a step closer.

“Isaac, what the hell are you talking about? We’ve been... we’ve been good, haven’t we?”

Isaac looked away, unable to hold his gaze. “I’ve been holding you back. I’m a mess, Stiles. You deserve someone better than me. Someone who doesn’t... fuck everything up all the time.”

Stiles took another step forward, his expression softening as he placed a hand on Isaac’s shoulder. “Isaac, you’re not a mess. You’re you. And I’m not looking for perfection. I just want... I just want you.”

Isaac swallowed hard, the weight of his thoughts pressing on him like a physical force. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“I think I do,” Stiles said quietly, his voice steady now. “I know you’re scared, but running from this, from me, isn’t going to help you.”

“Take a hint, Stiles. I’m not interested in being your charity case.”

“I never–”

Stiles started to speak but he was silenced by the look on Isaac’s face. So guarded and weary. He could see him hurting but it was like there was an invisible barrier between them that he couldn’t get past.

“Oh please. Offering me a room, coddling me, giving me a key. I don’t need your pity and I don’t want to owe you anything.”

And with that he stood up and started heading towards the door, clumsily putting on his shoes and snatching his jacket from the coat rack. Stiles didn’t even get a chance to prove him wrong.

☕︎☕︎☕︎

He was marooned after an awful encounter with Storm Isaac, he’s surprised he didn’t drown under the wave of scathing looks he gave him that day. His apartment was his island and he had no plans to make an SOS sign anytime soon. Unfortunately for Stiles, his friends didn’t get the memo. A few raps on the door shatter the silence, and he groans, wiping the frustration from his face, letting out a, “Two seconds!” as he stumbles to the door.

“We brought some treats for Matcha.”

“We’ve noticed you’ve been down lately,” Scott says as he glances at him, taking in his tired and dishevelled appearance.

“That’s an understatement.. has Isaac been by?”

Scott and Kira exchange glances and that tells him all he needs to know. He had been avoiding him and he didn’t even know what he had done wrong. He was so used to having him here, that he had left a hole all over the apartment. Every room, corner just echoed with signs reminding him of what he lost.

“You should reach out to him.”

“He’s not returning my calls or my texts.” Stiles tried to sound indifferent, but a flash of hurt and sadness crossed his face before he could mask it.

“It just wasn’t meant to be, guys. Don’t worry about me, I’ll bounce back. Nobody puts Stiles in the corner.” He forced a grin, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Giving up on pushing him further, Kira sighed. “Fine, but we’re cleaning up this place right now,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “I know pigs that live better.”

“You know pigs?”

“There’s the sarcasm we’ve been missing,” Scott says as he ruffles his hair and for the first time in a while Stiles feels some relief.

☕︎☕︎☕︎

Isaac decided to make a return to the coffee shop after being gone for over a week. He was going there at the same time he always does to order the same thing but something was different. A certain doe-eyed brunette who was fluent in wit and had a master’s degree in sarcasm was missing.

“Stiles isn’t here. Sick day,” Scott says dragging him out of his thoughts suddenly. It felt like a bucket of ice water had just been thrown on him.

“Oh.”

Isaac had pulled himself from his hole after his emotional strike from Stiles, only to find that he wasn’t there. He felt embarrassed, like an idiot for pushing him away.

“Not seriously sick, right?” his voice betraying the nonchalance he was trying to portray. He picked at his left sleeve and shifted uncomfortably, wishing he could hide how much it bothered him.

“No, he’s fine just…” Scott pauses, trying to find a way to put it lightly, “He didn’t want to…”

“See me.”

Just great. He had chased Stiles away from his job, a job he actually liked, as he recalled him saying.

“Listen... He cares about you. You guys need to actually talk and communicate about how you’re feeling.”

Sensing his discomfort, Scott decided to say what they had both been too blind to see.

“You know, whenever you come in, he drops whatever he’s doing just to take your order. Even before you guys started hanging out, you brought out a fire in him. He’d talk about you constantly, counting the minutes until you came by for your daily coffee.”

“I didn’t know…” Isaac says as he realised just what a fool he had been. But could it really be that easy? To be vulnerable and to hope.

“My advice: Don’t let your fears or pride stand in the way of how you feel or what you want. If you want to be with him, tell him before it’s too late.”

☕︎☕︎☕︎

Entering his apartment, Stiles barely has time to register the excited yipping of his dog before he notices something… off.

The door was locked, but there was noise inside, a distinct shuffling across the floorboards. Lights flickered on in the kitchen, shadows shifting. Someone was shuffling around.

He was being robbed.

Okay, sure, there wasn’t much to steal unless the intruder had a thing for mismatched socks and half-eaten bags of Doritos, but still, this was a full-fledged home invasion.

Grabbing his trusty baseball bat from behind the door, adrenaline surging through his veins, Stiles readied himself. He knew this moment would come. He had been preparing for it his whole life. From watching crime shows with his dad, perfecting his stance, maybe a little shadow-boxing when no one was watching.

This was it.

With an albeit squeaky battle cry, Stiles charged into the kitchen, swinging the bat in the air like a lunatic. The intruder yelped and crashed to the floor trying to avoid his swings. Stiles raised the bat again before recognition slammed into him like a truck.

“Isaac?!”

Isaac groaned from the floor. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me? What are you doing breaking into my apartment?!”

Isaac pushed himself up onto his elbows, scowling. “You gave me a key, psycho.”

Stiles blinked. Oh. Right. He did do that.

His grip on the bat loosened. “Well, I almost decapitated you.”

Isaac rolled his eyes and muttered, “Yeah, I noticed.” He pulled himself up, brushing off his jeans, still slightly breathless. “I just… I don’t know. I wanted to do a romantic gesture or something.”

Stiles’ brain stuttered to a stop. “A what?”

Isaac avoided his gaze, shoving his hands into his pockets like he suddenly regretted everything.

Stiles looked around and his expression softened. There was a blanket draped across the table, soft candlelight flickering against the walls, and a plate of what looked like homemade cookies. They were a little burnt around the edges but it just made Stiles want to eat them more.

Isaac cleared his throat, still not looking at him. “I like you, Stiles.” The words were rushed as if he were afraid he’d lose the courage to say them. “When I’m with you, I feel… safe for once. You feel… you feel like home to me.”

Isaac’s eyes finally met his hesitant, vulnerable, pleading with Stiles, with himself to not run away from something good. Stiles felt warmth spread through his chest, replacing the leftover panic. He set the bat down carefully and took a step closer.

“I really did almost take your head off,” he said softly, a slow smile tugging at his lips.

Isaac huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah, well… I guess I should’ve knocked.”

Taking Stiles’s hand in his he moves forward looming at him, “I know when …I ran. I was scared because being with you felt good and I hadn’t felt like that in such a long time.

“I want to be with you.”

Stiles grabbed him by the shirt, pulling him in and kissing him deeply like he was his oxygen, his lifeline. A soft moan escaped between them, lost in the heat of the moment. Stiles smiles against his lips before pulling back, “You taste like cookies.”

“I had to sample them. Make sure I wasn’t poisoning you.”

“Well I have a feeling they taste really good,” Stiles replies as he pulls him back in by his waist, savouring each sweet kiss with Isaac. Feeling the nuzzling of Matcha against their feet he nearly died from what he saw. Matcha was dressed up as Cupid and it was the cutest thing Stiles had ever seen in all his years of living. He started to kiss all over Isaac’s face, not listening to his protests.

“You’re the best boyfriend ever.”

And Isaac’s heart soars at hearing the word boyfriend come from Stiles’s lips.

☕︎☕︎☕︎

The next morning, they woke up tangled together, warmth and sunlight spilling through the curtains. Stiles trailed slow, lazy kisses down Isaac’s neck, nipping at his skin, rolling them over with a satisfied hum. Isaac chuckled, voice still heavy with sleep. “Are you going to tell me your name now?”

Stiles smirked against his skin. “Mieczyslaw. Mieczyslaw Stilinski.”

“Now I see why you said my name was boring.”

[lanternlightss]

i am. thinking about should the winds be kinder au again…..

especially how desperate venti is to not let anyone know about the switch. because the world, let alone the universe itself, doesn’t need a venti. they need only ever need cecil.

[friendlynaborhooddisapointment]

yk what im thinking? the fentons are 100% crazy enough to be Waynes. so what if they were? Jack could be Thomas Waynes' great-grandfather's brother who lived at Wayne Manor with his wife and kids. and they still open the portal with danny in it, so hes still a halfa. but either Jack and Maddie find out and they stick him in a stasis tube to try and fix him (what if they were also the people who figured out how to make the court of owls dead guys????) or Danny got stuck in the portal when he went inside and it doesnt open until the bats find it.

when the bats find him im thinking either they know (as well as danny) that hes half dead (the stasis tube) or they dont (stuck in the portal) and they find out all the fun stuff together. but, if they know hes dead already and so did danny there could be more creepy ghost shenanigans that could happen before they found the laboratory. which is v important

[outer-edges]

just discovered cockney rhyming slang and i am SO obsessed with this i wish it didn't sound absolutely ridiculous in american english because it is right up my alley i LOVE doings that make my speech borderline incomprehensible

[batking-lich]

"i'm not like those Other People, i only consume Unproblematic Media™ with Good Representation™ and i don't like Irredeemable Media™"

"i'm not like those Other People, i don't like this Sanitized Media™, i only like Real Art™ with Bad Messy Representation™"

you are literally the same people wearing different hats the only things you disagree about are what counts as bad media and what counts as good representation

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

A/N: another kofi request!

When you walked for a while through the thick forest near your home, you were able to find a meadow full of deer hybrids.

It was a secret place, one only a few human beings knew about. Among those humans was you, a young woman currently being courted by one of those feet hybrids.

“My dear!”

You felt arms wrap around your torso from behind, your neck being peppered in warm kisses as you were pulled close.

This was your current predicament. A few months ago you spotted a deer hybrid struggling in a trap meant for regular deer. You knew if the hunter found them he’d be taken to the city and sold as a pet, so you quickly used your pocket knife to cut him free.

The second he was out of his bonds, he nearly tackled you, rubbing and butting against your neck and nearly impaling you with his horns.

“Mate… my mate…”

And that’s how you ended up at the meadow again, visiting him. If you didn’t come once a week to see the fluffy thing, he’d try coming out of the woods and into your neighborhood.

Of course, that was dangerous. Between cars, hunters, and lots of people wanting a cute deer hybrid as a pet, the human world wasn’t safe.

You made a deal with him. Every weekend you’d come and spend time with him. The first time you proposed this deal to him, he leapt with joy, his fluffy tail wiggling super fast.

So today you brought your picnic basket, setting out a blanket and preparing the snacks as he waited patiently nearby. Sometimes he could be a bit shy after greeting you, quickly retreating behind other deer hybrids and peaking out at you with his big doe eyes.

The second you were done, he trotted back, letting out a happy whine when you patted your lap. He loved laying his head there.

His ears flicked, and he looked up at you through his lashes, batting them. Clearly, he was a whore for your attention.

You always knew the best spots to scratch and rub, always getting behind his ears and at the base of his antlers.

His tail wagged, and you couldn’t help but lift it slightly too look at his cute butt, making his head jerk up.

“Mate? You want to mate?”

The deer hybrid excitedly nuzzled against you, pushing you down on the blanket. He let out little grunts, his tail still going crazy behind him.

“N-not yet, not yet.”

He pouted, but quickly returned to relaxing in your lap, almost purring at every scratch and pet. You knew rutting season was soon by now antsy he had been to mate with you lately… and you were preparing yourself to help him.

The guy always wanted to be by your side, bringing you fresh berries and honey he collected. You were his mate, and he wanted to give you all the sweet things he could find!

And boy was he possessive! He would let out whines and grunts when other males approached, pointing his antlers at them and holding you close. It was just too cute!

For months you came and went, giving him the attention he needed while getting to relax and escape all the stress life had to give.

Curling up with him, playing with his soft puffy hair and watching him get all giddy and excited really calmed you down. His fluffy tail always wagged when you were around, wagging even harder when you scratched a good spot or gave him snuggles.

But his rut had finally come in full force, and you knew he needed you.

This time when you came to visit, he was alone, whimpering softly and pumping his cock. He seemed distressed, and you were quick to lower yourself by his side, your fingers gently glazing his swollen tip.

“Shh, shh… I’m here. It’ll be okay.”

He looked up at you through his thick lashes, sniffling. It seemed he had grown attached and reliant on you.

“Please…”

How could you say no to those big, warm doe eyes?

The second your fingers wrapped around his cock, he let out a moan, his hips bucking lightly. He needed his release, and your hand wouldn’t cut it soon enough.

He came quicker than expected, and soon he was mounting you.

The entire time he mated with you, he was more gentle than you’d think a buck in rut would be. He was constantly nuzzling into you, thrusting just hard enough to satisfy you, but not any harder.

When he came inside, his ears twitched and tail wagged, and he melted when you reached out to play with his ears while his cum shot into your womb.

After mating you, he was a happy little thing, making a sort of purring sound while he nuzzled his face against your neck.

Perhaps being mates with him wouldn’t be so bad after all…

————————

NSFW TAGLIST: @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat @bubblez-blop @sunshineangel-reads @heroneki-neko

[flwrkid14]

Tim Drake’s Coworkers (ft. The Fenton Family)

It’s not that Tim doesn’t like the Batfamily. He tolerates them just fine. Damian is great for sparring (if you like sparring with a tiny murder machine), and Jason’s brand of dark humor isn’t too bad once you get used to it. Dick’s a bit too much sometimes, but overall? Fine. Totally fine.

But the thing is… they’re just his coworkers.

And it never really clicks for the Bats until Danny Phantom joins the Justice League and everything starts unraveling.

———

The revelation comes during a League meeting. They’re strategizing about some ghost-related chaos, and Danny floats into the Watchtower, bright and glowing.

“Oh, hey, Tim,” Danny greets casually, giving him a little wave.

Tim doesn’t even look up from his tablet. “Sup.”

Superman looks between them, confused. “…you two know each other?”

Danny grins. “yeah, he’s my brother.”

Dead silence.

“WHAT?!” Bruce’s bellow shakes the entire room.

Tim finally looks up, unfazed. “What? Did you think I just spawned into existence?”

“You have a brother?!” Clark sputters.

“Two siblings, actually,” Tim corrects, utterly nonchalant. “Danny’s the younger one. Jazz is the older one. She’s great. Super organized. Kept me alive in middle school.”

Bruce’s eye twitches. “Why—why am I only learning this now?”

Tim shrugs. “It didn’t seem relevant.”

“Relevant?” Diana repeats, incredulous. “You’re the brother of Danny Phantom and it’s not relevant?”

Danny, who’s been munching on some ectoplasm candy, jumps in: “Honestly, Tim’s always been kind of private about his personal life. We just figured it was his way of coping with the whole ‘raised-by-rich-neglectful-aunt’ thing.”

“Yeah, about that,” Tim interjects, glaring at Danny. “Thanks so much for dumping me with Aunt Janet, by the way.”

Danny shrugs sheepishly. “Mom and Dad panicked! They thought you’d get ghost-napped next!”

“Uh, correction: Aunt Janet left me to raise myself, so that plan was awesome.”

Bruce, trying to keep up, interrupts: “Hold on. Your parents left you with Janet Drake?”

“They didn’t know she sucked at raising kids,” Tim deadpans. “And to be fair, they did call. A lot. I just didn’t pick up.”

Jason, who has been cackling this entire time, leans forward. “Wait, wait, wait—so you’re telling me that the Replacement’s entire family is a bunch of ghost hunters?”

“Yup.” Danny pops the “p” with a grin.

“You’re kidding me,” Steph says, borderline hysterical.

Tim sighs, clearly over it. “Look, it’s not a big deal. Jazz keeps the parents in check, Danny handles the ghost stuff, and I… stay out of the way. It’s fine.”

“FINE?” Damian glares. “Drake, you’ve been fraternizing with ghost hunters while working with a vigilante group, and you think that’s fine?”

Tim raises an eyebrow. “Dami, chill. It’s not like it affects work. You’re my coworkers. They’re my family. Separate categories.”

Cue collective Batfamily malfunction.

———

Later, Danny is chilling in the Batcave, feet kicked up on the Batcomputer, chatting with Alfred. The rest of the Bats are still spiraling.

“Tim, we’ve lived together for years!” Dick exclaims, sounding genuinely hurt. “How are we only your coworkers?”

“You’re not my family,” Tim explains, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Danny and Jazz are my family. You guys are my teammates. It’s different.”

Jason throws his head back, laughing. “Oh my god, Replacement, you’re stone cold.”

“I’m not cold,” Tim argues. “I just don’t think we need to make it more complicated than it is. We work together. That’s enough.”

Meanwhile, Danny is wiping tears of laughter off his face. “Oh man. Jazz is gonna love this.”

[somnoir]

Damian's future husband

Got inspired by this specific line in a Tumblr thread and my brain went to work

Phantom was a strange hero—a vigilante that often worked with Justice League Dark. Constantine was always so antsy around the man, while Phantom himself often muttered about taxes and blasted fragments whenever said trech coat man was in the vicinity.

The Bats were, of course, initially apprehensive of the death defying being that could rip a man skeleton out of their body, manipulate space itself to rip open portals to different dimensions, and vanish better than they did. They were wary, mildly hostile after realising that Phantom had now issue killing.

But then time passed and Phantom was proven to not be a serial killer but only used killing as a last resort. Though Batman wasn't too pleased, he was—begrudgingly—tolerant of that. Because, yes, Phantom was a nice guy, a very likeable person in general. He made sure that the environmental damage during battles were kept to a minimum, he chose civilians over the enemy whenever it came to hostage situations, he was tactile and kind, and he cared so much for the innocent that he was willing to lose his innocence to keep theirs.

Of course Batman was fond of the young man, especially when he found out that Jason of all people had some sort of crush on him. A very big and almost pathetic one that he and Alfred would watch while sipping tea.

Seriously, Jason was his son! Has he not learned anything from his Brucie persona? The poor thing was like a Victorian maiden and would be scandalised at the mere thought of showing an ankle.

It was embarrassing how he'd practically start blue screening the moment Phantom was in the vicinity. As a father, Bruce was gracious enough not to bully his poor son whenever it came to Phantom. His siblings, on the other hand, held no such qualms and mercilessly dug into Jason.

In all honesty, he pitied Jason after hearing that Phantom assumed that Jason just didn't like him.

He really had to talk to him.

"You fucking hypocrite."

And that was a failure because Bruce forgot that he was just as constipated as his son.

"I'm not taking advice from the man who couldn't even try to be softer in his secret crush!"

With that, Jason slammed the door and left.

Okay... Plan B?

But what the hell was plan B?

Right.

Dick Grayson.

Bruce: About your brother...

Bird child #1: OH MY GOD

Bird child #1: THANK FUCK YOU FINALLY MENTIONED IT

Bruce: it's become an issue

Bruce: Alfred has commented that it's pathetic now.

Bird child #1: Wait wait

Bird child #1: I'll add you to the group chat!

And this Bruce Wayne found himself in a GC named 'Phantom of the Watchtower'. Along with all the complaints expressed by both family and friends when it came to Jason's bullshit.

Ah well... At least he wasn't alone in the suffering.

(Jason did not need to know that there was a video of him grappling through Gotham, Phantom passing by and waving at him, and Jason proceeding to hit a wall mid flight.)

Dick knows that his little wing has had trouble in relationships for a long time. His resurrection changed him, changed how he perceived his relationships. Dick didn't have the heart to be mad about it.

Phantom's arrival was a breath of fresh air for them.

But he suspects that Jason's attraction began with the fact that Phantom had died young as well. Fourteen from what was said. He had died much younger than Jason and had came back a hero, willing to protect the innocent and do what was best for those around him. Sometimes Dick suspects that Jason not only wanted to be with Phantom, but also to be similar to him.

Now he's watching Jason fumble with his words again, immediately going quiet once he realized that nothing coherent was coming out of his mouth. The helmet most likely hid how red his face was.

"Are you alright?" Phantom asked, frowning up at Jason. "You don't feel too good. Is the corrupted ecto acting up again? Oh, I knew I should have sped up the process of removing it but then it'd be very painful if I did it at once. And Frostbite recommended that we went slowly so we could monitor the side effect... And, and—"

"I'm okay." Red Hood immediately assured, his hand practically flying to Phantom's cheek then he shoved it down before he could even touch Phantom. "It's been a long day."

"Is the Joker out again?" Phantom's frown deepened.

Another thing Dick has learned about the dead and the undead! The fact that their murderer was still active unsettled then greatly and affected their entire mentality and behaviour.

"No. No. He hasn't tried escaping."

Phantom hummed, "I see. So what's bothering you."

"It's nothing." Jason grunted, sounding a little too much like Bruce for Dick's liking.

Okay, nope, he wasn't going to let this continue if his baby brother was going to continue making Phantom assumed he didn't like him. Nightwing to the rescue!

"Phantom! Hi!" Nightwing quite literally dropped into the alley, running his fingers through his hair and smoothly directing Jason away from whatever catastrophic misunderstanding he was walking into.

"Hello Nightwing! It's nice to see you again? How's Kori? Oooh! I wanted to invite her to a space date again—" He rambled on and on, eyes practically starry. Wait, nevermind. His eyes really were starry.

(Meanwhile, Jason was cursing his older brother for taking the attention from but also very thankful that Phantom didn't have to witness his stupidity again.)

Tim had noticed that the Joker hasn't attempted to break out in a long... Long time.

It's not a bad thing, no. It was great, in all honesty. But of course, Tim was paranoid, almost batshir crazy (pun intended, in the words of his damn boyfriends). The surveillance feed on Arkham was updated a long time ago, watching it very closely until static overtook the screen.

"Replacement," Tim startled, blinking before he saw Jason peering at him with a questioning look. Practically interrogating him on the spot. "The hell is that?"

"I don't know." Tim clicked his tongue, "This hasn't happened after Babs and I updated those damn cameras. Fuck, give me a second..."

"Did the Joker get out?" Jason practically growled.

"No, no. I'm sure he didn't. He would have been causing trouble by now." Tim reassured, clicking his tongue again before the feed went back to normal. Joker's cell seemed perfectly fine, with the Joker fast asleep on his little cot. "See, just some static. Maybe Phantom passed by."

The mere mention of Phantom has Jason blue screening, instincts kicking in as his older brother shoved his helmet over his head again. Then the idiot gets on his bike and speeds out of the cave.

Coward.

Tim whipped his head around, quickly surveying the area.

The static wasn't random. Phantom always had to be in front of the camera to directly affect the feed. So thank fuck when he made friends with Phantom's teammate—Pharaoh—and figured out how to fix any distorted imagery.

He sees Phantom standing over the Joker's unconscious body, plunging his hand into the maniac's chest and pulled out a glowing green orb. A core, from what he remembered. Holy shit, was the Joker a ghost too?

But he saw how Phantom seemed to put restraints around it, literal chains before shoving it back inside.

Slowly, Phantom turned to the camera, his entire figure still distorted, but he could see that fanged grin that his brother seemed to swoon over.

(The Joker was still alive, very much, but no one could understand how he was stuck in an almost permanent coma. Tim wasn't going to give Jason even more reason to start giggling over Phantom, unless he wanted to ruin the entire Dead on Main operation.)

Damian did not quite understand the insanity that was multiple individuals (including those that were not of their brood) attempting to matchmake Todd with Phantom. He didn't understand what was so great about Phantom, in all honesty.

He was heroic, powerful, and quite intelligent. Many people held similar traits. Perhaps it was the fact that he was a deathly being that attracted Todd in the first place.

"Hello, Robin!" Phantom greeted one day, eyes shimmering like the stars in his cape. "Superboy said you had something to tell me?"

Damian shifted slightly, "Yes. Are you aware of the Lazarus Pits?"

"Ah... Yes, of course. My court and I have been trying to destroy all of them. The Lazarus is corrupted ectoplasm that has been mixed with filth of all kinds." Phantom hummed.

"Filth of all kinds... Disgusting." Damian frowned, nose scrunching up at the memory that he's bathed in those pits before. "But I digress. I would like to assist in the destruction of the pits. Father and the rest of the family has fretted over my grandfather's pits for many years and we have barely grazed the surface on what the Lazarus truly was."

"I see! I was planning on asking Batman to help out on that. But since you've already asked, would you like to come to the Realms? I'm sure you can interrogate some of the ghosts your grandfather has wronged." Phantom grinned, already offering Damian a hand. He was floating, while Damian stood in the roof and stared at the hand.

It reminded him of the kryptonians. But Phantom's hand was cold and he didn't yank Damian the same way Jon often did.

No, Phantom took Damian's hand and then proceeded to hook an arm around Damian's waist, pulling him of the roof and into the air. And then they were flying into a glowing green portal that reminded Damian of the pits.

The moment they were in the infinite realms, Damian felt the overwhelming pressure of the dead. He swallowed the bile that rose from his throat as Phantom set him down on solid ground. The entire place felt eerie and strange, of course it was. This was the afterlife.

"Right, I forgot." Phantom cursed, "You're not as liminal as my family. Give me a second, baby bat." He murmured, his hand glowing green before it's gently pushed into Damian's chest. A sudden wave of warmth overtook his entire body and Damian stared at the ghost.

"I'm giving you a bit of Ecto to reduce any discomfort here in the realms. It'll flush itself out in 24 hours so don't worry about becoming overly liminal." Phantom smiled softly, before he offered his hand to Damian again. "Let's go? I have to stop by my keep to check the records of Al Ghuls victims."

"Of course."

And instead of being carried like a cat, Phantom picked him up bridal style and flew past what seemed to be floating islands and towards a large red and purple castle.

Is this was Todd feels? Damian asked himself, oddly enjoying this experience.

The moment they landed—

"Your majesty!" A floating eyeball yelled, rushing towards them. "You've brought an outsider—"

"Away with you." Phantom snapped, a crown and cape of stars suddenly appearing on him. "This is Robin. Ra's Al Ghul's grandchild."

"The Demon's head..."

"Yes, now shoo." Phantom snapped, before leading Damian away from the eyeball. "I'm sorry for my Observants. They're a conservative bunch."

"You are a king?"

"Mhm... Though I don't like to advertise it. The last king was a tyrant and I defeated him a little while after my death. I never intended to be king, in all honesty. But here I am." He gestured to the crown of fire and ice and the cape of stars. His grin was strained and quite troubled but he didn't mind leading Damian towards a large room filled with bigger files.

"Now, would you like to search yourself or do you want me to have someone else do it?"

Damian grimaced at the sight. "I'd prefer for someone else to suffer."

And that's how Damian found himself touring the realms, with Phantom happily bringing Damian to the arena where a ghost named Skulker awaited them. The man was a hunter, respectful towards Phantom yet troublesome as he challenged him. Phantom looked utterly annoyed, before he turned to Damian with sparkling eyes.

"What about you, Robin?"

And then Damian was fighting everyone and everything in the realms at the behest and amusement of Phantom. The ghost king provided him with different weapons each time an enemy switched.

It's only when they returned to the land of the living that he's informed that any weapon he's used is now his.

And he has a cat with him! The ghost of a small yet ferocious kitten that had his under Phantom's cape whilst Damian and other ghosts fought to glorious battle. Phantom kindly offered her to him, naming her Astra with the star shaped pupils in her eyes.

Damian is quite sure he has fallen in love.

Damian returns to the manor, utterly awestruck and infatuated. Thankfully (unfortunately), Todd is in attendance when Phantom carries him out of the portal, still held in a bridal carry with Damian actively clinging to Phantom like he had hung the stars (maybe he did).

"Sorry if we worried you! Robin wanted to help with our Lazarus problems since it's also your problem too." Phantom quickly explains once he saw Batman's troubled expression. "Don't worry about your gifts. I'll figure out a way to make you a dimensional bag."

Damian stared, "May I visit the realms again? If you would be amendable to it."

"Of course! You're my favorite, so why wouldn't I?"

Hah! Hear that? Take that, Todd!

Phantom vanishes into his portal seconds later, leaving Damian with the most beautiful and intricated sword in his hands. Blinking quietly, he whirled around and pointed the sword at Jason, who instinctively went into a battle stance.

"You may be my brother, Todd, but if you have not married Phantom once I am of age, I shall fight for his hand in marriage himself."

(Jason knows very well that Damian isn't joking and proceeds to practically plan the most novel-esque confession to date. Jane Austen might just be proud.)

Masterpost

[ccsainzleclerc5516]

Co Parents To Lovers Again (part 1)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, smut

"Daddy? Can I ask you something?" Your and Charles' four-year-old daughter Louise, asks.

She was sitting in her car seat in the backseat of Charles car while he was driving her back to your place in Monaco. It was Sunday evening, the weekend was coming to an end and with that, Charles' time with his daughter for the week was also over.

"Of course, cherie. What is it?" He asked, briefly looking away from the road in front of him to look at his daughter behind him.

"When are you going to live with me and mommy again?" She asked innocently batting her big black eyelashes and waiting for an answer.

Charles's heart broke a little when he heard. This was the first she had asked him that since Charles had moved out of your shared apartment a year ago, and there was no way he could have prepared himself for this question.

"Oh, baby.." He sighed sadly with a pain in his chest. "I-I don't know. Maybe one day again, I hope.."

"But I want you to live with us now. I don't like it when you have to leave us."

He really didn't know what to say to her. He didn't even know how to explain the situation you found yourself in to himself, let alone to her. He could see Louise whenever he wanted, but this was some kind of agreement that the two of you had and most often it was that you had her during the week and he had her on his race-free weekends even tho sometimes he took her with him on races as well. So moments like this, when Sunday night comes and he has to return Louise to you by next Friday, were the hardest for him.

"I know, baby. I do too, it's just that at the moment, that's not possible, you know?" He said quietly tightening his grip on the steering wheel and leaning his head on the back of the seat.

"But mommy wants you to live with us too. I don't understand why don't you then?"

"Wh-what?" His breath paused briefly as he looked at Louise in the rearview mirror. "How do you know that, Lou?"

"Well, I asked her?" She sighs almost rolling her eyes at him, like, duhh how else would I know it?

"You asked her?" He chuckles. "And what did she say?"

"She said the same thing as you, maybe one day again. But I want to know when!" She says already irritated with always the same answer to her always the same question.

"Well, my love, if mom really said that, then I hope very soon." Charles says smiling, hope clearly audible in his voice. He wanted you to reconcile and be a family again so much that even this was enough to lift his spirits and restore hope in your relationship.

The drive to your apartment is over and soon Charles is knocking on your door holding Lou in his arms.

"Hello, baby!" You say excitedly as you opened the door, reaching out to Lou to take her in your arms.

"Hello" Charles greets you smiling.

"Hey, Charles" You greet him back taking Lou in your arms and giving her a kiss on the cheek. "How was the weekend? Was she good?"

"Of course, as always. We went to get new toys, her grand-mère came to visit and then we went for a walk and for ice cream. It was a lot of fun." Charles says.

"You got new toys, missy? Again?" You ask tickling her and making her laugh. "Good, good. Well, thanks for bringing her back."

"It's no problem. The next weekend is the race weekend so unfortunately I won't be able to have her."

"I know, I know." You say biting the inside of your cheek feeling a bit bad knowing how hard that was for him. "Are you gonna say bye to papa?"

"Can papa put me to bed?" Louise asked.

"But it's only 8:30 baby? You wanna go to sleep already?"

"But I want daddy to do it." She says.

You were a little taken aback because you felt like she didn't want you to do it like you usually do, but of course you didn't want to deny her her wish for Charles to be the one to do it this time.

"Well, if he wants to, then sure" You say looking at him.

"Of course I want to. Come here, baby" He takes her back from your arms kissing her temple and starts walking with her to her room.

You didn't follow them because you decided to let them have a moment for themselves, but you couldn't help but remember the nights you and Charles used to do it together. Him on one side of the bed, you on the other, Lou in the middle while Charles reads a bedtime story and you both listen.

You really missed that.

You really missed him.

But it was hard for you to admit it so you swallowed your tears once again and pretended it didn't bother you.

And so while Charles was putting your daughter to sleep, you occupied yourself with sorting the laundry that was left over from earlier today in your bedroom. After about half an hour, Charles came to greet you goodbye knocking on the door frame of your bedroom.

"Hey"

"Oh, hey. Did she fall asleep?" You asked.

"Yeah, she-" His attention was soon caught by an oversized black man's hoodie that was turned inside out and lying on your bed. His gaze was glued to it, and for a moment you weren't sure what he was looking at, so you looked in that direction too.

"I can't believe it" He sneered in disappointment.

"What?"

"Are you really having someone else here in our bedroom when Lou is with me?"

"Excuse me? What? What are you-" You were shocked and stunned by his accusations.

It was indeed a man's hoodie. But since it was turned inside out, Charles didn't recognize that it was actually his sweatshirt that he had forgotten to take when he moved out, and you loved it so much that you never wanted to give it back to him. And Charles being Charles, he jumped to a conclusion without letting you have a chance to speak and explain yourself.

"I can't believe it, y/n. You could have at least let me know that you decided to move on and see other people." He continued without stopping and anger slowly rose within you. "And how can you even bring him here? To our apartment? To our bedroom?"

You were offended and you didn't even want to justify yourself anymore, you just wanted to hurt him back because he thought such a thing.

"And why do you care if someone was here, huh?" You asked crossing your arms.

"Why do I care? Because while you're busy having other guys over here, our daughter is asking me if we'll ever live together again. That's why!" He said angrily, barely holding back from slamming his fist against the wall because he was so hurt by this situation and the very thought of you being with someone else.

"S-she asked you that?"

"Yes and I almost died when she did."

You didn't know what to do at that moment. You were sad and angry at the same time, but most of all hurt for your daughter. Before you could say anything, Charles turned and left the room.

As soon as the apartment door closed, you burst into tears. He left before you could tell him that it was actually his hoodie and that at nights when you can't sleep, like you couldn't last night, you put it on because it feels like he's there.

He didn't even give you time to tell him that you wear it when you miss him too much. Just like you did last night.

part 2

[deadsetobsessions]

Sea Cryptic! Danny AU- Pt. 7

[Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.3] [Pt.4] [Pt.5] [Pt.6] [Pt.8] [Pt.9] [Pt.10]

“I’m having a child.”

Danny stared at Batman.

“…Uh, congrats?”

Batman whips out a stack of paper and a pen. “It’s you. Sign here and initial the highlighted spots.”

Danny instinctively, from years of dealing with Vlad, whacked the stack right out of Batman’s hands and into the bay. He doesn’t even feel bad about littering this time because, “Begone, fruitloop!”

Wait, no, that’s not what he meant.

“I mean- I have parents!”

“Not for long.” Batman muttered and then did a double take. “You have parents? How?”

Danny gasped, placing a hand on his chest to clutch his metaphorical pearls. He ignored Batman’s mutters. Everyone knows the vigilante has an adoption problem. At least, everyone who lived in Gotham did, as everyone who didn’t was somehow convinced that he “worked alone” or some bullshit like that. “Are you naturally this insensitive or were you dropped on your head as a baby? Obviously I had to come from somewhere.”

“They’re still… alive?”

“And kicking,” Danny said, inching away from yet another rich weird guy trying to adopt him. “Mostly the kicking part, though.” He said, remembering the sparring sessions. His mom could kick his as six ways to Sunday with nothing but jiu-jitsu and still have time to work in the lab.

“I see.”

“I’m charging you extra for the emotional upheaval. I have trauma regarding rich people trying to adopt me.”

Batman sullenly handed over a thousand.

“Sweet. There’s a group of shades down here asking if you could find their murderer. Apparently the serial killer is still at large.” Danny pointed.

“Of course. Tell me everything.”

The adoption papers disappeared as Batman went into detective mode.

Danny shoved the cash into his glowing chest and breathed a sigh of relief. He needed to make rent this month so it was a windfall running into Batman.

——

“Hey, Tim?”

Tim woke up from his Power Nap. “Huh?”

“Phantom’s complaining that Batman kept trying to adopt him.”

Tim blinked. “Uh.. what does that have to do with me?”

Danny stared at him, a patiently amused smile on his face. “Just in case the rumor about the Wayne’s sugar-daddy-into the Bats was a thing. Other than that, we might have to confront Batman to get him off of Phantom’s back. ”

“You… want to confront Batman.”

“Hey, man, Phantom’s a friend and it’s ride or die.” Danny snickered. It was literally die, with his Phantom side of things. He held two fists up, and wound them, like Popeye right after eating spinach or something. “And if Batman bothers Phantom, we ride at dawn.”

“Batman doesn’t come out unless it’s dark, though? Or for the Justice League.” Tim grinned. He mentally classified Danny under his “to go to” list. That’s where Bart, Bernard, Cassie, Kon, and Garfield were. If he starts shit, he could count on them to have his back and cause even more shit. Danny, wanting to fistfight Bruce over the man making Phantom uncomfortable? He absolutely is making that list.

“Then we ride at, like, dusk. Or uh, like 10PM. I gotta get my beauty sleep.”

“You’ll definitely need it,” Tim inconspicuously texted the group chat, which quickly blew up.

“Shut up,” Danny playfully shoved Tim. “Wait, can Batman even legally adopt? Isn’t being a vigilante illegal? And how can he adopt someone dead?”

Tim dramatically flailed and splayed over Danny’s carpeted living room. “Dunno about his identity,” he lied to Danny, like a liar. “But Gotham has a bunch of laws for the undead/restored to life people so there’s probably enough gray space there.”

Danny spluttered. “You guys have undead friendly laws?”

“Yeah, geht do you think Grundy just chills out? Plus, we have like a minor resurrection event every few years. It usually doesn’t stick but sometimes it does. Bruce pushed for those laws when Jason came back to life, except he doesn’t actually want people to know he’s like, alive.”

“Jason died?” Danny blinked. Well, that would explain the vibes. “Huh. So what’s up with his rank vibes then?”

“Rank vibes?” Tim pressed record on his phone.

Danny nodded. “Yeah, you know how Phantom’s got like a really chill green vibe?” Inwardly, Danny snickered at his pun. Chill. Yeah, he meant that very literally. “Jason’s got kind of a rank green vibe. He’s kind of stinky? Definitely never introduce him to Phantom.” Danny’s senses got worse in his ghost form.

“Jason regularly showers, though?!”

“Not smell! Like, a spiritual smell?”

“You can smell souls?!” Tim sat up. “Bro, you’re a meta?!”

“Uh.” Danny hesitated. “Yeah. I can smell souls. It’s a thing. Everyone from my town can do it.”

“What?!” Tim paused. “Wait, can Phantom smell souls?”

“Yeah. We’re, uh, from the same town.”

“Danny, what the fuck?”

“Hey, don’t look at me like that, you’re the one with a soul-sick brother! Not to mention, you’re kinda stinky too!”

“Hey!”

“Soul-stinky nerd man!”

——

“I stink?!” Jason spluttered out, extremely offended.

“The Lazarus pits. He’s most likely smelling traces of Lazarus pit on you, you imbecile.”

“We need to speak to Phantom. This instant.”

“I dunno, B. Danny sounded like he was gonna break your face if you bothered Phantom anymore.” Dick snickered.

“Yeah,” Tim chimed in, from his seat in front of the Bat-computer. “He was pretty serious.”

“Are we just gonna glaze over the fact that they’re from the same town?!” Stephanie exclaimed, practicing her moves on a training dummy.

“How does that even work? What does that mean? I thought Phantom was an immortal?” Duke asked.

“We also can’t rule out time-travel.” Barbara slammed her baton into a training dummy, twisting her wheelchair in an agile maneuver that left the dummy on the floor.

“No bothering Phantom.” Cass proclaimed.

“That’s quite right. You all have a warm dinner sitting above your cave and should it remain uneaten, I assure you that sherbet Sunday and crêpe Tuesday shall be canceled.” Alfred stepped in. The Bats, threatened, scrambled to ditch their gear and go upstairs.

[evansbby]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dark!Steve Rogers x reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: EXTREMELY HEAVY SUBJECT MATTER, heavy depictions of domestic violence, physical and verbal abuse, NON CON, smutt, major angst, rough, breeding kink, dirty talk, mean Steve, housewife kink, domesticity kink, victim-blaming, manipulation, self-deprecating thoughts, self-blame.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Steve was always a great husband. Until he wasn't.

𝐀/𝐍: SUPER DARK. Very angsty. Very heavy subject matter. This fic explores domestic violence. This fic can be triggering so please read warnings beforehand and please do not read unless you have read them.

“Sweetie, come downstairs.”

Steve only has to say it once and it’s enough for you to drop whatever you’re doing and follow wherever his voice is calling you. On this occasion, you switch off the iron and set it aside before straightening your dress and scurrying down to greet your husband.

“I’m sorry, I got wrapped up in my chores,” you explain, helping him take his jacket off before he wraps one strong arm around your waist and pulls you into him. Gosh, he was so big and strong! Steve’s physique always made you nervous and skittish – but in a good way, mostly. Carefully, you link your arms around his neck, reaching up on your tiptoes to give him a kiss.

“You’re still learning,” Steve says after a long, lingering kiss to your lips followed by several small pecks that make you smile. “I don’t expect you to know everything straight off the bat. But for every rule missed, you must repeat it back to me.” His hand slips down to cup your ass through the thin material of your dress, and he gives it a firm squeeze as if to prompt you. “So, what’s the rule, baby?”

“That a good housewife always greets her husband at the door when he gets home from work.” You recite it dutifully, because by now you know all the rules by heart. Steve had made you learn them before you’d got married. You remember the long days of sitting in his lap and repeating each rule after him, and you also remember the soreness of your ass each time you got it wrong.

You never got them wrong anymore.

“Good girl,” Steve praises and you glow. You take his tie off for him, all the while asking him questions about his day. How work was, if anything special happened, if he was hungry. (Of course he was hungry, you knew Steve had a voracious appetite for both food and… other things.) He could eat enough for three men in one sitting – which was probably why he was so big and strong and imposing. And scary. Well, you were definitely scared of him. Sometimes. But you try not to think about that.

“This looks great, sweetheart,” Steve sits down on his place at the head of the table and pulls you into his lap. That was another thing about Steve, another one of his rules. He preferred you in his lap instead of in your own seat – at the dinner table, on the couch, anywhere. Even in the presence of other people, which embarrassed you sometimes but you’d never tell him that. It was one of his rules, and that meant it had to be obeyed, no questions asked.

“Thank you, Steve. I tried really hard to make all your favourites.”

He feeds you and himself at the same time, and now it’s his turn to ask you questions.

“Oh, my day was pretty boring,” you accept the bite of chicken pot pie he feeds you, chewing thoughtfully and trying your best to ignore the way your heart starts pitter-pattering harder. “I did all the chores I was supposed to do, and then I did some shopping. I got us some pretty new bedsheets.”

“That’s nice, sweetie. Did you buy anything for yourself?”

“No. I just came straight home after that, and…” Your voice trails off, and you hope your increased heartrate and clammy palms aren’t showing in your face.

“And what?” Steve blinks, those angelic blue eyes looking at you expectantly.

You shouldn’t lie to him. He was your husband. And it was one of his main rules, after all – you weren’t allowed to lie. And it wasn’t like you’d done anything wrong…

“Well…”

The change in his demeanour is subtle, but it doesn’t escape you how he grabs your arm, his finger stroking against your bare skin as a deathly silence falls over the room, as if he’s awaiting your next words with careful patience.

You shuffle on his lap. Oh, why didn’t you just spit it out the moment he’d come home!? Now he’d think you’d deliberately kept it from him until he’d asked, and-

You take a deep breath, “Th-The car broke down on the way back.”

Silence. You dare to peak up at his eyes to see them impassive, waiting for you to continue. He gently sets the fork down beside his plate, an unreadable expression on his face that does nothing to calm your nerves.

“I don’t know what happened, but it broke down and it wouldn’t move and I…”  

“Why didn’t you call me?”

It’s a toneless question, any warmth he’d possessed earlier now gone, and it makes you start shaking even more.

“I tr-tried but there was no service, and I knew you’d be busy, and… and… I’m sorry, Steve, I know I should have called you. I know I’m meant to call you when stuff like this happens, but in that moment I–”

“How did you get home?”

Another question. His voice flat, but the grip on your arm tighter than ever. You gulp.

“L-Luckily there was someone passing by, and they said their auto-repair shop was only five minutes away, and–”

“They?”

Your hands are shaking uncontrollably now, and you clasp them in your lap in a bid to get them to still. Your breathing grows more rapid, you can feel your palms grow sweatier as you squirm under your husband’s deathly calm gaze. You’re too afraid to look directly at him, but you know he’s expecting an answer. For a split second, you consider lying. But the consequences of that notion have you spitting out the truth before you can think about it any further.

“H-He.”

Steve goes deathly still. You hear him inhale sharply, his body tensing up even more underneath you. A part of you wants to burst into tears and run, run, run! But fear has you rooted in place, and even if it didn’t, he’s got a firm grasp on you, and you could never, ever overpower him.

“You got into a car with another man.”

He doesn’t even pose it as a question. No, the words leave Steve’s mouth in a statement of contempt and accusation. Except his tone is still so levelled, so dangerously low and contained.

“N-No! No, Steve, no! He offered to tow the car, and take it back to his repair shop. H-He was fixing it, Steve! And I swear I was only there for fifteen, maybe twenty minutes! I promise, and then I came straight home!” You’re tripping over your words, trying to get your explanation out. The explanation you’d subconsciously been rehearsing in your head all day because you knew it would come to this. You knew the moment that friendly stranger had tapped on your car window and offered his help. But what else could you have done in that moment?

“Steve, I know I should’ve called you the moment I had service, but I –”

“–But you were too busy with the mechanic.”

“No, no, Stevie, it’s not like that at all!” In hopeless desperation for this not to end badly, you bravely lock eyes with him, cupping his face in your hands, “I just didn’t want to bother you, I knew you had an important meeting around that time.” And I was also too scared to call.

His grip on your arm steadily tightens, till you can feel his fingers digging into your flesh. And you can see the vein in his forehead, the way his face is flushed red, the way he’s clenching his jaw, the way his eyes look so dark.

You wince, “S-Steve, please, you’re hurting me.”

“What did you do?”

“H-Huh?”

“In those fifteen, twenty minutes you were at his shop. When you should have been calling or texting me. What did you do?” Steve grips your chin, his thumb and forefinger pressing painfully down on your skin as he makes you look up at him. His expression is unreadable, his tone still low, but you can see that vein pulsing in his forehead. You know what it means.

“Nothing, I promise! I just sat in the waiting area, and…and there was no service, and–”

"Don't lie to me."

"I'm not, I swear I'm not, I-"

“You were fucking him.”

The accusation drops like a pin, except it feels more like a car crashing straight into your heart. You feel everything; hurt, panic, but most of all – fear.

And Steve’s eyes are so, so dark, and his words so matter-of-fact. He’s still got a death-grip on you, holding you firmly in his lap while you start shaking violently. Oh no, no, no, no… How could you persuade him that you hadn’t done that? How you could never do that?!

“No, Stevie, I would never! I t-told you, he was fixing the car, I barely spoke to him, I–”

“You fucked him. In the car that I bought for you. And then you thought you could keep it a secret from me.”

He isn’t hearing you. No, he’s going to that place. That place where his eyes turn black and his expression goes all far away, and his anger consumes him to the point where rationality goes completely out the window. And you’d give anything to not be dragged down into his dark place, where your pleas reach deaf ears, where your tears and screams don’t mean a single thing. Well, not until it’s all over.

“I didn’t, Steve, please believe me. I would never cheat on you, never ever. Please, you’re hurting me!”

His fingers clamp down on your upper arm so hard, you know they’ll leave a mark. Another one you’ll have to hide with a meticulous makeup routine and carefully selected clothes.

It takes all your strength to pry his hands off you, and you jump off his lap like a hot poker, slowly backing away as dread fills up your stomach. Dread that increases tenfold the moment he stands up too, up to his full height that makes you cower in total, utter fear.

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” his tone is hard now, louder, more biting, and your eyes zero in on his hands as they curl into fists at his side. “Do you think I was born yesterday?”

You continue backing away slowly, acutely aware that he’s stepping forward each time you take a step back. And like clockwork, you know how this goes. Soon your back would meet the wall, and then… Your eyes dart up behind him, up the stairs… Maybe, if you could get to the bedroom in time, perhaps lock the door?

“ANSWER ME!”

You jump, “No, Steve, I don’t! B-But I’m telling the truth. I barely spoke two words to the man, all I did was wait while he fixed the car. Please believe me,” your voice drops down to a broken whisper, “please…”

No talking to other men. It was perhaps Steve’s biggest rule. And it hadn’t always been like that, but slowly, through time, this rule had developed into one that your husband was the most obsessed with. The most angered by if ever broken by you. And what had started out as a little bit of a jealous streak had turned into white hot, obsessive, possession – almost paranoia. He saw red if a man ever looked your way, and God forbid if he thought it was the other way around…

“You’re fucking lying,” he spits out, each word coated in pure disdain that feels like ten stabs to your heart. “Had you been telling the truth, you wouldn’t have hid it from me until I asked you how your day was. You would have told me yourself, but you didn’t. You slept with someone else, and you thought you could fucking hide it from me, didn’t you?”

“No,” you whisper.

It only takes him two strides to get to you. And you’re frozen in fear but it’s like your body goes into fight or flight mode. He lunges at you, and you know he’s going for your throat but by some miracle you dodge him. And then you run, run, run for the stairs. Two at a time, oh you could make it! You’d lock yourself in the bathroom, wait for his anger to subside. You’d done that before, sometimes it would work, sometimes–

You take the stairs two at a time, but Steve’s legs are much longer than yours. He’s bigger than you in every way possible, stronger, faster too. It’s almost laughable how quickly he catches up to you, his footsteps heavily thudding on the floorboards. On the upper landing, and you’re almost at the bedroom door when he grabs your arm and yanks you back, and then–

SMACK.

The first hit always winds you. You never get used to it – his fist connecting with your jaw, the way your head snaps to the side, the ringing in your ear that blocks out all sound for a handful of moments. And then the pain, the numbing paint that’s all too familiar, radiating and spreading like hateful wildfire as you reach up to shield your face.

“Don’t fucking run from me, you little slut.” Steve slams you against the wall before pinning your wrists by your sides. “Look at me, look at me. I’m going to give you one last chance to tell the truth, and you better think very carefully before you speak, and don't you fucking lie to me. Did. You. Fuck. Him?”

A broken sob escapes your lips, a whimper filled with desperation, “N-No.”

It’s almost like he’s donned a mask as his handsome features twist into a snarl, his eyes narrowed to slits and yet you can still see the crazed darkness that consumes them like a cloud of black smoke. His lip curls in what looks to be contempt, and he shakes his head. “You’re a fucking liar.”

His grip on you tightens, if that was even possible, and his eyes flash, and suddenly he’s shaking you violently, your head hitting the hard wall with a thud as you cry and struggle against him.

“How the fuck could you? How could you sleep with him? After everything I do for you!? Answer the fucking question, how could you!?”

You want to defend yourself, tell him that you didn’t, you wouldn’t, how could he possibly believe you could? But you know there’s no point, you know he doesn’t hear anything when he gets like this. No matter how hard you cry, how much you beg and plead with him. He only sees red, never facts. And you’re still in shock from the first hit, so when you open your mouth nothing comes out.

The slap comes out of nowhere, the harsh cracking sound echoing across the hallway and bouncing off the walls as if to mock you. Your head whips to the side, and you’d have fallen down from the sheer force had he not been holding you up with his other hand.

“P-Please stop,” you croak out, finally finding your voice as the tears stream down your face from the pain of it. From both the physical and the mental anguish because you’d truly done nothing wrong! Hadn’t you? Sometimes he made you question yourself with how angry he’d get at you. “Please, Steve, it hurts, I didn’t–”

“Shut the fuck up and stop lying!” Steve roars, shaking you so hard you have to close your eyes because everything’s starting to spin now. “You thought you were fucking slick, didn’t you? Fucking someone else behind my back while I was at work, then coming home and acting like everything was fine, doing your fucking chores like you didn’t just act like a goddamned whore,” he shakes you again, his grip on your shoulders so hard you feel like passing out. “-thinking I wouldn’t’ find out, thinking I’m some fucking idiot who can’t put two and two together. That’s what you thought, didn’t you? DIDN’T YOU?!”

He backhands you hard when you don’t answer, before throwing you over his shoulder like you’re a sack of potatoes. Limply, you lay there, half disorientated and half crestfallen because you can’t even find it in you to defend yourself anymore.

He strides into the bedroom before throwing you on the bed, hard. You land with a thud, still clutching your face that blooms with never ending pain. Again, you try to shield yourself, but it’s like a rabbit trying to hide from a hungry lion. A hungry lion fuelled by crazed hatred and contempt. And that’s what hurts you the most – how he looks at you like that. As if you’re the worst person in the world. As if he really hates you and truly believes you’d ever cheat on him.

“You’re mine,” Steve snarls, climbing on top of you and once more grabbing your wrists. “I don’t give a fuck if you think you’re a free piece of ass who can run around town spreading your legs for the first man who looks your way. I own you, you fucking whore, and it’s your fucking fault that I’m doing this now. But you need to fucking learn…”

“N-No, please,” you cry out weakly when he grabs the material of your dress and rips it clean in half. Oh no, not this. Please not this. Not when he was so mad, so violent, not when he had that crazy look in his eye. You couldn’t do it, you couldn’t. He wouldn’t be gentle, and it would hurt so much. And you were already hurting so much. “Steve, I’m begging you, please, please, don’t! D-Don’t, I promise I’ll be better! I didn’t cheat on you but I swear, next time I’ll call you, next time I’ll–”

Another slap to your face shuts you up, and your sobs turn silent. Still there, just silent. Filled with dread and anguish and fear for the horrific roughness that is to come. That always came no matter how hard you begged. No matter how careful you were to follow his rules. You always messed up somehow. Oh, you could’ve been better! You should’ve been better and then you wouldn’t be here! And he’d still be nice, and you’d be sitting downstairs eating dinner and laughing, and…

Oh, how did it get to this?

“Everything I do for you, and you throw it all back in my face,” Steve snarls, and he’s so unrecognisable. Like a dark stranger looming above you, pelting out harsh words that he knows will cut deep, twist like a knife straight through your heart. Make you feel like you’re the worst person alive, and certainly the worst wife. Someone who can’t do anything right. Someone who can’t even keep her husband happy.

“I give you everything you could fucking want, I provide for you, don’t I?” He grabs your face with one hand, squeezing so hard it hurts. “Don’t I? Don’t I fucking give you anything you could ask for? And all I want in return is for you to listen to me. Your goddamned loyalty, that’s all I want. For you to fucking understand that you’re my property, that you need to do what I say. And what do you end up doing? Cheating on me like the fucking whore I always knew you were.”

He makes you believe it sometimes. Well, at first you didn’t, but now you’re not too sure. Maybe you were a terrible wife, because otherwise why would he always get so mad? You always tried your best to keep him happy but you never did enough. Did other wives do more than you did? Was that why their husbands never got mad at them? Was that why they were always happy and relaxed? While you walked on eggshells, waiting for him to explode? Maybe he wouldn’t be like this if he were married to a different woman. A better woman. Someone who didn’t make as many mistakes as you did. Someone who didn’t annoy him that much. Someone who kept him happy and didn’t make him so mad all the time that he had to accuse her of cheating. Someone he didn’t look at with pure hatred in his eyes, like he was doing with you now.

Steve kisses you roughly, possessively. Pressing his lips down on yours as if he wants to imprint the feel of them on you, sear it straight into your memory. As if you could ever forget. But it’s the sweet kisses from Steve that you want to remember, not the hate-fuelled way he’s kissing you now. But you just lie there limply, lie there and let him kiss you, let him pull your now tattered dress off you. And you wonder if he can taste the saltiness of your tears, and you wonder if even a tiny part of him cares.

How did it get to this?

“I’ll show you,” Steve mutters darkly, “I’ll show you who you fucking belong to. And it’s all your fucking fault, because you’re gonna feel it. And maybe this time, you won’t fucking forget it.”

You look beyond his shoulder as he unzips his fly and pulls his hard cock out. You look at the tiny speck on the wall, focus on it really hard. Focus on it till your vision blurs, focus on it so you don’t feel the excruciating pain as he forces his huge cock inside you. Focus on it till you can’t feel his hand wrapping around your throat, till you can’t hear the pure hatred hurtling out of his mouth. Maybe if you focused hard enough, it would all go away. Like magic.

It wasn’t always like this.

You remember your first date with Steve, almost a year ago to the day. Your friends had set you up with him, telling you he was only a couple of years older than you. Great looking, had an established career. But a bit shy, a bit reserved, someone who mostly kept to himself. You’d agreed, because you were shy and reserved too, and suggested ice-skating as a first date activity to help, well, break the ice.

And it had been so funny, because Steve couldn’t ice skate for the life of him.

“I don’t know how you do it,” he’d huffed, awkwardly “skating” up to you in the middle of the rink. Except he was less skating and more just dragging his skates across the ice while holding his huge arms out to balance himself. It was comical, because he looked so big and out of place, and yet so cute that you couldn’t help but giggle.

“It just takes a while to get used to,” you’d answered, skating around him before impulsively grabbing his hands in case he fell over or something. And you’d immediately widened your eyes when you’d realised what you’d done, about to drop his hands like hot pokers because you were never this forward on a first date! But Steve had chuckled, keeping a tight grip on your gloved hands and pulling you closer.

“Nope, I just think it’s in my genetic makeup to be bad at ice skating,” he’d said as he’d let you guide him back to the side of the rink where he could hold the railing, and yet he didn’t let go of your hands as he winked. “Either that, or I’m actually a pro who’s faking it just so you’ll hold my hand.”

You’d gone to the Christmas market after that, and Steve had bought you a hot chocolate with whipped cream and marshmallows on top. You thought he’d stop holding your hand once you were off the ice, but he’d held it throughout your stroll through the markets. You’d delicately sipped your hot drink, secretly thrilled at how nice and safe it felt to hold his big, warm hand. How he was so handsome and he genuinely seemed interested in you.

“You’ve got whipped cream on your nose,” Steve had pointed out, and before you could wipe it off, he’d done it for you. And then his hand had stayed on your face, cupping it gently while the market bustled around you, busy as ever but the two of you seemed to be in your own little bubble. And then he’d kissed you, and it had felt so incredibly right. Like coming home from a long, cold day and being met with the warm familiarity of your own house. A house where you felt safe, and content, because in that moment, that’s what he made you feel.

Safe, warm, content, happy.

“I’m never letting you out of this fucking house again, you hear me?” Steve grunts, slapping your cheek not-so-lightly and knocking you out of your reverie. You blink several times, hoping it’s just a dream. But his rough thrusts remind you that it’s not, and your mouth curls in pain as his hand goes back to wrap around your throat. “Not until you learn not to act like such a goddamned slut, not until you learn to fucking listen to me, and be good. This is all your fucking fault, okay? That’s why I have to teach you.”

“St-Steve,” you cry lightly, unable to breathe because of how he’s pressing down on your neck, “I-I can’t… I can’t…”

“Shut up!” His thrusts grow harder, even more unforgiving. And all you can do is lie there and take it, and hope and pray and wish that you were somewhere else right now. With someone else. Or no one at all. His hands, which you’d known to be so gentle once upon a time, are rough as they squeeze and fondle and slap you as if you’re an animal, a toy, something he wants to pound till he breaks. “You deserve this, you little whore. Tell me, was that fucker’s cock worth it? Was it worth ruining what we have? FUCKING TELL ME!”

So unfair. It was so horrifically unfair. Because you’d never think of cheating on him, never ever. You love Steve, despite everything you love him so much. But he didn’t love you. Of course he didn’t. Maybe he had at first, but he didn’t anymore.

What had you done to make yourself so unlovable? What had you done to make him hate you so much?

Again, you think how he feels like a stranger, a stranger who’s hurting you and violating you in the most unforgiving way possible. All while you lie there and take it. And how was this Steve? The very same Steve you’d fallen in love with less than a year ago? The same Steve who’d confided everything in you? Told you that you were the one for him, told you how much he loved you, how happy he was that he’d found you? How was this the same Steve?

You still remember how surprised your friends had been with how close you and Steve had gotten in such a short amount of time. But they’d also been happy, and taken all the credit of course, as they’d set the two of you up.

And you remember feeling so goddamned happy all the time. Happy whenever you got off work and you got to see Steve. Giddy because of how comfortable you felt around him, despite knowing him for such a short period of time. One date turned to two, which turned to five, and before you knew it, you were looking forward to spending nights at his place. Cooking for him, kissing him, climbing up on his roof and talking all night while staring up into the stars.

It was during one of those moments when Steve had told you that you were the first person he’d felt close to in a very long time. He’d told you that he hadn’t had a great childhood, that his parents hadn’t been very nice people. And because of that, he’d run away when he was sixteen and never looked back. He didn’t speak to them anymore.

He’d told you he’d had a girlfriend before, and they’d been together many years until she cheated on him. And he’d squeezed your hand then, looking up at you from where his head had been resting on your lap, and the stars in the sky had reflected in his eyes so brightly, and he’d told you that you were the first person since then that he’d felt connected with, that he’d felt like he could be himself around. That he loved you so much despite the fact he’d only known you a couple of weeks. He loved you so much and so hard, that you were all he could think about. That you consumed him. And he loved that. And he loved you.

So, where did all that go?

That’s what you wonder now, your body jolting from each unforgiving thrust as the man who is your husband fucks you relentlessly, fucks you like he hates you. Tells you repeatedly, again and again that it’s all your fault.

Your fault. Maybe it is your fault. Oh, if only you hadn’t gone out today! If only you’d just stayed at home and been good! Then the car would’ve never broken down, and none of this would have happened, and Steve would’ve been happy. And you wouldn’t have made him upset like how you always seem to do now.

“I’ll make sure you never fucking disobey me again,” he mutters, pushing your legs up and throwing them over his shoulders while you moan in pain underneath him. His cock is a blur, pummelling in and out of you like a jackhammer. And it’s crazy, the very person who’d made you feel such pleasure in the past, could be inflicting so much pain on you now. “I’ll make sure they all know who you belong to the moment they fucking look at you. Fuck, I’ll show you.”

The contempt in his tone kills you over and over again. Makes you think you’ll never be good enough to make him happy. Make anyone happy. Maybe it was you who had ruined Steve, turned him into the monster he’d become. Maybe it was all your fault, your fault that the sweet, caring man you’d met had turned into your worst nightmare. Someone you were so fucking scared of that sometimes you couldn’t even breathe.

“I’ll knock you the fuck up,” Steve grabs your chin, pressing his forehead against yours, “Maybe then you’ll get it through your head that you’re not the free piece of ass you seem to think you are. And everyone will see who exactly you belong to.”

You whimper, too frightened to protest, your body jolting with each thrust. And it always hurts when he’s this rough, it always burns so bad because of how big he is.

You remember a few months into dating him, when he’d taken your virginity. He’d been so sweet, so gentle. Holding you close and murmuring sweet nothings in your ear while you cried in his arms despite trying to be brave. He’d told you he was big, and that it would hurt and he’d pull out if you wanted him to. But you’d held on to him so tightly that night, because despite the pain, it had been so special to you. And he’d been so kind, so tender, and you’d basked in the glow of being loved. And the pain had been worth it, because you’d felt so close to him, and he’d told you over and over again how much he loved you, how special you were. How you completed him. How you were so pretty, so exquisite, how if he could take all the pain away from you and give it to himself, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

Now, he roughly presses his huge palm against your abdomen, and you can see the outline of his cock in your stomach as he continues to jut into you with inhumane force. Each thrust makes the bed rock underneath you, the bedposts hitting the wall with thwack after thwack while you silently lay there, the tears drying up on your cheeks, and yet your whole body still burns with pain from the constant onslaught.

“God fuck, your pussy’s still so fucking tight despite how much of a fucking whore you are,” Steve mutters through gritted teeth, “I’m gonna fill you the fuck up, get you pregnant once and for all so everyone knows not to fuck with what’s mine. And I swear to God, from now on you won’t even look at another man, let alone fuck some hick ass mechanic who’s trying to take you away from me because you’re too goddamned stupid to realise it.”

He hadn’t always so possessive to the point of insanity. Not the way he is now. You remember the old Steve, how he’d see you having innocent interactions with other men and not think twice about it. But slowly and surely, that had changed.

“I don’t like you talking to other men,” Steve had admitted to you once a few weeks into your relationship. “I know it’s irrational but I just hate it.”

“Oh, Stevie, it doesn’t mean anything,” you’d giggled, although you remembered secretly feeling so giddy that he cared enough about you to be jealous. That meant he was serious about you! “It’s you that I want, I couldn’t care less about anyone else!”

“I know,” he’d sighed, grabbing your hands and pressing kisses on them in a way that made you giggle even more. “I guess it’s just something I have to work on.”

But what had started out as simple, innocuous jealousy had morphed into something so much bigger, twisted, and ugly.

It began with a simple request; “please baby, don’t talk to him. I don’t like it.” And you found yourself listening to him, thinking he’d leave you if you didn’t. You distanced yourself from any male friends you had, including co-workers and even your relatives. You couldn’t stand to see Steve upset, and he’d asked you so nicely, so why wouldn’t you listen to him?

After that, he’d made you move in with him. “It’s just easier this way,” he’d assured you, despite the fact that you’d only been going out less than two months, “I feel more comfortable knowing you’re safe in my bed at night, and then I don’t worry as much.”

Then he’d made you quit your job. “I don’t like how those men at your work look at you,” he’d said, “I’ll take care of you, sweetie. You don’t need to work anymore.” And so, you’d quit without a second thought. It’s what had made Steve happy, so why wouldn’t you listen to him?

Then, he’d wanted to know where you were all the time. “I worry about you so much, you have no idea,” he’d told you once when the two of you were in bed and he was holding you close, stroking your hair while you lay on top of his chest. “I need to know where you are all the time, okay? I just… I need to know. And who you’re with. You need to tell me, or else I’ll go insane.”

Constant check-ins, constant texts. You were allowed to go out with your girlfriends, but never past a certain time. And certainly never a holiday or a girls’ trip. He had to know who your friends were, if they had boyfriends or brother, he had to know everything. And you were so in love with him, you hadn’t even realised that maybe it was all too much.

“My ex-girlfriend was having an affair behind my back for one year,” he’d told you quietly one night. One hot August night when the two of you had climbed up on his roof, and he lay with his head in your lap. His feathery lashes fanning his cheekbones, and his face softened by the moonlight, he’d looked like an angel that night. “One whole year, and I didn’t have a clue until the day I caught her. Them. I caught them in my bed.”

You’d listened with baited breath, because Steve never really spoke much about his life before you. Not his childhood, nor his parents who he didn’t speak to. And definitely never his ex-girlfriend.

“I just can’t lose you,” he’d said, staring hard at the dark night sky, “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you, if you left me. If someone took you away from me, I think I’d die.”

You’d kissed him then, and whispered against his lips, “I’m not going anywhere, Stevie. I love you so much, and there’s nobody else out there for me. Just you. So don’t worry, because you’re stuck with me for as long as you’ll have me.”

He’d sat up and taken you into his arms, hugging you so tight you couldn’t breathe – but in a good way. “Forever,” he’d mumbled into your hair, “I’ll have you forever, and then after that too. I’m never gonna let you go.”

You’d married him a month later in a small ceremony with just your family and some friends. And he’d looked so happy on that day, so handsome and happy and he’d held you close to him the whole night. You were happy too, and thrilled that he was so happy. “Now everyone knows your mine,” he’d whispered in your ear while you two slow-danced, “This is all I’ve ever wanted, you’re all I’ve ever wanted. Thank you. I love you.”

“If you ever fucking cheat on me again, I’ll kill him.” Steve grabs your jaw hard, his fingers pressing against your skin until you cry out, ripped away from the safety of your memories and back into the present. “And you too. You got that? I’ll fucking kill you both.”

You’ve cried all the tears you possibly can, and so you just lay there. Limp, shaking like a leaf yet feeling so numb. So numb and alone because he wasn’t your husband. He was a monster, a monster you didn’t even recognise. Your angelic husband warped into a monster because of you, because of you, because of you!

With a grunt, he unloads inside you. His hot cum searing you from the inside out, and there’s so much of it. And he holds you up, with your legs pressed up over his shoulders, spilling load after load of his seed into you, making sure it stays, making sure it sticks.

And then he throws you aside, rising up to his feet and staring at you with blazing eyes. He’s still fully dressed in his suit, while you lie below him in your tattered dress. The one you’d chosen so painstakingly to wear for him today.

With glassy eyes and limbs that don’t move, you watch him as he does up his fly, muttering profanity under his breath. He’s still so angry, you can tell by that vein on his forehead, and the way his fists are balled up by his sides. You hate his fists. They scare you more than anything else in the whole world.

He doesn’t utter another word. Instead, he leaves. You hear him go down the stairs, hear the jangle of the car keys, the slam and lock of the front door.

He was gone.

Your body curls up into foetal position, and you hug yourself hard. It’s the only solace you can give yourself. Everything hurts. From your face, your jaw, your arms, your whole body down to your heart and your soul. Oh, you hate yourself! For being so weak, so pathetic!

But most of all, you hate yourself for making him how he’d become. If only you’d been a better wife, if only you’d been able to make him happy. Good wives didn’t get hit. So maybe this pain was what you deserved.

If only you hadn’t lied about the car…

Oh, the car! The goddamned car! You wish to God you could turn back time. But what could you have even done differently?

You remember feeling a sense of dread the moment the car had stopped working. And it had increased tenfold when you’d taken your phone out to call Steve, only for there to be no signal. Of course, the car had decided to stop working in the middle of nowhere. It was less than ideal, since you had to get home and finish all your chores before Steve got home. Otherwise, he might get mad, and then…

“Hey there, you OK?”

The knock on your window makes you jump, and you find a man peering in at you, a friendly yet slightly concerned look on his face. Oh gosh, Steve would be so mad if I spoke to this man now, you think to yourself. And yet… there’s not much else you can do. Your car won’t start back up, and you don’t know the first thing about repairing it.

“H-Hey,” you roll your window down, trying not to look directly at the stranger’s tanned face. “I’m OK, thanks for asking. My, uh, my car isn’t though. I think. It won’t start up.”

The man nods, “Yeah, that’s why I came over. Saw you on the side of the road and knew you wouldn’t be parked here for no reason.” He pauses, listening to the hum of your engine with a thoughtful look on his face. “I think I recognise the sound. If I could get this car back to my auto-shop, I think I could fix it.”

“Really?” Hope fills your heart before reality comes crashing down. Steve wouldn’t like for you to be going into auto-shops with men you didn’t know. You weren’t allowed to talk to any man unless Steve approved it. And you gulp, thinking how mad he’d be if he found out. The hairs on the back of your neck prickle as you think about the last time he’d gotten mad at you… No, you couldn’t go with this man, it wouldn’t be worth the trouble.

“I, uh, I think I can get it to start back up myself. Thanks anyways though!” You say with false brightness. But after a few more failed attempts, you slump back against your seat in defeat, and the man chuckles.

“A valiant effort. But as I said, my shop’s only about a mile and a half down that way. And luckily, I’ve got my tow truck with me now. Let me help you, and you’ll be on your way in no time.”

His face softens when he sees the hesitant look on your face, and he runs a hand through his unruly brown hair before fishing something out of his pocket. “Here’s my card, just so you know I’m legit. C’mon, let me help you. I couldn’t possibly leave a lady out here all on her own with a broken-down car that’s an easy fix.”

You bite your lip. His business card did look legit. And after another quick glance at your phone – still no signal – you nod and smile at the stranger. Maybe Steve would be proud of you for taking the initiative and getting yourself out of a sticky and potentially dangerous situation.

The ride to the man’s auto-repair shop is short enough. And he spends the next fifteen minutes fixing your car, all while you sit in the waiting room fretting and typing out texts to Steve that you’re too scared to send. You need to think of the perfect way to explain what had happened with the car, the most delicate explanation that wouldn’t result in him getting mad. Oh, you didn’t want him to get mad! Not when things had been going so well recently, and he hadn’t gotten mad in a long time, and you were starting to believe that he still loved you, and wasn’t annoyed by you all the time, and didn’t hate you, and–

“She’s almost fixed!” The man had announced cheerily, walking into the waiting room and shooting you a bright smile, one that had melted off his face the moment he’d seen the look of worry on your face. “Hey, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,�� standing up and smoothening down your dress, you’d shot the man a puzzled look. “What do you mean, almost?”

“Almost as in I need an extra part to complete the fix, but it won’t come in until tomorrow.” The man runs a hand through his wavy brown hair that curls charmingly at the base of his neck. “But don’t worry, she’ll be back home in your driveway by noon tomorrow at the latest. I promise.”

“T-Tomorrow?” your blood runs cold, and it’s insane how your hands start shaking instantaneously. “But it can’t stay here overnight, my…my husband, he’ll find out, and then–”

“Husband?” The man repeats slowly before quickly gathering himself and taking a step back. “Well, ma’am, I’m sure he won’t mind about the car, so long as you’re alright. And don’t worry, I can give you a lift home.”

“N-No, you don’t understand, he…” you swallow harshly, squeezing your eyes shut for a second and clasping your hands to get them to stop shaking so violently, “N-No, he can’t know I was here, he can’t, he’ll…”

“Why don’t you let me speak to him,” the mechanic says slowly, pointing at your phone. “I’m sure I could explain the problem with the engine–”

Your eyes widen in pure fear, “NO! I mean, uh, no, that won’t be necessary. I just, oh God, I-I…” Suddenly, you can’t think straight. If Steve found out you were at this man’s auto-shop alone with him, that he’d spoken to you, that you’d spoken back to him… Oh no, Steve couldn’t find out. He’d get so mad, and he’d hurt you, and then everything would be awful for days.

“Is everything okay, ma’am?” The guy has a look of serious concern painted on his face as he stands before you. He’s tall, tall just like Steve, and looks just as strong too. “I know it’s none of my business, but you look awfully scared.”

You force a laugh that comes out a tad too high-pitched, “I’m fine! I’m totally fine! I just…”

“Let me give you a lift home,” the man says gently, taking a hesitant step closer to you. “I can speak to your husband, let him know it wasn’t your fault that your car broke down.”

“That’s not what he’d be angry about,” your eyes widen when you realise you’ve said too much. “I mean, he won’t be angry at all. Not at all. Everything’s gonna be just fine.”

More than him, it seems like you’re trying to persuade yourself.

“I, uh, I’ll call myself a cab,” you say, but the man places his warm hand on your wrist to stop you, and the contact makes you jump. He’s so… gentle. It’s a strange sensation. And then he just… looks at you. For a handful of seconds that feel like ages, he just looks at you with inquisitive blue eyes, as if he’s trying to read you, or at least trying to understand.

“Please, allow me,” finally, he tears his eyes away, and he’s got his phone out and he’s already dialling the number, “the reception here isn’t great, but my phone seems to work through it.”

It’s only later, when you’re getting into the cab, that he grabs your arm once more. Well, “grab” would be the wrong word. He gently placed his hand on your arm as if to stop you, and you hesitate, half distracted by the need to get home before Steve and come up with an excuse about the car, and half curious about what the mechanic has to say.

“You have my card,” he says slowly with significance, his voice lowering to a deep rumble. “Call me tomorrow about your car. Or,” he adds when you start closing the cab door, “if you feel like there’s another reason you should call me, then please just do it. I’m here to help.”

He holds your gaze for a moment or two, a few wayward strands of his brown hair falling over his forehead before he pushes them back. You find yourself forgetting to breathe, before you quickly shake your head and force a smile before looking away.

“Thank you for your help.”

Now, you lie alone on your bed, on your side with your knees up to your chest, shielding yourself and your poor body from whatever lies ahead. You can feel the outline of the mechanic’s card in your dress pocket, and muster up the strength to take it out.

Should you call him? It’s not like you had anyone else. Your family lived miles and miles away on the other side of the country. Steve had moved you to a different state after the wedding, claiming the two of you needed a fresh new beginning to start your new life together. And so you’d left all your friends and family behind without a second thought, loyally following your husband into the sunset because you loved him and trusted him.

You’d made new friends now, but they were the wives of Steve’s friends, and you didn’t know if you could trust them. What if they took Steve’s side? What if they recognised that it was you who’d turned him so awful and mean? That it was you who was the rotten one, poisoning everything you touched because you couldn’t keep him happy, couldn’t be a good wife?

You stare so hard at the card until your vision blurs, and then you stare some more. After a while, your thoughts just cease altogether, and you just lie there. Just wishing you didn’t exist. Wishing you were never alive to begin with, wishing you never felt the immense love in your heart that you still do for Steve. Wishing love never existed and neither did you. That you just disappeared into thin air one day and Steve could move on and be happy and be better for someone who made him better. Someone he genuinely loved and cared for and wanted to be better for.

Someone who so clearly wasn’t you.

You don’t know how long you lie there. Motionless. It’s different this time. In the past, after he’s left you like this, you’ve been able to get back up. Brush yourself off, make yourself pretty again and pretend it never happened. For the sake of both of you, just pretend it never happened.

You remember the first time he’d hit you. It was a month or so after your wedding, and Steve had taken you out to a work party of his. And you’d felt so relaxed, so pretty on the arm of your husband, wearing the dress he’d chosen for you, the jewellery he’d bought you. The diamond earrings sat pretty on your ears, a present from him that very night. He’d come up behind you while you’d sat at your vanity getting ready, and kissed your cheek and told you how much he loved you, how you deserved all the prettiest things in life because you were the prettiest thing in his life.

You’d felt so at ease, being led around by Steve whilst you mingled and spoke with his work colleagues. But his good mood hadn’t lasted as the night had gone on, and halfway through the evening, you’d sensed him go silent next to you. Deathly silent. His grip around your waist had tightened to the point where it was almost uncomfortable, and his jaw was tight too. His lips set into a straight line.

He’d been just as silent on the drive back home, and it was only once the two of you were back in your bedroom, that he’d chose to speak.

“You were getting awfully comfortable with some of the men at the party,” he’d commented while you were undoing his tie.

You’d wrinkled your nose, “What?”

“Don’t say what. You know exactly what I mean.” His tone was cold, colder than you’d ever heard it. Soon, you’d grow used to the tell-tale signs that he was going into that dark, forlorn place he went to when he got like this. But back then, you didn’t really have an inkling.

“D-Did I do something to upset you, Stevie?” You’d asked hesitantly, not knowing what to make of his detached anger. You’d reached back to undo the zipper of your dress. Usually, he did it, but he wasn’t offering to do it then.

“Do I have to spell it out for you?” His tone had been so cutting that you’d physically flinched, and when he’d turned back around, his eyes were blazing accusatorily, “You were acting like a goddamned slut tonight, flirting with all those men.”

You remember the insult not even hitting you, because the absurdity of his statement had taken you so far off guard that instead, a giggle had escaped from your lips. An awkward giggle, like you had no idea what to say to such an absurd accusation.

“Do you find this funny?” You’d never forget the look he’d given you then, how he’d strode across the room, how big he’d looked, how scared you’d felt in that one second.

“No, Stevie, I was just–”

The strike had come out of nowhere. Like a clap of thunder, almost. You’d heard it before you’d even felt it. The slap that seemed to reverberate off the walls, except it was his palm against your cheek. The force of it had you reeling, and you’d lost your balance. Crashed against the wall with a thud before you’d fallen down.

You still remember how unreal it all had felt. Like an out of body experience, almost. Surreal. And the pain had bloomed instantly on the side of your face, and you’d looked up at him and he’d looked down at you, a horrified look on his face. He’d held his hand out in front of him, staring at it hard, and the darkness from his eyes had cleared.

Back in the present, and you can’t stop shaking. You feel numb, empty, and yet you can’t stop shaking. You try to think back to the old Steve, the good Steve. The sweet Stevie who was a little bit shy, and yet so charming and witty at the same time. So poetically in love that he’d made you fall for him, hook, line and sinker. The romantic Steve who’d whisked you off your feet and you’d happily followed him into the sunset without a second glance backwards.

Steve. The love of your life.

You just wish he still loved you back.

You don’t know how long you lie there. Seconds, minutes, hours, they don’t mean a thing. Not when this was to be your reality for the rest of your life. Again, you feel the charming mechanic’s card in your hand, but now you can’t even muster up the energy to hold it up.

It’s the dead of the night when he finally comes back. You haven’t moved an inch, but the sound of the front door shutting and the footsteps thudding up the stairs has alarm bells going off in your head.

No, no, no. No more hitting, no more pain. You couldn’t take another slap, you couldn’t, you couldn’t, you couldn’t! In fight or flight mode, you heave yourself up, shaking with fear. The only place you can think of to hide is under the bed. And maybe he wouldn’t care to look for you, maybe he’d stay in the guest room, maybe he’d just leave you alone.

But you see Steve’s shoes as he enters your shared bedroom, and you find that you’re holding your breath. Slowly, he steps inside, and you hear him call out your name quietly. You squeeze your eyes shut, hoping to be transported away. Far, far away where nothing cruel could reach you, and you could be happy all the time and not have to feel any pain, not ever, ever, ever!

It’s when his fingers wrap around your ankle that you start crying again. But no sound comes out, perhaps because you’re in shock. Or maybe because you’re just too scared. Rigid, frozen in complete fear, you’re limp as he pulls you out from under the bed.

“Oh God,” he whispers as the stark white orange light of the bedroom hits you. “Oh…Oh God… I…” his voice catches, his blue eyes clear and alert, blinking several times as he takes you in. Your poor, quivering body, and haunted, dead eyes that look anywhere except at him.

“I didn’t mean to,” he hoists you up into his lap gently as he sits on the cold floor, a mix of shock and regret on his face as he repeatedly shakes his head, surveying your face, your arms, your shoulders, your stomach, “Baby, I… Oh God, I didn’t mean it, I swear I didn’t…”

You find the tiny speck on the wall once more, and you fix your gaze upon it until it blurs. You're so numb, so far away, and you barely feel his hand as he gingerly touches the bruises and marks he’s left on you. Some old ones, some new. Some that had yet to turn dark and noticeable, some half covered in makeup from before.

Carefully, Steve strokes your face, the same side he’d slapped repeatedly only a few hours before. But the gentleness doesn’t register to you. Nothing does. You stare at the speck even harder, wondering if it was always there.

“I’m so sorry,” he breathes, his tone hushed, regretful. Filled with anguish. “Baby, I’m so sorry, I… I got angry, I shouldn’t have got angry but I just…” his voice trails off as he stares hard at his own hand. As if he can’t believe he’s done this, as if he can’t believe that his own hand was capable of doing so much damage.

The speck on the wall seems to get bigger. You wish to God it would swallow you up whole.

“I swear I won’t do it again; I won’t ever hurt you like this again, I swear on my life,” Steve holds you up against his chest, cradles you like you’re a baby. And it feels so alien, to be handled so delicately. He hugs you close, burying his face in your shoulder, and that’s when you hear his voice break, “I won’t do it again, you have my word I’ll never hurt you again. I’m so fucking sorry, oh God, I’m so sorry.”

I won’t do it again. You’d heard that before. That’s what he’d said the first time he’d hit you. That’s what he said after every time. The speck grows blurry.

“Baby, please say something,” he stops hugging you, but still holds you in his lap, his strong arms around you in a way that should make you feel safe but right now you just feel nothing. His voice is thick, “I swear on everything, I won’t lay a hand on you again. I just… I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I don’t know why I get like that. Everything goes black, and it’s like I can’t think straight and then by the time I can, it’s too late. But I swear I’ll get better, I swear on my life this won’t happen again, baby, just please. Please say something.”

If you painted over the speck, would it still be there? Would it disappear entirely, or would the paint chip off after enough time had passed, and reveal the ugliness once more?

“I’ll go to anger management, therapy, you name it,” he shakes you gently, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones. “I want to get better for you, be better for you. I know I’m not a good man, baby, I know you deserve better and I’ll do anything. I swear, this is the last time I hurt you, okay? Please, just believe me, okay? Just say something.”

Steve stands up with you in his arms, your limbs falling limply down by your sides, your head lolling down too. Almost like you’re not real, like you’re a doll who was alive for a little while but you’re not anymore. You certainly don’t feel alive. You don’t feel anything. Just numbness.

Tenderly, he lays you down on the bed. The same bed he’d roughly thrown you down and violated you on just a few hours earlier. And a part of you, a tiny part of you from the deepest recesses of your mind, wants to muster up the courage to look into his eyes. To search for the man you love, to see if he’s still there. But the dark numbness eats you from the inside out, and so you just stare blankly at your speck on the wall.

“I promise I’ll change,” Steve repeats, the desperation now evident in his tone as he clutches your face, wills you to look at him. “Please, just listen to me. Believe me when I say I’ll change. Wh-When we… when we have our little girl, I’ll change. I’ll be a good husband and a good dad, make both of you happy. I won’t ever get like this again, I can promise you that now, alright? That’s a promise I’m making to you right now.”

A child? Would he hurt it too? Would he grow to hate it too, simply because it would be yours?

He grabs your hand, and his is so warm. Or is yours the one that’s freezing cold? It had been cold under the bed, but you’d liked it. Feeling cold was a different kind of pain, one that distracted you from the pain he’d caused you.

He kisses you desperately, all over your face as if trying to get you to say something back to him. Instead, you notice another speck on the ceiling above the closet. How many were there? Were they secretly laughing at you? Mocking you for staying so long in a speck-filled house?

“Baby?” Steve’s eyes glisten, his face so ghastly pale as he grabs your hand and presses more desperate kisses on it, “Baby, please say something. Say you forgive me. I-I don’t know why I do it, okay? I just, I’m so fucking terrified of someone taking you away from me. Taking away the one person, the only person, in my whole fucking life who means everything to me. I couldn’t stand it, I thought he’d take you away from me, and I just saw red, and I’m so sorry. I hate myself for doing this to you, baby. I’m so sorry, please say something!”

But you can’t! How can you, when it doesn’t even feel like you’re real anymore?

The specks are all around you now, growing larger and larger. You can hear Steve apologising over and over again, hugging you close as he begs for your forgiveness. But you’re too far away, so far away that you can barely hear him anymore. Lightyears away, in your own universe where you’re brave and confident and nobody ever messes with you. Nobody ever hurts you. And you take care of yourself, and it’s enough.

You find yourself hurtling through windows of time, entering one before flitting into the next as the specks grow so large it feels like they’re consuming you. You find yourself observing your birthday last year, when you’d baked your own cake and Steve had spent hours decorating it for you. Using your favourite-coloured frosting, and of course you’d gotten some on your face. He’d kissed it off for you, and told you that you were adorable.

Now you’re on Steve’s roof, the night he’d told you about his big promotion at work. You’d yelped in excitement, hugged him so hard it had hurt – but the good kind of hurt. And he’d had those stars in his eyes as he’d held you. “You’re my best friend, you know?” he’d said, “Every time anything good happens, you’re the first person I look for in the room to tell.”

Memory after memory, one cherished moment after another. And you’re so possessive of these moments, like you want to lock them up in a jar and keep them safe forever. Not let them get tainted like how he’d gotten tainted. Because of you, of course.

Maybe I’ll stay here, you think as the specks continue to consume you. It’s safe here. I’m happy here. He’s happy too. Maybe I’ll stay forever...

But something's stopping the specks from swallowing you up and taking you away. Taking you far, far away where Steve couldn't hurt you anymore, the place where there was only love and never hate. But something's stopping you, pulling you back like gravity that you simply couldn't defy. A stranger's voice, warm and sweet like honey, cutting through the freezing cold numbness.

“If you feel like there’s another reason you should call me, then please just do it. I’m here to help.”

You feel the card clutched tightly in your hand; the hand Steve isn’t holding on to. And it pulls you back, back, back to reality. Another memory, but this time it’s a stranger with blue eyes and a friendly smile.

The specks slowly start to disappear, and you find yourself back in your bedroom. Back in Steve’s arms. Back in his warm embrace, except it does nothing to stop you from feeling so numbingly cold.

“I love you,” Steve whispers, “I love you so much, I’d die if I lost you. Please forgive me, baby. Come back to me. I won’t ever hurt you again.”

He lifts you up and hugs you once more, holding on to you so tightly as if his life depends on it. Strokes your hair and whispers sweetly in your ear, says all the words of regret that you've heard before. But you lie motionless in his arms like a broken doll, your poor cheek resting limply on his shoulder.

And it’s over Steve’s shoulder that you look down at the card in your hand, and read the man’s name, along with his number. And suddenly, a coolness washes over you.

Your finger twitches. You take a deep breath.

“Baby?” Steve draws back till you’re both face to face once more, and his eyes have those stars in them again, the stars you'd fallen in love with, the stars you'd wanted back so bad that you'd let it get this far. He cups your face, and presses his forehead against yours.

“You forgive me, don't you?"

THE END.

Okay so. That was a lot. It was a lot to write. If you're still here, then thank you for sticking around till the end. I hope you enjoyed reading it and I hope you found the story that I was trying to tell compelling. Please do let me know what you thought. What do you think reader will do now? What do you WANT her to do now? Who was the stranger? Why is Steve the way he is? IDK. Any raw thoughts and feedback would be incredible as always. Thanks so much for baring with me while I tried to post this fic. One last thing - this is a work of complete fiction. Thank you <3

[luv-lock]

⸻ ʀ ᴇ ᴅ ʜ ᴏ ᴏ ᴅ ⸻

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem Reader

Headcanon: How would he be when he's obsessed?

Note: English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

The first time Jason stepped into Wayne Manor, he looked more like a stray cat than a boy. When Bruce introduced him to you—you couldn’t help but notice the defiance in his eyes, like he expected you to reject him immediately. But instead of recoiling from his rough edges, you smiled and offered your hand. It was the first moment Jason felt truly seen.

Jason didn’t know what to do with kindness, especially not from someone who looked at him like he was worth something.

“You’re going to love it here,” you said warmly, still holding out your hand.

He didn’t take it, but he didn’t forget the gesture either. That moment rooted itself in him, and he clung to it in the months to come.

You were the first person to make him laugh in years. It started small—quiet chuckles he tried to hide—but eventually, you had him cackling so hard that tears streamed down his face.

You were unlike anyone Jason had ever met. While Bruce was the stern, brooding authority figure, you were warmth and understanding. You treated him like an equal, never pitying him for his past or scolding him for his sharp tongue. You’d sit with him during his training, patch him up after patrols, and listen to him vent about the unfairness of Gotham’s streets. Jason began to feel that you were the one good thing in his life—a tether to keep him grounded.

Even in those early days, Jason couldn’t help but feel a flicker of jealousy whenever you spent time with others. Whether it was Dick dropping by the Manor or Bruce pulling you away for a mission, Jason would watch, his jaw clenched and fists tight. You were his sanctuary, and the thought of sharing you with anyone else left a sour taste in his mouth.

Jason always found reasons to keep you close. He insisted on sparring with you during training, claiming no one else could push him like you did. He memorized the way you moved, the sound of your laughter when you managed to pin him, and the way your eyes narrowed in concentration. He lived for those moments.

Whenever you went on patrol, Jason was there, watching your back like a hawk. At first, you thought he was just being protective, but over time, his behavior grew more intense. If a thug so much as glanced at you the wrong way, Jason’s fists would leave them unrecognizable. “They deserved it,” he’d mutter, his knuckles dripping with blood, his gaze softening only when it landed on you.

Jason began planting seeds of doubt about everyone around you. He’d point out flaws in Dick’s plans, subtly criticize Bruce’s parenting, and even question Alfred’s judgment, all to make you feel like he was the only one you could truly rely on.

When Jason died, it shattered you. The boy who had been your closest friend, your partner in everything, was gone. Bruce tried to comfort you, but nothing could fill the void Jason left behind.

When Jason came back as the Red Hood, his first thought was of you.

You. The only light he’d ever known. The one thing that kept him tethered to humanity. And you hadn’t saved him.

His obsession became worse, this bitter, consuming need to make you pay for abandoning him—and to keep you. Jason spiraled, his love for you warping into something darker, something unrecognizable.

Jason stalks you now, though he doesn’t see it that way. He calls it watching over you. You’re his, and Gotham is dangerous, especially with the Bat family’s enemies constantly circling.

He knows everything: where you go, who you talk to, what makes you smile. The line between love and control blurs with each passing day.

Sometimes, he visits you in secret. You’ll come home to find your favorite meal waiting on the counter or a new book sitting on your bedside table. Other times, you’ll catch glimpses of him in the shadows—just a flicker of red and black before he’s gone.

And then there are the times he lets himself be seen. He’ll stand in the middle of your apartment, waiting for you to come home. His voice is low, almost dangerous, as he says, “You don’t lock your windows, princess. Someone could get hurt.”

You try to confront him, try to reason with him, but Jason isn’t the boy you knew. He’s sharper now, more unhinged.

“You think you can just forget me?” he growls, pinning you against the wall. “You think you can move on, live your life without me? That’s not how this works princess.”

Jason’s obsession manifests in unpredictable ways. One moment, he’s protective and tender, swearing to keep you safe at all costs. The next, he’s violent and possessive, tearing apart anyone who gets too close to you.

He’s killed for you, though he’d never admit it. That coworker who flirted with you too much? Dead in an alleyway. The stranger who catcalled you on the street? Beaten within an inch of their life.

“I’m doing this for you,” he says, his voice trembling with something raw and desperate. “You don’t have to worry about anyone hurting you. I’ll take care of it.”

You try to push him away, but it only makes him cling harder. Jason doesn’t see the line between love and obsession. To him, it’s all the same.

Jason’s ultimate goal is simple: to have you. To keep you with him, away from the dangers of Gotham—and away from anyone else.

“I’m not asking, princess,” he says one night, dragging you into his arms. “I’m taking you. No one else gets to have you. Not Bruce, not Dick, not anyone. You’re mine, and I’ll burn this city to the ground before I let you go.”

And maybe, deep down, a part of you doesn’t want him to. Because for all his madness, Jason is still Jason—the boy who made you laugh, who understood your pain, who loved you in a way no one else ever could.

But at what cost?

𝒍𝒖𝒗-𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒌 ☆ 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.