#you really think they let her know what this stuff was?

[rizzanon]

07-1 | PARANOIA AT ITS FINEST

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“I can’t believe you’ve actually roped us into this.”

Caitlyn’s voice cut through the soft hum of chatter filling the orphanage’s main hall, carrying that distinct tone of exasperation she reserved for situations she swore she wouldn’t get involved in—but inevitably did anyway. Her arms were crossed, her stance one of feigned reluctance, but the way her gaze flickered to the children running past, the small, almost imperceptible twitch of her lips as one of them called out her name—it told a different story.

Adrien snorted beside her, nudging her side. “Oh, please. You say that like you’re not already attached to half these kids.”

Caitlyn scoffed, glancing away as if that would somehow disprove his statement. It didn’t.

It had been a week. A week since you first suggested volunteering here. A week since you first stepped into this building and felt something settle beneath your skin—something quiet, something wrong.

And yet—

Nothing.

There was nothing.

No alarms. No leads. No proof. No reason to feel this way.

Even after you snuck into the cave to tap into the Batcomputer—timing it precisely for when no one would be around, combed through records, permits, reports, and analyzed every file you could find that could tell you that this place wasn’t what it seemed—nothing. The orphanage was clean. The reports were routine. The funding sources checked out.

And that was what upset you the most.

It should have been a relief.

But it wasn’t.

Because you still couldn’t shake that feeling. That deep, gut-wrenching sensation that something was staring you in the face, something was waiting just beneath the surface, something was wrong.

Because you knew—you knew—you were missing something.

But what?

You stared across the room, watching the way the children moved, how the staff interacted with them, how everything seemed so perfect. Too perfect. The kind of perfect that made your stomach twist, that made something cold crawl up your spine because nothing in Gotham was ever truly perfect.

You crossed your arms, fingers digging into your sleeves, tension knotting itself between your ribs.

You could really use Tim’s smartness right now—

The thought barely formed before you crushed it.

No.

You weren’t going to burden him with this.

Things were still… complicated. You had distanced yourself for a reason. Bringing him into this would only drag up all the messy emotions you weren’t ready to deal with.

Maybe—maybe this really was just you overreacting.

Maybe you were seeing ghosts where there weren’t any.

Maybe that “vision” you saw was something made up in your head.

But that doesn’t explain why it was so vivid. Why it felt so raw, so real—

“You’re doing that thing again.”

Caitlyn’s voice pulled you back, and you blinked, finding both her and Adrien watching you with unreadable expressions.

“What thing?”

“You always get that look,” Adrien added, arms still crossed but his smirk growing. “Like you’re five seconds away from spiraling into an existential crisis.”

“I do not—”

“You do,” Caitlyn confirmed immediately. “You get all quiet, and your face does this thing where you look like you’re trying to solve the world’s biggest mystery when, in reality, you’re probably just making stuff up in your head.”

“I do not.”

Adrien huffed out a laugh. “Oh, yeah? Then what were you just thinking about?”

You opened your mouth, then promptly shut it, refusing to dignify that with an answer.

Caitlyn gave you a knowing look. “That’s what I thought.”

“Can we focus on something else?” You huffed, shifting your weight to one side. “Like the fact that you two are terrible influences?”

Adrien snorted. “You’re the one who dragged us into this.”

“You didn’t have to come,” you pointed out.

“You think we’d actually let you volunteer at an orphanage alone?” Caitlyn raised a brow. “Be real.”

You exhaled through your nose, resisting the urge to roll your eyes.

“You should be thanking us,” Adrien added smugly. “Especially since we’re the ones keeping you sane.”

“You call this sane?”

“Well,” Caitlyn starts, “you haven’t completely lost your mind yet, so I’d say we’re doing a decent job.”

Before you could respond, a familiar weight latched onto your side, small hands gripping onto the fabric of your sleeve.

Elliot.

You glanced down, only to be met with the boy’s wide, expectant gaze.

Elliot had latched onto you like a baby duck the second you stepped foot in this place again, and over the past few days, he had only gotten more attached. He followed you everywhere, immediately sought you out whenever you arrived, and if you so much as moved an inch away from him, he was quick to close the distance again.

And truth be told—you weren’t used to this.

This kind of closeness.

Not really.

Of course, you had experience closeness with Caitlyn and Adrien.

But Elliot—

Elliot was different.

Elliot didn’t hesitate.

Elliot didn’t keep his distance.

Elliot clung to you like you were something safe.

And you didn’t know how to handle that.

Not when you didn’t even feel safe with yourself.

“Aren’t you gonna play with us today, (Name)?” His voice was soft, hopeful, like he had already decided that whatever you answered, he wasn’t going to accept a no.

You hesitated, opening your mouth—only to stop when he gave you that look. The one you were slowly realizing was his greatest weapon. The one that made your defenses crumble.

The wide-eyed, unblinking stare.

The slight, pleading tilt of his head.

The tiniest wobble of his lower lip.

It was lethal.

And the worst part? He knew it.

“…Yeah,” you found yourself saying before you could even think about it. “Yeah, okay. Just give me a minute, okay?”

Elliot beamed.

If you had even an ounce less self-control, you might have visibly melted.

You watched as the boy ran off towards where the other kids were playing.

“Oh my god,” Caitlyn whispered dramatically.

“Precious,” Adrien added, looking between the two of you like he had just discovered his new favorite thing in the world.

“You two need to get a grip.”

“It’s cute,” Caitlyn commented. “You’ve basically adopted him at this point.”

“I have not.”

“You so have,” Adrien smirked. “It’s adorable.”

“You two seriously need hobbies.”

Caitlyn just grinned. “Says the person who dragged us here for no apparent reason.”

You opened your mouth to argue, to tell them it wasn’t for no reason, that there was something wrong with this place—

But then the air shifted.

The room didn’t go quiet, not really. The children were still playing, voices still carrying, footsteps still echoing against the floor. But something in the atmosphere changed, something subtle yet immediate, something that made the back of your neck prickle.

Something you felt more than saw.

A presence.

Mrs. Cole.

She entered the hall with a soft, pleasant smile, her hands clasped neatly in front of her, her posture calm, collected, perfect.

And yet—

Something in you immediately recoiled.

It had been this way from the beginning. The first time you met her. The first time she spoke to you. That deep, instinctive discomfort—the kind you couldn’t explain, the kind that settled beneath your skin and refused to leave.

And the worst part?

You were alone in that feeling.

Adrien and Caitlyn greeted her like normal, their smiles easy, their voices light. The other volunteers, the staff, the children—they all liked her.

But you—

You just stood there.

Watching.

Waiting.

And that gnawing feeling of unease only grew stronger.

Because something was wrong.

But you just couldn’t see it.

Mrs. Cole approached with the same composed, effortless grace she always carried—her steps measured, her smile gentle, the kind of expression that made it impossible to distrust her. She looked at ease, radiating a warmth that made people lean in instead of pull away.

But you didn’t lean in.

You were staring.

“Ah, there you all are.” Her voice was warm, measured, like honey drizzling over words that had been carefully chosen before she even spoke them. “I was just telling the staff how lucky we are to have such dedicated volunteers.”

Caitlyn beamed. “Well, it’s been great so far! The kids are all super sweet.”

You were watching.

Mrs. Cole’s reaction came exactly when it should. A gentle smile, an approving nod—textbook-perfect in a way that sent something unpleasant curling in your stomach.

“You’ve been wonderful with them,” she said smoothly. “They’ve taken quite a liking to all of you.”

A normal thing to say. A reasonable thing to say. And yet—

Something about it snagged in your brain, like a thread pulled too tight.

They’ve taken quite a liking to all of you.

Not “you’ve made a great impact on them.”

Not “they enjoy having you around.”

The wording was… off.

Why was it off?

You barely noticed Adrien chuckling beside you. “Well, Caitlyn’s the favorite, obviously. The girls follow her around like ducklings.”

Caitlyn nudged him. “Please. You’re the one they treat like a jungle gym.”

Mrs. Cole gave a small, polite laugh, like she was indulging their banter rather than truly engaging in it.

You noticed that.

You noticed everything.

You noticed how detached it felt, how it landed exactly where it needed to but carried no real weight.

The way her shoulders never fully relaxed, despite her friendly demeanor. The way her eyes lingered just a second too long before moving on. The way her responses never carried the slight unpredictability that came with casual conversation—everything was too smooth, too well-placed.

You noticed that.

And then—her eyes flicked to you.

There was no shift in expression, no telltale sign that she had noticed you just staring, analyzing every micro-movement, every carefully placed word. But the second her eyes met yours, you felt something in you go rigid, your body instinctively preparing to mask whatever she might have caught.

Which, ironically, felt unnatural.

Because you couldn’t let her see that you were suspicious of her.

“And you,” she said, the warmth in her tone undisturbed, like she hadn’t just caught you in the act of scrutinizing her. “Elliot seems especially fond of you. It’s lovely to see how much he trusts you already.”

You ignored the way Caitlyn and Adrien both smiled knowingly at the mention of Elliot’s attachment to you.

You knew you should say something pleasant. Something easy. Something neutral. Something normal.

Instead, the words that came out were flat, toneless.

“Yeah. He’s a good kid.”

An awkward pause.

Too short to be obvious, too long to go completely unnoticed.

Caitlyn’s smile faltered slightly. Adrien shifted beside you, like he could feel the weird tension in the air but wasn’t sure if he should acknowledge it.

And Mrs. Cole?

She didn’t even blink.

She absorbed the bluntness of your answer like it didn’t affect her at all, her expression remaining perfectly composed, perfectly pleasant, as if she hadn’t just been met with a wall.

“That he is,” she agreed, gracefully moving past it, as though she hadn’t just walked into a conversational dead end. “Well, I won’t keep you from the children. Thank you again for all your help.”

She excused herself with the same quiet ease she always carried, stepping away to tend to the other kids.

The second she was out of earshot—

Adrien whirled on you. “Okay, what the hell was that?”

Caitlyn groaned. “God, could you have been any drier? That was painful.”

You exhaled sharply. “I answered her, didn’t I?”

“You barely did,” Adrien shot back. “You sounded like someone forced you to acknowledge Elliot at gunpoint.”

Caitlyn smacked your arm lightly. “Dude, what’s your deal with her?”

You crossed your arms. “It’s nothing.”

“That’s definitely not nothing,” Adrien shot back. “You’ve been like this since day one. What is your deal with her?”

You opened your mouth—then closed it.

How were you supposed to explain this?

What were you supposed to say?

That something about her felt wrong, but you couldn’t prove it? That every interaction with her left you feeling like you had just missed something? That her presence made you instinctively wary in a way you couldn’t rationalize?

That no matter how hard you looked, you still couldn’t find anything to justify it?

“…I just don’t like her,” you muttered.

Adrien scoffed. “Yeah, no shit.”

Caitlyn and Adrien weren’t going to let this go.

You knew it from the second Caitlyn narrowed her eyes at you, that sharp stare she always gave when she smelled something off—when she knew someone wasn’t telling the full story. Her arms were crossed, her weight shifted slightly onto one foot, but there was a tension there, like she was waiting.

Adrien was the same. Standing beside her, his arms folded, his brow raised in quiet expectation. He wasn’t impatient—not yet—but he was watching you, like he was giving you the chance to explain yourself before he dragged it out of you.

You didn’t give them anything.

Adrien broke the silence first. “Okay, seriously. What is your problem with her?”

“I don’t have a problem with her,” you replied immediately.

Too fast. Too sharp.

Adrien scoffed. “Right. You just happen to tense up like a goddamn statue every time she’s around.”

Caitlyn gave a dramatic huff. “You act like she personally wronged you in another life. Or murdered your dogs or something.”

“Titus and Ace are fine…” you muttered.

“Exactly!” she said, exasperated. “That’s what makes this so weird! There’s no reason for you to act like this!”

You didn’t respond.

But Adrien wasn’t done. “Look, if she said something to you, if she did something—”

“She didn’t.”

“Then why are you acting like this?”

“I’m not acting like anything.”

Another lie.

But you said it so smoothly, so effortlessly, that it almost sounded convincing.

Almost.

Caitlyn’s eyes flicked over your face, sharp and discerning, scanning every microexpression, every flicker of something that might betray you. Adrien wasn’t even trying to be subtle about his suspicion anymore.

Yet, you still didn’t give them anything.

You were stubborn. Tight-lipped. Unyielding.

Because you couldn’t tell them.

Not yet.

Not when you still didn’t know what was wrong.

So instead, you acted.

Acted like everything was fine.

Like you weren’t uneasy.

Like you weren’t drowning in the feeling that something was slipping through your fingers.

Your gaze drifted past them—toward Mrs. Cole.

She was across the room, surrounded by children, laughing at something one of them had said. She knelt slightly, leveling herself to their height, hands gentle as she adjusted the collar of one child’s shirt. She was warm, present, soft-spoken—exactly what a warden of an orphanage should be.

And yet—

You couldn’t shake it.

That feeling.

That deep, gnawing unease that clung to your ribs like a second skin.

You watched her closely. The way she spoke, the way she smiled, the way her hands moved as she patted a child’s head. Everything was measured. Natural.

But was it?

Or was it too natural?

Too perfect?

Her movements were fluid, seamless, her expressions genuine. Nothing about her demeanor was off. Nothing about her gave you any reason—any reason at all—to feel this way.

And that was what unsettled you the most.

Because there had to be something.

There had to be a reason.

You just couldn’t see it.

Gotham was shifting.

Bruce could feel it.

It wasn’t something obvious—no, this was something far more subtle. A change beneath the surface, insidious and creeping. It was the kind of shift that haunted the shadows, leaving behind nothing but the unsettling sense that something was on the brink of happening. Bruce had learned to trust that feeling, that gnawing instinct that had saved Gotham more times than he could count. And right now, it was telling him that something was very, very wrong.

Another murder. A woman in her early twenties, found in a dark alley just outside a prestigious club.

Bruce sat at the Batcomputer, his fingers hovering over the keys, eyes tracing the same reports for the hundredth time.

This was the third this month.

There was nothing connecting the three victims, other than the fact that they were all young Gotham socialites.

But there was something else.

The way they were murdered. Stabbed and slashed. And the slashes—those markings—they were unmistakable.

They all had markings from a Talon. Meaning—

The Court of Owls.

Gotham was shifting, sliding beneath the surface like a shadow.

And he knew that feeling.

He had felt it before.

It wasn’t paranoia. It was an instinct.

An instinct he’d developed after all these years, after all the lies and manipulation, after the near-destruction of Gotham.

He couldn’t afford to let it happen again.

The last time the Court of Owls made their presence known, it was a brutal awakening.

The Court had been quiet for months since then. But the stillness only made him more wary. He knew how they worked—silent, methodical, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. And now, with another death on his hands, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the Court was making its move again.

And then, as if Gotham’s problems weren’t enough, another report came through. The Riddler had escaped Arkham. Again.

It had barely been two weeks since Riddler’s last stunt. Arkham had barely contained him long enough to let the city breathe before he escaped again.

Bruce could feel the weight of both issues pressing down on him, the combination of old ghosts and new ones tangled together in a knot that was suffocating.

He rubbed his temples, trying to block out the noise, the weight of it all. Gotham was shifting, and every move it made felt like it was slipping further out of his control.

And Bruce had no doubt—Nygma had already set the board.

His fingers moved across the keyboard, cycling through city surveillance, tracking movements, patterns, anything that might give him a lead. There was always a pattern with Riddler. Always a thread to follow. But right now, with the Court making their move from the shadows, Gotham couldn’t afford another high-profile attack.

He needed to tackle this immediately.

He rubbed a hand over his face, then ran it through his hair. It was too much. Too many pieces of the puzzle scattered in front of him, too many possibilities. But there was no time.

His gaze focused on the web of information splayed across the massive screen—patterns, reports, whispers of activity. Pieces that didn’t quite fit yet, but he could see the shape they were forming.

Behind him, Dick leaned against the table, arms crossed, expression unreadable. He was here. He was listening. He was doing everything Bruce had asked of him.

But Bruce could tell.

He was distracted.

Not in a way that was obvious. Not in a way that would compromise the mission. But it was there.

A slight delay in his responses. The way his gaze lingered on nothing for a second too long. The tension in his posture—not the kind that came from exhaustion, but from something else.

Bruce had seen it before.

But this time, he didn’t know what was causing it.

Not exactly.

He’d been watching him for days now, and every time they spoke, it felt like Dick wasn’t really there. His focus was on the case, sure, but it wasn’t complete. There was something else pulling at him. Bruce had tried to push it aside—he couldn’t afford to get distracted by personal issues, not with Gotham at risk—but it was hard to ignore. Dick wasn’t just distracted. He was withdrawn. And Bruce had seen that behaviour before. He knew that behaviour.

It was the way Dick stood, his arms crossed, his jaw clenched, his eyes never fully meeting Bruce’s. It was the way he moved through the cave like he was running on autopilot. Like he wasn’t really present. Like he was fighting something inside of him. And the longer Bruce let it go unspoken, the more it gnawed at him. Because Bruce knew Dick better than anyone. He knew when something was eating at him. And he couldn’t let it fester.

Not now.

“What’s on your mind?”

Dick blinked, looking up from where he had been staring at the ground. “What?”

Bruce glanced at him. “You’re distracted.”

Dick huffed out a breath, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not distracted.”

Bruce didn’t say anything. Just watched him.

“Okay, maybe I’m a little distracted.”

Bruce didn’t push. He just waited.

For a second, it seemed like Dick wasn’t going to say anything else. His mouth pressed into a thin line, and Bruce saw the muscles in his jaw tighten. It was that familiar look—the one Dick wore when he was trying to hold something back. Bruce could see it now. The weight he was carrying, the quiet frustration. He could see it, feel it, radiating off of him in waves. He shifted, arms tightening around himself. Then, finally—

“It’s (Name).”

Bruce’s shoulders tensed.

Of course.

He had heard bits from Alfred. How you were avoiding Dick, the way he had been silently carrying the weight of your distance. The way you hadn’t been talking to Dick the way you used to.

Bruce could feel it too.

Alfred had asked him to check on you. It shouldn’t have been that hard. Except, for some reason, he could never find a moment with you.

Not really.

Had it always been this hard?

No. That wasn’t right. He would’ve noticed if it had been.

Wouldn’t he?

But now Bruce was thinking, really thinking.

The last few weeks. The subtle shifts in your behavior, the way you had started slipping through the cracks before he could catch you. The way Alfred had gently suggested—more than once—that he should talk to you. The way you never seemed to be in the same room as him anymore.

The way he couldn’t remember the last time you had really spoken to him.

Not since you decided to quit being Batgirl.

Ah.

Was that what this was about?

Him letting you quit?

He had given you space because that was what he always did—he never pried, never pushed, never asked for more than you were willing to give.

But what if that was the problem.

What if he had let you drift too far?

His fingers curled against the edge of the desk, a slow, controlled movement. He hadn’t wanted to think about it before. Hadn’t wanted to believe it. Because the idea of you avoiding him—

It wasn’t possible.

Was it?

Bruce’s throat felt tight, and he didn’t understand why.

Dick exhaled sharply beside him, running a hand through his hair. “She barely looks at me anymore.” His voice was quiet, resigned. “But you already knew that.”

Bruce swallowed.

No. He hadn’t. Not really.

But if he admitted that you were avoiding Dick, then he’d have to admit that you were avoiding him too.

And he couldn’t accept that.

He wouldn’t.

He wasn’t sure why the thought unsettled him as much as it did. People had walked away from him before—people he had cared about, people who had once looked at him the way you used to. And he had let them go, because that was what he did. He didn’t hold onto things that weren’t his to keep.

But this was different.

Because it was you.

You. His daughter.

His flesh.

His blood.

Bruce exhaled slowly, letting the silence stretch between him and Dick. He wanted to ask—wanted to know just how far this distance had spread—but he wasn’t sure he was ready for the answer.

Dick, however, wasn’t finished.

“I don’t even blame her,” he admitted, his voice quiet, restrained, like he had already gone over this a thousand times in his head. Maybe he had. “She has every right to be pissed at me. I just—” His voice faltered for a second before he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “It’s different now. She doesn’t look at me the same way. I don’t think she ever will again.”

Bruce studied him carefully. He could see it—the guilt, the regret that had been eating at him.

But what unsettled Bruce the most wasn’t Dick’s regret. It was the realization that he had assumed this was only about Dick.

That it had never once occurred to him that you were avoiding him too.

The thought lodged itself in his chest like a shard of glass. A slow, cutting thing that he couldn’t pull free.

No. That wasn’t—

You weren’t avoiding him.

You wouldn’t.

Would you?

If it was true, if you were avoiding him, it was just—just a misunderstanding. Just—

His jaw tightened.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Not with you.

Of all the people he had failed, of all the people who had ever walked away from him, you were the one person he thought would never do that.

But had you?

Had you already left, and he just hadn’t noticed?

Bruce didn’t react. Not immediately, at least.

But Dick saw it.

The shift. The way Bruce’s shoulders tensed just slightly, the tightening of his grip against the edge of the console, the way his jaw locked. To most people, it would’ve looked like nothing. Just another one of Bruce Wayne’s unreadable silences. But Dick had spent too many years watching, reading between the lines, noticing the things that no one else did.

Bruce’s silence was never empty. It was full. Full of things he didn’t say, things he wouldn’t say.

And right now?

Right now, Bruce wasn’t just listening. He was realising something.

Dick exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “That’s what I thought.”

He hadn’t meant to bring you up—not like this, not here. But Bruce had called him distracted, and, well… he wasn’t wrong.

You had been stuck in his head for days. Weeks.

Every unanswered call. Every delayed text. Every excuse you made to get away from him as soon as possible.

Dick had tried. God, he had tried.

That lunch a few days ago—he had been hopeful, maybe even stupidly so, thinking that things could be… normal. That he could talk to you without feeling like there was a wall between you both, that you wouldn’t keep him at arm’s length.

But the moment you saw him, you were already looking for an exit.

You barely stayed long enough to eat. Said you were busy. That you had somewhere to be.

And Dick had let you go.

What else could he have done?

You had every right to do this. To be mad, to resent him, to ignore him, to pretend like he didn’t exist.

He deserved it.

Especially after what he did.

Especially after what he’s been doing for years now.

It’s not like he didn’t understand your anger towards him. He did.

He knew what it was like to feel replaced, he experienced it first-hand. He should have understood what he was doing the moment he benched you. He should have known how it’d feel like to you.

He should have handled it better. Especially since he knew at the time, you were still grieving.

But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. That this didn’t hurt.

But… this wasn’t just about him benching you, was it?

No.

This wasn’t the first time he made you feel like this, was it?

This wasn’t the first time he’s made you feel like you didn’t belong.

Like you were something temporary—something easily set aside.

Maybe that was the worst part.

How long had it been like this?

How long had he been like this?

He swallowed hard, staring blankly at the Batcomputer screen, but his mind was already somewhere else.

The first time he saw you, you were a baby.

He hadn’t even really processed it at the time.

Everything had been a blur—his parents were dead, his life had been turned upside down, and now he was in some massive, unfamiliar mansion with a man he barely knew and a butler who spoke to him with a kind of patience he didn’t know how to handle.

And then there was you.

You’d been brought to the manor not long after he had arrived.

A tiny thing, barely able to walk on your own.

He remembered that moment, the moment Alfred brought you into the manor. That moment burned into his memory in a way he never really questioned before. Maybe because it had been one of the only stable things in those early days, when the ground had been ripped out from under him and his life had been shattered beyond repair.

He hadn’t thought much about you at first.

He hadn’t thought much about anything except the overwhelming, gut-wrenching anger that had settled in his chest, the grief that was still raw and sharp, the sheer, desperate need for revenge that burned beneath his skin.

So he ignored you.

Or at least, he tried to.

Because you didn’t ignore him.

It didn’t matter.

It shouldn’t matter.

But time had a way of changing things.

Little by little, your presence became something else.

He didn’t know when it started. When you stopped being a stranger and started being—

Well.

You were way younger than him, but that never stopped you from being stubborn, from trying to talk to him, from wanting him to be happy. And maybe that was what got to him the most.

That innocence. That kindness.

You just wanted him to smile.

And, somehow, eventually, he did.

He hadn’t known how to deal with you.

You weren’t annoying, exactly.

You were just—

There.

Soft and small and persistent, constantly hovering on the edges of his grief, constantly reminding him that there was still something else in this house besides darkness and vengeance.

He didn’t know what to do with that.

Because somewhere along the way, things changed.

He wasn’t sure when.

Maybe it was the first time you climbed onto the couch beside him and fell asleep against his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Maybe it was the first time you grabbed his hand and pulled him outside, insisting that he chase you around the garden, that he play with you, that he let himself just be a kid, if only for a little while.

Maybe it was the first time you hugged him, your tiny arms wrapping around his waist, telling him that you loved him in the simple, easy way that only children could.

Whatever it was, it had stuck.

You had become his family.

His little sister.

His responsibility.

Dick didn’t know how much of who he is today had been shaped by you, but it was more than he’d ever admit.

And maybe that was why he wanted to keep you away from the truth for so long.

From the pain, from the violence, from the endless cycle of grief and vengeance that had become his life.

He didn’t want to ruin that part of you.

Didn’t want you to know about the things he did at night. Didn’t want you to see the kind of world he and Bruce lived in.

So he never told you about Robin.

Not at first.

Not for a long time.

Not when he went on to build a new name for himself.

Not when he left Gotham and became Nightwing.

You didn’t need to know.

You weren’t supposed to know.

You were supposed to have a normal life. A safe life. One that wasn’t filled with violence and blood and pain.

That was what Bruce had wanted for you.

That was what he had wanted for you.

That was why he hadn’t told you.

And maybe—maybe, that had been a mistake.

Because when you had found out that day—

When Tim sought him out, asking him to be Robin again. When he had come to Dick with that relentless, unwavering certainty that he needed to be Robin again. That Batman needed a partner. That Gotham needed balance.

After Jason’s death had fractured something irreparably in Bruce, in Alfed, in you, in him—

God, Jason’s death.

The guilt gnawed at him, relentless, insidious, something he never let himself think about too long.

Because Jason had died wearing his colors.

Jason had died playing the role Dick had walked away from.

Being Robin. And being your brother.

Jason had died, and Dick hadn’t even been there.

Not for Bruce, not for Alfred, and not for you.

Dick hadn’t been there to stop him from taking on the job, he had not been there to stop him from going to Ethiopia, hadn’t been there to—

He just wasn’t there.

And you—

You didn’t even know the true cause of Jason’s death.

You had to find out the truth about Jason’s death—

The truth about the lives he and Bruce led—

From some random kid who somehow knew the truth before you did.

Instead of hearing it from him. From Bruce.

God.

He still remembers the way you looked at him on the day you found out the truth.

The moment you stepped into the cave that Bruce had hid from you for years.

Your arms crossed tightly over your chest, your expression unreadable—except for your eyes.

Your eyes were always so damn expressive.

And that day, they had been filled with something that made his stomach twist uncomfortably.

Betrayal.

Dick could feel Tim watching from across the cave.

He wasn’t saying anything—wasn’t even moving—but he was there, standing next to Alfred at the bottom of the stairs, barely in the shadows.

Dick almost felt sorry for the boy, for having to witness some family drama he wasn’t apart of unravel before him. But then again, he walked himself into this the moment he went to find him.

“…How long?”

Your voice was steady. Controlled.

But he knew you. Did he?

Knew how your hands clenched subtly at your sides when you were trying to keep yourself from shaking.

Knew how you bit the inside of your cheek when you were trying not to cry.

You were trying not to cry.

And it’s all his fault.

“…How long have you been lying to me?”

He didn’t know how to answer that.

Didn’t know how to explain that he had never wanted you to find out like this.

Didn’t know how to justify the years of secrecy, the years of letting you believe he was just your older brother, just the normal, easygoing Dick Grayson who had left Gotham to make a life for himself aside from being Bruce Wayne’s ward.

The years of letting you believe that he didn’t hide anything from you.

But the silence stretched too long.

And that was an answer itself.

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head.

“You were Robin.” you said, and it wasn’t a question.

It was a fact.

A truth you had just put together, piece by piece, and now it was unraveling everything you thought you knew.

Dick swallowed.

“…Yeah.”

You blinked, staring at him like you didn’t recognize him.

Like you weren’t sure if you ever had.

“Our father is Batman.”

“Yes… he is.”

“And Jason?”

Dick’s breath caught.

He looked away.

But that was answer enough, too.

Your expression twisted, something like realization dawning on your face.

“That’s why—”

You cut yourself off, exhaling sharply.

“That’s why he died? He died because he was Robin too..?”

The words hit him like a gut punch.

Dick could barely breathe.

You were staring at him, waiting for an answer, but he didn’t have one that wouldn’t make this worse.

Jason.

Jason, who had died in his colors. Jason, who had been Robin because Dick had left. Jason, who had never gotten the chance to grow up, to get out, to become something more than just a ghost haunting all of them.

Jason, who you had mourned, who you had cried for, who you had spent weeks asking Bruce about only to get nothing in return.

And now you knew the truth.

You knew everything.

And Dick felt sick.

“I—” His throat was tight. Dry. He forced himself to swallow. “It wasn’t—”

But you had already taken a step back.

Away from him. And for some reason, that single step had hurt more than any punch he’d ever taken.

“How could you not tell me?” you asked, voice sharp with something between betrayal and disbelief. “How could you just—just let me think—” You exhaled, shaking your head, hands clenched into fists. “I grieved him, Dick. I stood at his grave, wondering how he could just die like that, and you—” Your voice broke. “You knew. You knew the whole time.”

Dick winced. He wanted to reach for you. To fix this. To explain.

But what was there to explain?

That he hadn’t wanted you to know? That he had convinced himself that if you never found out, you’d be safe?

That it hadn’t mattered, because Jason was dead either way?

That was worse, wasn’t it?

So he stayed quiet.

And that silence was answer enough.

You let out a shaky breath, your expression twisting. “So that’s why you were always busy, huh? Because you were Robin. Because you’re Nightwing now. You always had something to do. Something more important.”

Dick’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “I was—”

“You were lying,” you cut him off, and Tim could see the way that made Dick flinch. “You were always lying, weren’t you?”

“I didn’t want you to get involved in this life,” Dick forced out, his voice tight, defensive in a way he hated. “I couldn’t let you—”

“Oh, right, because lying to me was so much better,” you snapped. “Keeping me in the dark was so much better—”

“I was protecting you!” Dick snapped back, his voice louder now, sharper than he meant it to be.

It echoed through the Batcave.

Tim flinched slightly in his peripheral vision.

Alfred didn’t move.

You let out a bitter laugh, something short and humorless. “Protecting me?” you echoed. “Jason is dead, Dick. And you want to talk about protection?”

Dick clenched his jaw.

You weren’t wrong.

And maybe that was the worst part.

“Why?” You took a step forward. “Why, Dick? Why wouldn’t you tell me? I thought—I thought maybe, maybe, if you didn’t have time for me anymore, the least you would do is not lie to me. That you wouldn’t keep something this huge from me.”

Dick’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.

That was what did it. That was what ruined him.

He had nothing to say, because you were right.

“I just wanted to protect you,” Dick finally said, and it was almost desperate, like he was trying to hold together something that had already cracked beyond repair.

“And you thought lying was the way to do that?” Your voice was shaking now. “You—you let me believe you just didn’t care anymore. I was so naive that you could just continue to lie to me for years, isn’t that why?”

“That’s not true,” Dick said quickly, stepping forward, but you stepped back just as fast.

You inhaled sharply. “I just want to hear you say it.”

Dick stilled.

You swallowed. “Tell me that you didn’t want to keep it from me. Tell me that it was Dad. Tell me this wasn’t your choice.”

Dick clenched his jaw.

And for a second—a brief, terrible second—you saw it.

The truth.

The answer before he even said it.

His shoulders squared, his expression unreadable, and then—

“I didn’t want you to know.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut.

You took a step back, blinking.

“What?”

Dick’s face was set, his voice firm. “Bruce told me not to tell you, but I didn’t want you to know either.”

You stared at him, uncomprehending.

“You—” You swallowed hard, your throat burning. “You didn’t want me to know?”

The betrayal was sharp, almost dizzying.

Dick flinched.

“I had to find out from him,” you suddenly snapped, pointing directly at Tim, who stiffened, eyes going wide.

“I had to find out from some random kid that has nothing to do with this—”

Tim opened his mouth. “Uh—”

“And not from you—my brother..!”

“This isn’t how you were supposed to find out,” Dick said quickly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah?” You let out a short, humorless laugh. “Well, then how exactly was I supposed to find out then? Were you even planning on telling me the truth?”

“(Name)—”

“Or were you going to keep this from me ‘til the day I die?”

Dick took a step closer. “Please, just listen—”

“No,” you cut him off, shaking your head. “I can’t do this.”

Dick froze.

You exhaled sharply, turning on your heel and heading for the exit.

“Wait—”

But you were already gone.

Tim hesitated, looking between the empty space where you had been and the absolute wreck that was Dick Grayson standing there, unmoving, like if he did, he might actually collapse under the weight of the argument that had just happened.

The silence stretched.

And then Alfred stepped forward.

“Master Bruce is still pursuing Two-Face,” he said evenly. “I will go check on Ms (Name).”

Dick exhaled slowly, rubbing his face.

Right.

There were more pressing matters.

And they weren’t going to wait.

Dick doesn’t even know what happened after that. You two just… avoided each other.

Avoidance wasn’t new between you two, but that time, it felt different. Alfred had told him you weren’t just avoiding him—you were avoiding everyone. That should’ve made him feel better, knowing he wasn’t the only one left out in the cold. Instead, it only made the weight in his chest heavier.

For a while, he didn’t know how to fix things. Didn’t even know where to start.

Maybe that was the problem.

Then and now.

It had always been you who stepped up first, the one who reached out, patched things up, and smoothed over the cracks in whatever had fractured between you. Even back then, after weeks of avoiding him, it was you who sought him out first—apologizing for your outburst, telling him you wanted to be Batgirl.

He hadn’t been happy about it.

Of course, he hadn’t.

The last thing he wanted was for you to get pulled into this life, the same way he had, the same Jason had. But at the same time… he didn’t want you to think he didn’t trust you. Because he did.

Didn’t he?

Maybe he should’ve helped more. Trained you. Guided you the way Bruce had done for him, the way he had done for Tim. But things had been complicated—Bludhaven was drowning in corruption, Blockbuster was tightening his grip on the city, and Dick had been stretched too thin to be what you needed.

Maybe that was why things had always felt strained between you.

Why things always felt off with you and him.

He hadn’t been there for you—not the way he had been for Tim, who had started out at the same time you did. And now, he couldn’t stop himself from wondering: Was it because Tim was Robin while you were Batgirl? Was it some misplaced instinct, some part of him that thought Barbara could help you better just because she had worn the mantle first?

Or was it just him? His failure?

Dick has many regrets.

And you—you are one of them.

Not because of who you are, but because of how he handled you.

Or rather, how he didn’t.

How he stood by and watched, too consumed by his own battles, by his own pain, to see you needing him. How he told himself it was okay, that you were strong enough to handle it alone.

And maybe you were. But that doesn’t excuse him from not being there when you needed him most.

And now, for the first time, you aren’t the one bridging the gap between you.

And he hates that he’s only realising this now.

He could have fixed this—maybe. If only he’d made the effort sooner. If only he’d found the courage to do something. To make up for what he failed to do. But now, everything feels too fractured, too far gone.

And that’s what hurts the most.

The fact that you don’t seem to need him the way you once did. That maybe, just maybe, you’ve moved on from him.

The thought suffocates him.

He wants to fix it. He wants to scream at the walls, to do something to make it right, but he’s frozen. Because what if it’s too late? What if you’re done with him? What if you’ve already written him off, already decided you don’t need him in your life anymore?

The overwhelming guilt twists tighter, leaving him suffocated, alone in his own mind.

You’ve stopped waiting for him.

And it kills him.

Dick knows he’s running out of time. And for the first time in his life, he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how to fix it.

Not when you were avoiding him. Not when everyone he’s asked tells him to give you space, to leave you alone.

But how long more can he continue leaving you alone? When that was the exact reason you two were in this position?

His instincts tell him to give you time, let you breathe, to let the air clear before trying again. But that voice in the back of his mind screams that it’s too late. That if he waits too long, if he doesn’t move now, this—this—will be the end of whatever was left of your connection.

And the thought terrifies him.

He’s not sure if it’s pride or fear that holds him back now. Maybe a mix of both. Because even if he did try, what if you didn’t want him as your brother anymore? What if you didn’t need him in the way he still needed you?

What if the space you wanted from him was one he could never fill again?

What if it’s too late?

The coldness in the way you’ve pulled away, the way you’ve stopped needing him… he’s afraid that’s the reality.

And maybe that’s the hardest pill to swallow: that he’s powerless here. That even with all the skills, all the experience he’s had, this is one thing he can’t control.

This feels wrong. It feels so wrong, and he can’t shake the feeling that something is slipping through his fingers, something irreplaceable. You’re not just anyone. You’re his sister.

You are his little sister. And that’s why this hurts so much more.

The space between you isn’t just the distance of an argument, or a fight that can be fixed with a few words. It’s a gap between family—between two people who were supposed to always be there for each other, no matter what. And somehow, he let it slip away. He let it stretch farther and farther, until now, when it feels like he can’t reach you.

He hates this.

He hates feeling lost, unsure of how to fix something that should be simple. He’s always known what to do, always known how to make things right with his team, with anyone—everyone—but not with you.

Not now.

The years of you looking up to him, trusting him, believing in him… and now, you’re turning away. And it’s because of him. Because he wasn’t there when you needed him, and because now, when everything has broken, he’s just letting you walk away.

His thoughts spiral, each one heavier than the last. He should’ve done better. He should’ve noticed the small things—the moments where you tried, where you reached out, when you needed him to show up. He should’ve noticed everything.

But he didn’t.

It feels like too much to fix now. How can he bridge this gap? How can he even begin to make things right when you’re already gone from him, retreating, pulling away from the only person who was supposed to be there for you through everything?

How can he let you go?

He can’t. He just can’t.

Because you’re his sister. And no matter what’s happened, no matter how much space you need, he can’t just let this be. He can’t let you slip away from him, not when he still loves you so damn much, not when he’s still your brother.

Dick hates that even now, it feels like he’s still not prioritizing you. Not when Gotham is on the verge of chaos, when everything is unraveling faster than he can keep up with.

Bruce needs him—Gotham needs him. And he hates himself for thinking this, but it almost feels easier to focus on the city, on the madness, on the constant fight to keep everything from falling apart, than to face what’s happening with you. He hates that he can’t just put his focus on you without it feeling like he’s failing the entire city.

Not when the Court of Owls is seemingly starting to creep back into the shadows, when they’re pulling strings from behind the scenes. Not when Riddler is out again after his bombing less than two weeks ago. The city feels like it’s shifting into new, terrifying territories, with danger lurking in every corner.

It’s easy to justify the exhaustion, the endless grind, when the city’s on the line. But it doesn’t make the guilt disappear.

The guilt that he still hasn’t gone after you. That he still hasn’t made things right yet. Not when Bruce needs him for this, not when Gotham seems to be shifting into unknown territories.

He tried to shove it down—tried to bury the guilt—and just focus. Focus on the bigger picture.

But it’s hard.

It’s so hard.

Every time he tries to focus on something else, his mind inevitably goes back to you. He hates it.

Bruce’s brooding presence is a constant reminder that there’s always something more pressing—always a new threat looming. And yet, Dick can’t seem to escape the nagging pull of you.

“Bruce,” Dick snaps suddenly, his frustration slipping through. He didn’t mean to. He didn’t mean to bring you up again, but he needs something to clear his head. “It doesn’t matter. I didn’t mean to bring her up. Let’s get back on track.”

He barely registers the way Bruce’s gaze sharpens, the way his lips tighten in a fleeting moment of something—concern? Worry?

No, it looked more like… guilt.

But Bruce doesn’t voice it. Instead, there’s a brief pause, and then, a subtle shift in his eyes. His entire demeanor falters for the briefest second, and Dick feels it, like a change in the air, as though Bruce is about to say something.

But Bruce just sighs, a deep, tired sound, and mutters, “Alright.”

The conversation moves on, like it always does. The case file is opened again, the details of the recent murder presented to them both, as if nothing’s changed, as if everything’s fine.

But things definitely weren’t fine.

And it wouldn’t be for a long time.

Damian wasn’t one to get caught up in things that didn’t concern him. That’s what he told himself. But when it came to you, he doesn’t know why things are different now.

It wasn’t that he cared. Not really.

He was Damian Wayne, after all.

He was above things like worry, like caring too much.

But when he started noticing how you’d been waking up earlier and earlier to bake things—treats, he noted with growing curiosity—and then leaving for school with them in tow, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

You weren’t just baking for no reason. You weren’t baking for yourself, like he had first assumed. No, you’d been bringing them to school, and that… that didn’t make sense. You weren’t that kind of person. Unless you were making it for your schoolmates.

No, that was certainly beneath you. You had to know that.

But then you started coming back late. Very late. Far later than what could be excused by a few extra-curriculars or staying after school.

That was when Damian decided to… observe.

He wouldn’t call it stalking, no. Stalking was a bit too… intrusive, in his opinion. He preferred to call it a ‘careful examination of your recent activities.’ That was much more appropriate. And so, with his usual precision, he followed you, quietly keeping his distance, ensuring you never knew he was there.

It wasn’t as if he cared. He didn’t care at all. Obviously.

But he was curious, and he wasn’t about to admit to himself that he was starting to care a little more than he should.

And that’s when he saw it.

You and two other people—a blond guy and a brunette girl—heading towards an…. orphanage?

Damian’s sworn he’s seen the blond guy somewhere, but he can’t place a finger on it.

The place wasn’t far from the manor, but it wasn’t somewhere he expected you to be.

He kept his distance, blending into the shadows as he watched you hand out the treats you’d baked to the children there. So that’s who you were making them for, he thought, his mind almost too sharp for his own comfort.

From where he stood, he observed the way you moved among the children there, your every action contrasting with the other two people you came with. Your friends, as he had identified them, were lively, and they were running around with some of the kids, laughing, playing. But not you.

No, you sat back. You were content just to watch. You were curled up on the grass with some of the other children around you, reading them books.

Books?

Damian frowned. Was that really you?

The same you who never seemed to have time for things like that? The one who always preferred to be out in the field, out on patrol with the rest of the family?

He couldn’t recall a time where you’d ever been the type to sit and do something so mundane. Yet here you were, doing it effortlessly, surrounded by the kids.

And then, of course, there was him.

A little brunette boy. Always near you. Always by your side. Clinging to you like you were his only source of comfort.

Damian’s fingers tightened into fists. His jaw clenched, but his eyes stayed on the boy. For some inexplicable reason, he hated how close he seemed to be to you. How you didn’t seem to mind. No, you were indulging him—letting him climb all over you, laughing at whatever he said.

Damian hated it.

He didn’t understand it. He didn’t understand why this bothered him so much. Why the sight of some random, orphaned kid getting your attention like that twisted something inside him.

He now watched as you and the same boy were sitting off to the side, away from the others, in a quiet corner of the yard. The kid was holding up a stuffed animal, trying to make it talk in a high-pitched voice, and you—you—were playing along, mimicking the voice and laughing as if it was the funniest thing you’d ever heard. Damian’s gaze never wavered. He could see it—the way you were smiling at him. At him, not at anyone else.

Damian didn’t get it. What was so special about this kid? Why did he have to be so attached to you?

And why did you seem so attached to him?

Why were you so at ease with a kid you barely knew for more than a week at most?

Damian hates the fact that he’s feeling like this, that he’s thinking such stupid thoughts.

He watches as the kid tug at your sleeve, saying something in your ear. How much more were you going to indulge this kid?

“Hey, (Name),” Elliot asked in his little voice, “why’s that kid just standing over there, staring at us?”

You blinked, and without thinking, your gaze followed his.

And there, standing by the fence, was Damian. His figure was stiff, unmoving, his gaze intense and unwavering as it locked onto you. His eyes were cold.

Damian’s heart skipped a beat when he saw you look up, your expression morphing from confusion to realization as your gaze fixed on him.

Damn it, he thought.

Damn it, damn it, damn it.

You knew.

You knew he had been watching.

You didn’t say anything, but he could tell. And the worst part? He didn’t even care that you caught him. He didn’t care that you’d seen him there. What bothered him was the way you’d stopped laughing, the way you’d looked away from him. That distant, almost guilty feeling he got from you.

It was clear. You were aware now.

And somehow, that made it worse.

You groaned slightly, already knowing what was coming. It wasn’t like you hadn’t expected him to follow you; it was just… typical. Rolling your eyes, you’d excused yourself from Elliot, and made your way toward the edge of the orphanage, where Damian stood with his arms crossed, leaning against the railings. The only thing separating the two of you was the metal bars, but that didn’t seem to stop him from making his presence known.

You stopped a few feet away from him, taking in the sight of his usual stubborn posture. “What the hell are you doing here?” you asked, keeping your tone casual, though there was a sharpness beneath it.

Damian’s response was as expected. “Just passing by,” he said, but you could tell it was a lie by the way his eyes darted, refusing to meet yours directly.

You deadpanned, crossing your arms and raising an eyebrow. “Really? You’re just ‘passing by’ on this side of town? When’s the last time you took a stroll over here, hmm?” you remarked, giving him a knowing look. The whole situation screamed of him being here for some other reason.

Damian scoffed, clearly not fond of being caught. He straightened up, trying to act casual, but you weren’t buying it for a second. “I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes. “You’re so stubborn, it’s exhausting,” you muttered, turning to walk towards the entrance. You glanced over your shoulder, your voice softer but more commanding now. “Come inside. Stop standing out here like a loner. It’s an orphanage, not some shady alley.”

Damian shot you a look of annoyance, but instead of refusing, he followed you, clearly annoyed by your comment. “I’m not a loner,” he muttered under his breath, but you could hear the bitterness in his tone.

You smirked, knowing you had won this one. He didn’t even try to argue as you dragged him inside, making sure to ignore his huffing and groaning. Once inside, you immediately caught Caitlyn and Adrien’s surprised expressions when they saw Damian lagging behind you.

Adrien was the first to speak, his jaw nearly dropping. “Is that Damian freaking Wayne I see?” he asked, a cheesy smile on his face.

Damian stood with his usual unimpressed look, glaring at Adrien like he had just been asked the dumbest question in the world. “Is he an idiot or just plain stupid..” he muttered, not in the mood for any more attention.

Caitlyn turned to you, a hint of confusion in her voice. “You invited your brother?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“More like he invited himself,” you replied, giving him a side-eye.

Damian just scoffed, his expression unreadable. “I’m just making sure she’s not getting herself involved in some shady business,” he muttered, clearly irritated, and yet somehow still reluctant to admit he had followed you because he wanted to.

You laughed quietly, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you say.”

Before Damian could open his mouth to retort, one of the staff came in, calling the children for their meal time. You glanced at Damian, who looked like he was trying to figure out how to stand still without getting involved, but then you pulled him over to the table where everyone else was sitting.

Damian was unceremoniously slotted between you and Adrien, who immediately started up a conversation, not sensing the tense atmosphere Damian was giving off.

Adrien, the chatterbox that he was, began asking Damian a series of ridiculous questions, which only made Damian’s discomfort more apparent. “So, Damian, heard you were homeschooled before? How’s it like going from staying in the comforts of your home to having to mingle with us commoners?” Adrien asked, his voice full of that teasing nature you were used.

Damian’s eyes narrowed slightly, though he gave nothing away. “Tt. None of your business,” he muttered, though his tone was less sharp than usual.

You couldn’t help but watch the interaction unfold, noticing how Adrien kept talking, seemingly without stopping for air, while Damian remained his usual, stoic self, barely responding but still staying present.

It was…endearing in a strange way. You had always known that Damian wasn’t someone who opened up easily, but watching him with Adrien was oddly satisfying. Adrien was persistent, and though Damian was clearly trying to distance himself from the conversation, there was a shift.

In the midst of the lighthearted banter, you caught yourself smiling a little. You knew it would take time, but somehow, Damian was warming up to Adrien’s constant energy. You knew that Adrien probably reminded him a bit of Jon—always asking questions, always talking. And now, somehow, the two of them were starting to get along.

You glanced over at Damian, his brow furrowed in a mix of confusion and frustration, and you chuckled to yourself.

Yeah, he’ll get used to him, you thought, enjoying the rare moment where your brother was forced to interact with one of your dear friends. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. And for now, that was enough.

As the kids were digging into their meals, the conversation around the table shifted, like it always did at some point—towards superheroes. One of the younger boys, Marcus, piped up with a mouthful of mashed potatoes, “Who’s your favorite hero?”

The question quickly spread like wildfire, and before you knew it, the whole table was eagerly waiting for an answer from you, Caitlyn, and Adrien. Caitlyn and Adrien exchanged glances, clearly excited. You, however, already knew where this was going. The answer was obvious.

“Don’t say Batman,” you interjected quickly before either could open their mouths. “That’s such a cop-out answer. Everyone knows Batman’s the go-to.”

Caitlyn looked at you with a mischievous grin. “Well, I wasn’t even going to say Batman anyways,” she huffed out. “Mine’s definitely Nightwing.” She leaned back, resting her arm on the back of her chair, eyes gleaming with a grin. “I mean, come on. He’s hot as hell. And have you seen that ass? Dude’s got the whole bakery goddamn!!”

You froze, your eyes wide for a split second, doing everything in your power to avoid crashing out at that. Did she really just—?

Oh god.

Damian’s gruff voice came from beside you. “Tch.”

You nudged him sharply, hoping he’d keep quiet. “Shut up,” you muttered under your breath, trying to maintain some composure, but you could feel Damian’s growing annoyance from the side of your vision. He didn’t even bother looking at you when he responded.

“What.”

“Don’t react.” You said, your voice quiet but firm.

“Richard wouldn’t like what your friend is saying.”

“Hah, if anything, he’d be honoured.”

“No he wouldn’t.”

Your friends glanced at each other, confused by your hushed but tensed conversation with your brother.

And you didn’t blame them.

After all, Caitlyn had no clue that Nightwing was your older brother, Dick Grayson, and that’s exactly why you were doing your best not to let it show. You weren’t about to explain that you didn’t want to hear her gush about his freaking butt during a nice and peaceful meal.

Adrien, always the oblivious to these things, shifted his focus to the conversation. “Well, I didn’t really mess with him before, but Robin is cool as hell. I mean, come on, he practically saved my life. Got to give the lil guy props for that.”

Damian’s posture straightened a little at that, clearly pleased by the compliment. However, he scowled the moment Adrien added, “the lil guy.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed, and he muttered under his breath, “Robin’s not little.”

Adrien raised an eyebrow, teasing. “Oh really? Well, he’s about…” He trailed off, glancing from Damian to you before continuing, “…about your height, actually.”

You almost choked on your drink, your eyes going wide.

Oh no.

Was he literally about to connect the dots—

“What a coincidence. Maybe you should cosplay as him sometime.”

Oh.

At least Adrien’s blondness is still going strong.

Damian’s answer came with no hesitation, voice completely unbothered. “Sure.”

You sighed with relief, though internally, you were in full panic mode.

Thank god that’s over.

One of the little girls, Emma, who had been quietly listening to the conversation, raised her hand excitedly. “I like Batgirl a lot!” she said with a beaming smile.

Or not.

Caitlyn turned to her, a playful glint in her eye. “Oh, really? Which one?”

Emma blinked, confused. “There’s more than one?”

Caitlyn laughed, shaking her head. “Of course! There’s the original Batgirl, then there’s… the replacement, then the ninja one that came out of nowhere, and now the really nice and friendly one.”

You frowned slightly when Caitlyn called you—or well— the former second batgirl, the replacement. But she wasn’t wrong. You had been a replacement. But you had tried making it your own, hadn’t you? That should at least be recognised, right?

You watched as Caitlyn went off into a long rant, detailing the various Batgirls from across the years. Emma and all the other girls looked wide-eyed, clearly taking it all in, though you were sure half of what she was saying was going out the other ear.

You couldn’t help but shake your head, muttering under your breath, “There’s only one right answer.”

Caitlyn, not missing a beat, grinned. “Yes, and that’s obviously the OG!!! I miss her. I wonder what happened to her. She just stopped showing up for years now.”

Oh.

You grumbled, unable to refute the fact that she was right. The OG Batgirl was the best, no question. Barbara created Batgirl on her own. She owned it. But…come on, you had to back yourself up here.

Adrien piped up, “Nah, the blonde one’s the best. She’s cool and real fun.”

You deadpanned at him. “You’re kidding, right? That’s your pick?”

“What? Am I wrong?” Adrien asked, genuinely confused.

You huffed, leaning back in your chair. “Very.”

“You’re both wrong.”

At that moment, Damian’s voice broke through, and everyone turned to look at him.

You glanced at him, not sure if you had heard him correctly. “What did you say?”

Adrien looked at Damian, raising an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Who is it, lil guy?”

Damian’s gaze shifted to the table, his voice as steady as ever. “The best Batgirl is obviously the third. She’s the most proficient and the best fighter.”

You stared at Damian, deadpan.

Of course he picked her.

Of course, he’d back the best fighter—always.

For one fleeting second, you actually thought he was talking about you.

But of course he wasn’t.

You didn’t know why you even entertained the possibility of him choosing you. For half a second, you thought—just thought—that maybe, just maybe, he’d acknowledge you. But no. Obviously not.

You should’ve known better.

“What?” Damian asked, noticing your stare.

“Nothing,” you muttered, though the way you immediately crossed your arms said otherwise.

But it wasn’t nothing. It was mild irritation mixed with some very well-earned pettiness. It wasn’t like you expected him to say you were the best Batgirl, but still! You’d think your own brother would at least pretend you were a contender! For a moment, you really thought Damian would pick you.

But of course he didn’t. You weren’t even in the running.

Fine. Fine.

If Damian was going to be like that, you weren’t going to let him off easy.

“You know who’s not the best?” You paused for effect. “The current Robin.”

The temperature in the room seemed to drop.

Adrien and Caitlyn both turned to you, looking confused. Meanwhile, Damian—oh, Damian froze. His head snapped toward you, expression shifting in real time, his usual blank stare morphing into something far more hostile.

“What did you just say?” His voice was calm. Too calm.

You leaned back in your chair, feigning nonchalance. “I said the current Robin is overrated. He’s fine, I guess. But people act like he’s some unstoppable force of nature, and honestly? I don’t see it.”

Damian’s eye twitched.

Adrien let out a short laugh, glancing between you two. “Wait, why does it sound like you personally hate him?”

“I don’t,” you said. “I just think he’s too aggressive. Like, okay, congrats, you were probably trained since birth, but does that really mean you have to act like everyone else is beneath you? Maybe try teamwork sometime.”

Damian scoffed. “Tt. You mean like how the second Batgirl worked with her team? Oh, wait. She didn’t even have one.”

You stiffened slightly. “Excuse me?”

“She was reckless,” Damian continued, now fully engaging in the argument. “Unrefined. She relied on brute force and emotion instead of strategy, which is exactly why she never measured up to her predecessor.”

Your eye twitched.

Oh. It’s on.

“Well, the current Robin acts like he’s the smartest person in the room,” you shot back. “Always belittling everyone he works with, always convinced he knows best—”

“Because he does,” Damian cut in smoothly, sharp.

You narrowed your eyes. “Oh, please. Batgirl was just as skilled—”

“Skilled?” Damian repeated, looking almost offended. “She was a brute. She had no tactical foresight, no patience, no discipline—”

“She gets the job done,” you interrupted.

“And leaves chaos in her wake,” Damian countered.

“Oh, because Robin doesn’t leave a mess?”

“At least his messes serve a purpose.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “And at least she wasn’t a condescending little—”

“Okay, wait, wait, wait, pause,” Caitlyn suddenly cut in, raising her hands. She and Adrien were staring at you two, completely baffled. “What is happening right now?”

Adrien tilted his head, looking between you and Damian. “Yeah, why do you two sound like you’ve got some kind of personal vendetta against Robin and Batgirl?”

You and Damian both froze slightly, suddenly realizing just how heated this was getting.

You coughed, quickly forcing a neutral expression. “No, definitely not.”

Damian straightened his posture, clearing his throat. “Tt. Of course not.”

Adrien and Caitlyn exchanged a look.

“…Right.” Caitlyn tilted her head. “You sure you guys don’t secretly have some grudge against them?”

Adrien hummed in thought. “Or maybe they just don’t like heroes who remind them of themselves?”

The silence that followed was deafening.

You and Damian both turned to glare at Adrien, who just retreats behind Caitlyn.

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Whatever. The current Robin’s still annoying.”

“And the second Batgirl is too stubborn.”

Caitlyn frowned, looking thoughtful. “I don’t know…I always thought the second Batgirl and Robin actually worked well together. Like, whenever they were seen in the same place, their fighting styles just fit. Like they just got each other’s back, you know? At least, from what I’ve seen.”

Your jaw tensed. You pointedly avoided looking at Damian, and you knew he was doing the same.

Caitlyn’s words echoed in your head, looping over and over again like an intrusive thought you couldn’t shake.

“I always thought that Batgirl and Robin worked well together. Like, whenever they were seen in the same place, their fighting styles just fit. Like they just got each other’s, you know?”

No. No, you didn’t know.

Because that wasn’t true.

It couldn’t be true.

Because if it was true, then—

Then what did that mean?

If you and Damian worked well together—if your fighting styles “fit”—if you “just got each other”—then why hadn’t it been enough?

Why hadn’t it felt enough?

Why hadn’t you been enough?

Why had it felt like you were always fighting for validation?

Why did it still feel like Damian only ever saw you as a burden on the field?

If you had actually worked well with him, then why hadn’t he said anything back then? Why hadn’t he��

You exhaled sharply, shoving the thoughts away.

No.

Caitlyn was wrong. She had no idea what she was talking about.

“You’re giving them too much credit,” you said, shaking your head. “They didn’t work well together.”

Caitlyn blinked. “What? No, they totally did.”

You scoffed. “They barely tolerated each other.”

“I don’t know about that,” she said, tilting her head. “They just… understood each other. You could see it in the way they fought. Like, Robin always knew where that Batgirl was gonna move next, and vice versa. It’s like they were in sync without even needing to say anything.”

Your fingers curled slightly.

No. That wasn’t—

That wasn’t—

That was just necessity.

That was pattern recognition.

That was forced proximity because you had no choice but to move together or risk getting each other killed.

That didn’t mean you worked well together.

It didn’t mean Damian saw you as an equal.

It didn’t mean—

“I suppose the second Batgirl is not… entirely incompetent.”

It was barely more than a murmur, but it was enough.

Enough to make the conversation still. Enough to make all of you turn.

Damian’s eyes flickered downward, arms crossed, his expression a mask of impassivity.

But that sentence. That one hesitation.

It meant something.

Your brain stuttered.

Of all things—that was what he said?

Damian Wayne—the boy who had no patience for weakness, who barely tolerated most people, who was damn near incapable of giving credit where credit was due—just admitted that?

And then—

Then he kept going.

“She’s… effective,” he admitted, as if the words physically hurt. “Her combat style is instinct-driven, but adaptable. It lacks structure, but it’s—tt—unpredictable. It forces opponents into a rhythm they’re unfamiliar with. It’s inefficient, but it works. Works for herself. And works for Robin too.”

You blinked.

That wasn’t just some throwaway comment. That wasn’t just begrudging approval.

That was acknowledgment.

You had spent years training. Learning to move, to fight, to make up for every weakness you had. You wanted someone to see that. Your father, Dick, Barbara—hell, even Jason. But you’d never expected him to see it. To notice.

Much less appreciate it.

And yet, here he was, admitting that you were—what? Unpredictable? Capable?

Your mouth opened slightly, but the words never came. You just stared, feeling something unfamiliar twist in your stomach.

You weren’t used to this.

Weren’t used to this at all.

Definitely not from Damian. After everything—

Caitlyn sighed, leaning back. “Yeah, I suppose so. A lot of people in the East End like her, from what I’ve heard.”

The weight of Damian’s words still lingered, but Caitlyn’s casual addition made something inside you shift again.

“But I haven’t exactly seen her in the past few weeks. Wonder what happened?”

And just like that—

That fleeting warmth vanished.

Your body tensed, fingers curling into your palm so tightly that your nails dug into your skin.

“She quit,” you said before you could stop yourself.

It was too sharp. Too final.

You knew it the second it left your mouth.

And it showed.

Adrien and Caitlyn turned to you, their confusion immediate.

They weren’t just confused by the statement itself.

They were confused by how you said it.

By how certain you sounded.

Realizing your mistake, you scrambled to correct yourself, forcing your voice into something lighter. “I mean, I heard she quit. I guess.”

There was a beat of silence.

Caitlyn hummed thoughtfully. “Oh. What a shame.”

And then—

“It’s a load of bullshit.”

Damian’s voice was edged with something sharp.

You turned to him, frowning. “And what exactly do you mean by that?”

Damian exhaled sharply, arms still crossed. “That Batgirl—assuming she really did quit—is an idiot.”

Your jaw clenched.

“She wouldn’t have quit if she didn’t think she was making an impact.”

“But she did,” Damian said, tone clipped, like it was obvious.

Your breath caught.

“She made an impact. Gotham is worse with one less hero. But she’s too dumb and socially inept to realize that.”

The words slammed into you like a brick wall.

It wasn’t mockery. It wasn’t insulting for the sake of it.

It was genuine frustration.

Damian was angry—not because he didn’t like her—but because she left.

You left.

Because you gave up.

As if you didn’t see what you were to Gotham.

But did you even mean something to Gotham?

Your lips parted slightly, but the words wouldn’t come.

Because what were you supposed to say?

What were you supposed to do with the fact that Damian cared?

That he was fighting for her—for you—when you had convinced yourself no one would?

Damian never defended things like this. He never cared enough to.

But here he was, riding this hard.

For Batgirl.

For you.

And you—

You didn’t know what to do with that either.

The air was too thick. Too heavy. The tension sat like a weight between you both.

You turned away, pressing your lips into a thin line. Damian did the same.

And you could feel your friends shift uncomfotably in their seats after that awkward conversation that they got lost in.

“I like whoever (Name) likes.”

Elliot, small but absolute in his convictions, piped up with the kind of unwavering certainty that only kids had.

You barely had time to react before something in your chest tightened, an ache so unfamiliar that you almost mistook it for something else.

Fondness.

You ruffled Elliot’s hair gently, watching as he beamed under your touch, his loyalty so simple, so unquestioning.

“At least someone knows who truly is the best,” you said, your voice soft but amused.

Adrien, clearly irked by the favoritism, complained, “Hey, no fair! That lil guy just goes along with whatever you say. That’s not counted.”

The words were playful, but they settled something in you—if only for a moment.

A brief, fleeting peace.

You risked a glance at Damian, but found his expression unreadable.

And that made you tense even more.

Because how did one conversation just destroy whatever rapport you’d built with him over the last few weeks?

You opened your mouth to say something but—

“Oh! Looks like you’ve brought along another person.”

And just like that—

Everything in you froze.

Your breath stilled.

Your fingers twitched.

Something cold wrapped around your ribs, tightening.

Mrs. Cole.

She moved toward your group, all warm smiles and polished perfection. But you knew.

You knew better.

The warmth didn’t reach her eyes. The perfection was too smooth, too calculated.

And yet, your friends didn’t see it.

They didn’t feel it.

They didn’t feel the unease sinking into your bones, clawing its way under your skin.

You straightened instinctively, every nerve in your body suddenly alert.

You felt your jaw lock.

And you just stared at the old woman standing in front of you and your friends.

When you didn’t move to introduce Damian, Caitlyn, ever polite, started to do it for you.

“Oh, this is—”

“Damian Wayne,” Mrs. Cole interrupted smoothly, smiling. “Son of Bruce Wayne. Of course, I know him.”

Then, with a turn of her head, her gaze landed on you.

And despite the kindness in her expression—

Something inside you shrank.

“I apologise,” she said gently. “I should have realised earlier that you were, in fact, (Name) Wayne. I hope you weren’t too offended.”

Every syllable was measured. Smooth.

There was nothing wrong with what she said.

But your mind churned.

Something in you twitched.

Something itched beneath your skin, something you couldn’t place.

A meaningless pleasantry? Or a subtle dig? A test? Did she expect you to be offended? Was she gauging your reaction?

Your eyes flickered to her face, scanning for any indication of intent. The tiniest shift in expression. A microsecond of amusement. A twitch of satisfaction.

A crack, a slip—anything.

But there was nothing.

Just polite words and a soft tone.

Just surface-level kindness.

Not a misstep. Not a single crack in her perfect facade.

It made your stomach turn.

Your thoughts tangled, looping over themselves, spiraling deeper into your own paranoia—

And then you realized you had been silent for too long.

Too long for it to be normal. Too long for it to be anything but weird.

You scrambled for a response, grasping for something, anything—

“It’s fine.”

It came out rough. Stiff. Completely unnatural.

Like a person forgetting how to be a person.

Mrs. Cole only smiled. If she noticed your awkwardness, she was far too polite to acknowledge it.

Adrien and Caitlyn, however, were not.

You saw it immediately—the way Caitlyn pressed her lips together to keep from groaning, the way Adrien squeezed his eyes shut like he had just physically felt secondhand embarrassment.

Yeah. Yeah.

That was bad.

You wanted to fling yourself out the nearest window.

Mrs. Cole, as if unfazed, turned back to Damian.

“I hope everything here has been to your liking.”

Damian regarded her for a moment before giving a clipped, formal response. “The conditions appear satisfactory.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” she replied easily. “We do our best to provide a safe environment for all the children under our care.”

You didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t breathe.

Just listened.

You tried to read him.

Tried to see if he felt it too.

If he sensed that something was off with Mrs Cole.

But—

Nothing.

Damian’s expression was unreadable, sure. But that wasn’t new.

What was new was that he didn’t seem to think anything of her at all.

“Well,” Mrs. Cole finally said, brushing nonexistent dust from her sleeve. “I have other matters to attend to. It was lovely meeting you, Damian.”

She smiled, nodding at Caitlyn and Adrien before turning back to you.

“And you, of course, (Name).”

Then—

She was gone.

Moving seamlessly through the orphanage, weaving between staff and children like she belonged there.

You exhaled shakily.

You had overanalyzed every movement, every syllable. Had searched for something.

And yet—nothing.

No proof. No reason for this unease gnawing at your ribs.

And yet, it didn’t go away.

It never went away, no matter what you did.

No matter what you tried convincing yourself with.

And as you sat there, stiff and silent—

You failed to notice the way Damian was watching you.

Expression unreadable.

Eyes sharp.

Like he had seen something.

Something off.

Something he couldn’t quite place.

long awaited chapter 7 lol… did you guys miss me 🥰🤗 also ramadan mubarak to all my muslim homies and girlies 🫶🫶part 2 here in a few hours after posting this, will answer my asks after posting part 2 <3

taglist is closed ‼️

(1/3): @fangxout @dusk-muse @quethekillerqueen @isupportorbitalbombardment @nxdxsworld @vanessa-boo @coffeeaddictxd @moonsbluekingdom @yuya-bubbly @percythebitchwitch @anonymousdisco @jason-todd-fangirl-14 @redsakura101 @what-0-life @idkwhattoputhete @secretyouthcomputer @witch-waycult @allycat4458 @dazed-lavender @eclecticfurylady @wizzerreblogs @marsmabe @daddysfangirls-dc @hoeinthehouse @beeweensblog @ilxandra @agent-nobody-knows @thethingwiththefeathers @mochiivqi @pix-stuff @narration-ator @nebulousmoon3990 @delias-stuff @froggy-voidd @jjsmeowthie @kore-of-the-underworld @nen-nyy @juthesillylesbain @vikkus-main @emilylouise123 @blueiones @horror-lover-69 @chaotic-fangirl-blog @wassupbroski55555 @reallyromealone @plsfckmedxddy @sea-glasses @203moonysello @luvly-writer @dovey-quacks2332 @love-theangel @hotdinoankles @vebbiewuzhere

[jjsloverre]

blurb of babydaddy!jj and pouge!reader taking a mental day together

in which… babydaddy!jj takes pouge!reader for a mental walk to talk about the pregnancy

contains… pure fluff, a little cliffhangerrrrrr, foreshadowing (not proofread)

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

“cmon mama to be! we don’t got all day!” jj yelled for you.

you were getting ready for something. you didn’t even know since jj wouldn’t spill anything about. “coming!” you screamed back. you walked down the stairs and straight into his arms. “hey pretty mama, ready for this walk?” your eyes shot up at him. “walk? why are we going on a walk?”

“for your mental health and just to talk you know? and then i got some pizza in the lil square ways you like em. now cmon and let’s go, we’re walking for an hour!” he exclaimed. “okay baby.” you smile.

as you and jj are walking, your minds go to the topic of your pregnancy. “what do you want our little baby to be?” jj asked you, thinking hard about the question, you find your answer. “i want a girl, what do you want?”

“i want twins honestly, one boy one girl. can’t i just nut inside you and we have twins?” jj asked while he intertwined your fingers together.

“no smart guy that isn’t how that works.” you smile up at his pretty blue eyes. “well how does it work? how can i get you to have twins?”

“um? genetics?”

“real funny ma.”

“i really hope our baby has your eyes, they’re the prettiest color ever.” he smiles hard, his beautiful smile coming out. “i hope our baby has your beauty and brains. cause i don’t have brains for shit.”

“what else do you wanna talk about baby?” you brought your hands up to your lips and kissed his knuckles, (and also biting him per usual.)

“ready for the ultrasound?” jj asked. “really really ready!” you exclaimed. after just 30 minutes, you begged jj to take you guys back to the house, so you could eat the pizza he talked about.

★

“like the pizza?” jj asked. “course i do! it’s really really good, oh and jayj?” you look up at his pretty blue eyes. “what’s up?”

“do you regret this? like getting me pregnant? what if you have other baby mamas?” jj looked at you pretty confused. he didn’t understand where this concern was coming from. but then again, he realized you were pregnant, and probably had millions of questions about his past hookups. “i don’t fuck girls raw, i use protection. and i only didn’t do it with you cause you were my close friend and i trusted you to… i guess fuck raw? i honestly didn’t mean to get you pregnant, but to answer your question… no i don’t regret it. i’ve always wanted kids! didn’t think it would be this early but if it’s with you? wouldn’t want it with anyone else.”

“really?” you whispered.

“really.”

“can we… go to the mall for some stuff? and then a spa?” you cuddled into his arms while he rubbed your growing belly. “hell yeah we can! we can do whatever you want.”

“yay thank you!”

“no problem baby. hey… why don’t you get some rest? got a big day tomorrow don’t we?”

“yeah we do… thank you for this mental day and the walk, i didn’t realize how much it would help me, but it helped so much.” you whispered to jj, falling asleep in his arms.

★

as you went to sleep, jj had a plan that would change everything. he got on the phone with kiara.

“look… we don’t talk but i need a favor, don’t flirt with me either. and i mean it, i need to go ring shopping for y/n, i’m asking you for help since you’re her best friend, differences aside, do this for her and leave my drama out of it.”

“fine…” kie whispered back through the phone. “what time asshole.” jj rolled his eyes. “lose the attitude, the fuck you mad for? just because i rejected you to be with the mother of MY child? that doesn’t matter no more, but anyway… friday at noon while she’s at lunch with her parents. thanks kie.”

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

taglist: @sturniologirlzz @sturns-mermaid @bee-43 @anacamofficial @superlegend216 @eddxemxnson @sophand4n4 @ethanthequeefqueen @aaliyahsturniolo @always-reading @maybankslover @slut4rafecameronn @leaseyes @sttaejoon-blog @glitterybombshell @idontknowwhyimhere33 @moonywhisp3rs @imsiriuslyreal @sturnioloenthousiast @coalicionees

a/n- a little short but ty for 500 followers! and my bday in 20 days? we bouta t up👅👅 anyway! enjoy this foreshadowing 😉

more babydaddy!jj x pouge!reader here

[wbbpls]

Platonic Plus One

Chapter 5: Azzi POV

Honestly this whole chapter is me just edging you guys. lmk what y'all think about Azzi's POV and if you want more from her

Azzi has always known Paige is hot. Everyone thinks that. She’s also cute, confident, funny, and...a really good kisser. Like really good. It’s not that Azzi wasn’t interested in boys. They just weren’t interesting. Azzi also isn’t necessarily straight, but she’s never been with a girl to comfortable know otherwise. 

Also, have Paige’s eyes always been this blue? Azzi is rubbing sunscreen into Paige’s cheeks, and Paige hasn’t looked away once. With anyone else, this would be so awkward, but with Paige, it just is. “Thanks for remembering sunscreen, Az.” 

“Of course, I don’t want my wedding date looking like a tomato in all the photos.” Also, the last time Paige was sunburnt, she wouldn’t let Azzi cuddle her because it hurt too much. Since then, Azzi carries sunscreen around like she’s the one who desperately needs it. “Do you wanna take your clothes off, and I can do you back?”

Paige stands to remove her top and shorts, and she’s wearing a blue bikini. It’s hard not to appreciate Paige’s body, but whenever she wears bikinis, Azzi has to look away consciously and moves back to make space for Paige to sit in front of her. Azzi took her time rubbing the lotion in, feeling the warmth of Paige’s skin. 

Azzi rubs harder at Paige’s shoulder to remove some of the visible tension she has there, and she swears she can hear a faint moan from Paige. Maybe Azzi should be more concerned about her best friend making that noise when she touches her, but she is more invested in how to get Paige to do it again. 

“Mm, Az, that feels so good.” 

“Yeah?” Azzi rubs her hands down to Paige’s hips and lower back. Paige moans slightly louder this time and clenches her eyes closed. Then, she turns over her left shoulder with dilated eyes to look at Azzi. 

Azzi’s eyes flicker between her eyes and lips, thinking about how good last night's kiss was. It’s just practice, right? They’re a couple, they’re supposed to kiss. Azzi begins to lean in but is suddenly interrupted by her grandmother. “Azzi, look who just arrived!” 

Jonathan is standing awkwardly next to my grandma. “Hey, Azzi. Sup, Paige.” He glances down at Azzi’s hold on Paige with a questioning look.

“Oh, hi!” Azzy is caught off guard by the almost-kiss and realizes she never let go of Paige’s hips.

“Hey man, long time, huh?” Paige shifts to face them more, making her backside shove further into Azzi. She’s going to ignore the fact that she has yet to let go of Paige’s hips. 

“Well, I hope you and Jonathon have some quality time to catch up, Azzi. You two really were such a cute couple!” 

“Aw, c’mon Grandma Fudd, I’m not cute enough for you?” How does Paige always handle moments under pressure so well? 

“Oh dear, you’re the cutest! My apologies, Paige. I just mean, even as friends, they were sweet.”

“Uh, yeah, totally. Hey Az, I’m gonna go get my stuff settled, but if you wanted to hang out tonight, I’d be down.” 

“She has a pretty strict bridesmaids schedule to keep to, don’t you, Az?” Paige says confidently while placing her hand on Azzi’s thigh. 

“Uh, y-yeah.” Okay, why did that cause heat to pulse through her? “I’ll let you know when we are free of wedding party duties.”

“Cool, cool...see you guys later!” Jonathan and her grandma walked off, leaving the two girls alone. 

“Jealous, Bueckers?” 

“Pfft, me jealous? Nah!! I’m simply protecting your precious time from your grandma’s matchmaking games.” 

“Mhm, sure you were.”

Paige leaned in close, leaving just an inch to close the gap, “I’m pretty sure you’re my girlfriend this week, not his. Unless you don’t want that anymore?” 

Her confidence is so unnecessary, yet so effective. “N-no, I want you,” Azzi whispers back. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought, Princess.” Paige winks and stands up abruptly. “Aight, so we finna play mermaids now or...?”

Azzi chuckles at her childlike nature and ability to switch up so quickly. “Can I just tan for a bit, Paigey?” It’s not that she doesn’t want to get in the water with Paige; she’s still recovering from their moment. And last night. Last night was just a practice kiss. She shouldn’t be thinking about it so much. Right?

“Laaame. Imma go play basketball with the guys over there, then. I can’t keep sitting.” Paige leaned down to kiss Azzi on the cheek, “Get me when you’re ready to swim, Princess.”

Azzi takes the time by herself to process the last day. She panicked, asking Paige to be her fake girlfriend in desperate relief for a family event to be pleasant. She loves her family, really, but her extended family goes so hard every time they see her. And Paige, well, everything with Paige is just easy. She’s gone on plenty of dates, but nothing feels easy. They don’t pull out the chair or hold every door like Paige does. They don’t pick up on her moods like Paige does. They all force her to think and be on every second. With Paige, she knows she’s taken care of. None of them are Paige. 

Maybe that’s why Caroline is always on her about her relationship with Paige. It’s not like she hasn’t thought of it before. Azzi knows they’re closer than most. It’s just always been that way. It’s always been Paige and Azzi. Even if she let herself think about Paige that way, it wouldn’t matter. Paige can have anyone she wants, and sometimes, it feels like everyone wants Paige.   

Azzi glances over at Paige playing basketball, absolutely dominating the court as per usual and probably immasculating all the guys there. She is radiating joy and passion in every step. She even makes her trash-talking fun. 

One of the guys yells over, “Yo Azzi, how do you put up this girl?”

Azzi laughs, “Right? I deserve an award.” 

“Aight baby, I’ll glady give an award later tonight.” Paige smirks with too much pride and then casually makes a 3-pointer. They continue playing for a little longer and Azzi tries to think about anything other than Paige. It’s gotten pretty hot and she’s ready for a swim, so she starts making her way over to Paige only see one of the pool bartenders making her way specifically for Paige. All of them of breathing hard after their workout, but she only bring water for Paige. 

“Thanks!” Paige says breathlessly and chugs the water down, yet the girl doesn’t leave. If anything, she’s staring her down. Maybe this place just has really good service?

“Aye no water for us?” One of the boys jokingly says. 

“Well you don’t look like that.” The girl says in a sultry tone, looking Paige up and down. Azzi’s whole body tenses at the exchange. Whenever girls come up to flirt with Paige, she usually finds a reason for Paige to be busy, or she just walks away irritated. But something about being her fake girlfriend gives Azzi a little too much confidence. 

Azzi walks past the girl, giving her no attention and slides in next to Paige putting one hand on Paige’s abs and the other around her back. “Hey baby, having fun?.” Paige wraps her arm around Azzi’s shoulders naturally. 

“Having fun destroying us, yeah.” 

The bartender hasn’t left yet and doesn’t seem to care about Azzi’s presence. “Mhm, you’ve been quite enjoyable to watch.” 

Paige conveniently ignores her intentions and avoids addressing the flirting. “Yeah basketball is always a fun game to watch.” 

“No honey, just you.” Paige gulps audibly, while some of the guys mumble stuff under their breaths backing away when they see Azzi’s overly polite smile.

“Can we help you with something? Or do you sexually harass all the guests?”

“I’m sure if she wasn’t interested she’d say so. The only help I need is from her. I’m Bailey by the way.” She smirks and puts her hand out for Paige to take and Azzi squeezes her hip trying not to blow up on this girl. 

“Yeah uh, I’m here with my girlfriend, but thanks for the water.” 

“Hmm that’s interesting because according to that guy Jonathon over there ‘your girlfriend’ and him will be having quite the time together tonight. So when she leaves you lonely, I’ll be here.” Now Paige is the one to tense up. “Aight man, chill on my girl. I’m not interested in this shit.” 

“It’s okay baby, while she’s alone dreaming of what she wants to do to you tonight, I’ll be the one doing it.” Azzi says with a smirk before kissing Paige’s neck. Paige squeezes Azzi’s hips and her eyes flutter close. 

“Ugh, whatever. I’ll be around once you get bored with that.” Bailey says dramatically as she walks away slightly defeated. 

They forgot some of the guys were still there until one of them speaks as they walk away, “Not gonna lie dude, that was pretty hot.” 

Paige hasn’t taken her eyes off of Azzi, and with a low raspy voice, she says, “Really hot.” Her normally bright blue eyes are dark and dilated again as she looks down at Azzi’s lips. Azzi wants nothing more than for Paige to close the gap between them. Honestly, if Paige made a move, she’s not sure she’d stop her. There have been so many times she thought Paige would make a move, but nothing ever came of it. Like Azzi said, if Paige wanted her, she’d do something about it, right?

Paige moves to put her hand on Azzi’s cheek. “Az...” Azzi moved both hands to grasp Paige’s hips, and they started to inch closer to each other. That is until Jose yells, “PAIGE, STOP MAULING MY SISTER AND COME IN THE POOL!” 

The two girls jump apart at the sudden interruption and laugh awkwardly as they make their way to the pool. Paige grabs Azzi’s hand and whispers, “Guess it's time to play mermaids.” 

Once in the water, Azzi takes in Paige and her brothers messing around as if they’re her own brothers. The new girlfriend title didn’t seem to change anything with how naturally she fit into the family. If anything, Azzi is starting to realize how odd it is that no one in her family even bats an eye at them together. Her parents took it well, maybe even too well. Even her grandma noticed how “close” they were. So many people have made comments about them. 

The bartender, Bailey, walks around the pool, stopping to talk to Jonathon. They both glance over at the girls, obviously talking about what happened earlier. Paige notices Azzi’s discomfort and dives under the water.  Suddenly, Azzi feels two arms around her legs, and Paige’s shoulder pushes her into the air. “ALAS, I SHALL SAVE THE PRINCESS FOR A TRUE LOVES KISS!” Azzi grabs on to Paige’s shoulders, trying to balance herself, and fails horribly as she and Paige fall backward into the water. Paige wraps her arms around Azzi, pulling her back up, giggling. “Oh my god, Paige, you’re actually insane.” 

“But I saved you from the dragon named Bailey, Az!” Of course, Paige is always in tune with what she’s thinking and jumping in to make it better. 

Azzi wraps her arms around Paige’s neck, “Maybe, but you never got the true love’s kiss.”

“Mhm, very important step to officially save you and live happily ever after,” Paige smirks as she looks down at Azzi and moves her left hand to the back of Azzi’s neck.

“Oh yeah, damsel in distress over here.” 

To Azzi’s surprise, Paige finally leans in all the way and kisses her. It’s slow and sweet. Paige is in complete control as she fluidly moves her lips against Azzi's. Her tongue swiped across Azzi’s bottom lip, giving Azzi a taste of what she couldn’t have. God, she’s a good kisser.  How is it even better than their kiss last night?

Paige pulled away gently. “Was that okay?”

Azzi, still dazed from the kiss, mutters, “Yeah, yeah, totally,” as her pulse quickens, realizing what just happened. 

Bailey rolls her eyes and walks back towards the bar while Jonathon tries to look anywhere but the pool. “Well, I think they bought.” Oh, right. They're supposed to be fake dating.

"Yeah, I think so, P."

For a second there, Azzi almost bought it, too.

[themintman]

Anyway back to space dog

[moonstruckme]

hi mae! i totally understand,, I really don't mind you sitting the fic with any other marauders/ ships,, honestly whichever you're most comfortable with is perfect! (after a right therapy session request)

Thanks lovely!

cw: modern au, reader is in teletherapy

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 554 words

Remus tries to give you privacy during your therapy sessions. Through the barrier of your closed bedroom door, he can occasionally make out voices but not words, your therapist’s thoughtful tones crackling through the speaker of your laptop. He leaves you be in there for as long as you want. Your sessions only last an hour, but sometimes you like to be by yourself beforehand to collect your thoughts, or sit on the bed a while afterward letting what you’ve discussed sink in. Today, it’s only a few moments after the low hum of voices stops that you come to him. 

The bedroom door clicks open. Quiet footfalls in the hallway, and when Remus looks up you’re walking towards him on the sofa with tearstains on your cheeks. 

“Hi.” He sets his laptop aside quickly, surprised but knowing what you want. You fold yourself into his lap, and Remus curls his arms around you. “Hi, lovely. Everything okay?” 

You nod against his shoulder. “I’m okay.” A quiet sniffle. Remus tucks you in closer. “I’m supposed to, like, feel my feelings or some shit.” 

“Oh, well that’s just not right.” He kisses your head, feeling the beginnings of dampness seeping into his shirt. “What a cruel assignment.” 

“Yeah, Mary’s got all sorts of kooky ideas.” Your voice is bittersweet, but there’s an edge of humor there that makes Remus’ lips tug instinctively. “Stuff about letting you support me, too. Crazy things like that.” 

“Can’t say I’m quite so opposed to that one.” 

“No, I thought you might be on her side there.” 

“I’m always on your side,” he says, genuinely, though the squeeze he gives you is teasing. You’re quiet for a few moments. Still weeping. Remus lays his cheek on top of your head. “Was it a rough one today, then?” 

Another heart-wrenching sniffle. “Yeah.” 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” 

“It’s okay. I know it’s supposed to be good for me in the long run, or whatever.” 

“I think it already is good for you. I’m sure it’s difficult, but it’s nice to see you thinking more about these things. And making changes.” 

“Yeah. Thanks.” 

Remus turns his head briefly to kiss your hair before settling in again. He’ll hold you as long as you let him. 

“Better fucking pay off, though.” 

A laugh startles out of him. Remus thinks that’s what you wanted. He can practically feel your smile curving against his shoulder. 

“Come here,” he says. 

You pull away, and sure enough, your watery eyes are paired with a watery grin. Remus tsks, brushing the wetness from your cheeks with his thumbs. More tears well. 

“Sorry,” you laugh, as one spills down and Remus chases after it diligently. 

“I wish you wouldn’t be,” he mumbles. “For what, lovely?” 

“I never used to cry this much before stupid therapy.” 

He hums, kissing the next tear before it gets midway down your cheek. “I think that means it’s working.” 

“Yeah, I know. What a bullshit system, right?” 

“Total bullshit. Can I confess something selfish, though?” 

“Mhm. Go ahead.” 

“I like that you came to me.” 

Your face pinches cruelly. You hug him again, hiding your face in his neck. “Thank you.” 

“I mean it, dove. Thank you. I’m proud of you.” 

“You’re going to make me cry again.” 

“That’s alright. I think we can handle it.”

[loves1ckmoth]

LITTLE HELPER

Modern Gym Rat!Vi x Reader

Warnings: Fem!reader, I don't work out often and I think it shows, I've also never used any gym equipment except from p.e. classes over the years, It's okay though, vi is very gentle with sleepy reader, she is like a puppy, she complains in the beginning, mentioned that she binds in the beginning, petnames (darling), definitely not my best work I'm so sorry

Word Count♡: 867

Vi has been complaining a lot lately. Mostly about the gym. “My partner didn’t show up today!” or “My spotter was awful” and your personal favorite, “It would’ve gone so much better if you were there.” You loved it. Loved the way she would drape herself over you as your hands diligently massage out the knots caused by her grueling workouts.

You can hear the door slam as she groans with frustration. “Darling? Are you there?” Her voice rings throughout the house, and you drop the laundry you were folding. “In the bedroom!” You shout back, resuming the folding. You’re prepared for her to drop in on you, however.

And so she does. You feel a thud against the bed as she flops down, and then her hands as she crawls over to your lap. You set the binder of hers you were folding aside, and place a hand on her hair. Her hand covers yours and she pulls it down to hold her face.

“Long day, I assume? Was your uhm… your spotter? Were they not there again?” At that, she groans loudly. “He’s never there anymore. We made a pact for the new Year that we’d reach our goals this year, but I’m convinced he’s given up. Do you know how demotivating that is?”

You hum noncommittal, continuing to stroke her hair. “So you have to go alone now I assume?” You suggest. She groans and rolls over onto her stomach. “It’d be so much easier if you went with me.” She says for the nth time. You tilt your head.

“What if I did go with you? I promised you I’d tag along eventually, and I could help spot you.” She immediately jumps up at that, beaming brightly. “Would you!?” You giggle at her enthusiasm and nod. “I’d be happy to. You talk about it so much I want to go myself.”

She jumps up and tackles you onto the bed, smothering you with kisses from her chapstick-covered lips. You push her face away, having dissolved into a fit of laughter. “You’re finally using that chapstick I gave you?” She smiles and puckers her lips at you.

“Minty, isn’t it?” She says as she nuzzles into you. She sighs, collapsing and weighing you down. “‘M tired. Let’s take a nap. In the morning, I’ll take you for my early workout. Sound good?” She speaks gently, tracing a hand over your side like a self-soothing ritual. You hum a response, closing your eyes to nap with her.

In the morning, she gently helps dress you, accounting for your still tired form. You usually wake up when she gets back from her morning workout. You’re out the door in around 10 minutes and she guides you into the passenger seat and shoves an energy drink into your hands.

The drive to the gym is relatively quiet as she has the radio low and hums to the tune of it. The gym is mostly empty by the time you get there. She walks over to a bench press machine and has you stand behind it. “Do you wanna spot me on this one? It’s really easy and I won’t go too high so if I mess up, you can help.”

She shows you the proper form and position before getting on the bench. She does 20 reps, and you watch her curiously. She smiles up at you, pushing the bar with ease. “What now?” you ask after helping pull the bar back into its proper position.

“The rest of the stuff I plan to do doesn’t require a spotter, but you can stay and talk with me if you like. We could do something simple if you wanna have something to occupy yourself. There's a machine that works your thighs over there. It’s a little awkward, but I’ll be there with you.”

You nod, and she takes your hand to lead you over. You like it when she does that. The way she looks at you like you hung the moon and the stars. She treats you like a princess. She’s right when she says the machine is awkward. It requires you to spread your legs open and stretch them as far as you can. Thankfully, however, she stands in front of you so no one else in the gym will see.

She adjusts your posture when needed and adds weight when you can handle it. She makes sure to tire you out for the rest of the time you spend at the gym and you walk out the door achy and exhausted. The drive home is a blur. All you remember is her calloused but gentle hands picking you up and throwing you over her shoulder.

A sharp gasp of air releases from you as you’re slung over, and you flop your head down into her neck. “Thank you, Vi…” You mumble sleepily as she lays you back down on the bed. She smiles, tucking you in. “Of course, darling. Thank you for coming with me, even if all it did was tire you out.”

You groan quietly as you melt into the bed and Vi pulls away to finish the laundry you started last night.

Hello everyone!! My cait fic got a shit ton of attention, so I might start writing her more!! Reminder that my requests are open and suggestions are wanted :3 reblogs and likes are most appreciated ♡

[yandere-daydreams]

Do you have any tips for being like, less straight to point when writing? I feel whenever I write I’m being super descriptive and taking my time talking about stuff and then I read it back ands it like

“The sky was a cool blue. I like when the sky is blue”

Like I was reading one of your fics and thought “damn, this bitch like the Tolkien of yandere fanfiction, writing the most beautifully paragraphs known to mankind for gojo”

You won’t gotta tell me I know that you do commissions and stuff so that’s like, your income lmao

wait this is actually something i think about on the reg,,, you really have to come at with the assumption that, if you're writing in first or third person limited, your readers will know to assume that whatever's being said is automatically from your pov character's perspective and therefore aligns with their mentality. that frees you up to get really creative with adjectives and physical descriptions that inform the audience about the character's feelings (i.e. "the sky was a cheerful and idyllic blue" for a character who lies sunny days or "the sky was an agitating and eye-bleeding blue" for a character who doesn't). alternatively, you could also link new stimulus to the physical reaction it causes in the character, for example "the sky was blue. i found myself smiling absentmindedly as i went about my day." the latter is pretty easy to overuse, but also leaves a stronger impression with readers.

it's also very important to be very, very mindful with how you're pacing the distribution of information, too. i personally try to limit myself to one new piece of information per paragraph, just to give my readers time to adjust to a character's eyes being blue before letting them know that his mom is also super dead, but in general, just don't feel the need to get all of your exposition off your chest as soon as it's brought up. intrigue is hot, and the deliberate with-holding of clarification makes it hotter. plus, if it can't be shown by the events of the story and doesn't come up in a character's natural monologue/dialogue, there's a good chance it wasn't that important to begin with. there's no need to talk about how dead a character's mom is at all if he's going to her funeral, like, three pages later.

tldr; use more adjectives and don't tell your readers shit. they'll figure it out on their own if they know what's good for them.

[m4tthewmurd0ck]

i love you, i’m sorry

── hockey player!rafe x fem!singer!reader

ONE | TWO

click *HERE* for the description +table of contents

january 1 ~

liked by taylorswift and others…

yn.sings new year new me! jehdjssjfjajd jk anyways might release a song tomorrow idk tho

sarah.cam just did the presave link from your stories 😙 miss you so much!

↳ yn.sings ugh my baby i miss you!! thank you 💕

johnb let’s goooooo 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼 and to think i’ve known you since you were asking for help putting your songs on cd’s so you could send them to record labels 😭

↳ yn.sings stop i will cry right now!!!!

jjmaybank that’s my girl! heard the song yesterday, fucking incredible. proud of you ❤️

↳ yn.sings thank you j ❤️❤️

↳ heywardpope wait why did HE get to hear the song 🤨

↳ jjmaybank what’s with the HE?

↳ kiecarrera yeah why did HE 🤨🤨🤨

↳ jjmaybank i have a simple answer, its obviously because she loves me more than both of you 🤷🏼‍♂️

↳ yn.sings stfu j you’re gonna get me in trouble jdenzjssndjdjs but really guys it’s because he asked me to send him whatever i’m releasing next. i don’t ever wanna just shove my music in your faces so i only send stuff if you ask

↳ jjmaybank no, it’s definitely what i said.

↳ sarah.cam baby idc, i want your music to punch me in the heart every single time.

↳ johnb same here tbh.

↳ yn.sings hehehe okay i’ll send it to you guys now!

user1 who are all of those people she’s replying to and why am i not one 😭😭😭

↳ yn.hq friends from back home. if you watch her stories, they always post when they’re together. well yn.sings does. her friends are all private accounts so idk about them. and before you ask, no her and jjmaybank are not dating. they’ve been best friends since they were 8.

↳ user1 ahh, gotcha. thanks!

↳ yn.sings oh god you’ve summoned him

↳ jjmaybank yeah we’re not dating because she rejected me ✊🏻😔

↳ yn.sings jackson im gonna kill you shdhdksndj

↳ jjmaybank first name and a threat, kinky 😛

↳ jjmaybank wait fuck i got the notification put me back on close friends hahdbdhd

itsmekelce snippet you sent sounds good! 🎧

↳ yn.sings thank you kelc!

↳ kiecarrera umm 🤨

taylorswift such a good song! you should probably, idk, perform it for like a lot of people 🤭

↳ yn.sings the fact that you know who i am is still insane even 2+ years later. thank you!! also, you’re right i totally should 🤭🤭🤭

↳ user2 wait!!!! what the fuck does this mean can a swiftie decode this secret message thanks

↳ user3 taylor’s rumored to be going on tour, but we don’t know when. maybe yn.sings is the opening act?

↳ user4 would taylor use her? she’s kind of already a big artist.

↳ user3 true but opening for taylor especially if it’s for the whole tour, would for sure be a huge step in her career.

↳ user5 i will kick a child out of the way to see that concert.

topperthornton heard you’ll be back in the obx soon

TAG LIST ── 5 of 50 spots taken!

@kissylec | @empath-bunny | @pillowprincess4him | @fieryghxul | @imtalkinnonsense

[drdemonprince]

i know you’ve answered a similar question semi recently but I can’t find it so:

Hung out with a good friend of mine who is a cis lesbian (former bisexual) and her friend who is a bi transmasc. I was talking about my dating troubles with cis men (I used to be a lesbian, now a bi/gay trans dude) and they kept insisting that cis men were terrible and even at one point suggested that I go back to dating women. I understand that cis men are not what they want sexually but I am attracted to cis men sexually and romantically and I didn’t like how openly they were disgusted by attraction to cis men. These are people I really like and don’t want to create a rift with, I think they just aren’t aware of how this kind of reaction affects me. Is there a way I can politely let them know that that stuff makes me uncomfortable and isn’t really okay?

I'd try telling them that it is frankly...victim-blaming? To suggest that a person's difficulties in dating are caused by who they are attracted to. Straight women deserve to be safe from violence too, is it their fault that they date men? What your friends are parroting is classic lesbian separatist nonsense though they may not realize. Tell them that how you feel and what you want isnt something you can choose, and that youd hope that as your friend they would want you to be able to pursue your actual desires safely and happily rather than being pressured to do something else. If they cant respect that.... theres a deeper issue.

[allthingsfangirl101]

Rooster's Twin Sister – Jake Seresin

Rooster's POV

The entire time I've been in the Top Gun program, no one has found out about my twin sister, Y/N. We both ended up going into the Navy. I became a pilot but Y/N became a mechanic—a damn good one, too.

A few years ago, Y/N, Maverick, and I were at lunch one day when Maverick and I found out more about Y/N's job. She was working at a garage in town and one of the guys wouldn't leave her alone. Most of the guys made jokes, accidentally brushed her when they walked by. All in all, they made her extremely uncomfortable.

After pushing her to tell us everything that was going on, Maverick convinced her to become a mechanic for the Navy. With her experience, her degree, and Maverick's recommendation, it would be easy for her to get in.

It took a lot more convincing, planning, and badgering before Y/N finally agreed to let Maverick send in her resume. Three days later, she had a job on a Navy base. She quickly became the top mechanic. She's not assigned to just one base. She moves around. She basically goes anywhere she's needed.

I walked into my and Y/N's shared apartment to see her keys already hanging up by the door.

"Y/N?"

"In the kitchen," she called back. I hung my keys next to hers and walked into the kitchen. When I got to the kitchen, I looked around to see her making her favorite pasta dish.

"What are we celebrating?" I asked as I immediately stepped in and started to help.

"Maverick called me today," she mumbled.

"He invite you to dinner Sunday?"

"Well, yeah," she chuckled. Her smile dropped. "He also told me about that Petty Officer that sabotaged your planes."

"Oh yeah," I scoffed. "Guy tried to. . . Wait, why was he telling you about that?"

"He talked me through what the Petty Officer did," she explained. "He asked if it was easy to reverse."

"Is it?"

"Very," she smiled again. "I told him it would only take an hour to reverse it."

"One hour to reverse it on all of our planes?"

"Well, an hour per plane," she smirked. "But I could easily get it done in a day or two. It was a small issue. Honestly, I could've done worse in high school."

"Did you explain to Maverick how to reverse it?" I chuckled.

"I didn't have to," she said, suddenly avoiding my eyes. "He asked me to come in next week and look at your planes and reverse the sabotage."

"That's awesome," I started to say, but she cut me off.

"He also wants me to see if I can tweak the computers so they can fight against anyone else who tries to sabotage or hack the planes."

"I didn't know you could do stuff with computers," I said, realizing just how long it's been since I had a real talk with my twin sister.

"I got a minor in cyber security, Bradley," she sighed.

"Did Maverick know?" I asked.

"I helped him put a few extra layers of security on the airplane hangar he keeps his plane in before he started training you guys. Now, Maverick wants me to spiff up the security on all your planes."

"How long would that take?"

"I said maybe two weeks," I shrugged. "Nothing more. But Maverick didn't put in for a limited transfer."

"What did he put in for?" I asked. I studied her and instantly knew what he put in for. I smiled as I answered my own question, "He got you permanently transferred to our base."

"Are you. . . Are you okay with that?"

"Of course," I laughed as I turned and stirred the sauce. Y/N grabbed my arm and pulled me back so I was facing her again.

"Are you really?" She double-checked. "I don't want to come to your base and. . . I know that you don't like me following you around. . . I mean, we're each our own person. And. . . Well, does your team even know about me?"

"They don't," I sighed. I hated that the look in her eyes slightly dropped. "The only reason I didn't tell them about you was to protect you. As soon as they find out I have a twin sister, I know several of them will look you up on the Navy website."

"And they'll think I'm disgusting?" She fake laughed.

"No," I said firmly. "They'll think you're amazing and bother me until I bring you around."

"And you don't want to bring me around because. . ."

"I don't want to bring you around them because I don't want them tripping over themselves to get to you."

"Like they would do that," she scoffed under her breath and walked back to the stove. I sighed before setting the table.

I hated it when she did this. Y/N's always struggled with her confidence. Part of it has to do with her being a mechanic. The other part was typical teenage girl stuff.

I thought that she'd grown past that.

As we ate, I got an idea. "What if I took you to my favorite Navy bar on the beach and we can celebrate you coming to base?"

"Your favorite Navy. . . Won't your friends be there?"

"I hope they are," I smiled at her.

"You want. . . You want me to meet your friends?"

"I do, Y/N."

* * * * *

Reader's POV

I subconsciously straightened out my uniform that I rarely wore. Bradley looked over my shoulder and laughed.

"What?" I scoffed. "I'm usually in my mechanic jumpsuit."

"You look good," he chuckled as he opened the bar door. As soon as we were surrounded by other Navy guys, my heart jumped into my throat. With my nerves and anxiety all over the place, I grabbed my twin brother's hand.

"It's okay," he said under his breath. "If the guys look at you wrong, just let me know. I'll kick their ass."

I rolled my eyes as he kissed my cheek.

"Bradshaw. As I live and breathe."

I looked away from my brother to see a guy smirking at me. His eyes fell on me and his smirk changed.

"And who is this, Bradshaw?" The guy asked.

"This is Y/N," he introduced me. "Y/N, this is my team. Phoenix, Bob, Payback, Fanboy, Omaha, Coyote, and Hangman."

"It's nice to put faces to the names on the sides of planes," I chuckled.

"What does that mean?" Coyote challenged.

"Easy, Lieutenant," I chuckled. "I'm a Navy mechanic."

"She's the best mechanic the Navy has ever seen," Bradley bragged about me as he threw his arm around my shoulders. "And she's joining our unit."

"You're the mechanic Maverick called after someone hacked our planes," Phoenix said as she crossed her arms over her chest. "He seemed to believe that you could reverse it."

"She already did," Bradley smirked. "She went in today and reversed it on my plane. She even added like 7 layers of security."

"I only added one," I scoffed, pushing his arm off me. "And spiffed up the original security and added my own code to strengthen it."

"Do Navy Mechanics have callsigns?" Bob asked, making me smile.

"Sort of," I shrugged.

"Sort of?" Fanboy asked.

"Callsigns are only meant for pilots," I said like it should've been obvious. "Don't all pilots know that?"

"We do," Fanboy said crossing his arms over his chest.

"Well, mechanics aren't pilots. But we do have nicknames for each other," I clarified.

"What's yours?" Phoenix asked, glancing at the other guys with a smirk on her face.

"Tinkerbell."

"Tinkerbell?" They all repeated.

"Yeah," I shrugged. "Mechanics 'tinker' with things and I'm a girl. Tinkerbell."

I sent Bradley a smirk, making the two of us laugh. I looked over to see Hangman studying us.

"So, Bradshaw," he finally spoke up, "how do you know the Navy's Best Mechanic?"

I glanced at him, not sure if he was going to tell his flight crew the truth.

"Y/N is my twin sister."

"You're what?!" His team gasped in sync.

"Do you guys always talk in sync?" I asked, making Bradley laugh. "You've done it twice now."

"You have a twin sister, Bradshaw?" Hangman laughed. "You are his twin sister? That's not possible."

"Why not?" I challenged.

"Well, he's eck and you're hmm."

I turned to my brother and said, "I don't know whether to be flattered or offended."

"Offended," Bradley answered instantly. He turned toward Hangman, his Protective Brother Glare on his face, and added, "With Hangman, the default should always be offended."

* * * * *

When we got home later that night, Bradley talked to me for over an hour. For some reason, he made it his life mission that I know everything about his team. Especially Hangman.

Bradley spent most of the time warning me about the kind of guy Lieutenant Jake "Hangman" Seresin truly was. He wanted to make sure I knew what kind of game he played and how he treated/talked about women.

I'd be lying if I didn't get the "womanizer" vibe from him. All night it felt like he was studying me. He'd say things that were clearly meant to be brags. After he said them, he'd look at me like he was waiting for me to be impressed.

I've been here a little under a week now and Hangman has fulfilled every warning my brother gave me. He was busy on the flight simulator while I was working on his plane. When I get working, I tend to tune everything around me out. So much so, I didn't hear someone walk in.

"Gotta say," someone said as they walked in. "Seeing another body in my cockpit doesn't sit well with me."

"Aww," I fake-cooed. "Is Mr. Hangman feeling a bit self-conscious about his cockpit?"

I smirked and the look in his eyes slightly darkened. I laughed as I went back to tweaking the security.

"Can you at least tell me what you're doing to my plane?"

"Your baby is perfectly safe with me, Hangman," I said. "I've almost broken down the previous hack. Once I get it off, I can put in my own code of security."

"You write code?" He challenged.

"I'm not just a mechanic," I sighed. "I got my degree in cyber security. A part of that is understanding code. Once you understand it, it's easy to write."

Hangman kept asking me random questions as I worked on his plane. Most of the questions were about Bradley and my childhood. I didn't give him full answers—just your basic half-assed ones —until he brought up the bar.

"You didn't seem impressed by me," he laughed off.

"Was I supposed to be?" I challenged. I glanced over my shoulder and smirked when I saw his jaw clenched.

"Well, yeah," he tried to shrug off. "My numbers and stats are. . ."

"Let me stop you right there," I cut him off and stopped what I was doing. "Something you should realize, Hangman, is the fact that I am constantly surrounded by insecure men who think they have to prove they're more masculine than me."

"More masculine than you?" He smirked.

"My brother wasn't exaggerating when he told you guys that I'm the best mechanic the Navy's got," I explained. "Men don't like women trampling their turf. They get defensive and angry and insecure."

"Why are you telling me this?" He asked, his usual bravado failing.

"Because I wanted you to know why I wasn't falling for your little tricks," I said, turning back and finishing what I was doing on his plane. "You do know that you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning, you catch more women with honesty than with lies."

I sent him a look before wrapping it up. The entire time I finished working, Hangman stayed where he was and watched me. I got hyper-focused on his plane and forgot he was there until I climbed down. My foot missed the third-to-last step. I would've fallen if Hangman wasn't there.

He caught my hips and we both went down. We landed with matching grunts.

"You okay?" He asked, his arms still wrapped around me. My brother's words of warning popped back into my mind.

"I'm good," I said, standing up and brushing myself off. I looked up, instantly coming face-to-face with Hangman. "Thank you."

"Of course," he said, instantly snapping back into his cocky demure.

I saw the clock on the wall and smirked. I crossed my arms over my chest and slightly shifted my weight.

"You might want to get out of here."

"And why's that?" He asked, copying my stance.

"My twin brother is on his way and if you're here when he gets here, he'll throw you off this ship."

"Your brother warned you about me?" He laughed, but there was a bit of concern hiding in his eyes.

"Oh yeah," I chuckled. "He warned me thoroughly about you."

"What if I told you I was actually a good guy?" He asked, his voice slightly dropping. "And that I only act this way because everyone expects me to?"

I scoffed as I started to walk away. "Y/N," he stuttered.

"Guys only say that because they're too embarrassed or insecure to man up," I cut him off. "They either act like dicks because they are playing a facade to cover up an insecurity. Or they act like dicks because they are dicks. So my question for you, Hangman, is which type are you?"

I couldn't help but smirk when I saw the look on his face before walking away.

[onceuponanotherassumption]

You’re a mess I’m a mess and that’s alright (Jason Todd x Reader)

Masterlist

Note: Jason gets injured during a mission and reader’s there to patch him up.

•

•

•

Of course it had to happen on a night when she wasn’t assigned to patrol. An hour after her shift at the hospital ended, she got a call to head straight to one of Bruce’s safe houses. That only meant one thing, someone was hurt.

“Sorry for making you come all the way here, an ambush was the last thing we expected to happen.” Dick gestures for her to come through.

“Don’t be silly,” (y/n) discreetly eyes his body for any sign of injury. “You’re not hurt anywhere, are you?”

“Just a few cuts and bruises, no biggie. Jaybird got the worst of it though.” Dick nods over to the hunched figure sat on the couch, looking half-conscious yet still alert of his surroundings. “B and the others are still out there dealing with the aftermath, I’ve already scouted the area. You guys should be safe.”

“Just go, they need you.”

“Thanks (y/n), I won’t be long. Take care of him for me!”

As the door closes to a shut, she makes her way to the small living room where Jason was. His helmet was off, momentarily forgotten and thrown to the side.

“Jason…” (y/n) approaches him with a worried sigh. “Do you mind if I take a look?”

“Go ‘head, doll.” He managed to answer. His brows furrowed as he grasps the edge of his top, pulling it over his head. Among the old scars and fresh cuts that littered his sculpted torso, (y/n) immediately finds the source of his discomfort.

His shoulder.

The area looked as if it were hastily bandaged, most likely Dick’s doing while they were still out fighting. With his permission, she slowly unravels the messy knot of the bandages. Blood was starting to stain them, so she quickens her pace. She couldn’t help but grimace at the sight of the deep gash on his shoulder, rummaging out a bottle of disinfectant from her bag.

“What caused this?”

“Some…kind of dagger—fuck!” Jason hisses as a damp cloth comes in contact with his wound.

“Keep talking.” She gently ushers, her free hand coming up to caress his warm cheek (hoping to distract him from the stinging pain).

“Penguin’s men were all carrying these modified weapons that he smuggled from Bludhaven.” Jason continues, his own hand resting atop of her own, eyes closing as he tries not to think about whatever (y/n) was doing. “One thing we didn’t take into account.”

“Are you hurt anywhere else…?” Jason looks up to find (y/n)’s displeased expression. He’s reminded once more of how she hated seeing him hurt. He wordlessly wraps an arm around her waist and tugs her closer, with the intention to placate her worries.

“Probably broke a rib…’m not sure.” At least he thinks he did. He’ll know for certain once the adrenaline wears off. Until then, he was content to bask in his girlfriend’s presence right in front of him.

“Anything else…? Like a fever, perhaps.” It wasn’t even phrased as a question, (y/n) already knew the answer. From the moment he started acting very clingy with her (not that she disliked it), to the odd warmth radiating off his body that was akin to a fireplace.

“Uh…maybe?”

“I knew something was off last night, the air conditioner was running but you were sweating like you just went out for a run.” And she called herself a doctor, (y/n) internally scolds herself.

“I thought it’d go ‘way on its own. Sorry, doll.” He confesses.

“You really need to stop hiding stuff like that from me, but that’s not important right now…I need to bandage your shoulder again.” She however struggles to reach an arm out to her bag on the floor, having to slightly bend down since Jason had no intention of letting her go. “I can’t get my—ah!”

Out of consideration, Jason (with his fever-addled mind) opts that the best way to assist her was to lift her up onto his lap. He holds her close, grabbing a clean roll of bandages from her bag and discarding it beside him. (y/n) definitely wasn’t expecting that, eyes wide at how close their faces were. She would’ve been embarrassed, had she not been accustomed to their close proximity on a daily basis.

“This isn’t helping your shoulder, Jason.” She attempts to escape his grasp, trying to avoid aggravating his injury further.

“Trust me, doll. It’s helping me plenty.” He tightens his hold around her, forehead pressed against her shoulder.

“Fine. Just hold still…” Never in her entire career as a doctor had she ever attempted to dress someone’s wound in such a compromising position. If her colleagues had seen her like this, she would probably lose her job (a bit of an exaggeration on her part).

Granted, it didn’t really matter. She won’t be a doctor for much longer, not that Jason was aware yet. It wasn’t that difficult for her to part from her job, she had no emotional attachment to it in the first place. It was after all, only done to keep up ‘civilian appearances’ after an incident years ago where her identity as a vigilante almost got leaked out. She preferred to be out fighting with Jason and the others, it offered more of a thrill than having to treat the sick in a room that smelled strongly of disinfectant. And that way, she could keep a closer eye on him.

“I know it’s unfair of me to ask this…” The hesitation in her tone must’ve spoke volumes, Jason doesn’t waste a second to lift his head to meet her gaze.

“You can tell me anything, pretty girl.” He combs his fingers through her slightly unkempt hair.

“Please try not to get hurt again.”

“Try, huh? Only if you do the same.” He didn’t make any word of promise, and she understood why. Their line of ‘work’ was a huge risk in itself, they were bound to get injured whether they liked it or not.

“I’ll try my best, Jay.”

“That’s my girl.”

[cicobuffs]

okay i am back because, and say it with me now, i’m a degenerate.

i like to imagine that cowboy art is playing up his experience to preacher’s daughter, before they started talking he’d really only done hand stuff with a couple of different girls, all under the pants while fully clothed. his mama might trust him but she does NOT trust the girls he brought home before and it’s hard to get in the mood with his bedroom door wide open.

so preacher’s daughter’s got it in her head that she’s seeing some sort of experienced guy but truth be told no one’s even seen his dick let alone touched it with any part other than their hand. and i think she knows deep down that he’s not that much more experienced than her, and she thinks it’s sweet that he’s trying to do so much for her enjoyment when they’re kind of in the same boat.

well yes!!!!!!

i feel like there's that played up act of faux confidence that cowboy!art puts on when it comes to this type of stuff and that's what makes you think that he's far more experienced than he really is. but there's definitely the moments where that act kinda cracks which makes you realize like "oh shit we're in the same situation here". shaky hands when he goes to cup your jaw, fingers playing with the bottom of your shirt for his own comfort, that sort of thing. but he's very much in that eager to please mindset regardless of anything because that's really his end goal at the end of day.

[callmrmorrow]

to make up for my last post, here’s what i think the invincible characters would do as content creators

mark grayson/invincible: comic book channel who analyzes and breaks down different in-world comics, particularly seance dog. very critical. has those really dumb cheesy thumbnails of his jaw hanging while he points at the new issue in blatant shock. is on youtube. think star wars theory but with less alt-right pipeline bs. has a somewhat decent following

nolan grayson/omniman: this motherfucker hates social media and thinks it is one of the most moronic things to come out of humanity. has a twitter account to post about his books, only follows his wife and son (maybe his publisher) but doesn’t like mark’s tweets bc they’re mostly complaining, flaming, or talking about comic books (average male teen activities)

debbie grayson: house hunters for superheroes, or maybe closer to selling sunset with the entire company? could sell you a house with two murder victims on the floor ten feet away from you. if it’s something like selling sunset, she’s definitely the most popular with the fans because she’s super humble, competent, and shockingly compassionate on the camera. has a couple superfans who are largely middle-aged men and the occasional teenage girl (she has to manually block them on nolan’s phone; i imagine he’s not insecure but maybe a bit possessive)

amber bennett: probably runs a tiktok account on social justice topics. might have a tumblr or some other online blog where she breaks down current events and shares petitions for world betterment. anything but performative, frequently starts or attends protests for various causes. insanely well-spoken, lots of posts about her work at the soup kitchen, and you just know she donates money to everyone who pops up on her feed. such a good person it almost makes you feel like you’re not doing enough (and that’s lowkey the point).

eve wilkins/atom eve: science tutoring on youtube. faceless, think like khan academy, but has voiceovers. covers simple to super advanced stuff in a very understandable format that made her super popular. its some shit like “atomswitheve,” and it’s wildly popular but she literally never talks about it #humblequeen. while she and rex were dating, she let him edit a video and came back to like six explosions superimposed over chemical formulas.

the immortal: fucking history channel but it’s all about things he’s actually experienced, but nobody fucking believes him. voiceovers a slideshow of images. incredibly boring, comments are full of people saying “source” and he replies “I was there.” but again… no one believes him. a couple college professors cite his videos for historical inaccuracy — and they are inaccurate because immortal has an ego, but his content is actually closer than other firsthand accounts because he survived most of the stuff (and remembers it well).

oliver grayson: debbie screens his online time so he doesn’t go all ultron (we all know this motherfucker has little care for human life). mostly posts skating stuff or gaming clips that aren’t particularly good. does not get much traction but mark is always in his comments hyping him up, but he’s always wrong about what tricks oliver performs; it’s become a habit for oliver to march up to mark and say “this was actually a nollie inward heelflip you MORON”

rex splode: runs his own fan account that has like 7 posts of the druski dance with himself and captions like “yes i’m rex splode, yes i’m the best guardian, yes i bagged atom eve, yes i can defeat omni man, did i mention i can defeat omni man?” relatively popular. does tiktok live reactions of WWE fights — since he’s not wearing his costume, no one knows who he is — or anything else that his viewers submit. got cancelled twice but nobody seems to care, least of all him.

shrinking rae: runs a youtube account that is like… emulating one of those “day in the life of a [insert occupation] student” videos where she just kind of pretends to be normal. also makes cooking videos, videos about cleaning her apartment, self-care tips and tricks for young women (can’t imagine she got a lot of advice from her gung-ho superhero parents), and study habits for struggling college students. she kind of pretends to be who she wants to be irl.

kate cha: lowkey a music producer, since all her clones just play different instruments or harmonize with each other. she doesn’t get a lot of chances to do it with her hero work, but releases nothing but bangers when she can. featured rex yelling at her for cheating on him as an intro for one of her songs (like that one guy on tiktok) and it blew up. has a lot of songs about death, which most think is odd (important to remember she’s died a lot).

cecil stedman: does NOT post on social media and i can’t think of a world where he would. but if he did, it’s probably just a fake bot account that reposts pro-government propaganda. “more funding for the GDA” “cecil was right” “lets double the US defense budget” he’s the kind of guy to like everything on his fyp just to throw off the algorithm.

i do have more but this post is getting too long for most people’s (including me) low attention spans. will do a part 2 with requested characters if this is well-received

[decrepitdeer]

*crawls from my grave and shakily holds up this drawing*

Here.. Baby Franco and Joanne... After months of it being a WIP...

School struggles combined with art block is a BITCH.

Anyway! Franco's and Joanne's first meeting in New Orleans when they were around 8 yrs.

Franco stuck around to listen to Joanne singing, who went by the nickname "Jo" at the time. She noticed him and Franco, not really knowing what else to do at that point, complimented her. Joanne was very excited by this. She was from a small town and all of the people that directly complimented her were the people that she already knew. This was the first time a total stranger complimented Joanne without pre-existing bias.

Her first fan, you could say.

A nice moment and all that, but it was given all kinds of new meanings when they met again years later at Sinyala...

For more cute stuff about the drawing itself:

It took me ages to decide what kind of hairstyle I should give Joanne. I wanted her to look like she's from the country, but I also wanted something a bit fancier than just simple braids, so pigtail loop braids it is! (Most sources say that the hairstyle originated in the 1940s)

Little Franco has snaggle-teeth now. Silly and cute little headcanon that seems so right, I don't make the rules. It's possible Joanne gave him a nickname based on this, and that it may or may not come back in a devastating way...

Joanne (on top of gushing about the compliment) could also be yapping about Franco's eyes and how they remind her of a baby calf. I like to think one of her neighbors back home was a farmer that had cows and he would let Joanne and other kids to come and look at the newborn calves.. Anyway, Joanne wouldn't have meant it as an insult. She is just blunt and sees nothing wrong with being compared to something that cute. Franco didn't take it that well, assuming that he was being made fun of :(

I also know this was supposed to be cute things but allow me to wound you this once; Franco is instinctually raising his arm to block a potential blow... I'll just leave it at that.

Ugh they make me so ill, I have so many ideas for them it's not funny anymore-

[kathlare]

a place to call home

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: A recent realization about his empty apartment in Monaco only amplifies the feeling. As he confides in Max and the other drivers, Lando finds himself contemplating a big step in their relationship—one that could redefine what home truly means for him.

Wordcount: 1.8 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

February 25th, 2025 - Sakhir, Bahrain

The Bahrain desert was colder than usual this morning. A crisp chill lingered in the air as Lando pulled his McLaren hoodie tighter around himself, shoving his hands into the front pocket while walking toward the paddock. The sky was still tinged with the last traces of dawn, a pale blue stretching endlessly above him, the sun creeping up over the horizon in slow, golden streaks.

He exhaled sharply, watching the condensation of his breath disappear almost immediately.

This was supposed to be an exciting day—the annual pre-season driver photo, the first time all twenty of them would be gathered before the madness of the season began. But Lando wasn’t feeling excited. He was restless. On edge. Because she wasn’t here.

Amelie was on the other side of the world, in Los Angeles, gearing up for a week of chaos leading up to the Oscars. He had barely gotten to talk to her yesterday, their schedules completely out of sync. Every time he picked up his phone, she was either in a meeting or at an event, and by the time she was free, he was already asleep. It had only been a few days since he last saw her, but fuck, it already felt like forever.

It didn’t help that he’d been spiraling a little.

He and Max had just gotten to the paddock, their breath misting slightly in the morning air. The Red Bull driver gave him a look.

—You good, mate? You look like you didn’t sleep.—

Lando huffed. —Didn’t. Barely got to talk to Amelie. She’s been busy with all her events, and I just… I don’t know, it’s fucking weird not having her around.—

Max smirked, nudging him with an elbow. —You sound obsessed.—

—I am obsessed. What’s your point?— Lando shot back, rolling his eyes.

Max laughed, shaking his head. —You’ve got it bad, mate.—

Lando knew that. He had known that for a while now, but it still managed to hit him in moments like this—standing in the cold, too far from her, feeling like something was missing.

They walked into the paddock, the place already buzzing with early morning energy. The photographers were setting up for the driver lineup photo, engineers were huddled together in quiet conversations, and the smell of freshly brewed coffee drifted through the air.

They made their way to the hospitality, and as soon as they stepped inside, warmth engulfed them. Lando pulled his hoodie off, ruffling his curls, before slumping onto one of the couches. Max sat across from him, studying him for a second.

—Alright, what’s actually up? Because you look like someone stole your PlayStation.—

Lando groaned, rubbing his face. —It’s stupid.—

Max raised an eyebrow. —And yet, you’re still thinking about it. Spill.—

Lando hesitated for a second before sighing. —It’s about my apartment. In Monaco.—

—What about it?—

—It feels… empty.—

Max frowned. —It’s always been empty, no? You live alone.—

—Yeah, but… not like this.— Lando leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, fingers tapping absently against each other. —During the winter break, Fewtrell came to pick up the last of his stuff. All the things he left when he moved out. It didn’t really hit me until I got back home after Amelie left, and suddenly, it just… I don’t know, it felt different. Like something was missing.—

Max tilted his head, watching him closely. —Something, or someone?—

Lando let out a short, humorless laugh. —Both, probably. But mostly someone.—

Max smirked. —You’re thinking about asking her to move in, aren’t you?—

Lando dragged a hand down his face. —Yeah.— He let the word hang between them, the weight of it settling deep in his chest. —I mean, I don’t know. I hadn’t really thought about it before, but after…— He hesitated.

—After what?— Max pressed, eyes narrowing slightly.

Lando exhaled sharply, tapping his fingers against his knee. —She had a pregnancy scare a couple of days ago.—

Max’s eyes widened slightly. —What?—

—Yeah. She was late, feeling sick, and she freaked out. Took a test and everything. It was negative, but it made me think. Like, really fucking think.—

Max stayed quiet, letting him continue.

—I guess it just made me realize… we’re not kids anymore. We’re in this, properly. And when she told me, the only thing I could think about was how I wished I had been there. Like, physically there, with her. I hated that she had to go through it alone.—

Max hummed, his expression unreadable.

Lando huffed a laugh, shaking his head. —And I started thinking, maybe we’re ready for more. Maybe we’re at the point where she should be there when I come home, not just visiting for a few days. It already feels like she’s a part of my life in every other way. Why not this?—

Max leaned back, considering his words. —And what does Amelie think?—

Lando let out a breath. —I don’t know. I haven’t asked her yet.—

Max raised an eyebrow. —You? Overthinking something? Shocking.—

Lando groaned. —Fuck off.—

Max grinned, but then his expression softened. —Look, mate, if you think it’s right, ask her. You know her better than anyone. If you feel like she’s ready, she probably is.—

Lando swallowed, the thought settling more comfortably in his chest.

Before he could respond, George and Charles walked in, both looking far too awake for how early it was.

—Morning, lovebirds,— George teased, glancing between Lando and Max.

Lando rolled his eyes. —You’re hilarious, mate.—

Charles plopped down next to Lando, stealing a piece of fruit from his plate. —Why do you look so miserable?—

—Because he’s in love and obsessed and misses his girlfriend,— Max supplied.

Lando glared at him. —Again. Fuck off.—

Charles chuckled, taking a bite. —I mean, you do look like shit.—

—Thanks, Charles. Really appreciate that,— Lando muttered, running a hand through his hair.

George smirked. —He’s not wrong. You look like you’ve been wrestling a badger.—

Lando sighed, leaning back against the couch. —I just… I miss her, alright? She’s in LA, doing all her Oscar stuff, and I’m stuck here, freezing my bollocks off.—

—You’re in Bahrain, not the Arctic,— George countered, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice. —Besides, she’ll be in London soon, right? For the Brits?—

—Yeah, in a couple of days,— Lando said, his voice softening slightly. —And then back to LA for the Oscars. And then back to London for her tour. It’s a fucking whirlwind.—

Charles nodded, understanding. —She’s busy. You knew that.—

—Yeah, but knowing it and living it are two different things,— Lando grumbled. —And she’s going to be in London for like, two hours, before she goes back to LA. Two hours!—

—That’s rough, mate,— George said, patting him on the shoulder.

Lando nodded, his gaze drifting towards the window. —I just… I want her here. I want her to be here when I come home, not just when she has time to visit. I want to wake up next to her every morning. I want… I want it to feel like home, not just a place I sleep.—

Max cleared his throat. —Then do something about it.—

Lando glanced at him, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. —I don’t know… what if she says no? What if she’s not ready?—

—Then she says no, and you figure it out,— Max said, his voice firm. —But you won’t know unless you ask. And if you don’t ask, you’ll just keep wondering. And that’s worse.—

Lando nodded slowly, the logic sinking in. He knew Max was right. He always was, annoyingly.

—Alright, alright,— he said, standing up. —I’ll think about it. But first, I need coffee. And then we have that stupid photo to take.—

They all stood up, making their way towards the coffee machine. The paddock was starting to fill up now, the other drivers arriving, their voices echoing through the space.

As they walked, Lando’s mind drifted back to his apartment in Monaco. He pictured it in his head—the sleek, modern furniture, the minimalist decor, the empty spaces that used to be filled with Max’s belongings. It felt cold, sterile. Nothing like the warm, vibrant home he imagined with Amelie.

He thought about her style, her love for color and texture, the way she always managed to make any space feel cozy and inviting. He imagined her adding her own touches to his apartment—a few throw pillows, some artwork, maybe a plant or two. He imagined her filling the empty spaces with laughter and warmth.

He decided then and there that before he asked her to move in, he would start making some changes. He would make it feel more like home, more like a place she would want to be. He would make it feel like them.

—Alright, everyone, let’s get this show on the road!— a voice boomed through the paddock, breaking Lando’s train of thought.

The photographers were ready, the drivers were being called to line up, and the energy was shifting, a mix of anticipation and nerves filling the air.

Lando took a deep breath, pushing his thoughts aside for the moment. He had a photo to take, a season to start, and a girlfriend to miss.

—Alright, everyone, big smiles!— the photographer called out.

Lando grinned, flashing a practiced smile, but his eyes were distant, his mind still on Amelie. He couldn’t wait to see her again, to feel her warmth, to tell her everything.

The photo was taken, the drivers dispersing, heading back to their respective teams. Lando found himself walking alongside Max, the two of them falling into a comfortable silence.

—So,— Max said, breaking the silence, —when are you going to ask her?—

Lando shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. —I don’t know. Soon, I guess. I want to make sure the apartment is… you know… more her before I ask. I don’t want it to feel like I’m just asking her to live in my bachelor pad.—

Max nodded, understanding. —That’s smart. But don’t wait too long. You know how she is. She’ll start to think you’re having second thoughts.—

Lando chuckled. —Yeah, I know. She’s too good at reading me.—

They reached the McLaren garage, the team already busy preparing for the day’s testing. Lando gave Max a nod, heading towards his engineers.

He had a long day ahead of him, a day of testing, a day of pushing the car to its limits. But even as he strapped himself into the cockpit, his mind was on Amelie, on her laugh, her smile, the way she made him feel like he was home, no matter where he was.

He couldn’t wait to see her again. He couldn’t wait to make her his home.

[cheesesandwichsanto]

He knew … II

Summary: Reader and Sihtric are seperated but meet again in Hunstanton, after he “betrayed” Uhtred

Pairing: Sihtric x f!reader

Warning: mentioned death, mentioned blood, heartbreak

Word Count: ~5k

A/N: Thank you for giving my first story so much love. I really appreciate that. So this one is a little bit longer than the previous one (even I don’t know what happened, I just couldn’t stop writing)

If you enjoy the story; likes, reblogs and comments are really appreciated 🖤

Again proof-read by my friend @witchezandwonderz

Thank you so much 🖤

Check out her stories. She’s an amazing writer!

Click here for Part I

Everyone in Dunholm packed their belongings and got ready to leave for the battle against King Alfred, to fight in the Great Army and to get the chance of being welcomed to Valhalla.

You knew it was just a matter of time before your father or someone else found out you are with child.

Your belly just a tiny bump, hidden underneath your armor.

While getting your horse ready for the journey, your father approached you.

“Are you not feeling well my child? You look a bit pale” he said.

“Just the usual, father, you know I am not fond of riding for a long time” you told him and forced a smile on your face.

“If the ride is too much, tell Ragnar, and we can rest for a bit.” “I know, I know…” you mumbled while nodding your head lightly.

Your father turned around and walked back to Cnut and the others, to discuss the path they were taking.

The journey to the stop along the way and the final camp was exhausting.

The first one somewhere in the woods in the middle of Wessex, the final one in Hunstanton, East Anglia.

When the camp was finally put up, everyone was coping with their own stuff, so no one noticed you laying in your tent all day, except for your friend Brida.

She knew something was wrong, so she dragged you out of the tent to the nearest fireplace and pushed a horn of ale in your hand, trying to cheer you up.

“So, now you tell me what’s wrong. The whole travel here your head was hanging low and you think deeply about something, and I just can’t figure out what.”

“It is nothing, believe me.”

“Doesn’t seem like nothing to me…” Brida mumbled, while taking a sip of her ale.

“Wait, it’s not about that boy, Sihtric was his name right?” She grinned.

Your eyes flicked to hers immediately. “Maybe… depends on how able you are to keep your mouth shut.” You answered mad. “Come on, it can’t be that bad right?” She laughed, but stopped immediately as she saw the corners of your mouth were pulled down.

“I think I am with child…” you sighed, while staring at the dirty ground.

“And he is the father” you said further, gripping the horn with ale tightly.

Brida listened quietly.

“You can’t tell anyone, I don’t want anyone to find out”.

“I mean, at least he’s not a Saxon right” she tried to make you smile “but I won’t tell anyone, not even Ragnar, not a word will cross my lips”. She threw her arm over your shoulder. “I promise.”

You thanked her and sat with her in silence, finally gotten it of your chest.

The next morning you were awoken by a scream, recognizing that voice as Brida’s.

As you exited your tent, you saw Brida and your father circled by numerous warriors.

Not knowing what happened before you saw Brida was trying to attack your father, but he knocked her to the ground.

The circle dissolved.

You were running to her, giving her a hug.

“He’s dead… Ragnar is dead…” she sobbed.

“I.. I have to go, find a place to bury him” she said with empty eyes.

Helping her collect stones for the grave, you let her and Ragnar alone to have their last moment together and you walked back to the camp with Cnut.

Back at the camp you went to your father with him. “We both will lead this army” he told Cnut.

Then he looked at you.

“I want to know you beside me, my daughter.” “I will always be loyal to you father.” You smiled.

He looked at you with pride, laying his hand on your shoulder.

In the evening, while Cnut held his big speech about how Ragnar has been a great warrior and that they are all united as Danes, you stood beside your father, and at the speech's end, when everybody cheered for the battle to come, you just stood there sadly, knowing that you won’t be able to fight because of the little secret you’re hiding.

The camp in Hunstanton was always busy. Warriors were training, maidens were preparing food all day. Cnut and your father talking about battle strategies, while Aethelwold listened carefully and you?

You were just sitting on a stomp next to your father, bored by everything because Brida was not here to keep you company.

Just as you thought you’re going to die of boredom, you saw that stupid fool Haesten with the seer Skade from afar, you were just rolling your eyes and continuing to listen to the battle strategies.

As they got closer, your father got up, and seemed to be relieved that Skade was back.

Haesten told them what happened, that he lost more than half of his men and that she is now his woman.

He was an idiot to think that your father would just accept that.

You got up to stand between Aethelwold and your father, Cnut still stood in front of Haesten.

Skade was chained and sat down at the muddy ground and as she saw you, she was taking a sharp look at you.

“You, daughter of Bloodhair” she was talking to you “I feel it, and I can see it, you are carrying a child, he’s going to be a strong warrior one day.”

Everyone went silent.

You mouth fell slightly open.

No, that can not be, how can she know that? Has she talked to Brida?

Brida is the only one who knows.

Even if they met somehow, Brida would never tell anyone.

She promised you.

But how did she know?

“My daughter is what?” your father asked furiously.

“You heard me Bloodhair, you know that my fortunes are always true” she said, looking arrogantly in your fathers face.

But your father just looked your way, disappointment in his eyes.

“Who is the father of this child?” He asked you, his voice softer as moments ago, but he was still mad.

You remained silent.

“I am not asking you again Y/N. Who. Is. The. Father?”

“Is it important? It is someone who isn’t here, and he doesn’t know I’m with child”

He just run his hand across his face.

“I thought I raised you better, I am really disappointed in you…” he said and turned around to walk away.

Your heart feeling heavy.

You hoped Skade would stay with Uhtred.

She brought nothing but misfortune to everyone.

“Who thought Sigurd’s daughter would get knocked up by some nobody” Haesten said laughing, trying to get a reaction out of you.

“Hey, I am talking to you!” he yelled in your direction. You stared at him.

“I heard you the first time, but I’m just not interested in talking with some moron like you.”

You responded calmly and turned away, looking for you father.

He just has to hear you out.

Standing in front of your father’s tent you took a deep breath, feeling kind of nervous as you entered.

He was leaning against the big wooden table.

“Can I talk to you father?” You asked, your voice not louder that a whisper.

“Of course you can my child” he answered, while sighing out loudly.

“I know you are disappointed in me and believe me, I didn’t plan to get pregnant right now, especially because we are just before a great battle. But I want to let you know that I was really in love with that man, I don’t know if he felt the same and if I will see him again, but now it is how it is. I can’t change the past…” you held in for a few seconds before continuing “The father of this child is a great warrior, just as you are father, and I would be more than happy if my son turns out the same way... ” he listened attentively before he started to speak.

“My reaction towards you was unfair my daughter, I could never be disappointed in you and you know that. I don’t care who the father is, a child is always a blessing” he stepped closer, holding your head between his hands “you are my only child, my only family, my only blood, the only person I trust fully. You are Y/N Sigurdsdottir, and I could never manage losing you.” He held you close, like never wanting to let go of you again.

Then he said “and you know, that after I lost your mother, my beloved wife, that I found almost the same love in Skade again. I want her back…”

You kind of understood him. Kind of.

Fighting for love is always worth it.

But fighting for love you already lost in fighting, is just stupid.

And fighting for a witch who is not interested in him anymore, is just suicide.

A day later, riders on horses came riding up to the campground and got to a hold in the middle of it.

You recognized them immediately as Danes, Haesten’s men, one of them Dagfinn.

And for some reason, underneath them was the man you were never able to forget.

Sihtric.

He was sitting on his horse, seeing you standing by your tent, looking even more beautiful than he remembered.

He felt like being back in Dunholm, looking at you for the first time in his life.

But his glance could only last a few moments, before he was involved into a conversation about what he, one of Uhtred’s men, was doing here.

You stood by your tent watching them talk, as Cnut approached you.

“Will you tell him?” He asked you.

“What will I tell who?” You replied, trying to sound confused.

“Come on, you know what I mean. I watched you two sneaking around in Dunholm, more than once, and I know what a pregnant woman looks like, I have two sons.”

“Why didn’t you just tell everyone when you knew the whole time?” You wondered.

“Because it’s none of my business what you do behind closed doors. So, are you going to tell him?”

“I’m trying to, he has the right to know … we will see.” You spoke, as you entered your tent again.

In the evening, Brida came back from her journey, apparently with a plan to safe Ragnar from Niflheim.

When the night was falling, and nothing but stars were seen at the sky, you were sitting at the campfire with the others.

You knew that Sihtric was watching you from across the fire, but trying not to make it too obvious.

Everyone was having a good time.

Dagfinn asked Sihtric where he was going to sleep, since he does not have a tent nor some furs. Unfortunately Brida saw that as an opportunity to play match maker again.

“Y/N’s tent is one of the bigger ones and she has some furs to spare, he can sleep there.” she stated emotionless, continuing to chew on some chicken wing, not giving a hint what she was thinking.

“Ehhm… right” you replied dumbfounded, not really agreeing with her.

“I am going to bed, good night” you said quickly further, feeling really embarrassed.

Sihtric remained seated for a short while, then he turned to follow, while Cnut said laughing “Hey Sihtric, I know she is a very beautiful woman, but keep your little friend in your breeches”

“No need for that my friend, she already is full” Haesten joked, but got quiet as soon as Brida’s and your father’s stare landed on him.

You gritted your teeth.

You cursed Haesten for his existence.

You wanted to tell Sihtric yourself.

You definitely didn’t want him to find out from someone else.

Well, that really didn’t turn out as planned.

What you didn’t noticed was how Sihtric got really pissed about that comment too.

He was mad he lost you to another man.

This fool could call himself happy to have a beautiful woman like you carrying his child, but he still seems not to be around.

But he didn’t had any right to be jealous. Sidgeflaed was in Winchester waiting for him.

You entered your tent and Sihtric followed slowly after you.

You stood there, your back still facing him.

Turning around, your eyes met. Both of you staring at each other for a while.

Sihtric was the first one to break the silence.

“So… you are with child. Congratulations. Your man must be really excited” he spoke with jealousy.

You looked at him confused.

Was he really that stupid?

“There is no man, I am on my own.” You told him, fumbling to pick out some furs for him.

“And… who is the father?” He asked, still oblivious, staring at the ground.

You looked at him for what felt like minutes. Throwing the furs to the side.

“Sihtric, you are the only man I have shared my bed with in a while, so you tell me” you gulped.

His eyes turned big.

“Wait… you mean… I am… the father?” he asked further, but his voice only a whisper in the dark.

You just nodded.

And then the unthinkable happened.

You thought he would be mad, that he didn’t want to have anything to do with you and the child.

But he pulled you into his body and kissed you passionately, the world around you both completely disappearing. You were breaking the kiss and leaning your foreheads against each others.

There was only you and him (and the little one still inside your belly).

You both crying and laughing at the same time.

It seemed like the perfect world, even if it was for just a moment, you enjoyed every second of it.

Now Sihtric knew for sure, he was going to leave his wife for you.

He didn’t care that you were Bloodhair’s daughter, the enemy, the Dane (even though he is one too).

He was deeply in love with you. He would do anything for you and your child.

But he still has somehow to tell you that he is in fact already married.

He really did not know how and when to convey that information and how you will react.

You were talking the whole night, snuggled up on some furs on the floor.

He wanted to know if anyone knows that he is the child’s father, you just told him that only Brida knows and she would never tell anyone, your trust in her is deep.

He even told you about the curse the witch Skade put on his Lord, and why he has to bring her back to him.

You understood it, curses are not taken lightly.

He wanted your help to get Skade out of the camp.

And you had just one favor to ask of him.

You wanted to go with him - as a hostage.

To give your child the chance to live, not having to grew up in a camp, but rather in a stable home and he agreed.

The following weeks were running by quickly. Sihtric awaiting news from his Lord.

You spend a lot of time together, trying not to make it obvious.

You trained together, sharpened your swords together, ate together almost every meal.

You were again training with Brida for hours.

You missed it dearly to spend time with her.

Unfortunately the ground was so muddy, as it has just rained before, so you slipped and got covered in dirt.

“I think you should go and take a bath” she laughed “maybe your lover wants to join” she suggested, nodding her head to Sihtric and wiggling with her eyebrows, carefully to be quiet enough so only you understood her words.

You just hid her shoulder with your fist in response, grinning from one ear to the other.

Sihtric was sitting at the campfire alone, eating his meal in silence.

You got up to him and whispered in his ear “I need you to do something, follow me, but make sure nobody sees.”

You walked out of the camp and into the woods.

Sihtric finished his food and followed you, always looking around if somebody noticed.

You were waiting for him behind a tree.

You heard the leaves rustle.

You knew it was Sihtric.

He was calling your name and just before he walked past you, you came out of your hiding place and stopped in front of him.

He took your head in his palms and kissed you full of lust.

Not being able to kiss in the camp was bitter.

“So what special task do you need me to do?” He smirked. You came closer to him, your lips just millimeters apart.

“I … I need … I need you … to look out if someone comes while I am taking a quick bath.”

“Oh… eh … alright” he mumbled disappointed.

“What’s wrong? Were you … were you thinking we were going to hump here? So when I told you I need you to do something, you understood that I need you to do me?” You asked kind of amused.

“Yeah… I actually kind of thought that.” He replied flustered while scratching his head in embarrassment.

“I mean, you could just join me, but we have to be quick, it’s freezing” you told him seductively while pulling him behind you to the lake in the forest.

What you two didn’t notice, was a man standing next to a few trees, a few meters away.

He watched the whole scene in front of him.

Dropping the bunch of flowers, he extra picked for you, onto the ground.

His heart shattering into a million pieces.

He saw you walking out of the camp and thought that would be his chance.

He finally found the courage to tell you about his feelings, picking flowers to surprise you but being disappointed to find you with Sihtric.

He thought you being pregnant was one of Haesten’s jokes. He felt like the last jerk.

A long time ago, even before Dunholm, he fell in love with you.

You both even shared a drunken night.

But that was long before Sihtric.

Back then Haesten was always picking on him, even though he’s his second in command.

One day you couldn’t take it anymore, listening to his bullshit and bad jokes all day, so you confronted Haesten.

That was the moment he fell deeply.

The the first time someone vouched for him.

He never showed his feelings for you towards anyone.

He was a strong and feared warrior after all, but he wanted you to notice him, in more than just the way of being a warrior, or maybe a friend.

But it was too late. He missed his chance.

Looking desolate he walked back to the camp.

The next morning you woke up alone, only covered in furs.

Sihtric was already up, somewhere in the camp.

It was cold outside, snowing.

You were just leaving your tent as you witnessed an heated argument between your father and Haesten.

Cnut trying to mediate.

But Haesten provoked you father, by calling him a coward because he fled in Fearnham.

Your father pulled out a dagger, Sihtric holding him back.

Haesten walked aggressively towards your father but Dagfinn got hold of him.

Your father demanded enraged for the square, cutting the throat of Aethelwold’s spy and walking towards his tent.

He wants so see Haesten dead.

You went to your father’s tent, as you saw Skade exiting it.

You passed her.

You both not even giving each other a glance, before you entered and noticed you father’s hair and face already covered in blood.

That meant he was ready to fight.

“What was she doing in here?” you asked, meaning Skade leaving the tent earlier.

“She wants me to kill Haesten. She doesn’t want him to win” you father said, preparing to exit the tent.

You hold onto his arm. “Watch out father, he might be an idiot, but he plays very dirty” you warned him.

“I know what I got myself into my child. Don’t worry” giving you a reassuring smile.

He continued walking.

You followed him outside, to the square where the fight is going to take place.

Cnut is explaining the sanctions.

It is to the death. Valhalla awaits one man.

Then he got out of the square, standing next to you and Sihtric.

“Your father will win, there is no doubt. He is a great warrior” he tried to cheer you up.

The fight started really good for your father, killing Haesten almost a few times, even disarmed him.

He has always been a strong warrior.

When he was tying the knot to end this fight and Haesten’s life, he suddenly became disoriented.

He was reeling and not even able to stand straight.

Skade poisoned him, that snake.

He got that really quickly.

He tried to attack her, but she was able to counter.

Then you saw how she put out two daggers and sinking them into your fathers shoulders.

The world stood still. The only thing you saw was your father’s life left his eyes.

Your color drained from your face.

“NOOOOOO, FATHER!” you screamed.

Flashback to a village somewhere in Norway

“Your footwork is sloppy, and you have to hold your axe higher, try again!” Your father screamed as shoving his shield against yours making you fall backwards on the floor.

“Don’t you think you are a little too hard on her? She is still just a young girl…” your mother said, walking towards both of you.

“There is not such a thing as being too young to train fighting Helga. She got your talent, but she still needs to work on it” your father explained to your mother, who was a well-known Shieldmaiden back in the days.

She just rolled her eyes and smiled. “Alright my dear husband, I just came to let you both know that feast is ready” she said, still smiling while walking back to the Great Hall.

Still hearing your fathers scolding in the distant, what you did wrong this time.

When you came back to reality, you realized you were dragged away by Cnut.

“Hey hey hey look at me” you looked into his eyes, tears running down your face “your father is now in Valhalla, feasting with the gods, Brida made sure he hold his axe”

“But that witch drugged and killed him. It was an unfair fight, father would have killed that turd if she hadn’t interfered.”

“I know, but we can’t change a thing now. Don’t do something you will regret later, we still have to stand together as an army and think about your unborn child” he tried to calm you down.

It kind of worked.

You thought about the words Sihtric told you, that his Lord has to kill her to end the curse. But you knew one thing.

That witch will pay for what she did, either by you or someone else.

You went back to the square, where your father was laying on the floor in his own blood, holding his axe.

You knelt down next to him, laying your hands on his. Your heart is broken. Sitting there in silence for what felt like hours.

“We have to prepare his funeral. His body should not stay in this ugly world longer than necessary. Bring him into his tent and lay him onto the table. You” you pointed to some of your father’s warriors “bring a lot of stones and dig a big hole, we are going to bury him.”

You got up to walk beside the man carrying your father.

Sihtric was one of them.

When they laid him on the table, you told everyone to get out.

You wanted to stay with him one last time.

But Sihtric didn’t leave you alone.

He knew how it felt to lose someone loved, the same pain he felt when he lost his mother.

You just watched your father’s face, scared to forget how he looks.

You run your hand through his bloodstained hair and let your tears fall.

Sihtric pulled you into a hug.

After a while you let go of him.

Your eyes looking from Sihtric back to your father’s face.

Hand back to his hair.

“Everyone saw him as a raged and cruel warlord, bathing in blood and bewitched by some crazy lady. But to me he was a loving and caring father, raising me all by himself since mother passed away.” You sobbed. “He was everything I had” you sniffed, a tear running down your face.

“I know how you feel, I lost my mother when I was really young” Sihtric tried to comfort you.

“I appreciate you trying to make me less sad, but pain is never the same, believe me…” you said with a small smile crossing your lips, caressing his cheek with your other hand.

Your gaze back to your father, you noticed a small leather band hanging at his neck. You pulled it out of his armor and smiled.

“What is that?” Sihtric asked.

Flashback to a village somewhere in Norway

“Father, father” 5-year-old you shouted, while running to a tall man with a face tattoo, standing at the docks with his back to you, talking to some warriors.

“Father, look what I found”.

The man turned around, looking at you, waiting for you to stop in front of him and got on his knees to inspect what you were holding.

It was a flat stone, exactly shaped like a snail shell.

“Y/N my dear child, where did you find that?” He asked with a soft voice.

“I found it in the forest, underneath some moss father” you voice filled with pride.

“Do you know what that is?” “No” “Then let me tell you” he said and leaning in to whisper “That’s the sea snake Jörmungandr, and this stone was sent by the gods, to protect the person who will find it from everything evil.”

“Is that really true father?” You asked.

“Of course it is”

Your eyes turned big with excitement and as fast as you were standing in front of your father, as fast you disappeared.

Your father smiling and laughing as you run away to find your mother.

You showed her the stone and told her what you planned on doing with it.

In the evening at the feast in the great hall you stood shyly behind your mother.

“Go to him, he will love it, trust me.” She spoke gently.

She shove you in front of your father and nudged your shoulder.

“Father… I … I have something for you, it will protect you in all the battles you’re going to fight” you said nervously, while giving him a leather band with the stone you found as a pendant.

Your father looked at it for a while, turning it around, inspecting it.

His mouth formed into a smile.

The biggest smile you had ever seen on him. He hanged the leather band with the stone around his neck, picking you up and shouting, so that everyone in the hall could hear him

“All men want their unborn children to be sons, so they could call themselves blessed by the gods” he said mockingly.

“But only a man with a daughter knows how you feel, when you are truly blessed by the gods!”

Everyone erupted in cheering and laughing.

That was your favorite memory of him.

“He had it with him all those years…” you mumbled.

“Y/N, the stones are collected, the hole dug, the funeral can be carried out.”

One of your father’s warriors interrupted.

“Thank you, Halfdan. Tell the men to bring my father there.” He just nodded.

Everyone from the camp gathered together to pay their last respects to your father. But you wanted to be left alone with him.

You stacked stone after stone on his body.

“I swear by the gods father, she will die a painful death for what she did to you” you murmured.

When you finished, you stayed till the sun set, thinking about your childhood and the time you spend with him, then making your way back to the camp into your tent.

Sihtric was waiting for you inside.

“I know it’s not the right time to tell you, but tonight is the night to disappear” he whispered into your ear. You just nodded.

You were waiting for Sihtrics sign, a rock thrown against your tent. You packed your weapons as you waited, planning to leave everything else behind.

You knew that Skade will be with him, and justice for her will come soon enough.

You noticed them walking across the field to “collect herbs” around a nearby a tree.

You followed them discreetly, with enough distance.

No one noticed you leaving.

Arriving at the tree, the three men were already talking with Sihtric and Skade.

She was kissing Uhtred. His three friends were completely oblivious to the fact you followed.

Suddenly the brown-haired man with the beard noticed, pulled out his sword and pointed it at you.

You halted behind Sihtric and put your hands up. “I thought no one followed you Sihtric? Wait… I know you, I have seen you before, you are the girl from Dunholm, the warrior, the daughter of Bloodhair. What are you doing here?” He wondered.

“Finan, she is coming with us. She is a friend. She is carrying my child…” Sihtric explained. “Your child?” Uhtred asked surprised, “does your wife know about that?”

Your chest thundered with panic, your eyebrows raising in confusion.

You turned to Sihtric, peering your head forwards towards him.

“You’re married!?”