You can call me Elan | 23 | Piscis | I write when I have free time and YOU CAN SEND REQUESTS although it can take time and I reserve the right to make them or not.
You can call me Elan, I'm 24 years old and I'm currently in college, I don't think it matters much but my sign is Pisces | INTP | Male pronouns. Clearly this blog is dedicated to writing about certain characters from anime, movies, series and video games, tec. However I only write when I have time and when I want to, I don't get requests.
Cw from blog | CHECK IT OUT DON'T BE STUPID |:
Dark content.
Content kink: If you really don't like anything dark or kinky (inc*st, dub-con, non-con, etc.)
One thing I wish was more explored whenever relationships happen with anyone in the bat brigade is wealth.
Don’t get me wrong. I have seen a couple Timber fanfiction that kind of explore this but usually it’s done in my least favorite trope.
Honestly, my problem with that is the same issue. I have with Hallmark movies it always centers around the giving up all of the money all of the prestige in order to get that small town/normal person life.
If you have Bernard telling Tim he needs to go work at bat burger i’m tapping the fuck out.
Everyone has already heard my rants about house boats/you’re rich let’s not lie.
Do I sometimes not love the whole sugar, daddy bat thing yes but I will always prefer that to- Let’s get in a circle and pretend we actually know how much bananas cost!
Have you ever heard the saying about money doesn’t buy happiness? Or whatever there’s a few-
It does.
There is almost no problem that cannot be fixed by money. You can even get into the specifics of interpersonal relationship issues or mental health therapy and medication can be purchased with money.
If you’re miserable with $40 billion that is a you problem and it’s a choice.
Why we always go back to the everyone’s poor and struggling versus exploring the insanely intricate, rich people bullshit baffles me.
Jason, I think is also a great example of the we really like to lean into the poor thing. Immediately people are about to send me an angry paragraph but just hear me out.
Do you know what is insanely expensive and not easy to acquire if you don’t have money? Weapons.
Sure, some rifles and handguns are cheapish but most likely Jason is either using Colt M1911 or desert eagles. An argument for some a variety of Sig Sauer. 
Although I think the colt is kind of debatable and honestly, the desert eagle too are more of looking at a comic panel and trying to place what it could be.
* Slightly off-topic, but I don’t understand where the belief that it’s Jericho comes into play, but that’s a whole other rant!
We’re also running to hold the issue that so many firearms came after he was originally written holding a gun so once again comic book logic.
I got off-topic, but these aren’t cheap. His assault rifles are not cheap. Never mind that everything has to be customized. We’ve seen him literally have like painted guns, even the most basic custom work on the cheapest of these firearms would be bare minimum four grand. Do I think he might steal some shit sure but you don’t just randomly customize firearms or start fucking with shit if you don’t know what you’re doing.
There are throwaway lines in fics about Jason bitching that ammo isn’t cheap. Any of your gear/weapons would cost thousands even millions of dollars.
Do you think you can find Kevlar in the bargain bin?
Special tools are required to work with certain materials or say melt down to make bird/bat themed throwing shit.
Every single vigilante suit I don’t care if it’s the littlest robin costume to Batman’s full decked out gear cost millions of dollars.
In conclusion from my long ass rant where I got very distracted, thinking of the of weapons you cannot make poor vigilantes unless you’re doing Peter Parker Level bullshit.
❪ ⓘ ❫ cw ⨾ female!reader ⸝⸝ hiccup and reader have a newborn daughter ⸝⸝ i don't mention the birthing process or anything, in that regard ⸝⸝ sweetie pie toothless ⸝⸝ fluffy fluff fluff ⸝⸝ bad writing, i'm sorry my vocabulary is limited when i actually decide to sit down and write something ⸝⸝ lowercase intended ⸝⸝ nothing i write is ever proofread lmao.
you clutched the bundle closer to your chest, a small grin covering your face. small coos coming from the wrapped blanket. your finger stroked her cheekbone, bright emerald eyes shining up at you. brown tufts of hair stuck in every direction.
“i carry her for nine months, and she looks nothing like me.”
hiccup let out a watery laugh from his spot next to you. wiping a stray tear that was slipping down his freckled cheek. your eyes flitted over to him, giving him a soft look. his eyes filled with so many emotions. “she's perfect,” hiccup smiled, looking up at you. a small warble came from beyond the door, a scratch against the wood. hiccup sighed, shaking his head, with a barely concealed smile. hiccup placed a comforting hand over the both of you and the baby.
his eyes stared into yours, asking a silent question if you were ready for toothless to come in. you nodded, “he's family, ” you sighed contently, laying back, hiccup standing up quickly, to adjust the pillow behind you. you grasped the lapel of hiccups tunic, kissing his cheek appreciatively. hiccup's bright toothy smile staring back down at you and the little bundle.
“come on in, toothless, ”
a scaly snout, pushed into the crack of the door. toothless peculiarly sniffed the air, poking his head through the door. ears perked at attention, eyes immediately zeroing on you in the bed. a worried warble coming from the dragon's mouth, wings raised in worry. “she's alright, toothless.” hiccup motioned for toothless to step closer. toothless cautiously stepped forward, nose raising higher into the air. his ears peeking higher at the scent of you and hiccup mixed together.
“hi, toothless,” you grinned, as the night fury stepped up to the right side of the bed. toothless noses at your hand that was laid to your side. you chuckled, sliding your hand over the night fury's head to scratch behind his ears. toothless closed his eyes, a soothing purr reverberating from his maw. a small sneeze broke the moment, toothless's eyes snapping down to the blanket. his pupils enlarging into ovals, staring down at the baby.
hiccup reached over to pull wrap farther away from her face, so toothless could get a better look. “this is our daughter, toothless.” toothless was in a state of awe. his eyes shining brightly, against the candles lit around the room. a puff of air blowing over her hair, toothless staring even harder, as she sneezed again, as the air tickled her nose. hiccup nervously fiddled with his fingers, watching his dragon seem to be in trance, never looking away from the girl for a moment. “toothless, she's not going anywhere, bud.”
toothless gave a flippant sound in hiccup's direction. earnestly moving himself to get a better look. you lowered her closer to toothless’s eye sight. his nostrils flaring, as she blinked adorably up at the dragon. hiccup bites his lip, leg bouncing up and down, watching the three of you closely. before either of you could say a thing, her small hand emrged from the wrap, hands smaller than a baby nadder's head. you and hiccup held your breaths. her hand reaching up, toothless's pupils dilating, almost as if he was remembering something.
his eyes closed contently, as the baby's hand flatly pressed against his smooth, scaly, black, nose. hiccup choked, the tears he was trying to keep at bay, slipping down his face. your eyes watered, watching as toothless stayed there for however long she kept her hand against his snout. toothless cooed, pressing his face into the garment, she giggled loudly, at the feeling of toothless nudging against her.
“Do you think we’re best friends in every universe?”
The sudden question has Damian raise his brow, his head turning slightly towards you as he tilts it to the side in confusion. You two sit side by side, legs dangling over the edge of the building.
“What a bizarre question,” he mumbles, watching as you take a spoonful of ice cream into your mouth, “what brought it up?”
“Dunno,” you shrug, placing the small cup of ice cream beside you, “I read somewhere that if you dream about someone, and they look slightly different, you’re getting a small glimpse of them from a whole different universe.”
“You dream about me?” Damian asked, stunned, mouth slightly open as he pointed at himself. He hears you hum, nodding along with a small cheeky grin on your face.
“Yeah!” You laugh, legs loving back and forth as the balls of your feet come in contact with the brick walls, “a few times actually. You were a girl in one of them. You’ll make a very pretty one by the way.”
“Oh, how lovely,” he groans, head turning to the side to avoid eye contact. His skin feels warm, and he’s sure his ears have a slightly red hue to them by now. “I assume this is something that’s been popping up on your for you page on TikTok?”
“Yep!” you nod, taking a glance at him one last time, before your eyes avert up towards the moon. To Damian, you look much more relaxed, and there’s a long pause before you continue, “I think we soulmate a little too hard in this universe, that the other universes had no choice but to make us best friends in others!”
soulmates.
Damian’s heart skips a beat at the single word.
He says nothing, eyes glancing at the side of your face as you smile up at the moon. He clears his throat softly—catching your attention. Your head snaps towards him, eyes shimmering from the moonlight. Damian finds himself smiling at you, and his fingers find yours. You don’t pull away, always giving him a confused look—smile never leaving your face as you do so.
“Is that what you truly believe?” He asked, his grip tightening slightly, no hesitation as you nod at him. Smile widened as you let out a breathy laugh.
“Yeah! It’s a little crazy, but I like to believe it’s real!”
I don't know if you take requests, but I would love to see what the other brothers think of "Damian's father/brother figure"- or like more in depth about their thoughts that Damian calls the eldest "father" lolol
pairing: Dick Grayson / Jason Todd / Tim Drake x eldest brother! damian's father figure! reader (platonic) | Bruce Wayne x adopted son! damian's father figure! reader (platonic)
A more in-depth exploration of the relationships between you and your other brothers. + also with Bruce Wayne !
cw: cuss words here and there / also each of the batboys kind of being possessive of their big brother / uses of you/your/yours pronouns and Y/N for the reader
a/n: requests are always open, don't worry— and that's a great question, anon! / Tim ended up being the one I had the hardest time writing for the most, despite relating to him the most out of the entire batfamily. / my Tumblr put this curse upon me where if I put the "read more" border, all the pictures wouldn't align as a "3 in a single line" and I don't know why.. choking myself
Dick Grayson
Your first baby brother, and your first lesson of How To Be A Big Brother 101.
It is through him that you learn that, for the first time in your 15-16 years of living, maybe you shouldn't have downplayed someone's feelings when their parents just died.
You were an outcast when it came to feelings, even more so when it came to relating to Bruce or Dick. Each of their parents lost their lives to criminals, but you have never cared about yours. They cried for their guardians every night. You wished your mom had gotten rid of you. You think of your mom as a nuisance for giving birth to you, yet you don't exactly hate her—your feelings are a complicated mess—but they'd never dare think badly of their mothers.
You were unintentionally cruel—you've always been. Your worldview was clinical and transactional. Pain, suffering, death, it's all normal to you. You could never understand the concept of grieving. Of loving someone so much that you'd crumble if they leave.
Dick lashed out the first time you said the wrong thing, shrieking at you that he hates you, that you're a monster, before running away.
Bruce and Alfred coaxed you into apologizing to Dick, but explaining empathy to you is like teaching a tiger table manners—it's useless. But you just nod, pretending comprehension, only to get them off your back.
Dick didn't trust you due to his first impression of you for a long time. It took until he was fifteen before he started to let his guard down around you. It was something deep inside of you that is so achingly human, trying to claw its way out of your deep, dark heart.
You didn't know how to love or be loved, but Dick forces you to experience it. Piece by piece. And by the time you started to get it, you were already eighteen and moving out of the house.
So Dick used that little time he had left with you, until you go out into the world and go protect a city of your own, to savour his time with you.
A monster? No, his older brother.
(I guess you're magnetic the way danger is.)
Can't you stay a bit longer? Wait until he's done being Robin, then move out to the same city as him?
The manor is suffocating without his big brother, who would wake up well into the late afternoon, then proceed to look like you haven't slept in ten years as you walked into the kitchen to make coffee—in the afternoon?—and ruffle his hair until it's a mess.
The night before you're moving, Dick sobbed into our arms, a fifteen-year-old boy reduced to a little kid again as he begged you to not leave him. And you didn't know how to respond. Because what do you do when the world you once wanted to tear apart now wants you to stay?
He naturally adopted your charismatic and easy-going side as he grew up. Just like how he was the very version Batman should strive to be, he's the perfect big brother to the younger Batfamily members—the better version of you, if you weren't so cruel.
His first reaction to Damian preferring you over them was... Well, he wasn't weirded out. Even he likes you in the end! So he doesn't see why Damian liking you as well was a bad thing, although their youngest brother is literally guarding their eldest like a guard dog... Dick can't even hug you anymore without a demon child trying to bite his head off!
Then, when Damian called you his "Father", that's when he kind of realized that "Hey, actually, maybe there's something else going on."
The last thing he wanted to hear, though, was that you have been hanging around The League of Assassins... For SEVEN YEARS???
What were you doing?! Walking around Ra's al Ghul and a bunch of criminals like that?! How haven't you lost a limb already ??!?!! —I mean, that's a good thing, but you understand what he meant!
Took like a few days to calm down before he came to accept—for what seems to be the nth time since he had known you—that his older brother is one crazy, insane asshole.
Yeah, of course, someone like you would be annoying enough that Ra's didn't even want to touch you.
(It's more like he couldn't, but you won't correct him.)
When he comes to terms that his older brother is kind of a somewhat-unofficial-but-official father to Damian more than Bruce himself, he's pretty chill with it!!
What he's not chill with is Damian using the "son" privilege for "father-son time" as an excuse to kick Richard off Y/N whenever he even dared crave the Eldest Bat's attention.
Oh, Y/N pat Dick on his head? Damian is fuming until he gets one too. Oh, Y/N called Dick "champ" jokingly when the latter did well on a mission? Damian is fuming until Y/N calls him a nickname too. Oh, Y/N let Dick cuddle him like they did back in the day? Damian kicks him right off their oldest brother— WHAT??
Dick is ripping his hair out of his head every time it happens. Every day is just a 50/50 chance of each of the family members walking in on Big D and Little D wrestling on the floor while you just sit off to the side waiting until they tire each other out.
Don't worry, Dick gets at least a kiss to the forehead at the end of each day for his hard work.
Jason Todd
Oh, Jason... This precious, precious thing arrived straight from the harsh streets of Crime Alley and into the manor when you were already well in your young twenty's, and the exact same year where you'd find out about Damian.
Two new baby brothers at once? A bit much for someone who's still learning how to "Big Brother" the right way, but despite how hassling it might sound, you're willing to try.
Luckily for Jason, you, having already been through Dick, weren't about to make the same mistake again for now.
He was a ray of sunshine— well, not really. Living in Crime Alley does that to you. I guess you could relate to him about that—growing up in such a shitty environment. Crime Alley is just the lighter version of your home sweet home, Arkham City, but with the addition of shitty parents for Jason.
That drew Jason to you as well.
Immediately, you knew comfort was best for a scared twelve-year-old (you learned that after the first time). Jason was immediately attached to you by the hips— and while he likes Dick just as much, he's just way closer with you.
You were a street kid too, more violent than him, but you understood how it feels to live among shitty adults. You understand him best.
Your charisma was meant for something else, Y/N.
Jason and you have this tradition where if he did good on patrol or a fight, you'd reward him not with words but with a specific action—you'd cradle his cheeks and give them a gentle squeeze, squishing his face in the process. Like when an owner would coo at their puppy.
Jason loves it.
Patrol with you is fun! He loves it! Although, it's rare, considering you live in another city. And you visiting Gotham doesn't mean he gets to go with you either since he's still Batman's sidekick.
Oh, man. Being Robin is stressful but fun, he wanted to do so much more. You promised to secretly let him drive the Batmobile for his next birthday and would cover for him if he crashes it! He can't wait until he's sixteen!
He never got to be sixteen.
The most hurtful thing Jason learned after everything, was that solace was so, so close.
Ra's dropped him into the pit to revive him, he was kept under the League, trained by Bronze Tiger and Lady Shiva. He's meant Talia, he has even met Damian, but for the entirety of his time in the League, Ra's refused him in random rooms at random time.
Not knowing that because the old man knew that Jason's solace was only behind a door most of the time. That whenever he's being trained, you were cradling Damian just a room away.
Because Ra's knew that if Jason saw his oldest brother, he'd break, and Talia knew that even if Jason would end up hating Bruce anyway, he'd never be able to do anything if he fell into your arms too early.
Your charisma were meant to manipulate, did you know that?
And you didn't knew either. It was like fate wanted it to happen. That you, someone who has never been interested in the League of Assassins but was able to track the majority of their bases down the moment they annoyed you, weren't able to detect your old baby brother just a thin wall away.
You'd meet again only when Jason tried to kill Tim out of rage—he immediately recognized you, and you did him.
And Jason Todd, Red Hood, Bruce's greatest mistake, the flaws in Batman's system—Jason Todd almost broke deciding between getting even more enraged and fighting you, or to burst into tears and fall into your arms again.
Heavy angsts aside!
When Damian became Robin, essentially coming to live with the Waynes, Jason caught on pretty quick that you and Damian knew each other prior due to Damian's clinginess—it's pretty obvious, really. Damian wasn't as slick as he thought himself to be, sometimes.
He spent the next two weeks disassociating, thinking over and over about the fact that he could've had the comfort of his older brother if he just disobeyed one simple order back in the League of Assassins and open that damn door. To get the comfort of his oldest brother's arms.
Maybe that's why Damian smelled so familiar when he held him as a child. The scent of you still clinging onto Damian even when you've left.
He ended up falling limp into your arms anyway when he came to terms with it, sobbing to sleep and cuddling you the entire night, only to act flustered the next morning, pretending that nothing had happened and trying to ignore the fact that it did happen.
Cuddles? No! He's not a kid anymore!
He knows he'll always be one in your eyes, and he didn't mind one bit.
Damian calling you his "Father", though, made Jason freeze up.
And then he laughed—loudly, howling—because you? A father?
He made some jokes to you after, teasing you relentlessly. Classic brotherly love, even when deep inside, he knew you'd be a good father.
One better than Bruce.
Maybe his feelings finally made more sense to him. That tiny part in his brain that buzzes up at the mention of you, yet not in a brotherly way. Not romantic, God, no! But something... softer.
Maybe deep down, he still wishes that you were his biological father instead.
...Instead of his deadbeat one rotting somewhere in the dirt.
Tim Drake
Your initial reaction to Tim's existence would be a mix of amusement and suspicion. You'd look at this tiny energy drink-loving detective who cracked Batman's identity and have the gall to just show up to Dick and beg him to go back to Robin, just to fix a problem that he wasn't even involved in, and you'd go, "Finally, someone fun."
No, not the moral stuff—you couldn't care less about ethics—but the pattern recognition. The way Tim sees people like systems, cause and effect, inputs and outputs.
He's you.
He's you, if you were taught empathy and limits, of humanity and kindness. You're him if he grew up in an environment that forces him to become the worst version of himself.
Then you'd start to hate him when he starts digging into your life.
Your life is an open wound, and Tim, bless him, can't help but pick at it. He doesn't mean harm; he just has to know.
And you, who's spent your entire life being treated like a monster under glass, don't know how to react when someone looks at you not with fear or pity, but fascination.
You'd brush it off at first—treat his notebooks like they're diaries—but inside, you're... weirdly flattered.
No one's ever studied you without wanting to destroy you in the process.
While being creepy in its own right, Tim's habit of picking apart someone to study them became the very thing that bridges the gap between your relationship. As brothers.
Tim is an empathetic kid who realized that you're not a mystery to be solved but a person built from too many wrong answers. He starts protecting your privacy instead, guarding your personal documents like a dragon to its hoard.
And you, for all your detached cynicism, would start to... Like him. Really like the kid. Not in a soft, Hallmark-movie way, but in your predatory, grudging fashion. You'd show your concern when he pulled a 48-hour stakeout by forcefully putting him to sleep by physically knocking him out.
And he lets you, because one, he can't exactly fight back against someone as strong as you, and two, an embrace of a monster— his brother is so warm.
First things first, he doesn't mind Damian seeing you as his father figure or calling you as such. He doesn't think it's wrong—although it is pretty damn funny when Damian does it in front of Bruce—but the thing he's put off by is that you've been around The League of Assassins.
He knows you're not like the usual vigilante—that you might fight for justice due to Bruce's teachings, but at the end of the day, the very core of who you are is muddy. He knows you don't mind being around criminals, but... For seven years?
Hell, you were already going it when he became Robin. He's more frustrated that he didn't know!
Other than that, he loves seeing others freak out when Damian won't let them get near you, especially when Bruce is just standing there, re-thinking his life choices as Damian talks to Bruce while actively referring to you as his father.
He doesn't like it when it happens to him, though. That little shit is swinging a random kitchen knife at him when he suggests you come to his room to help him with his work because he trusts you. He can't even do that now without Damian brooding in the corner of his room, if you're in it too.
But I guess he gets soft as well with the way you hold Damian, cradling the ten-year-old child the way he wished his parents would've done to him. It reminded him of the many nights he broke down; everything was too heavy, especially when he was reminded of that night when his mother was killed and his father was left paralyzed.
He understands why Damian is so attached— you are a great older brother, even if you believed yourself otherwise.
Bruce Wayne
He didn't know why he ended up in Arkham City a few months after he became Batman, but really, being a vigilante takes you places people wouldn't go with a gun.
He saw you, just a young boy, and he knew he had to take you under his wings immediately.
Because Batman knows a monster in the making when he sees one.
Bruce took you in out of fear, not pity. He sees himself in you—same hollow eyes, filled with trauma, but yours are stripped of morality.
Adopting you was an act of containment and, perhaps, repentance.
And that is exactly where the leash comes in: "Robin" wasn't meant as a symbol at first; it was a muzzle.
A bright costume so Batman could see you in the dark, keep track of you, make sure you didn't vanish into the night and start killing.
He has a... love-hate relationship with you, a feeling well reciprocated by you.
He sees you as proof that "fighting crime" can very easily turn into breeding it, and you know that deep down, Bruce didn't adopt you to save you—he adopted you because he was scared of what you'd become without justice as a leash, a chain, a muzzle.
Without them, it'd be the equivalent of letting a starving tiger run free in a forest abundant with prey.
And even when you're now grown up, even with his teachings of justice and morals drilled into your brain, he knew you had never changed. And you bet he has made more than ten contingency plans for you.
When Damian became an actual part of the family, Bruce was left... shocked. Bewildered.
For ten whole years, no one has ever told him that his one and only blood son was born. Even worse, he was trained to become an assassin, where the young boy's self-worth is built on how efficiently he can kill.
He hated that his eldest son knew about it seven years prior to him, the father. But on the other hand, he was grateful for it as well. He wouldn't have known what to do even if he loved Damian. It kind of put him at ease that at least he raised one of his children well, that a boy who used to kill at any opportunities given is now the one raising another boy. It means Bruce did something good.
Although he still wishes that he could have been able to held Damian as a baby, to be there for his son from the start instead of adopting him in when he's already grown.
But at least you were an extension of his love for Damian.
Now, when it comes to Damian calling you his father, that's a bit complicated. He doesn't hate it, but more like he's exasperated by it—because then it proves to be difficult to get closer to the young boy if you're not here. Especially because initially, Damian refused to see Bruce as his father. In the way that he acknowledged Bruce as one of his biological birth givers, but not as a father figure.
It took a lot of work; you had to visit Gotham more frequently to help Damian adjust and act as the medium between him and the family.
Luckily, after some time, Damian blended in fine. He started interacting with his siblings like actual siblings and not him actively trying to hunt them down... most of the time.
He started calling Bruce Father, and it made Bruce smile genuinely at him when he did it the first time.
Of course, that title will never be taken from you. Damain still called you his Father, no one could tell him otherwise, and Bruce doesn't mind. He's actually quite at ease with him, with the knowledge that at least Damian has more than one father figure.
In the case that something happened to Bruce, he'll know Damian can turn to you for help and love.
a/n: chat did I cook 🔥🔥🔥 I think you can see the moment I locked in on Tim's part, it's so hard writing for that white boy.
My version of Batsis is the pure personification of Eldest Daughter syndrome. She's not the eldest child, but she is the first daughter, the eldest girl (it doesn't matter technically that's Cassandra, Batsis has been The House's Daughter for longer, it's her position now)
She's the one always keeping it together for everyone's sake. Ever so composed, well-mannered, mature and the shoulder to cry on for her loved ones. She's the only brisk of normalcy in this family, the one who chose to break out the cycle and have a career that doesn't involve fighting crime. She learnt to make herself reliable from an early age. Her family already had too much to deal with, her father got his hands full, so she had to be the easy kid. The one that rarely needed attention or correction. She always behaved and knew what to do. The model daughter, everyone said. Bruce loves her and trusts her like the responsible person she is, relaxed that she's the one that kid that'll never give him a heart attack.
She's grown up hearing all about how she's so mature for her age, so reliable, so put together compared to her family. How she was such a clever and sophisticated little lady. People turn to her for help, guidance or whatever need they have because she'll solve it best. She's the Princess of Gotham. The head of high-society. The one in charge that the machinery keeps running behind the scenes so the public doesn't see the truth her family hides.
Because of this, she's the only one who can meet Dick head to head on equal ground. Not in the way Jason or the others do. She meets him on the same emotional ground, and neither can't stand it. She's the one who makes him break out of his sunshine boy facade. Their perfectly curated images crack when they face each other, unable to stand the sight of their broken reflection on the other's face. She's his mirror in too many ways and viceversa. From the beginning, they couldn't get along normally because of this. Firstborn daughter vs first son. They get each other in a way no one else can lol
Synopsis : Damian Wayne thought he was prepared for anything. He has survived assassins, alien invasions, and the Batfamily, which is, objectively, the most impressive of the three. Nothing had prepared him for you. Nor for a very specific craving for Romanian pickles at three in the morning. Some forms of love are unspoken. They slip on like a coat, half-asleep, without asking questions.
Divider from @pixopix
Three in the morning. In January.
Damian knows because his phone reads 3:07 when he reaches for the nightstand, and because the kitchen light filters under the bedroom door, a particularly accusing yellow.
He stands motionless for thirty seconds. Then he gets up.
You're standing in front of the open refrigerator, hair a mess, bare feet on the cold tiles, one hand on your lower back and the other methodically pushing containers along the middle shelf as if the thing you're looking for will appear if you persist.
"What are you doing ?" It's not a question. It's the tone of someone who sees exactly what's happening and still hopes they're wrong.
"I'm looking."
"It's three in the morning."
"The food is organized illogically in this refrigerator."
"You're not asleep."
"I'm hungry."
He leans against the wall and looks at you. You're thirty-two weeks pregnant and carrying his child with an energy that, some days, makes him feel like the only adult in the room, a feeling that is both absurd and perfectly true.
"What do you want ?"
You turn to him. The expression on your face is that of someone who has carefully weighed the risks before speaking.
"Pickles."
Silence.
"We have pickles. Right here. Second shelf."
"Not those pickles."
He looks at the jar. He looks at your face. "What's wrong with these pickles?"
"They're dill-flavored."
"All pickles are dill-flavored."
"No." You close the refrigerator door with the conviction of someone stating a fact. "There are old-fashioned mustard and honey pickles at the Romanian grocer ten streets away, and they're the only pickles that really exist."
Damian considers this information.
"The Romanian grocer ten streets away..." he repeats slowly.
"He opens at five. I checked."
"It's three in the morning."
"Yes. That's why I'm waiting."
There's a pause as he takes in exactly what's happening. You weren't going to wake him. You were going to stand in the kitchen, barefoot on the cold tiles, waiting for a Romanian grocery store to open for honey pickles, without saying a word to him.
"Go back to bed."
"Dami-"
"Bed, now."
"You don't have to-"
"I know."
You look at him. He holds your gaze with the patience of someone who has already made up their mind and is simply waiting for you to catch up.
"It's ridiculous," you say. "At this hour."
"Yes."
"It's cold outside."
"I know how winter works."
"I just want to say-"
"Do you want honey-mustard pickles from the Romanian grocer ?" He grabs his coat from the chair. "I can hear you. Go to bed, hayati."
Something shifts in your face, that slight release you get when you stop fighting something. You don't like asking. He's known that for a long time. He still doesn't know if it will get better with time or if it's just the way you are, but he's learned to read the moment you're about to give something up out of politeness, and he's learned not to let him.
You walk past him toward the bedroom. Your hand gently brushes his forearm as you pass.
He grabs his keys.
~~~
The grocer's name is Andrei, and he does indeed open at five o'clock. He recognizes Damian Wayne with an expression that clearly indicates customers in coats over pajamas aren't common, but they're not exactly cause for concern either.
The jar is small, the label is handwritten, and it smells of mustard and honey as soon as he takes it out of the bag in the elevator.
~~~
You haven't gone back to sleep. You're sitting in bed, knees drawn up as high as your stomach allows, pretending to read something on your phone with the app upside down. You look up when he comes in he places the jar on the nightstand without a word.
You look at it. Then at the jar. Then at him again.
"Damian."
"Eat your pickles."
"Damian, it was 3:30 in the morning-"
"3:22, technically."
"It's worse."
"I know."
You open the jar. The smell fills the room, vinegary, sweet, improbable. You take a pickle, taste it, and the noise you make is an absolute disgrace to both of you.
"Well?" he says, because he's human and some battles aren't worth losing with dignity.
"That's exactly it." Your voice has taken on that softness it sometimes has, late at night, when your guard is down. "That's exactly what I wanted."
He turns off the light on his side. You eat your pickles in the dark with quiet satisfaction and without the slightest trace of guilt, and after a while your leg rests against hers under the sheets, warm and familiar.
"Thank you," you murmur.
"Sleep, Albi."
"The baby says thank you too."
"The baby has perfectly reasonable tastes at thirty-two weeks." A pause. "You're the problem."
You laugh, softly, in the dark, the jar still in your hands, and it settles somewhere in her chest with the precision of something that has always known where it was going.
Taglist : @starrydustedwinter
Thanks for reading my fic.
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𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: damian wayne x batmom!reader (feat. bruce wayne and tim drake)
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: damian is sick and needs someone to pick him up from school, but the vice principal doesn't make it easy for you as damian's stepmother.
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: a bit angst (idk if it's considered as angst but just to be sure), mention of having to bury a child (jason), fluff, 3.1k words, not proofread, let me know if I forgot something :p
𝐚/𝐧: wanted to post this fic like 2 weeks ago, but I was distracted by other ideas.
"Here we are," you say, turning around to face your youngest boys in the backseat.
"Great, thanks mom," Tim smiles at you, unbucklling his seatbelt so he is able to lean forward to give you a quick kiss on the cheek before he opens the car door to step out, frowning at Damian when he realises that the younger boy hasn't moved a muscle yet, although he was always the first one in and out of the car.
You give him a nod when he looks to you, signaling him that it is okay to go. "Have a nice day with your friends, Timmy. Love you."
"Love you too, bye," he says with a smile, closing the door when he spots some of his friends.
When Tim is far enough away, you turn your head towards Damian who's slightly leaning against the window. He looks a lot sicker than when you all left the house, but when you tried to convince him to stay home he said something along the lines like '𝘐'𝘮 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦' and '𝘉𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘴' or something like that.
Damian lives with you for a while now, but sometimes he still finds it difficult to accept help (especially because he still has the feeling that you want to test him and not that you actually just want to care for him). You don’t want to think about all the cruel things Ra's al Ghul probably did to him when he was sick and couldn't concentrate on his training.
With a shake of your head to get the image out of your mind, you look at Damian again. "Are you sure you want to go to school?" you ask with a soft voice because you're sure the boy has a headache, "your father has a lot of meetings today, and with Tim going to a friend's house after school, it would be just you and me at home, and well Alfred of course."
"I'm fine," he mumbles back while finally unbucklling his seatbelt.
You let out a quiet huff, of course 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 his answer. "We could watch some movies, read a bit or play some games," you suggest, "we can do whatever you want."
"I want to go to school." 𝘚𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦, you give him that.
"Okay," you relent, watching him rub his slightly glassy red eyes before he opened the car door to step out. "I'm home today, please call me when you feel worse," you say, thinking about what you could say to convince him to come back home with you, "you're not weak if you call me, Dickie still calls me when he's not feeling well."
Damian rolls his eyes with a scoff, "Grayson just wants the attention you give him."
"And I gladly give it to him," you defense your eldest son, "I give it to all my kids. That includes you too," you smile softly before you continue with a teasing voice, "besides, if you really think Dick wants attention when he's sick, you should really see how your father acts when he's sick."
Damian's lips twitch at your tease.
"Have a nice day, love you."
Damian gives a small nod, working his jaw before he lets out a quiet, "bye, mom," and closes the door to make his way to the entrance of the school.
You start your car, smiling to yourself despite the slight guilt you felt because you couldn't convince him to stay home with you. Damian started to call you '𝘮𝘰𝘮' a month ago, and it still made you smile every time you heard it. You two had a bad start—like everyone had with him—but when he started to realize he couldn't get rid of you, he started to see that you actually didn't want to get also rid of him—like he thought—but that you just want to get to know him, and if he wants to take care of him.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ݁˖ ݁𖥔 .
"Hello?"
"Hello, Mrs. Wayne, it's Zuri. I'm really sorry to bother you," she begins, and you straight up at the voice of Bruce's assistant, not because you didn't like her, you absolutely adore Zuri. She's a really sweet woman in her mid fifties, who helped you a lot back then when you were new parents to Dick, and you bought him along when Bruce had time to eat lunch together. It was rather her tone that let you knew something was wrong.
"What did Bruce do?"
"It's about Damian—"
"Damian?" you interrup her, feeling guilty for not convincing him to stay home.
"Yeah," Zuri winces, "the school called a few times, saying that he doesn't feel well, and that Mr. Wayne should pick him up, but he's in a very important meeting right now."
All you could think about was why the school tried to call your husband first, and why they didn't called you immediately after they found out Bruce was busy? On all three information sheets of your boys (Jason went to a public school), you filled out that in case of any emergency you'll be the 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 person to be reached out for, and 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 if they couldn't reach you, they would have to reach for your husband. 𝘚𝘰 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭?
"I asked them if they couldn't reach you," she continues, when you didn't say something back, "they said that it was against the school rules or something like that, and that Mr. Wayne should pick Damian up."
"Against the rules?" you ask, but it was more a question to yourself. "That's weird, but thanks for calling me."
"I'm sorry for not asking more questions, but they pretty much ended the call quickly after that."
"No need to apologize," standing up from your bed, you grab a jacket before you make your way downstairs to get your shoes, "you absolutely did the right thing to call me first, before interruping an important meeting."
"It's probably just a misunderstanding."
"I hope you," you say, putting on your shoes, "please let Bruce know, after the meeting is over, that I picked Damian up, and he doesn't need to worry, we just make a cosy movie day together."
"Will do Mrs. Wayne."
"Thanks again Zuri, have a nice day, bye."
"You too. I hope Damian gets well soon, bye." With that the call ended, and you had all your things to go get your son, and make a cosy movie day, hoping that he doesn't want to watch animal documentaries again.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ݁˖ ݁𖥔 .
You walk through the door, seeing Damian sit on one of the chairs near the secretary's desk, well he's more slumped into it which directly alert you on how worse he must feel because that boy has a straight posture 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦, even when he was 'relaxing'.
You go straight to him, ignoring any other people in the room completely, your boy comes first.
You kneel before him to better cup his face, frowning when your hands make contact with his skin that feels hot and sweaty. He probably has a fever. 𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭?
"Ummi?" Damian questions, when he felt your hands cup his face, trying to blink his dizziness away, "I'm...fine."
You smile at him softly, knowing he must feel vulnerable (even though he would never admit that). He called you that the first and last time after he was seriously injured on a mission. Back then, just like today, he didn't want to admit that he didn't want to be alone, and you didn't left his side for his entire recovery time. Some time after that he started to call you 'mom'.
"I know, baby," you let out a quick disbelieving laugh, of course he still tries to argue with you, "but I take you home anyway. You can feel fine at there too."
He doesn't argue with you any further which is another signal for you that he was anything but fine. You just hoped you didn't need to take him to a hospital or call a doctor, you just want to get home, give him some medicine, Alfred's famous 'get well' soup, and than cuddle in bed, but for now you had another problem to solve first.
Standing up, you turn around and look at the other two people in the room. You first look to the secretary, the one who should have called you, but she wouldn't look directly into your eyes which is really weird to you because she was always friendly, shrugging it off in your head, you turn your gaze to the man you never saw before.
"Hello," the man greets with a sigh and a look that tells you he is not happy that you ignored him before, stretching his hand out anyway, "I'm Mr. Banks, the vice principal."
"Mrs. Wayne," you say, shaking his hand, "where's Mr. Santos?" you had a really weird feeling about this 'vice principal', starting with the fact that you never saw this man before and that he had grabbed your hand to hard to which you let go as soon as possible.
"Oh, Mr. Santos isn't here today, he called in sick."
You give him a soft nod in acknowledge, looking over you shoulder to make sure Damian was still fine, you really should make this conversation short, the sooner you'll be home the better.
"Will Mr. Wayne be here soon?" Mr. Banks asks before you could ask anything, looking at the door to see if Bruce just parked the car, and will soon coming in as well.
"No, he's in an important meeting," you answer, "which is why I'm actually a little confused as to why nobody called me. The information papers clearly states that in case of an emergency, I am the first person to be informed."
Mr. Banks frowns slightly, seemingly not happy about the fact that your husband wouldn't come to the school. "We simply followed the school rules."
"Which are?"
"In case of an emergency the parents are to be informed."
"But I wasn't informed," your brows knit together, looking back to the secretary, but she still avoided eye contact. "The assistant of my husband informed me. I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding, but I'm the first person to be informed because—"
"In case of an emergency the parents are to be informed," Mr. Banks interrupts.
"Right," you agree, nodding your head once, "that's why I'm confused to why you didn't call me first, or even after my husband didn't answer his phone."
"In case of an emergency the parents—"
"Which I am," you interrupt him this time, getting very irritated with him, your child was sick, and you wanted to know why nobody called you. "I'm his mom, so I—"
"𝘚𝘵𝘦𝘱𝘮𝘰𝘮."
"Excuse me?" you say with a clam voice, but you were everything but calm. Yes, you're his stepmother, but you absolutely didn't like the tone he used when he said the word.
"You're his Stepmom, and the school rules say that 'the parents are to be informed', and that doesn't apply to you here," he says with a smile on his face that you really want to slap off of his face.
Damian straights in the chair, glaring at the vice principal. How dare he to speak to you like that? Your his mother, and nobody but him and you could decide on that matter. Reaching to his dagger, that he actually wasn't allowed to bring to school, he stops when you step aside, blocking his way to Mr. Banks. Damian scoffs, knowing it's a warning that you have everything under control. He slumps back in his seat, but being still on high alert to fight for your honor.
You relax slightly when you hear Damian scoff, knowing he wouldn't do anything, well at least for now. You've been long enough together with Bruce, therefore you have unfortunately a lot of experience with these kind of people. People who saw you 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 as his wife, as a 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘱𝘪𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘭𝘭 who can't do nothing but spend the money of her hard working man.
"You can of course wait here with Damian until your husband arrives."
You're normally a very patient and calm person, you had to be with four sons, but you were fed up with this man, so you couldn't help yourself but laugh at him.
Mr. Banks looks confused, clearly not understanding what's so funny all of the sudden. "That's not funny, Madam."
"Yeah it is," you say, still laughing, "it's very funny that you think you can stop me from taking 𝘮𝘺 sick child home."
"It's against the school politics to allow a stranger to pick up the kids."
"Well, lucky for you that I'm not a fucking stranger. I'm his 𝘮𝘰𝘮, I have authority 𝘢𝘯𝘥 permission to take him home."
"Like I said," Mr. Banks continues, completely ignoring what you just said, "you can wait here with Damian, but only Mr. Wayne and Damian's mother are allowed to take him home."
You scoff, turning around to go to Damian. You were absolutely tired and fed up with this stupid conversation. "Sweetheart, grab your bag, we're going home."
"You can go, but Damian stays here. I don't want to call security, so why don't you calm down and go a bit shopping or whatever else you do with your husband's money."
Normally Damian would jump off of his chair, and protect your honor from his vice principal, but he felt really dizzy. But then he saw the look in your eyes, and could slump back in his seat with ease, knowing this look all too well, he knew to better not stand in your way.
"I adopted three children."
"What—"
"I adopted three children," you say again, raising your voice slightly, "I'm their mother, and also Damian's. I didn't adopt him because his biological mother is still alive, and I'm very grateful for that because the parents of my other children are 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘥."
"Mrs. Wayne please listen—"
"No, you listen!" you take a step forward. "I had to fucking bury on of my kids, so if you think security can stop me, please be my guest and call them, but I'm calling the police because you hold us hostage. I have permission to take Damian home, so next time do your fucking job, and look in the files of the children to see who is allowed to pick them up and who isn't."
Mr. Banks looks shocked, not knowing what to say or what to do, but before a sound could come out of his mouth you continue, "oh and I'm not a stupid little doll who spends the money of her husband all day. Am I a staying home mom? Yes! Absolutely nothing wrong with that. You think you can do my job?" you laugh again, taking another step forward, "fine, let's switch places for a day, but we all know you wouldn't survive an hour in my shoes."
With that you turn on your heels and go to kneel before Damian again. "C'mere, baby," you say in a much softer tone, taking him in your arms to stand up, its also another sign on how bad he must feel. Damian wouldn't let people carry him, he must be really 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 tired.
"Ma'am, please let us talk this through," Mr. Banks tries to stop you, seemingly sensing that he made a huge mistake, but before his hand, with wich he tried to stop you, could touch your shoulder, Damian stopped him.
Damian grabs Mr. Banks' wrist, looking him with his last bit of strength sharp in the eyes, "don't touch her!"
I-I wasn't I o-only—" the man stutters, shocked by the brutal strength of the young boy.
You turn around, forcing Damian to let go of his vice principal. "You wanted to meet my husband so desperately? Congratulations, you will meet him, but I can guarantee you that it won't be a pleasant meeting," you say with a wicked smile that mirrors the same one that your son has on his face, when you finally leave the school office.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ݁˖ ݁𖥔 .
Back home you send Damian into his room to change into something cosy, asking Alfred to make soup while you prepare tea and look for medicine to hopefully reduce Damian's fever.
You thank Alfred before heading to Damian's room with a tray of everything you need to take care of your boy, frowning when you see his door is open, but he's not in the room, you smile to yourself because you know exactly where he is, where all your children end up sooner or later: 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮.
And indeed, Damian lies in your bed on his father's side as if it had always been his.
"There you are," you smile, placing the tray on your nightstand.
"I thought it made more sense to be here so you wouldn't have to get up every ten minutes to check on me," he mumbles between coughs. Damian would never admit out loud that he just doesn't want to be alone right now so. "And your TV is a lot bigger than mine."
You both knew that was a lie; all televisions were the same size, thanks to 12-year-old Dick and his jealousy of Jason at the time. But you just hum in agreement, happy that you can take care of him without arguing about it.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ݁˖ ݁𖥔 .
A small smile spread across your face when you hear hurrying footsteps. After Damian ate his soup and drank half of the tea, he quickly fell asleep once his head made contact with your shoulder, thanks to the medicine.
Bruce opens the door as quietly as possible, smiling when he sees you and Damian cuddle up together with you stroking your hand through his hair. When Zuri told him everything after his meeting, he immediately cancelled all other meetings, and made his way home.
"Hey," he whispers, leaning over you to give you a kiss before he brushes some hair from Damian's forehead, the boy lets out a displeased sound, tucking his face into your neck. "Looks like we got another mama's boy."
You laugh softly, cupping Bruce's face with your free hand, "aren't they all at some point?"
"Can't blame them," he smiles, leaning down to give you another kiss before he frowns slightly, "want to tell me what happened with the school?"
"Later," you answer to which Bruce nods. You don't want to talk about what happened now, knowing that Bruce will get angry when you tell him what the vice principal said. "I just want to cuddle with my boys."
Bruce smirks, standing back up to his full height to take off his jacket and tie before he cuddles up to your other side.
"What?" he asks at your raised brow, "he's completely on my side, and they always kick me when their sick."
"Expect Dick."
"That's because he kicks every other time."
"Can you be quiet? I'm trying to sleep."
You and Bruce chuckle, giving Damian a kiss on the head and cuddle closer together. You feel the stress from today leaving your body when you melt against your husband, knowing that Bruce will probably ensure that Mr. Banks won't find a job as vice principal ever again, after having a 'talk' with him of course.
simon riley doesn’t cum easily. he’s old enough to be your dad and he’s been fucking girls since before you were even a thought. it’s something he’s proud of—most girls are lucky enough to get foreplay and twenty minutes let alone hours of teasing, touching and fucking that’ll have them forgetting their own name. it’s something he even warns you about, almost holds the idea over your head when the topics of sex and your virginity come up.
“‘’m a grown man, sweetheart. much worse than the boys your father warns you about. wanna get you ready first.”
and he does—when the day comes and your laid out on your pretty silk sheets, topless and wearing nothing but your cutest lace panties—just for him. he spends an hour with his mouth between your legs, fingers inside you, hands all over your body. he spends so much time ‘getting you ready’ that when it’s finally time for him to sink his cock inside you—
he stills.
you blink up at him, shifting at the pressure of him just sitting inside you.
“simon?” you whisper, shuddering as your pussy clenches around him over and over—desperate for him to move, touch, something.
“need a minute,” he grunts, eyes squeezed shut. his fists clench and unclench next to your head. his hips twitch. he throws his head back when you try moving for him—
“don’t.” he snaps, must harsher than he meant, hand flying down to still your movement, “‘m gonna blow my load if you move again sweetheart.”
you blink. you frown. you think. then you grin. “but you said-”
“shut up.”
tags: @avgdestitute @3m3lia9 @km-ffluv
lmk if you wanna be taken off of or added to my cod taglist <3
Superior!Leon S. Kennedy (if you squint) x DSO co-worker!Reader, wc: 625
“So what’s for dinner?”
You look up from the data sheets you’re managing. The gravelly voice caught you off guard, slicing through the silence of the empty office. You look up “...dinner?”
“Yeah, heard you got a taco run last time,” Leon drawled, a dry smirk starting to tug at the corner of his mouth, “Didn’t invite me though.”
A sudden wave of embarrassment hits you. Though you try to bring back said memory, you’re too overstimulated and only manage to utter, in a meek tone, “...a Taco, Mr. Kennedy?”
He doesn't answer immediately. Instead, he leans against the edge of your cubicle. His white, button-up shirt strains slightly against his muscular shoulders. Its top two buttons are undone, and a rare, relaxed look appears on his face. It was already late, the empty office a testament to it. Your workmates and the cubicles beside you are empty, leaving only the two of you in the dim overhead light. You, however, are in for a little overtime.
He shook his head, his expression softening into a tired, but tiny smile on his face, “Never mind that, you’re in for overtime again? 3rd time this week, you know?”
That surprises you. You pause, then ask, tilting your head. “You keep track, Mr. Kennedy?” You returned to your monitor, fingers hovering over the keyboard, “I’m almost finished anyway, you can go ahead, please.”
“You sure?” His voice dropping an octave, “ I can always wait. Got nowhere to be anyway.”
The familiar rhythm surrounds you again—this was a mundane ritual you and he had fallen into. Lingering near each other’s desks, waiting for the shift to end so you could walk out together.
That's right, just a very simple ritual between co-workers.
You manage a small smile, and you think it was your tired brain tricking you, but you could’ve sworn that his eyes flickered downwards to your lips before looking away. You shrug it off, “Yes. You need your rest. Hey, didn’t you just return from a mission in Prague last week?”
He chuckles, and a deep baritone vibration echoes through you. “Caught me,” He pushes himself off from your cubicle. “Okay. I’ll be out of your hair, see you tomorrow?”
You nod, looking at him, your finger still hovering over the keys. His work satchel already hanging from his shoulder, “Don’t forget to rest too, Mr. Kennedy!”
He turns back, offering a mock salute and smiles a full, light one that reaches his blue eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”
It was a few paces before he stopped and turned around again, “By the way, there’s a stack of papers I left at my office, it should be open. Will it be okay for you to keep it in your desk for now…?” He adds, “I don’t exactly, uh, trust my own office right now.”
You raise an eyebrow. Odd reasoning, but you let it slide. “Sure. I’ll take care of them, Mr. Kennedy.”
“Thanks,” and with one last lingering look, he goes his way.
After retrieving the files, you set them down on your counter and began sorting. Some are stamped with heavy red “CONFIDENTIAL” ink, filled with DSO and other government-related intel, and some are embedded with his signature. DSO matters, you suppose.
You continue to sort, but as you reach the final folder, a small index card catches your eye. A familiar handwriting appeared, a hasty, jagged scrawl.
“I knew that you wouldn’t join me for our nightly shiftouts tonight. Tacos and burritos are on me tomorrow. Say where. And no excuses, alright?”
Your breath hitched as you read the final line at the bottom,
“I am not a religious man, but I pray for the day that I finally hear you call me Leon.”
SUMMARY: You and your boyfriend Carl Grimes are out scavenging for Negan’s group, out on the hunt you are overrun by walkers. Carl seems to disappear after creating a bunch of noise to get the walkers away from you.
NOTES/WARNINGS: blood, walkers, kissing, angst, possible ooc, y/n used, teasing, reader is maggie and glenns adopted kid, death being “faked”, fluff, reader is shy and a very big overthinker.
────────────────────────
When you first met Carl, you two were young. At first the two of you were shy near each other because you were kids but overtime he became your ride or die.
Growing up in such a ruined world was terrible but it was nice to have someone on your side. He was kind but grew older and started to have a little— dominant personality? but still kind. At least towards you. Y’alls group has been in alexandria for about a year now and things have gone wrong. You’ve lost your father figure, places have been getting raided, and now the place “belongs” to a guy named Negan. Yet you and carl still stand as strong as ever.
To you personally, Alexandria is a fun and somewhat safe to be in..but the people aren’t experienced enough with the outside world. You’re afraid that being around them too much will make you get comfortable and eventually lose the skill you gained from living. This conversation has been brought up to Carl many times, he agrees. Thats why you two go out on runs secretly, like now.
You had your head back and staring up at the roof of the ceiling. This was something you mostly did when you were nauseous but know you tend to do it randomly. On your left was Carl, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the gear stick. You’d never admit this out loud but Carl was extremely fine to you.
Almost anything he did had you blushing. Perhaps he grew out of the shy phase but at times it came back to you, even just thinking about him can get you flustered.
“Y/n.” You slowly turned your head in confusion.
“I’ve called your name three times, you alright?” His eyes were focused on the road but he was definitely trying to get a glimpse of you.
“Yeah. Yeah sorry i was just..thinking.” “About me?”
You looked towards the window, not wanting to reply. In response to your little movement, Carl laughed and reached for your hand, holding it tightly.
“I saw you blushing. Don’t think there’s anyone else you’d be thinking about right?”
You let out an irritated noise but still smiled. Carl could read you like a book. he knew what your expressions meant, and certain movements— somehow.
“I’d love to mess with you more but..we need to get more things for Negan.” His little jokingly voice was gone in almost in instant when he was talking. The mention of Negan made you blood boil but this was how you guys had to live now, especially since killing the guy would result in more consequences.
Carl looked over to see your face but you remained blank. He pulled over at a small store and turned to face you. “If you really don’t want to help out then i can go in alone, Alright?” His voice softened as she leaned over to plant a small kiss on your head.
Part of you wanted to go in just in case something happened- but you could never do anything for Negan. You stayed put as Carl got out to investigate the store. The most you did was keep a lookout. During that lookout, you noticed a few walkers making their way in your direction, nothing you couldn’t handle.
You reached into your pocket and pulled out your knife, then opened the door. Big mistake. The walkers weren’t focused on you, just moving around. Once you fully got a look you noticed a bunch more on the way. You slowly started to get back into the car but you remembered Carl who was still in the store, completely unaware of what was going on.
You thought fast and ran into the store to see him putting a bunch of things into a cart. He seemed to have heard you because his head turned almost immediately.
“Babe?” Genuine concern was filled in his voice.
“I-..We..We gotta go.”
“Alright..let me just grab-”
“CARL! NOW.” You didn’t mean to yell, but you couldn’t risk anything. You grabbed carl’s arm and pulled him towards the outside where a bunch of walkers were now facing the two of you.
Your body seemed to have stopped. Frozen in fear. Even if you guys made it into the car, you were going to be surrounded any second now. Carl noticed and shook you then practically dragged you to the car. Both of you quickly got in and he threw the things into the backseat before starting to drive. The “predictions” you had unfortunately ended up being correct. Right before the car started to move, the only gap you had was covered by walkers.
You gripped onto your knife tightly, honestly starting to accept this as your end because at least you’d be with the love of your life..right? No. Before you knew it the car started moving— really fast. Whatever plan Carl had almost worked but when he was driving he hit a bunch of so walkers. Some got stuck in the tires and most of the blood started to cover the windows making it impossible to see. He kept driving though, not wanting to get stuck. It worked for a little but once carl used the wipers for the car, the only thing in y’alls view was a tree incoming.
The car was moving too fast to just stop. He tried to move the wheel but it was too late. In only a matter of seconds, the car was crashed into a tree sending you into an unconscious state immediately.
It’s almost as if you were designed to make it out because you woke up not even 5 minutes later. You coughed and spat out blood, a part of the car was stuck in your arm but thankfully not deep. However, next to you sat your boyfriend who looked ruined, but alive. Carl had blood nearly all over him- some yours, some his, and some walkers.
He looked over at you right as you looked at him, tears immediately forming in your eyes. “Carl…?” For a moment, whatever noise you heard went blank and it was just the two of you. You were so locked into his eye you didn’t even realize he leaned in to kiss you.
It was small but still happened. Unfortunately you weren’t given the chance to kiss him back before he turned and started kicking his side of the door open.
“Hey..Hey what are you doing! My side has left walkers we can run out over here!” Your words seemed to have made carl tense up a little but he didn’t stop.
“Just trust me!” He yelled as he finally got the door open. He turned to you. “run. run as far as you can get but make sure you get back to alexandria.” The boy gave you a confident reassuring smile before running out. As he ran he screamed for those stupid things to come get him.
It took you a second to fully register what he was doing. You got out the car and started screaming for carl to come back but he kept yelling at you to run. If there wasn’t so many then you’d stay, but the look in carl’s eye and the pain made you go. You started to move a little but couldn’t fully bring yourself to go without helping, to your horror though..when you turned around you saw only walkers. eating.
The realization hit you. Carl was gone. You let out a loud piercing scream as you sobbed for a while, but you had to go. Your body felt really heavy as you ran but you didn’t stop until you saw the giant alexandria gates.
At the top stood Rosita, she almost mistook you for a walker due to how slow you started to move but luckily she took a closer look before shooting. “holy shit!” Rosita sprinted down the steps and opened the gates before running to help you stand. Others nearby saw how fast Rosita moved and quickly came over just in case there was some sort of problem. which there was.
People started to lift you up to keep your balance and y’all slowly moved towards the medbay. They all asked you a bunch of questions but it felt like there was a giant lump in your throat. You couldn’t talk no matter how much you wanted to explain. Eventually they stopped and decided to get you help before pressuring you with anything else.
═══════════════════════
It’s been a day since they brought you into the medbay. A day since you last screamed your heart out for the man you loved. You still haven’t spoken a word, just stared off into nothing. People have tried everything to make you talk.
They would’ve went to find Carl but everyone assumed he was out scavenging with Rick and Michonne, and they would be gone for a few days. Hours passed by, some people even went to hilltop to notify Maggie about your condition. If whatever was going on didn’t end then you’d be staying in hilltop until it did. That wouldn’t matter though, nothing could fix the hole that has now formed in your heart.
Another day has went by, it’s now been two and half days since the incident. Just like the other days, you stayed in the medbay staring into a wall, barely blinking, not eating or drinking water. You wanted to die. At some point during the day, you heard voices outside. You ignored them until you heard Rick’s.
You had little time to react before he stepped in. He didn’t look mad but he looked worried based off what people told him. Rick tried a few small words to get you to talk but you now started to feel worse. Michonne who was standing by the others turned to them.
“why haven’t y’all asked Carl?” There it was. All the others started to become confused.
“We thought Carl was with you two?” Voices started to fill the room, everyone was confused on what was going on until Rosita looked at you. “Y/n?”
Finally your emotions came pouring out again. You began to uncontrollably sob and held yourself. Through choked out words you finally told the truth.
“C..Carl’s gone. He’s dead!” The atmosphere in the room shifted.
“What the hell do you mean he’s dead?” Michonne was the first to speak. Everyone soon followed after her and began bombarding you with questions. hurtful ones.
“He saved me. We snuck out and-..he..” You stopped.
There was an ache in your chest. You wanted to think that you were dying and going to be with Carl soon but you knew it was just because you were crying too hard and breathing wrong. It took you a second but you finally looked up trying to get a glimpse of Rick and Michonne.
Both of them looked absolutely destroyed. You could tell that they were trying not to cry but were failing. “I-..I’m so sorry.” You choked the words out then curled up into a ball. You didn’t want to move. Carl should be the one here instead of you. Maybe if you had the courage to get the walkers after you then he could’ve been the one back home.
About an hour went by. Rosita and Olivia were pushing you to move around so you finally got up. You didn’t go far though, just around the neighborhood. People stared, not with hatred but with pitty. News spread around fast that you survived and Carl didn’t.
Eventually your knees started to feel heavy once again. You sat down on the closet bench which happened to be the bench you and Carl sat at a lot. No more tears spilled. Your emotions practically disappeared altogether. You were numb.
You weren’t sure how long went by until yelling built up by the gate. You assumed it had something to do with Negan once more so you didn’t dare to bat an eye. Not while you’re already hurting. You continued to sit there with no movement until you heard footsteps approaching. Multiple. This made you finally look up.
Just in time to lock eyes with the boy who you swore was dead.
“Carl..!?” You practically screamed his name as you ran over hugging him tightly. Next to him was Michonne and Rick who seemed just as relieved as you.
You squeezed onto the boy so hard he let out a laugh that sounded really quiet due to the air you pushed out of him. When you finally pulled back, your face was covered in tears once again.
“What the hell happened to you?” The boy let out another laugh as he wiped your eyes.
Was he serious? Your expression dropped into confusion almost instantly. “I-..I thought you were dead! When i looked back those things were eating something!”
“Me? You thought I was dead?” His voice was filled with amusement and a smirk formed on his face. “I said to trust me didn’t I?”
He did. You started to calm down a little once you replayed the situation in your head. “Mhm..I didn’t think that meant for me to believe you were alive after disappearing.”
Carl seemed to notice how bad it looked from your point of view. He slowly nodded and planted a small kiss upon your head. “Listen pretty girl..I’m not going anywhere. Do you understand?”
You looked up at the guy, locking eyes before leaning up to give him a small kiss. Once you pulled back you held onto him again. “Mmhm.”
“Right. Now let’s get you two cleaned up.” Rick spoke from behind Carl, you honestly forgot him and Michonne were there due to how quiet they’ve been. Rick gave you two a small look but Michonne was smiling.
“Okay..Okay!” You blushed and walked off with three ‘grimes’ laughing as they followed along.
free use! leon, who begs for you to take him in the bathroom after being edged for hours.
free use! leon, humping your leg at the bar, whining impatiently as you finish your drink.
free use! leon, who’s punished when you return home. you lube up his entrance, thrusting into his ass aggressively. he moans and presses himself into you, whining as you pull away.
free use! leon, edging himself at an important dinner party as your hand strokes up and down his crotch, cupping his inseam. his thighs clench around your hand, hiding a moan with a cough before the other diners react.
free use! leon, pleasantly surprised when you call over chris after he was especially bratty. spitroasted between the two of you, taking chris’s cock in his ass, each thrust hitting his prostate. taking yours in his mouth, drool slipping down his chin as he forces himself to breathe through his nose.
free use! leon, embarrassed flush on his face as you take him in a dirty alley, forcing him to his knees as he blows you. erection straining against his pants, the thought of being caught so enticing he nearly comes from the fantasy alone.
free use! leon, who barely hides a groan as you dip two fingers into his his mouth, forcing his tongue to suck his spend off your fingers.
Summary: A quiet evening with a little girl learning to read turns into something warmer when Grace finally comes home from work.
Tags: No use of Y/N. Male reader. Established relationship. Emily being adorable. Grace also being adorable. Full fluff. Teasing. Kissing.
ℳ𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉
Words count: 3500
Sitting deep in the corner of the couch in the apartment you shared with Grace, one arm stretched lazily along the backrest while the other stayed on your lap beneath the weight of a hardbound book.
Living room was washed in the gold of early evening, curtains half-open as the city beyond the windows hummed with a distant, lived-in murmur that never quite became noise.
On the coffee table were the ordinary signs of your life with Grace now between a ceramic mug with some tea gone cold, two coasters that never seemed to stay where they belonged and a little white hair clip Emily had abandoned there earlier.
Speaking of which, she sat right beside you, tucked into the sofa cushion with the kind of trust children gave so rarely that it could still catch you in the chest if you weren’t ready for it.
Her knees were drawn up a little, book resting carefully in her lap as one hand held it open while the other hovered near the line she was tracing with her eyes, still not used to not hunting braille in front of her. The hoodie she wore swallowed her small frame, sleeves covering half her hands while the hood was lying flat between her shoulders.
Grace had bought it for her on a rainy afternoon three weeks ago right after she came back with Emily.
You turned your head slightly toward her, keeping your voice low and patient just like Grace did.
“Go on,” you murmured. “You’ve got it.”
Ever since the injection of Elpis had cleared the cataracts from Emily’s eyes and returned sight to a life that had known the world almost entirely through texture, temperature, sounds and braille, you and Grace had been teaching her, little by little, how to read print.
She had always loved doing it, even despite whatever ‘medice’ those awful doctors gave her at Rhodes Hill Care Center that ruined her sight.
Her lashes dipped as she concentrated, lips parting just a little. You could almost see the work her mind was doing of translating sight into certainty.
“B-but…” she began softly before stopping to check herself, eyes narrowing with effort.
“The…” She knew that one at once and said it with more confidence. “The for-est…” A tiny pause again to sound out what her eyes gave her.
“Greet…greeted…”
She glanced up at you, as if to make sure the world was correct, further gaining confidence as you nodded in approval.
“The forest greeted them…” She drew a careful breath, shoulders lifting slightly under the oversized white hoodie. “With a dark and cold si-lence…”
She lingered on the last word, sounding it in pieces before smoothing it into something whole, voice sweet and so meticulous it made something unbearably tender twist inside your chest.
Then came the comma, she knew punctuation now and respected it.
“The bushes empty.” Face brightened at once because she knew she had done it right.
“But the forest greeted them with a dark, cold silence, the bushes empty,” she repeated the whole line all at once, fully storing the words and their appearance on paper.
To you it felt like witnessing a miracle so small and domestic that it became all the more sacred for happening on a couch with a blanket half-fallen to the floor and crumbs from Emily’s earlier biscuits still on the cushion.
“That was perfect,” you told her softly, leaning closer and smiling without being able to help it. “You read every word.”
Emily’s chin tucked into the collar of her hoodie, a shy little movement that never failed to undo your eyes.
“Your turn now.” She folded the ends of her sleeves into her fists while declaring the next words and a breath passed through your nose as though you had just been sentenced.
“My turn,” you echoed.
Emily nodded, entirely unmerciful while, with exaggerated resignation, you shifted the book currently resting on your lap and opened to the braille page you had promised to attempt.
A deal was a deal, after all.
It had started almost as a joke, Emily would learn how to read with her new sight and, in return, she would teach you how to read braille.
Grace, upon hearing this arrangement for the first time, had leaned against the kitchen counter and covered part of her face with one hand in a failed effort to hide the smile that had broken over it. Later she had muttered that the two of you were “unbelievably cute,” then immediately looked as if she regretted saying it out loud considering you’ve never let her live it down.
Now, looking down at the embossed dots waiting beneath your hand, you made a dramatic groan of despair that Emily burst into laughter before you even touched the page.
Loud and unguarded laughter too, none of the tentative little sounds she had first made in the apartment during those early days.
“It’s not hard at all,” she informed you proudly.
“That is an outrageous lie and you know it.”
She grinned, cheeks lifting while observing you closing your eyes and letting the fingers of one hand settle over the braille.
The sensation was stranger than people assumed and finer.
Not like touching bumps on paper, more delicate than that as your fingertip traveled across tiny raised constellations arranged in cells, each pattern compact and exact.
It required a different kind of patience.
Sight could sweep, touch had to listen.
Small and firm dots pressed lightly against your finger pad and, as your hand adjusted, they began to feel less like texture and more like signal.
Moving too slowly at first to pause after nearly every cluster as your brain tried and failed to convert sensation into language.
Emily’s hair brushes your arm as she leaned closer, ending catching for a second against the fabric of your sleeve. She was so near now that the warmth of her small shoulder touched yours as one of her hands came to rest beside yours on the page, not over but following the same path.
It made your heart ache in the gentlest possible way.
“This is the story of… devo…ted…” you said, eyes still closed as though that somehow improved your chances.
Emily made an approving little hum.
“Man…” you continued, more confident now. “Who…”
Slowing down at the next word, fingertip tracing the cell again while your closed eyes further squeezed.
“S-sacri…” A frown pulled at your mouth. “Sacrificed?”
“That’s right,” Emily whispered pleased and smiling with your eyes still shut and kept going.
“Everything for his…” You got through “family” only because you had guessed the shape of the sentence before fully reading it and Emily caught you at once.
“You cheated,” she said.
“I used context,” you replied.
“That’s cheating.” Emily dissolved into giggles again, leaning even more against your arm while her hand stayed close to yours, and every now and then, when you drifted to the wrong cell or skipped too far, she corrected you with the utmost seriousness, tapping lightly where your finger should return.
More determined than ever you went back to the line.
“This is the story of devoted man who sacrificed everything for his family,” you read again, this time truly feeling each word as it came beneath your hand.
“Of a devoted man,” Emily amended gently. “You forgot ‘a.’”
“You are a merciless teacher.”
Her shoulder shook against yours before you reached the next line and immediately stumbled.
“Louie?” you said baffled and Emily went very still for one suspended second before laughing so hard she nearly folded in on herself.
“It says Louisiana.”
“I didn’t laugh when you got words wrong.” You narrowed your eyes at her in counterfeit severity that only made her chuckle more.
She tipped her head against your upper arm for a brief second still laughing and the trust in that tiny thoughtless gesture moved through you with such force that you had to look back down at the page to hide what your face did with it.
“No,” she said between giggles, “but you made a face.”
“I did not.”
“You did.”
“What kind of face?”
She considered, then attempted to imitate your expression by squinting and pulling her mouth into a dramatic line of scholarly disapproval so absurdly accurate that you barked out a laugh.
“I live in my own home with bullies.”
Emily, in perhaps the gravest tone she possessed, said, “Grace says you’re dramatic.”
“She said that?”
Emily nodded with complete certainty.
From the entryway came the quiet sound of the door unlocking, neither of you heard the first turn of the key over your own amusement, but the second sound of wood shifting and soft thud of the door closing again reached you both.
Grace stepped inside, the tiredness in her face was the first thing there was to see, jacket still on.
Then she saw Emily tucked against your side with the book in both your laps along with your hand still hovering over the braille.
There was an open softness on your face that was reserved for exactly two people in the world now and one of them had been impossible to imagine just months ago.
It was almost visible the way the exhaustion washed out of her, eyes warming with a look drowning in disbelief.
For the briefest instant, behind that look, another older one re-emerged of that first night back here after forty-eight hours of near-total silence.
What had supposedly been an investigation into the newly discovered body at the Wrenwood Hotel and had become a fight of survival against a mad scientist and endless amount of infected people turned into mindless flesh eating creatures.
Emily was gripping her jacket with a tiny hand so tightly the fabric had wrinkled under the strain while they stood in the apartment doorway.
Hesitating at knocking on the door of her own home because taking care of a child was enormous.
Emily wasn’t just a little girl either, but one who had spent her life in laboratories and under observation in the care of people who used the word care like a tool.
Grace had thought only for a sick, guilty instant that maybe this would be too much to lay at your feet without warning.
Then the door had opened and you had seen her, strode quickly and pulled her into your arms so tightly she had felt the fight leave her body by degrees it had nearly made her cry.
The tears had come hot at the corners of her eyes before she could stop them.
For the first time in endless hours she had not needed to remain active or alert.
Emily’s grip on Grace’s jeans had tightened when the embrace began.
Then, slowly, that tiny grip had eased.
The first sign that Emily’s panic had shifted because she had seen something neither laboratory walls nor nor sterile observation rooms had ever shown her with any consistency.
Love that did not demand.
When Grace had finally stepped back and drawn in a breath she almost couldn’t trust, Emily had stayed tucked against her leg and looked up at you with those uncertain, newly healing eyes.
“She…” Grace had started, then stopped because there was too much to explain and not enough breath left in her body to elaborate it. So she had chosen the only thing that mattered. “I was hoping she could stay with us.”
Not bad you asked how long or looked at the child as a complication to be measured in days or paperwork.
Instead, she still remembered the way you had crouched immediately until you were at Emily’s eye level, careful not to move too quickly and asked in the gentlest voice Grace had ever heard.
“Are you hungry?”
Emily had nodded, still pressed to close to your girlfriend’s side and that was the moment it became inevitable.
“Grace,” Emily announced, making her daydream moment dissolve as her mind now focused on the white haired girl. “He read ‘Louisiana’ like ‘Louie.’”
Grace blinked as she registered the words before a smile broke across her face sudden and bright.
By the time she reached the couch, her hand came up to her face as she leaned slightly toward you and Emily, fingers slipping along the frame of her glasses before easing them off now that she no longer was in need of having her face into a computer’s screen.
“How are you two doing?” she asked, voice tired but warm, barely above a murmur.
Emily’ lips pressed together for a moment as she tried not to smile too soon, shoulders lifting just slightly in anticipation before answering with the most exaggerated innocence she could manage.
“W-we’re d-doing g-good.”
You had taught her that, it was impossible not to knowledge the way it was possible to see Grace’s brain glitching as she had not yet decided whether what she had just heard was real.
Emily held her composure for all of half a second longer before her mouth twitched.
“Well,” you added, clearing your throat with theatrical seriousness, “we’re h-having a l-lot of f-fun reading t-things together.”
Grace’s jaw dropped and her gaze snapped from Emily to you and back again.
Pure betrayal in her expression.
“I do not s-sound like that.” She stated, pointing a finger between the two figures in front of her.
The words came out with just enough of her natural hesitation to make the entire situation collapse in on itself as Emily exploded into laughter and you lost it a second later.
Grace froze for a fraction of a second longer before she heard herself and her shoulders dropped, mouth pressing into a thin line of defeat.
Despite herself, she laughed too.
Soft at first, a breath through her nose, then a quiet, helpless sound she tried and failed to suppress as she shook her head.
“That is—” she muttered, already turning away slightly, as if retreat was the only option left to her dignity. “That’s not fair.”
“I am going to change,” she declared, tone attempting firmness and landing somewhere around resigned surrender.
She started toward the bedroom and just as she reached the hallway…
“Alr-right,” you called after her, stuttering again on purpose, Emily mimicking your gesture, voice smaller but just as mischievous.
You couldn’t see her face but you felt the groan she emitted in defeat, muffled just enough to suggest she had pressed her lips together to keep it in.
Once she was no longer visible you and Emily high-fived, perfectly synchronized.
It took longer than it should have for Grace to come back but when she did return, the difference was immediate.
Gone was the blue suit and heels, replaced by soft, loose fabric that moved with her.
A long-sleeved shirt, sweatpants that sat low on her hips while her hair came slightly undone now, a few strands falling naturally around her face from the act of pulling clothes on and off.
God, you had to physically remind yourself to breathe with how even more beautiful she looked.
She plopped down softly on the couch right beside Emily, cushion dipping under her weight as she settled in close.
Almost unconsciously, she mirrored your posture with one arm slid along the back of the couch, resting behind Emily’s shoulders.
Emily turned fully and wrapped herself around Grace in a small but tight hug, pressing her face into her side.
“How was work?” You asked her softly, gone the teasing for her usual stuttering despite how hard it was not to do such a thing.
“Good.” She breathed just as proud enthusiasm took over her tired expression. “I finally finished that report my boss had been asking for.”
“Aww great! You saved a copy for me to read, right?”
“Yeah, of course.” She smiled tiredly but her blue eyes shined with gratitude. How was the reading session?” she then asked quietly, her voice softer now and closer to what it had been before the teasing began.
Emily didn’t lift her head when she answered. “He said I was doing really good.”
Grace’s mouth curved into a smile you felt more than saw. “That’s great to know,” she murmured, her fingers moving slowly through Emily’s white hair before she looked up and found you staring.
Gone completely somewhere between the way her arm held Emily and the softness in every little feature on her face.
“…Hey,” she said softly, your name following it like a quiet tether pulling you back.
Blinking once, reality returned in a rush.
“Yeah,” you said, straightening slightly, trying, but failing, to smooth it over with something resembling composure. “Yeah, I—uh—been killing it.”
Grace’s eyebrow lifted and Emily’s shoulders started shaking again.
To probe your point, you grabbed the book and opened it.
Doing the opposite with your eyes as they sealed shut and you lost sight of your beautiful girlfriend while your fingers found the braille again.
“…And then,” you read, with entirely fabricated conviction, “the protagonist—uh—finds himself in front of a…very beautiful woman—”
Grace’s gaze dropped to the page, the slowly lifted back to you.
“—who is sitting right in front of him,” you continued smoothly, “and—uh—there’s also this extremely adorable little girl—”
Emily snorted.
“—who is, clearly, the most important thing in the world… well, one of the most important things because the beautiful woman is also very important… arguably equally important—”
Grace’s lips pressed together as her arm around Emily tightened just slightly.
“…and together,” you finished, “they represent everything that matters to him.”
A very specific kind of silence broke only by Emily already giggling into Grace’s side while said blonde was looking at you, softly and knowingly with her head tilted just a fraction.
You opened one eye in time to see her smile deepening before she glanced down at Emily, brushing her fingers lightly through her hair again.
“Alright,” she said gently. “Time for bed.”
Emily made a small sound of protest, reluctant whine that barely made it past her lips to get over classed by a yawn deep enough that it stole the argument right out of her.
“Okay…” defeated, she raised white flag but not before crawling across the small space, arms wrapping around you with surprising strength for someone so small, holding tight.
Both of your arms came around her at once, careful but firm. “Goodnight,” you whispered against her hair and she squeezed once more before letting go.
Grace stood, already reaching for her as Emily went willingly this time, arms lifting and Grace gathered her up with ease.
“I’ll take her to bed,” she said quietly as you watched them go.
From down the hall came the low, muffled sounds of Grace’s voice that you couldn’t make out the words but only the cadence.
A gentle rhythm of reassurance along the faint rustle of fabric before full stillness.
Footsteps came, slow and careful until Grace appeared in the doorway, one hand resting briefly against the frame as she paused there for a moment.
“She’s asleep,” she said quietly.
“That fast?” Voice matching hers without thinking.
A small breath of a smile touched her lips as she stepped back into the room.
“She was trying to stay awake,” Grace murmured. “Didn’t work.”
She reached the couch and sank down beside your body, shoulder brushing yours without apology as one arm came up almost automatically, resting along the back of the couch behind, other free hand hovering for a moment over the book, then lowered, fingers lightly grazing the page near yours.
“Wasn’t in the second book where he has a little girl?” she asked, considering that she knew the book you had bought in the braille version was one you already had read before.
“I was doing my best improvisation.” You huffed softly.
“That’s not how reading works.”
“It is if you’re good enough.”
She turned her head slightly toward you, one eyebrow lifting.
“You said ‘Louie.’”
“That’s going to follow me forever, isn’t it?” Said while taking a breath between clenched teeth in a grimace.
“Yes.” There was no hesitation or apology in her answer that made you smile.
Her shoulder leaned into yours just slightly more. “…You’re good with her,” Grace said after a while, her voice softer than before and quieter in a way that carried something deeper underneath it.
Not answering immediately but instead glancing down at the book and uneven line where print met braille.
“I’m learning,” you said.
Grace shook her head faintly.
“That’s not what I meant.”
You turned to look at her but really looked this time, not caught off guard by how beautiful she was (though that didn’t make it any less true) to find her blue gaze was already on you.
“She trusts you,” Grace continued quietly. “That doesn’t… just happen.” Before she tilted her head slightly, resting it against your shoulder and your arm shifted naturally behind her back.
She than lifted her head slowly, eyes moving over your face in a careful attentive way.
There was no hesitation in her expression, something she had acquired after the night of horror that will forever sit deep in her memories.
Your hand left the page first as those fingers their way on her right cheek and she leaned in.
Her other hand came up, hesitant only for a second before resting lightly against your arm just as you pulled her in and your lips met, soft and unrushed.
Her lips were warm and soft as she leaned into you more fully, the hand on your arm tightening just a little as she let herself go with it.
Your hold around her steadied and got more secure as you felt the way her shoulders completely relaxed beneath your arm.
When she pulled back, it wasn’t far bur just enough to look at you again, her forehead rested lightly against yours, eyes softer now than you had seen them all day.
There was a faint flush at her cheeks.
“…Hi,” she murmured and it caused a smile from you as your hand held her close without thinking.
“Hi.”
Her lips curved as she stayed exactly like that before she exhaled softly, gaze flickering briefly toward the hallway in the direction of Emily’s room before returning to you.
“Thank you,” she said.
It wasn’t just for the kiss, you knew that as you pulled her just a little closer again, arm tightening around her frame as.
Her head lowered again to rest on your shoulder without hesitation, hand sliding from yours to settle lightly against your chest.
Now with Grace in your arms, there was nothing left to ask for.
