Bunny

19|THEY/THEM follows from crimsonbunni

[obeymesheep]

HiHi!! Im Bunny I go by they/them. My x readers will always be Gender neutral!! i'll also try and keep it race ambiguous but tell me if i'm screwing up so i can fix it!!

I used to write for obey me, but now I write really self indulgently. Do not come to me with critics if I haven't asked and don't know you, writing, for me, is just fun and not serious. So I literally do not care.

My Masterlist is !here!

My requests are OPEN

My rules for requesting!! !here!

[ravishmysoul]

Knock Out

Jason Todd x (F)Reader

Summary: All he wanted was for her to be happy, all his brother wanted was for him to come to dinner on the weekend, all she wanted was to buy another pan.

Genre: Hurt + Comfort

Rating: SFW

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 1.9k

Est.Read Time: 9 min

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

With grace that could out match the celestial, the man swooped into the livingroom with one clean swing, the soft thud of his perfect landing just itched for an encore, but he was in a rush. He had, with such poise and perfection, trespassed into the residence of none other than the Prince of Gotham. With that thought in mind he turned around to face the dark livingroom, perhaps he could sit on the couch and wait for him, ready to tease him with a-THUMP

.

A gentle groan resonated in the air as the man tried to tune out the ringing in his head, the dull ache at the back of his neck wasn't helping either, though he could hear the hushed voice- no, voices? Was someone laughing? Was he tied to a chair!?

"Oh, look, you're finally awake."

Dick blinked at the man sitting across him, the moron sitting across him on the opposite chair, as he leaned back in his own, his posture relaxing at the familiar sight.

"What the hell happened?" He mumbled, now eying the taller man with green eyes, who was lounging in what looked like clean, freshly washed sleepwear, damp hair covering most of his forehead, a towel draped over his shoulders- he looked a bit too...domesticated. 

"My girlfriend hit you with a fryingpan."

"What."

"What part of that statement was unclear?"

The two looked at each other for a solid minute before someone else cleared their throat, causing Dick to finally speak to the person behind the incredible knots that were tied around him- oh, Jason really was lucky.

Jason rolled his eyes at the sight of his brother's smirk, before he stood up and walked over to you as you busied yourself with the ropes, mumbling along at your idiotic boyfriend, who you were still mad at by the way, "Didn't I say untie him?"

He watched you loosen the rope, and that was all before he pulled you back with your wrist, chuckling at your squeak, to think this was the same woman who had single handedly knocked out the great Nightwing with a frying pan, accidentally might he had- she was actually aiming for him, her loving, handsome, caring, heroic boyfriend.

"I am so sorry," pulling out of the man's hold you walked around to look at Dick, finally apologising to him as you scurried over to the fridge, "I- Do you like orange juice?"

Dick watched in sheer amusement, watching Jason follow you around as you continued to ignore him, ducking under his arms as you placed the juice carton on the table before going around him to grab a clean glass from the dish rack and twisting to the other side to avoid him once more when he tried to stand in your way- you had no idea what kind of power you held, truly if Dick had half as much as control over the troublesome vigilante he would have a few less frown lines.

"I do apologise Mr.Nightwing, I actually mistook you for this moron and he usually dodges and-"

"You mistook me, as in you actually were going to hit him with a frying pan?"

Handing him the glass of orange juice (your apology) which he seemed to accept with a small appreciate nod and smile, you cleared your throat and sat down on the chair that was once occupied by the man with the white streak of hair- who by the way was hopelessly staring at you, trying to get your attention,which was currently being stolen by this ugly man-

"In my defense,  I was mad at him and again...he usually always dodges..."

You tried to explain, tried to give some context so the eldest of the Wayne family did not take you for a lunatic, "You see, it's just, talking to him is so difficult sometimes-"

"I'm right here, babe."

 'Shhh...Jason the adults are talking." Dick chimed in before crossing his legs and taking a sip of his juice, "Please, carry on, I completely understand."

You sighed in relief at the sight of the man who seemed to be enjoying this conversation.  Its not like you wanted to invite a third person into the relationship, but right now you needed to talk to someone who was not Jason, someone who was not going to make your worries seem like they were not a big deal, someone who was not going to deflect when you'd ask a question, someone who would try to reason with you instead of saying, "You wouldn't understand the responsibility of being me."

"I just- I-I" your clogged up at the rush of feelings, memories of your fight running through your mind as you tried to hold in the tears, ignoring the burning sensation in your eyes, the tingling in your nose before mumbling, "He just doesn't get it..."

"Awww...honey," Dick cooed, watching you wipe your eyes furiously, the sleeves of his hoodie that you wore turning a shade darker as your continued to wipe away the endless waterworks, before he glanced at the man who stood their in total shock, as if he had no idea he had done this, clenching and unclenching his fists in sheer fright, "Did you think hitting him with a pan would help?"

"No, but it sure as hell would make me feel better." 

You spat, before turning to glare at the man who loved dearly, the man who had you worrying beyond recognition, the man who had managed to storm out of a "random night patrol" instead of resolving the fight- like how he usually did, but perhaps this time he didn't want to, perhaps this time, he just wanted to see how much of a difference it would make, perhaps this time, his insecurities had finally won, convincing him that indeed, you would be better off without him. That you would be better off without his lingering, looming, loathed presence. That you would be better off giving your heart to someone who was complete and not just a grafted experiment of what was supposed to be Jason Todd.

"Ah, I see, if I may ask, what did you two argue about-"

"It doesn't matter." Jason cut him off, walking towards you, the pan in hand before he knelt down beside you, his heart cracking at the way you looked away, he wanted to fix this- was he still unsure of everything? Yes. Did he still think you deserved someone better? Yes. But he'd be damned if he were to leave you hear crying like that- no, this is not what he had expected when he had rushed out, his insecurities had convinced him that you would have cheered in his absence, that you would have been happy. This was jot happy, the was not relief - this was pain, and he was causing it.

Gently placing the pan in your lap he gave you a small, but weak, smile when you turned to look at him in surprise, his eyes  trembling at the sight of your glossy, sombre look, as he whispered, "Go ahead, I won't dodge this time, I deserve it."

"You idiot!" You gripped the front of his shirt and shook him- or tried to, it was actually very difficult considering his size, "Just say you're sorry and that you won't be reckless!"

He slowly placed a hand on yours, giving it a gentle squeeze as he whispered, "I'm sorry...I'll be more careful next time..." His breath hitched at the way your frown deepened, did he perhaps upset you even more- 

"And you'll bring donuts if you're late-"

"Oh my god!" He pulled back, standing up to his full height, arms raising up in defeat, "Again with the donuts!? How many times have we gone over the fact that you CAN NOT have sugar at this hour of the night!?" 

Though his expressions changed as soon as he saw you grab the pan, only for it to be plucked out of your hand by the other Wayne son, who shivered at the sight of your eerie glare but cleared his throat to cover it up, "I think we all need a good night's rest. I am glad to have met someone who can knock some sense into Jason, but I do fear, his ungodly working hours may be affecting your moods-"

"Is your brother calling me insane, Todd?"

"Want me to punch him?"

Dick rolled his eyes at his brother before turning to you with a signature smile as he placed the pan on the table, "I actually came here to convince him to come for the family dinner this Saturday, but I'm sure you'll convince him for me."

Your eyes lit up at the request, turning to stare at the man who only sighed in return, scratching the back of his head before letting out a small, "Fine...."

Once that was settled, the pan was kept in its place and his girlfriend was tucked into bed by him, followed by a, "I'll be back in five minutes...okay?" He walked over to the man who was leaning by the wall, smirking at him, a look Jason oh so hated.

"You know, I've never thought you'd be interested in someone so emotional."

"She's just having a bad day..."

"Yeah, because of you."

Jason's shoulders visibly slumped and jaw tighten, his scowl returning as he stared at the ground, causing Dick to internally cringe, poor choice of words Grayson.

"What I mean is, she was having a bad day, and the one person she, perhaps, truly worries about wasn't taking her seriously " he placed a hand on his brother's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze before whispering, as if he were afraid you'd hear them, "Jay, you gotta stop letting it get to you, five minutes in and I could see how she's whipped for you- you're not better, it's okay to let someone love you, especially when you feel the same way."

Jason glanced at the man before him, honestly he was expecting Dick to convince him to let go of you, this was really unexpected- especially after you knocked him out. Truth be told he was proud to see how you could fend for yourself, not that he had any doubts before, but the lingering worry was perhaps slightly decreased at the sight of the man tied to a chair, he was so proud you used his knotting techniques.

With a firm, but small nod, Jason walked towards the fire escape and pointed at it, "Now scram, I need to sleep."

His chuckle echoed in the calm of the night as he began to climb out the window, only to pause on top of the windowsill, one foot dangling out as he craned his neck to face his brother, "By the way, the pan, has she ever successfully hit you?"

"Of course she has, thats how we first met," Jason shrugged as if it was the most normal thing in the world, "accidentally came into her apartment mistaking it for mine."

"Wait. What-"

"Bye bye Dickybird."

With that he shoved his brother out and locked the window before flipping him off, "See you Saturday- or not", and quickly drew the curtains so he wouldn't have to face his lunatic of a brother who was standing there with his hands on his hips, yelling at the top of his lungs, "IF YOU DON'T SHOW UP, WE'LL SHOW UP AT YOUR DOOR, TODD!"

Jason rolled his eyes at the muffled voice as he walked towards his bedroom, smiling at the sight of you snuggled into his side, slowly the world around him tuning out as he slid into the sheets next to you, pulling you closer, close enough to feel your heartbeat slowly synchronise with his- he'll worry about Saturday, tomorrow.

[p1ttlings]

SWEET CREATURE!

022. the dress

warnings . . . curse words, lewd talks, boob talk, the usual. also want to say that reader Does have her issues 😭 im pretty sure that’s been made clear haha

authors note . . . i made this with a 101 fever and a shit load of tylenol in 30 minutes,,,, just hoping this fever breaks soon. that being said… ignore any errors. also this is really late (pst 4 me) because i called out of work and i plan on sleeping ALL DAY

taglist (CLOSED). . . @theariespov @slytherclaw1978 @manilovewomen1 @harhar0777 @cassierins @hhusbuds @shitface-t @firstlyferrari @marauvderss @vesperazhier @love-pluto-love @peachyfckingkeen @wylewhims @byfragonard @xreader1989 @inbred-eater @verygentlementrash @sagelovesbooks @callmestgalex @robinavitchabbotslut @momdancingtomcr @pr3ttygirlavenue @cherryybombbthoughts @tatoda @cosmicneptune @buckystwilight @iansunibrow @cosmosnkaz @feminine-ominon @caterppillar @milestellerismybf @scream4mami @niyizh @4ngelest @4rtem4r @miauforme @archxve @ellieslaces @edynmeyer1 @sunbonesss @tojiramisu @xoxabs88xox @stylesonlyangel4 @flirtism @viviannagiorgini @mimiunfiltered @tumbletune @croissant31 @beths-shoelaces @iriths

[bunniebrains]

Full time party girl, part time daughter.

1000 follower special AU- futile devices

this is not canon to the main timeline. Purely an AU.

What if Bruce wasn't fast enough that night?

Recommended listening: Futile devices/ Metamorphosis / Needle in the hay / Death with dignity

Fic masterlist!

cw: Reader is dead, grief, mentions of addiction, mentions of underage drinking, depressive thoughts,no one is happy bruh. - I DO NOT CONDONE OR SUPPORT ANY UNDERAGE DRINKING OR SMOKING, stay safe stay in school

“I didn’t say goodbye… I always say goodbye… why- why didn’t I say it? I wanted to.” your grip on his arm gets weaker. “I know I’m a bad person… but I don’t... don’t want to die” it gets harder and harder to breathe, “I haven’t done anything with my life. I thought I had time-” pain like you’ve never known shoots up and down your body. You convulse in his arms. Unintelligible sobs fight their way out of your mouth. You nearly choke on them. “I don’t wanna die alone…” your throat tightens up. There is nothing you can do. Your begging doesn’t change anything. 

It isn’t painful. There are no fangs in your skin, or daggers in your back. It feels like an apathetic wind. The kind you’d feel when September bleeds into October, and the leaves wither away. Before you know what's happening, the memory brings itself forward.

You’re seven. It was your first day back to school, and now you’re walking home. The street is alive with community. Neighbours chattering on their front steps, shop keepers nattering with customers. The wind bites your cheeks, so you pull your scarf up. You were so small back then. When you open the door, Mother is there. You can’t remember the conversation, but you remember her making you your favourite dinner, and letting you watch whatever you wanted on TV. That was one of her good days. 

The wind picks up again, brushing against your finger tips and dragging a second memory forward. Ten. Your birthday. A wobbly table set for ten. Two friends showed up. The rest couldn’t make it. So they said. The birthday candles flicker as the wind from outside creeps through the window. When they’ve finished singing, you blow out the candles. What did you wish for again? It was either a puppy or a dad. 

Third. Thirteen. You don’t want to remember this one. The fight. The yelling, the screaming, the crying. She’s outside your door, screaming at you to get back out there. You’re begging her to leave you alone. She laughs. She says that no one else would ever let you talk to them the way you talk to her. No one else would ever be as patient with you. No one would ever look after you the way she did. No one would love you more than her.

“You can hate me all you want. I’m the only person who will ever love you unconditionally. From the moment you were born I put everything on hold for you. No one else would do that.”

“I never asked you to do that!” you shout back. 

“You are so ungrateful- do you know how many kids out there would kill to have what you have? I give you a roof over your head, I give you food, I buy you clothes and school shit- whatever you need, I get it. I take my pay-check, and I give it all to you. But I guess that makes me the worst mother in the world. I’m the worst mother ever aren’t I? I bet you wish I was anyone else.”

“I never said that!”

“I know you think it.”

And you didn’t respond. Last time you ever heard her voice. 

Fourth. sixteen. New years. You’re alone in the Wayne Manor Garden. In the heart of the maze with your hand wrapped around a bottle neck. While the fireworks leap into the sky and explode tremendously, you’re starting the year as you mean to go on. Drunk, right under your Father’s nose. The wind rustles the hedge and the sound of the leaves gets drowned out by the screaming pyrotechnics. Waiting for someone to search for you. Take a look out the window and see you in the ocean of leaves. The search party never comes. You woke up on the dirt ground the next morning.

Lastly, Nineteen. Crying your eyes out in bed. Two weeks ago. Feeling so incredibly low that you think you’ll never get up. You aren’t quiet. You want someone to hear. Someone, please. Just open the door and come in. Please. Just hold you and lie that everything’s okay. Find the empty bottles under the bed. Smell the smoke trapped on your clothes. Notice that you haven’t opened the curtains in a month. Anything. God please anything. The en-suite window is ajar, and the wind soothes in, brushing against your shaking body. Like a blanket. 

But then the images fade. You watch them melt away until there’s nothing left. Like snow in the rain.

Bruce watches your eyes glaze over. The light within them, the light that faltered but never went out, ebbs away. Your jaw goes slack. He roars. It’s incomprehensible, just a raw, guttural noise. His calloused hands keep trying to lift your head up, but it lulls and rolls limply. You feel so small. Like a doll in the hands of a bear. 

You were his biggest mistake. Not your existence, no he could never fault you for that. Your downfall was all his fault. For years he passively watched you destroy yourself. He saw his reflection looking back at him, and instead of building you back up he left you. In his mind, if he left, you couldn’t get any more broken. But that didn’t fix you either. No. No, stop being so noble. He didn’t face you because he was a coward. He would have to acknowledge that he did this to you.

“I haven’t got school today,” you were hoping he’d catch your drift so you wouldn’t have to keep speaking, but the way he cocked his brow told you that wasn’t going to happen, “so I was wondering if we could… I don’t know, uh, maybe spend some time together? I just, I feel like I don’t know you. At all. And I want to. I want to know you. And- And I want you to know me, I know you’re busy but I just think that-”

He raised his hand to stop you. All the courage you thought you had died instantly. 

“I’m afraid I can’t.” There had to be more. Surely. That couldn’t just be it, right? When he went back to whatever it was you interrupted, your heart sank. 

Dick feels his feet turn to stone. The little girl who used to tail him like a lost puppy, the one who would always be the first to reach out, that girl who used to look at him like he was made of gold and stardust, was gone. Eyes glass and supposedly unseeing, but he felt as though you were looking right into his soul. Last time he saw you, you were avoiding eye contact

“But it’s not right now, is it? It’s all the time.” Dick counters. He didn’t take any joy in this, but he couldn’t ignore what he’d seen. “She’s piss-drunk at eleven in the morning, that's not normal. Please tell me that’s not normal. For God’s sake she looked half dead when I walked in! She couldn’t string two words together! I’m shocked she managed to walk in a straight line!”

Now you wouldn’t look away. It took him back to that fateful day. The first domino that led to this.

When you looked up and faced him, it was like watching a horror movie. Your eyes were wider than the moon and blood trickled down to your chin. He shouted for Alfred and Bruce, whichever came first. Over and over again, you tried to say sorry, but he shushed you and pleaded with you to keep your mouth closed, not wanting any more blood to spill. 

The red stained your shirt, blooming out with fervour, and unstoppable force. Out of instinct, he tried to put pressure on the wound. It does no good. When his hands reel back, he can’t tear his eyes off the blood caked on them. 

Jason doesn’t think. He just does. He marches over to the crumpled form of the shooter and before anyone can say anything, he unloads the clip into his back. Each bullet a lightning strike, sending a deafening wave through the air. It doesn’t change anything. But it evens the score. No. No, not really. This guy was a worthless piece of shit, the bottom rung in a corrupt ladder, and you were you. You were that kid who dreamt of escaping Gotham. Who wanted to make new friends, but never seemed to get it. It would take thousands of them dead to even the score. Men like him were a dime a dozen. Cowards whose morals could be bought and sold. But people like you, people who still tried even when all the chips were down, those were hard to find. 

“I think… he’s… ashamed… of me.” you admitted, pausing to hiccup or take a breath. “And… I kinda… I like, I see why. Cus… he’s right. I’m a screwup.”

Red Hood kept his hand on your shoulder, guiding you along with a grip that felt strong but not overwhelming. “Says who? You’re gonna let them decide what you are?”.  

Bruce’s head snaps up. He wants to shout, but he can’t open his mouth. Jason storms out of the alley, when he passes Bruce a hollow voice trails out from his mask like smoke on the wind. “This isn’t finished. We’re going to talk.” His promise lingers after he leaves. 

He drifts into the night with a gun and a mission. 

Tim had this nightmare before. One where you did something stupid and killed yourself. Sometimes you fall down the stairs drunk, or you’re face down in a body of water. Whatever the path, you’re dead.

So this must be a dream. He’s asleep. He’ll wake up and everything will be fine. You’ll be asleep too. He’ll knock on your door and open without waiting for an answer. He’ll bug you till you wake up. There’ll be a pulse under your skin and breath in your lungs. The breakfast table will be alive with noise. You’ll pester Damian about something silly. Forks scrape against plates, coffee gets slurped, glasses clink against each other.

That limp body isn’t yours. It’s just his mind. His worst fears manifest. Just an image made to torture him. No, it's not you. You’re alive and well. Maybe not well, but alive. The smell of blood and gunpowder grounds him against his will, dragging him into reality. An anchor bringing him down to the darkest part of the ocean. 

He shoulders past Dick, pushing the eldest to the side. He wants to do the same to Bruce, but his grip on you is too tight. He doesn’t want to hurt you. 

Everything about you is wrong. Your eyes are way too wide, pupils blown wide open. The pupils are like space, dark, vast and unfeeling. Those eyes used to crinkle at the corners when you laughed over a bad joke, or when you teased him over something trivial. Never maliciously though, no you were better than that. He wanted those eyes to blink, to shift, to do anything but stare ahead. 

Your mouth hung open, the same way your bedroom door was always slightly ajar. An unspoken open invitation. An SOS message. Say something. Please. Shout, scream, whatever you want. 

When you were in the room, it was never quiet for long. You could pull a laugh out of him with no effort. Or ramble about some online drama he had never heard of. It wasn’t just you talking at him though, you always pulled him into the conversations. It was a gift, truly, you could make anyone feel seen and heard, no matter how trivial the conversation was. 

Just say anything. Blame him, hate him, please. 

His hands tremble when he reaches for you. Bruce’s eyes snap up, and his grip on you tightens. 

Without thinking, Tim spits out “What the hell is wrong with you?” His voice is sharp. “You never held her before, not once. Get off her.” 

Tim’s normally better than this. More composed. But now everything is upside down and inside out. The blood pouring out of you should be inside. It should be pumping through your veins and keeping you here. Not leaking out onto the filthy ground. 

“That's my sister.” He growls, and it apparently gets through to Bruce. His grip loosens but doesn’t vanish. Tim kneels to Bruce’s level, and holds you. This wasn’t the first time. 

You pushed his door open slowly and crept in. He didn’t look up. Without talking, you sat on the floor next to his bed. Your front faced the door, and your back was in front of him. The memory is cloudy now, you don’t know if he asked you to stay, or if you offered, but you remember waking up on the floor with your head on a cushion and a comforter draped over your body. 

It got a little easier after that. You checked in on him every couple days. Small talk was awkward but you still tried. Eventually, with enough persistence, you managed to get through to him. You met him where he was at. It wasn’t instant, it took time, but you got close enough to confide in him. About your fears, your dreams, your Mother.

But it hits him then that this is the last time. He wishes he was still in denial, to believe that you were going to miraculously leap up and everything would be okay. 

You are dead. 

Gone. 

Your last words played in his head over and over again. When did you ever get what you wanted? All you asked for was a home, and you had been given a guest room and a one way ticket to your demise. Resentment simmered in his chest, bubbling against his ribs. It felt boiling. 

While Tim was mentally spiralling, Damian could only stand there and watch. His feet wouldn’t move. He had seen death before. People had died by his hand. Blood wasn’t a stranger to him. But everything felt new now. 

He felt small. 

You always made him feel small. Just by breathing. When he found out that he wasn’t the sole heir, and that his competition was a drunk with nothing to show for herself, he felt confident that he could get you out of the way. But whenever he was around you. he was furious, because it made him feel so small. Despite not having anything going for yourself, you had a warmth and charm he didn’t. 

Now, watching the chaotic scene unfold, he had never felt smaller. 

This was his fault. He had written your death warrant and performed it for an audience. He wrote that school presentation for Father, to prove that he was superior. To compare and contrast the two of you. He felt he had to prove his superiority. 

In the storm of discord, he remained still. Dick hovered next to him after being muscled aside by Tim. The eldest kept his hand on the youngest with a terror fueled grip. A tether, a wordless promise that he wouldn’t let Damian go into the storm. 

The night felt never ending. The hospital lights stung, unnaturally bright. They stayed in the waiting room. In their own little bubble in the corner of the room. No one spoke. The air was pregnant with dread. 

In a few seconds, someone would come out and confirm what they all knew to be true. It was just about waiting. 

“The Trust is doing well.” Tim spoke out to the air. It was a bright day, the kind you would’ve liked. Your headstone was recently polished. Must’ve been Alfred again.

“Another clinic’s set to open next month. Near Birch street.” He fiddled with the petals of the flowers he had bought you. “I, you’ll find this funny, I forgot my words in the middle of the meeting- the one ironing out the opening ceremony details, so I just gave them a bunch of corporate buzzword slop. Ate it up.” His laugh is forced and gravelly. 

He notices the packet of cigarettes left on the top of your tombstone. Someone kept leaving them no matter how many times they threw them out. It felt gross. Like a cruel joke. He pocketed the packet, still sealed, and made a mental note to bin them as soon as he could. 

“Damian’s got his med school entrance exams soon. Give him some good luck, yeah? He’s too proud to ask.” It never got less awkward. It had been three years now, but it still felt stiff. “I haven’t spoken to him in a while, but I'm sure he’d appreciate it.”

In the last three years, the family drifted apart. Bruce was slowly driving himself to an early grave, working even harder as Batman. He nailed the trafficking ring shortly after you were taken. But it didn’t ease the hole in him. 

Dick came home more often. Touching base with the others incessantly. It never felt authentic. His guilt and fear was so obvious they could smell it. No one pointed it out, or spoke up about it. It was easier that way. 

When he thought no one could see him, he’d dip into your room. Just to sit there. He wouldn’t touch anything, he didn’t dare to. It was a museum to him. Front row seats to an exhibition of the life he never saw. The bottles under the bed. The diary left on the desk. He never opened it. Too afraid of finding his own name in there. 

Jason doubled down. Not speaking to the others unless absolutely necessary. He came to the funeral at least. Small turnout. A couple of people no one recognised came. Said they were your friends from college. It took everything in him not to lose his cool and lash out at them. What right did they have to saunter in when they were nowhere to be seen when you needed them? His anger was evident in his guarded posture. 

“I thought I’d be better at this by now.” He admits. “People keep saying ‘time heals wounds’ but it's not true. I’m not healed. Maybe the wound’s closed over but it’s not healed. It’s like a scar.” 

“I keep thinking you’re gonna come back.”

There was a fight the night after … the incident. About the lazarus pit. The idea of bringing you back came up. Tim, driven by grief and desperation, was adamant that it would be okay. He could rehabilitate you, he wouldn’t let you become something you didn’t recognise. Damian was on his side. The two never saw eye to eye. But you changed them. The other three were vehemently against it.

The fight lasted three hours. It got physical at one point. In the end, you stayed dead. It was kinder that way. 

“Sometimes I come back to the Manor, and when I pass your room I think about knocking. Out of habit, y’know? I go to ask if you’re okay in there, and it just hits me. It doesn’t feel like you’re here”. He runs his hand over the stone to make his point. The body under the dirt didn’t feel like yours. The coffin six feet under never felt full. But it was. 

His watch beeped once and he sighed. “I gotta run.” he reluctantly lets go of the flowers and lets them fall onto the ones from yesterday. He isn’t sure who left them, his guess is Alfred. He always came to clean your stone. There was a period of time where he couldn’t bring himself to confront your grave. But now cleaning the stone had become one of his morning rituals. Often bringing small offerings for you. 

Y/N Wayne. Beloved sister and daughter.

He always hated that carving. It kept you tied to them, like a branding. You were more than just a sister or daughter. You had dreams, passions. But to the world, you'd only ever be Bruce Wayne's personal failure.

“Goodbye, I love you.” 

How are we feeling guys?

So, life has been hectic as hell for me atm. Moved in to the new place, only to have no wifi (wifi order delayed), have a HUGE leak two days ago RIGHT OUTSIDE MY ROOM AT 3 IN THE MORNING- fix the leak myself bcs landlord is away on holiday, and then make the commute back to my hometown to visit family. BUT WE'RE BACK WITH WIFI.

I got a little emotional toward the end bcs I haven't seen my sister in two years and I'm seeing her in 2 days. She moved halfway across the world and I couldn't afford to fly out and visit her, so i was in my 'little sister missing big sister and forcing everyone to suffer' mindset.

taglist 1

@hearts4mica @caassiieee @lettucel0ver @galaxypurplerose @fratbrochrisgf @candlewitch-cryptic @sugarxrottentiger @adhxmoony @liliesofth3valley @vivi-iiis-blog @leahgokam @majsx @bunniotomia @itonlyhastobetruetoday  @4rachn3 @huntedreader @higanyuuu @desolatelyperfectcreator  @capswife  @fettuccinispiz @iloveescara @notnecessarilyenjoyinglife @a-taken-url @missmontiopath  @quynkiz  @willowkarmachance @platonicwithacapitalp @maradcrs @freddiweasly @pix-stuff @looha @nerdjoenjoyer  @riy4m  @lilaclesia @4mrplumi @witch-inthe-woods @rad4bean @notplutos @theworldscalamity @thatluckygirl19 @officialslendermanfannumber2

[bunniebrains]

taglist 2:

@loserinadress  @pocccy @cjshimlyn @chocolatemagazinecupcake @imintoomanyfandoms14 @sleppyann @yapperyhan @nininehaaa @anjalan @ghostlyworld @juninnyxriddle @cupidluvlyyy @kohaiyuki @natynextdoor @itsreyningoutside @maetheficmuncher @amberlino @lovebug-apple @4mrplumi @moonsunlights @punksnotdeadbutiam @mylittlediarys-stuff @obboluvsu @meowingmalleus @peachydoki @silas-san @myheadwillrolll @nessasmultiverseoflove @codlsstuff @blueiones @imguce @elsyageorgia @starmina @toastloverr @honeyedshark @futuristicarchivistsilhouette @elizabethstarkrmnf @sexychickenmagnet @fanfics4ever @mariadvorak @whimsyjellybean @natyukie @oasiswithmyg @l1tllefighter @iamaunknownsecret @iamaunknownsecret@icanfeelyouheartbeat @apodyopsisphilia @lagoonia @agagogo321 @glass-not-a-girl05 @deepcat @moonvine-1 @demigod-jack-hearth @yoyogirl67 @wisefuncherryblossom staarflowerr @midnightfiction1 @liuope @banan1ca @yourlittlefries @ilovvesleepp @theendlessvoidofdarkest @moosilala @sirenetheblogger @dollie-del-rey @rani1028 @dontjudgeabookbythecover @kkbooks0813 @moon0yoon @hongjoongwifeforever @justafank @reiofsuns2001 @1nternetc4t @starl1ghtgr4yson @swthngs@oh-sheetcake @bath1lda@yoremins @whognuthis @cutiebeanuwu @itsangelic

[sleepingbeautiiies]

When Did You Get So Hot? - Animal Kingdom SMAU - PT. 9

+18 MDNI

pt. 8 / pt. 10

summary: reader is going through it and pope does something sweet

content: pope cody x fem!reader, age gap (reader is around deran's age), reader has a period, pope being sweet, reader being delulu

a/n: i’m going to be 100% real right now: i’m currently dealing with my period so this chapter is totally self indulgent. i wrote it on a whim yesterday bc i was really feeling like shit lmfao.

୨୧ taglist: @gaypoetsblog @17th-sector @edynmeyer1 @fortjackson @tulipbreeze @cardcaptorrin @jeshomie @10ava01 @sunbonesss @ilikebeingdelulu @missykoaladelulu @caridundermifflin @pagingmrsabbot @supernaturalsuperhero @whore4fictionalmen19 @mentallyilldarling @frankiebeeslyshouse

୨୧ all works taglist: @tiddieshakeshownu @will-run-for-gin @itzpixiebabe

[sufferingandasense]

Alt with my Rook, Josesphine, bc I felt like it and bc I want more people to appreciate how pretty she is:

[sleepingbeautiiies]

When Did You Get So Hot? - Animal Kingdom SMAU - PT. 7

+18 MDNI

pt. 6 / pt. 8

summary: deran wants the tea on reader and popes "date" (was it a date?)

content: pope cody x fem!reader, age gap (reader is around deran's age), lewd conversations, reader being an awkward mess, pope being pope, sugar daddy pope vibes lowkey

a/n: its finally time for the beefy chapter ive been talking about! this literally took FOREVER. ENJOY!!!!

୨୧ taglist: @gaypoetsblog @17th-sector @edynmeyer1 @fortjackson @tulipbreeze @cardcaptorrin @jeshomie @10ava01 @sunbonesss @ilikebeingdelulu @missykoaladelulu @caridundermifflin

୨୧ all works taglist: @tiddieshakeshownu @will-run-for-gin @itzpixiebabe

[p1ttlings]

SWEET CREATURE!

021. not quite

warnings . . . lewd conversations, curse words, mentions of the previous sexual scene (fingering), foot fetish talk again lmaoooo, making out, boob talk, sleep deprived so this is all i can think of will put more if needed. wc: 1.3k

You’re perched on Pope’s bed, back and posture stiff, unsure of how to act. Should you even been inside of his room without asking? What if he didn’t want to makeout with you tonight? Are you taking advantage of him? Does he even want to makeout with you at all? 

What are you talking about? He fingered you. If he can shove his fingers in you, he can definitely push his lips to yours… right?  

You drop yourself dramatically onto his bed with a loud groan, your mind racing. What if? Why? Why not? Will he? Won’t he? It won’t stop. 

“You look like a fish out of water.” His familiar voice has you sitting up, eyes wide in shock. 

“Geez,” you huff, embarrassed by the way you were flopping around in his perfectly made bed. Which is now unmade. “I need you to get louder shoes. Ones that squeak. Or the light up ones so I know when you’re coming.” 

He shrugs, leaning against the shut door of his bedroom. “How else am I supposed to catch you doing weird shit?”

“Haha.” You deadpan. “Where were you? I’ve been waiting here forever.” 

“Handling something.” 

You grin, leaning back on your arms. “Oooooh, did you beat up your brother for me?” It’s a tease. You don’t truly believe he’d get into a fight with his brother over you.

You may joke like you are, but you’re not stupid. The web of odd familial ties in the Cody family are… borderline incestuos. Weird. Confusing. And you don’t doubt that it’s all Janine Cody’s fault. She has a way of making anyone in a room with her feel powerless. You see it with the gardeners she watches over as they work, the way she speaks to her sons, even her lawyer who isn’t around often, but you’ve seen a few times. 

Conversing with the woman feels like she’s ripping your chest open and grabbing at everything she can, inspecting you. As terrible as it makes you feel, you try to push that back on your schedule for Lena until the very last second, even to the point where Lena can’t see the woman from the constant activities you take the little girl to. 

“No.” Is his lacking response. 

You sigh dramatically, “and here I thought you were my knight in shining armor.” 

“I’m not that.” 

“Clearly.” 

The silence isn’t awkward but the way his hands are rubbing at his jeans, tells you that he does believe it to be so. You stand, tugging at your t-shirt to fall over your body. “So, you—” 

“Do you think we can reschedule?” His voice sounds almost shaky. Almost, not quite nervous, more ashamed. He clears his throat, “I don’t think I'm up for—“ 

You nod, immediately feeling the guilt eat away at you. “Of course, Pope.” You take a step back, sitting back down on the bed, afraid to make him feel afraid. “You don’t even have to makeout with me at all. I was only joking. Well… half-joking.” 

He sighs, bothered by your words. “I didn’t say I didn’t want to makeout with you. Just… another day.” 

“I didn’t say that you didn’t—“ 

“Stop talking.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“I don’t think I want to makeout with you anymore.” He admits. 

“Jesus.” You cackle, “what’s up your ass?” 

“You.” 

“Oh, baby, I wish I was.” You get up off the bed, making a thrusting motion with your hips, hands out like you’re holding onto somebody. “Get all up in there.” 

He grimaces, “that’s disgusting.” 

“Fine.” You stop, “I’ll leave.” 

“You should.” He agrees. He doesn’t move off the door, still pressed up against it. 

It’s impossible to hold back your grin. “You gonna let me out?” 

He doesn’t speak. His eyes are on you in that intense manner he usually carries. The constipated look, Nicky would say. 

“Hello?” You tease, “anyone in there?” 

“Fuck it…” he breathes low, cutting the distance between you in two steps. His hands are on either side of your face, pulling you into him. And his lips are on yours. 

You don’t spare a second, hands falling to his waist, face tilting to deepen the kiss, noses nudging as you do so. And he delivers on your wish. The kiss is hot and heavy, tongue lapping into your mouth as the back of your knees push against his soft bed. Your hands move from his sides to his chest, then back down to the bottom of his shirt, urging him to remove it. 

He pulls his lips from yours with a loud smack, “no,” he shakes his head, removing your itching fingers from his shirt. “Not that.” 

You groan, leaning your forehead to his chest. “Fine. Can I dry hump you at least?” 

His eyebrows furrow, “are we teenagers?”

You scoff, lifting your head to eye him. “Dry humping is a lost art. I’ve made it my duty to bring it back to light. Think about it. The act is—“

“Shut up.” He groans, annoyed as he grabs your chin and presses his lips to yours again. One of his hands lowers to your waist, down to your hip, and ends at your thigh, gripping your leg high up on his leg. 

“Pope!” You squeal when he drops you onto his bed. “What the fuck?!” 

“What?” He shrugs, not caring. “Swear you told me that you like it when a man manhandles you.” 

“Yeah, I like it when they grope my ass or spin me to push me up against a surface, not throw me like a ragdoll!”

“Miscommunication.” His tone is bored as he grabs your hips, pulling you to lay atop of him, lips meeting yours again. 

You pull from him, sitting up. “Can I take my shirt off?” You ask breathily. 

“W-what? Why?” 

You shrug, “want you to admire my boobs.” 

He looks bewildered, eyes wide and shocked as he looks up at you. “Don’t look so surprised.” You scoff, “I love my boobs. All my friends have seen them.” 

“Wha—“ you tug your shirt off, left in your ugly sports bra. 

“Oh my god, wait!” You cover his eyes with your hands. 

He flinches, but doesn’t push your hands away. “What? What’s wrong?” 

“My bra is ugly.” You groan. “Pretend what you saw was sexy lingerie.” 

He doesn’t speak for a moment, lying back with his eyes covered by your hands. “It wasn’t that bad.” 

“I’ve had this bra since I was a freshman.” 

“… in college?” 

“No.” 

“Okay.” He admits, “that’s kinda gross.” 

You scoff, moving your hand from his eyes to pinch his nose. “It is not. I wash it regularly and I’ve only had to stitch one slit since then. And bras are expensive. You can only talk shit if you buy me new ones.” 

“I will.” 

“Shut up.” 

“I will. What’s your size?” 

“Big as fuck.” 

He scoffs, moving your hand from his eyes, sitting up and moving you to straddle his lap as he sits on the edge of the bed. His big hands are gripping your hips, securing you on him. Without skipping a beat, “take it off.” 

You don’t hesitate to tug the piece off, tits spilling out for him. You hear the way his breath hitches, eyes dancing on your chest. He won’t look away, even when you wiggle on his lap. “Hello? My face is up here.” You sing, desperate to get him to look at you. “You know, this is a lot more than a sloppy makeout. If I were a freaky person, I would say you’re trying to sl—“ 

“Oh, god…” he breathes, moving you off of his lap and getting up off the bed himself. 

You’re scared, watching him carefully as you sit on his bed, tits out. “A-are you okay?” You ask, eyes searching his body for any sign of discomfort. 

“Y-yeah, I’m fine.” He’s turning his body away from you, facing the bedroom door. “You should— you should go.” 

But you’re too concerned to follow his wishes. Instead, you sit up and reach over to him, noticing the way his body is shaking. “Pope…?” You place your hand on his bicep, desperate to help him.

He flinches away, “just go.” 

authors note . . . to my big bitches (me) he can and will toss you around. don’t let no twig man stop u

taglist (closed(. . . @theariespov @slytherclaw1978 @manilovewomen1 @harhar0777  @cassierins @hhusbuds  @shitface-t @firstlyferrari @marauvderss @vesperazhier @love-pluto-love @peachyfckingkeen @wylewhims @byfragonard @xreader1989 @inbred-eater @verygentlementrash @sagelovesbooks @callmestgalex @robinavitchabbotslut @momdancingtomcr @pr3ttygirlavenue @cherryybombbthoughts @tatoda @cosmicneptune @buckystwilight @iansunibrow @cosmosnkaz @feminine-ominon @caterppillar @milestellerismybf @scream4mami @niyizh @4ngelest @4rtem4r @miauforme @archxve @ellieslaces @edynmeyer1 @sunbonesss @tojiramisu @xoxabs88xox @stylesonlyangel4 @flirtism @viviannagiorgini @mimiunfiltered @tumbletune @croissant31 @beths-shoelaces @iriths

[p1ttlings]

SWEET CREATURE!

020. sloppy makeout

warnings . . . foot fetish 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭, talks of masturbation, sexual harassment yall, sloppy makeout 😍😍

authors note . . . well as usual this was made at work so just fix my mistakes in ur head 🫰

taglist (open) . . . @theariespov @slytherclaw1978 @manilovewomen1 @harhar0777 @cassierins @hhusbuds @shitface-t @firstlyferrari @marauvderss @vesperazhier @love-pluto-love @peachyfckingkeen @wylewhims @byfragonard @xreader1989 @inbred-eater @verygentlementrash @sagelovesbooks @callmestgalex @robinavitchabbotslut @momdancingtomcr @pr3ttygirlavenue @cherryybombbthoughts @tatoda @cosmicneptune @buckystwilight @iansunibrow @cosmosnkaz @feminine-ominon @caterppillar @milestellerismybf @scream4mami @niyizh @4ngelest @4rtem4r @miauforme @archxve @ellieslaces @edynmeyer1 @sunbonesss @tojiramisu @xoxabs88xox

[p1ttlings]

SWEET CREATURE!

019. pancakes

warnings . . . baz, curse words, boner alert. wc . . . 2.1k

Lena’s legs are kicking back and forth on the counter that she’s sitting on. The sleek marbled countertop is a mess, thanks to you. For as long as you’ve known Lena, she’s made it abundantly clear just how much she loves pancakes. All sorts of them, blueberry, chocolate chip, and brown sugar— all of the possible combinations. Sprinkles, maraschino cherries, and a crap ton of whipped cream. 

“No sprinkles today, Lena Beana.” You hum as you mix the batter in the bowl. You can’t get it right. It’s either too watery or too thick. You can’t put the correct amount of ingredients and Lena’s amused as she watches you. 

“Cherries?” She asks, holding onto her stuffed bunny. 

You think about it. It’s ten pm, she can’t have much sugar or she’ll be too rowdy. Even now, she tells you she can’t sleep, you can’t worsen it. “Only natural, not maraschino.” 

She pouts, bottom lip jutting out. “Those aren’t as yummy.” But she’s distracted when a glob of your batter spills out of your bowl. 

“Fuck.” You curse, hands sticky. 

“Curse word.” Her soft voice tries to scold you. 

“Sorry, mama.” You apologize as you grab far too many napkins to clean yourself up. 

The laugh that leaves the little girl has you turning to look up at her after minutes of concentration. “What are you laughing at?” You poke her belly, making her giggle some more. 

“You’re really, really bad at this.” She glances at the mess of ingredients you’ve created. There’s flour on counter, spilled milk and water, butter and oil smeared all around. 

You sigh, admitting defeat. “Yeah, I am.” You grab the cereal Nicky had picked up specifically for moments like these. “Froot Loops instead?”

She nods, her leg hair bouncing around her. “Yummy.” 

You grab a bowl from the cabinets, along with a spoon, clattering across from where she’s now sitting, having moved to a stool. 

“You should ask my uncle Pope for help.” She speaks with a mouthful of cereal. “He likes to clean.” 

The grin falls to your lips easily at the mention of Pope. “You, Lena Blackwell, are a genius.” You press a kiss to her temple, whipping your phone out. You send him a text that reads, ‘NEED HELP ASAP.’ 

He doesn’t rush downstairs, not like you thought he would. His eyes are immediately on Lena, even with his calmed demeanor, making sure she’s not injured. And then, to you. You’re grinning as you lean against the counter, “funny story, handsome,” you hum. “There was a robbery! Wasn’t there, Lena?” 

The little girl nods with a mouth full of cereal, scooping some more in her spoon. 

“That right?” He asks roughly, unamused. 

You nod, “yes. And you know what’s so horrible? They tried to take the expensive stuff but then they changed their path to the kitchen. And then, they tried to make pancakes.” 

“Tried?” He asks as he makes his way to the countertop, lifting a spoon that’s in a puddle of the white sludge. 

“No. They succeeded because they were really smart and knew how to cook.” You watch as he takes the mess in, carefully moving around the countertop, circling you and Lena. “And then, they took the cooked pancakes and told Lena she could only have Froot Loops. It was sick.” 

Lena nods, speaking with a mouthful of food. “It’s true, uncle pope!” 

Pope shakes his head, grabbing a towel from the sink, ready to get to cleaning. “Lena, don’t follow in her footsteps. Lying is bad.” 

You grin, turning to Lena who’s already watching you, waiting to hear what your argument is. You shake your head at her, silently telling her to forget his words. She’s content with that response, going back to her cereal. 

“It’s not lying. It’s story-telling.” You defend playfully, letting him clean the mess you’ve made. “I’m building up her imagination. She’s going to write best-selling novels.” 

He scoffs, “says the liar.” 

“Not a liar.” Both you and Lena speak at the same time. You two fall into fits of giggles. 

“You’re copying me.” You tease her. 

She grins, “no, you’re copying me.” 

“Nuh-uh.” 

“Yuh-huh.” 

“Children.” Pope chastises, both of you turning to look at him as he’s moving the used plates and utensils into the sink. “Lena, go get ready for bed. You,” his glare isn’t tense as usual but it’s directed to you. “Wash the dishes.” 

You groan as Lena runs off with a giggle to her temporary bedroom. “Come on, it’s not my fault. It’s the robbers.” 

“Yes.” He repeats, “it was the robbers fault but they left and you’re here. Wash.” 

Despite the attitude that you have, you do decide to do it as he does the rest. You two clean in silence. It’s not horrifically awkward but silence means you overthink. And overthinking is bad. You have to keep going or it’ll be too much to handle. 

“Pope?” 

He doesn’t speak, a simple hum tells you to keep going. 

You don’t respond immediately, and you can feel the way he turns to face your back, “what?” His voice seems to be naturally harsh so you don’t flinch or stress over the tone. 

You put the plate down, turning to face him, wiping your wet hands with the dry rag beside the sink. 

You’re not nervous around men often. Most don’t hold a candle to you. To how great you know you can be. To how great you know you are. But Pope isn’t just any man. From the second you saw him three years ago at the grocery store, you know this was it. You knew even then, that Andrew Cody is the guy you’re going to end up with. And yet, you still don’t speak. 

The air is charged with tension. No, not tension. Softer. You can’t quite put your finger on it as you two stand there, barely a few scuffles apart, staring at each other. 

Your breath hitches, itching to say these words out loud. “I really like you.” You admit, a little too easily, because of how intensely you mean them. Wholeheartedly. Irrevocably. In any way to describe how truthful you're being. 

He doesn’t hesitate, “you’re lying.” 

Your eyebrows furrow, a scoff bubbling out of you. “Excuse me?” 

He shrugs, swinging a clean rag over his shoulder, arms crossed as he leans against the countertop. “That’s your hobby, right?” 

Now you’re offended, crossing your arms over your chest as well, “is that why you never take me seriously? You think that, because I like to lie, that my feelings for you are a lie, too?” 

“Would I be wrong to think so?” 

It’s your turn to not hesitate, “yes.” Breathily, “I wanted you the second you walked into the store.” 

“What?” His face scrunches in confusion, in that same cute way that makes you smile. 

“Nothing.” 

“No,” he takes a single step forward. “What store?” 

You wanted to hang this over him longer but you can’t. The excitement is burning through you. You need to tell him just how long he’s been invading your thoughts without even knowing his name. You need to tell him how much worse this need for him has intensified since getting to know him. 

“You really don’t remember me?” 

“Of course I remember you.” He sounds offended by whatever accusation you’re throwing at him. “I think about you all the time.” 

You take a step towards him as well. “You do?” 

He rolls his eyes, “don’t let it get to your head.” 

You laugh, “you’re letting it get to yours.” 

“What? It’s not.” 

“Not that one.”  You hum. 

He grabs the towel on his shoulder and covers his crotch as you cackle. “Shut up.” 

You shrug, still grinning. “Helen’s.” You speak the name of the grocery store. It’s a small, family owned grocery store, one where the owners are always over and chitchatting with the customers. A staple in the tight-knit community. 

“That your mother or something?” 

You shake your head, “the grocery store.”

“Okay… you want me to go to Helen’s? What do you need?” 

You groan, eyes shutting momentarily, trying to keep your emotions intact. You open them to his body much closer to yours, closing the distance. His hand is ghosting over your cheek, scared to touch you. “Do it…” your voice is small and desperate. 

It happens so fast. His hands fall to your cheeks, forcing your face up as he pushes you to lean against the sink, knee slotting between your thighs. His nose is nudging against yours, breath heavy against your lips. 

You’ve had his thumb in your mouth and his fingers in you. And not a single kiss. A forehead kiss but you’re not counting that. You need to kiss him. Have to. You’re desperate for it. You try to push your face to his but he holds your face back. “No.” His voice is whiney as he speaks, forehead against yours. “No.” Neither of you pull away. 

The camera linked to the doorway chimes, reading the license plate out loud in its robotic and monotonous voice. A button beeps and a familiar voice is heard as the machine asks to state his name. “Barry Blackwell.” 

He doesn’t fully pull away, not until the front door opens and in comes Baz. 

You clear your throat, fixing your shirt as Pope goes back to cleaning. You smile politely at Baz, “Mr. Blackwell.” You greet. “Welcome.” 

His smile toward you is seen as charming by most. And you don’t hate it, but you don’t care for it. “You can call me Baz.” 

You grimace softly with a laugh, shaking your head. “No… my step-dad tells me to never put my boss at my level.” 

Baz ignores this, turning to his brother, watching him carefully. “You good, bro?” 

Pope nods stiffly, “good.” 

It’s awkward. Pope clearly isn’t good and his brother knows this. You know this. And Baz is about to push, about to ask again, when you jump in. “I’ll show you to your room.” You push off the sink. “It’s right across Lena’s. Come on.” 

Baz nods, grabbing his bags again and following behind you as you lead him out of the kitchen. You don’t turn to look at Pope, scared to see how upset he is. Not for fear, but because the disappointment in his features will make you want to rush back to him in front of their company. 

“This is a really nice place.” Baz chimes as he inspects the walls and furniture around. 

You hum, nodding. “Yeah. Sammy’s parents are really well off.” You tell him. “He’s a stockbroker or something like that, I don’t know, some boring stuff. Mother’s a lawyer.” 

He whistles softly, “fuck. Should’ve picked a different career.” 

You huff a small laugh, opening the door to his bedroom for the next few days. “Property manager isn’t cutting it?” You joke. 

“Not even close.” He drops his bag as she leads him into the sleek and clean room. “They happily married?” 

You smile softly, “very happily.” You answer, unsure of what to say next. “Uhm… it’s late. I’m gonna go put Lena to bed and—“ 

“How is she?” He cuts you off. “Lena? Was she… upset?”

It almost warms you to know that he does care, which gets harder and harder to believe the longer you take care of the little girl. “At first, yeah. But she got over it. She’s having fun here. She picked some fruit with the gardener and Nicky when we got in. We’re thinking of making a pie tomorrow.” 

He lets out a breathy little laugh, nodding as he slumps onto the edge of the bed, taking a much needed seat. You’re slowly sliding back to the door, needing a quick escape. “So, you—“ 

He interrupts you again, “thank you, by the way.” He hums. “Allison’s boyfriend doesn’t want her to watch kids anymore while pregnant. And her mother…” he trails off for a moment. “She doesn’t care for being a mother any longer, clearly. Know you weren’t fond of kids at first, heard J mention it to Nicky. But youre good with her.” 

You take the compliment, “thank you. She’s… she’s a really great girl.” You add, “so, can—“ 

Again. “You are too.” You tense at his words. “You’re a great girl.” 

“Oh… uhm…” you wipe your sweaty palms against your bottoms, drying them as best as you can. “Tha-thank y—“ 

You almost want to yell when you’re interrupted again. But you feel relief wash over you when Lena rushes into the room, “daddy!” She jumps into her fathers arms, cheering happily and rambling away about what she did today.

This gives you the chance to slip out of the room, a heavy breath leaving you once you’re in the clear. “Fuck…” you mutter softly, anxious from the too long moment. 

You push off the wall you were leaning against, eyes falling onto Pope’s as he stands at the stairway, watching you with a cup of warm milk at hand. For Lena, of course. He’s watching you carefully, worried. You send him a small smile and walk to your bedroom, embarrassed. 

authors note . . . hiiii sorry for the lag!! hope you guys like it <3

taglist (purged it a little, sorry if i took you off and you DO interact, just message me and I’ll add you. other than that, taglist is open, only a few spots open) . . . @theariespov @slytherclaw1978 @manilovewomen1 @harhar0777  @cassierins @hhusbuds  @shitface-t @firstlyferrari @marauvderss @vesperazhier @love-pluto-love @peachyfckingkeen @wylewhims @byfragonard @xreader1989 @inbred-eater @verygentlementrash @sagelovesbooks @callmestgalex @robinavitchabbotslut @momdancingtomcr @pr3ttygirlavenue @cherryybombbthoughts @tatoda @cosmicneptune @buckystwilight @iansunibrow @cosmosnkaz @feminine-ominon @caterppillar @milestellerismybf @scream4mami @niyizh @4ngelest @4rtem4r

[zephyrchama]

MC as a sheep who keeps running in front of people while they're walking and sits down in their direct path. Especially if they're carrying food or laundry.

Lucifer, lightly touching MC with the side of his foot: "MC, move out of the way please so I don’t trip on you."

MC, eyes enormous: "you KICK mc? you kick mc's body like the football? oh! oh! cocytus for luci! cocytus for luci for One Thousand Years!!!!"

[longlostx11]

Before We Knew Better 8 | Andrew 'Pope' Cody x reader

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Masterlist

Summary: When Andrew ‘Pope’ Cody was taken into care Smurf pulled some strings and got him put in a place close to Oceanside. That place was with you and your parents. Something Smurf would later regret when she realised that the bond you and Andrew forged in the month he was there was never going away. The years went by and the older boy became your best friend. Your protector. Your person.  Fast forward and when Andrew gets out of prison he finds out Smurf’s hatred for you has gone to a whole other level. 

Pairing: Andrew ‘Pope’ Cody x reader 

Warnings: smut, angst, yearning, kind of stalker pope I'm not gonna lie, obsessive pope, smurf, mental illness, mentions of assault, alcohol, violence, season 4 pope is a warning of its own.

A/N: I actually love this chapter. Despite some of the content. I hope you all enjoy it. Thank you, thank you for all the feedback and likes and re-blogs. Finally got to beefy Pope. I don't know if I mentioned it enough times in this hahahaha. SPOILERS for season 4 up to mid episode 5.

“I want you here at home with me.” Her voice, sickly sweet with no real care in it made his skin crawl. “Where I can look after you.” 

“No.”

“She can’t take care of you the way I can.” It wasn’t the first time he’d heard it but he wanted it to be the last. Nobody knew him better, cared or took care of him more than you did. 

He wanted to argue the fact but any assurance he’s had that she wouldn’t hurt you had dies with Baz. 

If she could so that. 

She could do anything. 

He needed you and Lena safe more than anything. 

“You know she isn’t meant for this life, Andrew. She isn’t family.” 

“She’s my family.” He knows it was a mistake as soon as he had rasped it, pained and heartfelt. The total opposite of her voice. 

You were his family. The one he had chosen. The only one who had chosen him for no other reason than you had wanted to.

The statement and the truth of it written across his face filled Smurf with rage. A cold, quiet kind that he’d only seen a handful of times. The fake soft voice replaced by the cutting, abrupt one he was far more familiar with, especially recently.

“You’re being selfish Andrew.” She stood up from the place she had been sat on her bed. There was another party going on outside, for Lena’s return home. When he told her he had taken her back to the foster family he sensed straight away she wasn’t going to let this go easily. 

She wasn’t always so obvious with it but she was desperate to have full control over him again. 

“You know it’s only a matter of time before she gets caught up in shit she can’t handle. You’re going to get her hurt.” He didn’t miss the threat behind her voice. “Or worse…” 

He didn’t say anything and so Smurf kept on, chipping away at him the way she had become an expert at. “You think Lucy couldn’t have made her disappear quicker than you’d have even knew she was gone?” 

“Shut up.” He spits but he holds himself back despite the urge to grab her by the neck. Too frightened of what could happen. Lucy wasn’t just a murderer. She was involved in human trafficking and the thought sent a rage through him that left him frozen. “You threaten her again and you’ll finally see exactly what kind of man you raised.” He gets in her face, a darkness in his eyes she’s never had directed at her before.  

“Don’t you see, Andrew?” She says it in the voice of a concerned Mother teaching him something. “That’s exactly why she would do it.” That was it. That look of bitter understanding in his eyes and she knew she’d got him. 

She had been trying to cling to any last bits of control since he had gotten out of prison and spectacularly failed, she blamed you of course. But she was finally getting some control back. 

And she just couldn’t help herself, couldn’t stop there. She had to seal it in his mind. 

“The cops could turn her.” She triggers the memory of Cath, of what he did.

“I would never!” 

Smurf could see it in his eyes. That he would happily kill her in that moment. It didn’t hurt her though. She could bring him back. She always could, just needed some quality time with him without you in the way.

So she could slither her way into him mind again and make her home there more permanent. 

“Of course, you wouldn’t baby.” She reached up to stroke his hair but he snapped his head backwards, away from her. “But accidents happen.” 

The pair stood there Smurf looking far too pleased with herself and Andrew’s rage breaking him down inside. Every single insecurity he fought so hard against, that you’d fought so hard against, came back. 

“You move back home, stop seeing her and I’ll forget either of them ever existed.” 

She made it sound so simple. Like it wasn’t one of the worst things he could imagine.

Andrew had already thought about how he was going to kill Smurf. When he realised the truth about Baz. When everything started fucking up once she was out of jail. He didn’t know when. But he would. In a way that his brothers would’t know it was him. 

He couldn’t imagine a life without you but maybe it was time. Smurf was right in one way. He had been selfish to keep you a part of this for so long. 

He nods despite the way his mind is screaming at him. 

That this isn’t right. 

That you love him and he loves you. 

That he is worthy. 

That he can keep you safe. 

That everything will be okay. 

The voice sounds like you. 

And in the days that follow he hears you. He listens to you. He sits as still and silent as possible to try and repeat your intonations, that soft tone in his mind, the one that makes everything feel alright. 

It would be his secret. 

It would be his way of coping. 

Deran is the first person you see. He shouts through the door that he will literally break it down if you don’t answer which is the only reason you do after almost thirty minutes of him knocking, calling through the door and blasting your phone. 

“What the fuck is going on?” He says as he walks in. Seeing you, hair unbrushed, dark circles and a blank look in your eyes reminds him of a similar looking Pope he had just left. Bare foot, shirtless he’d walked to him and broken down. He had never seen his big brother like that. He had always had you to go to. It had shook Deran to see him like that. 

“What?” You ask as you walk past him to the small sitting area at the back of your apartment, Pope had built a fence for privacy. He’d laughed when you ‘made it pretty’ with flowers. 

Deran joins you there. “You and Pope?”

You stay staring ahead. “He said he can’t see me anymore.”

“Bull shit. This is Smurf you know that right?”

“Course I do, Deran.” You say irritably. 

“Then you know it won’t last. He can’t stay away from you. He’s a mess.” 

That hurt. You were so shared of how this could end. 

“I can’t force him to be with me. She’s fucked him up long before he found me. I tried.” Your voice wobbles and Deran sighs heavily. “Whatever she’s said this time… it’s took.” You knew deep down it was the same old Smurf, seeing him vulnerable after Lena and digging her claws in. 

“No.” Deran shakes his head. He doesn’t get it but you’re just too exhausted to try and explain the intricacies of the eldest Cody the way you understand them. Understand him.  

“He’s always thought he wasn’t good enough. She never told him otherwise.” Your face scrunches up as you try to stop yourself from crying. “None of you did.” You lash out instead. Not by shouting, not by screaming or blaming him. Just simply by saying the things you always wish you had. 

“Maybe you’re right.” Deran said and when you look over at him finally, tears in your eyes he looks just as sad. 

“You’re all good enough. You and Pope especially.” You smile over at him and he scoffs. He always knew you were his favourite of Pope’s brothers. 

“Don’t call him Pope. It’s weird.” He laughs and so do you despite yourself. “Get dressed. You need to get hammered. On me. Come on.” 

“No. I can’t.”

“Yes you can. What’s the use of owning a bar if I can’t get one of my favourite people drunk for free?” He doesn’t tell you that Pope made him promise he would look out for you. Make sure you were okay. Talk to you, make you understand what he did was for the best.

All Deran knew was that in no world was it okay for you and Pope to be apart. 

You turned down the bar so Deran sat with you outside. You drank beers until, exhausted you passed out after being helped to bed by him. 

When he leaves your place he see’s a familiar silhouette at the end of the complex, hidden slightly by the fence in your yard. The perfect spot where said person could see both doors and windows.  

He walks up to his brother. 

“You’re an idiot.” 

“Is she alright?” He doesn’t look away from where your bedroom window is lit up by the dim lamp you always left on when you were alone. 

“Of course, she’s not alright man.” Deran says exasperated by the both of you. “Why are you doing this?” 

“To keep her safe.” Pope says simply. “So she can have a normal life.” 

“A little fucking late, Pope. You’ve loved each other since you were kids. All you’re doing is fucking hurting her.” 

He didn’t attack him like Deran expected him to. That made it worse somehow. He just balled up his fist, the hand that was sporting the large gash he’d gotten when he lost it on the poor woman’s car. 

She was just wrong time and place. Caught the brunt of his splintering mind as she watched the glass shatter around her. He must have looked every bit the monster he was to her.

He wondered if you were the same. Wrong place. wrong time. All those years ago. 

If you hadn’t met the way you did, known him the way you do would you be scared of him? Would you have ran into him on a random afternoon when he lost control?

The pain of the cut reopening, the drip of the blood through his fingers wasn’t enough. 

He needed… no deserved to be punished for what he’d done. 

“I’m sorry.” Pope whispered. Deran knew it was for you. 

“Fuck this.” Deran rolled his eyes and left his brother stood there knowing he would stay stood there all night. 

Three months was the longest you hadn’t spoke to Andrew since you’d first met him decades ago. 

That didn’t mean he wasn’t still there. 

You saw his silhouette everywhere and sure at first you’d thought you were imagining it. Some trick of the mind showing you the thing you most wanted. But it soon became obvious he never really left. 

In the way the lightbulbs you kept forgetting to replace suddenly worked again. 

The way your gas tank was full when you had left for work earlier to give yourself time to refill because you knew it had been empty. 

The way your favourite houseplant had been trimmed, watered and turned towards the sun whilst you forgot. Whilst you were barely taking care of yourself. A sign that someone was rooting for you. 

Your ice trays are always full and the tangle of necklaces on your dresser are neatly laid out. 

Cash was tucked into bags and jackets that you knew wasn’t there before because he knows you haven’t been using their card. 

How could you? It was just a reminder of everything you could never have. 

The loose railing at work is fixed within 24 hours when you nearly slip down the stairs one day in a late rush.

Your alarm clock also ran ten minutes early from that day. But maybe you were crazy. Maybe they were just coincidences. But some things were too obvious. 

Like he wanted you to know it was him. 

You laugh and then break down crying at the sponge from your sink on the windowsill.

He was being less and less conspicuous as time went on.  

You’d finally been convinced to go out one night with your friend. Then the guy you’d met last time, the one that Andrew had scared away had been handsy, taken advantage of a drunk heartbroken woman. Lucky nothing more than him groping you had happened before your friend intervened.

The guy had a ‘fall’ that same night.

Ended up in the ER with a broken jaw, ribs and his right hand a mangled mess. 

Nobody really approached you after that. 

You were glad. 

You know the care crosses into control in ways that would only make sense to people who stopped having boundaries with each other a long time ago.

So of course you allowed it. 

Because you knew it must be helping him. 

You always knew it was him in a crowd, of course you did. As if you wouldn’t know him by the slope of his large shoulders. Even as you noticed them grow larger. The gait of him walking expertly in sync with you in one of those damn hoodies and a cap. 

He was as familiar as the sun to you. 

Deran told you that Andrew had started fighting again. Cage fighting in those grotty underground fights that Smurf put him in like a dog she wanted to get the aggression out of. 

He was the biggest you’d ever seen him. The shadow of him stood at your fence, larger, wider. The way he took up more space in the crowds. 

You got stronger too in your own way. You didn’t cry as much. You were still in pain. So much pain you couldn’t get out of bed sometimes but you carried on. 

Deep down you believed he would be back. 

You just had to survive until then.

You had caved a couple of times. A quick message here and there. 

You:

I hope you’re okay. 

I miss you. 

You: 

I’m not mad at you. 

I miss you. 

If it wasn’t for all the ways he was still so present, for the fact that you knew him better than you knew yourself you’d have left him be. 

There was a particularly bad storm one night and when there was a knock at the door your heart stuttered. The second you’d heard the first clap of thunder you’d thought of him. 

Knew he’d have thought of you too. 

All the times he helped you during those storms. How if the weather report warned of thunder and lightening he would be there with take out and a blanket. How if it came unexpectedly he’d drop everything, within reason to get to you. 

You had to force yourself to move. Each step a silent prayer. 

You answer the door and immediately burst into tears when you see Deran. 

He wraps you in his arms immediately and you cling onto him as he strokes the back of your head. 

“Shit, I’m sorry. I should have called first. He told me to come.”

Later when you’re sat on your couch Deran doesn’t dare tell you just how bad it’s actually gotten.

That Pope was borderline suicidal. Reckless and searching for violence in everything. 

That he was dazed and barely spoke a word. 

That he was basically a shell. 

That loosing Lena was enough to break him but loosing you was too much for him.

He knew it wound’t change anything. Would only make shit more painful for the both of you. 

“You wanna know a secret?” You ask Deran who nods. “I’m not even scared of storms. I was when I was a kid.” You smile with a far off look in your eyes. “I actually kind of like them now. I just never told him cos I liked that he’d always come. The only time he didn’t was when he was in prison or that time you were all in Mexico.” 

Deran just laughs and shakes his head at you. Wraps his arm around your shoulder so you can lean into him. 

He had become a rock for you and you for him. He told you more about his life than ever before, to distract you or just because he needed someone you weren’t sure but it helped. 

One thing he didn’t tell you was that he had gotten Pope to start working in the bar. Partly to keep him busy. 

Partly for free labour. And partly because he was convinced he would eventually be able to convince you to come. He wasn’t sure what kind of cupid shit he was playing at but he was so sure that if you just saw each other… really saw each other you wouldn’t be able to resist. 

Andrew had been near you pretty much every day since the last time he saw you. You just didn’t know it.

He’d seen you on your walks, wiping sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand, and had to resist the urge to pull over and chastise you for not having water.

He’d watched you struggle with the porch light for ten minutes before finally giving up. He came back later that night and fixed it himself.

Sometimes he parked down the street, or stand outside just to watch the silhouette of your body move behind the curtains as you wandered your house unable to sleep.

He knew your routines better than he should have. He always had. He was the type to notice every minuscule detail, any threat anyway but when it came to you it was second nature. 

Knew which windows you forgot to lock when you were tired. Knew you never checked the back seat before getting into your car.

Once, during a storm, he drove across at two in the morning because he suddenly remembered the kitchen window over your sink didn’t close all the way. Angry at being too distracted to have fixed it already. He stood in your dark kitchen dripping rainwater onto the floor while he forced it shut. Then he fixed it the next time you were at your parents house visiting. 

He replaced the batteries in your smoke detector before they could start chirping because he remembered the way that sound annoyed you. 

He started taking the same trail two cars behind yours after a man stared at you for too long one evening.

Your tires never stayed low for long anymore. Your favourite snacks never ran out.

It was pathetic, probably.

The way he still moved through the world like your safety belonged to him. Like loving you had rewired some primitive part of his brain permanently.

Even now, even away from you, he still caught himself scanning parking lots, imagining you walking through them alone. Still checked weather alerts and thought about whether your tires could handle the rain. 

Still woke up in the middle of the night certain he’d heard your voice.

But he hadn’t planned for this. Sat at the bar talking to Deran. No doubt a scheme from his younger brother. 

He didn’t get it. He didn’t know Smurf had had Baz killed, not definitely. Didn’t see the glint in her eyes as she threatened your safety. 

Fury at his brother rose in him until you stood up and he saw you were wearing a new dress. His rage floated away on the hem of it as it brushed just above your knee. 

It was a dress he’d never seen before. White cotton. You were slightly more tanned than usual. He had noticed you sat out more now.

His angel. 

As always. 

You started walking towards the door he was peeping through the window of and he ducked down. He lifted back up just in time to see you disappear into the corridor with the storage room and like a man possessed he followed you. 

He see’s the edge of the white dress disappear around the door, he can smell your perfume and remember the way your eyes look into his. Seeing all the things he’s begged people to see before but didn’t. Never mattered as much that they didn’t once you had. 

He can’t look into those eyes right now, can’t bare to. 

But he needs you. He always will.

Slipping into the room behind you before the door shuts he hears you curse at the loss of light. It makes his chest ache at the thought of you being worried. It’s pitch black but he finds you. Thinks about how he always would. 

You gasp as he steps behind you, his chest against your back. 

“Shh. It’s just me, sweetheart.” He whispers against your skin as he burrows into your neck. Knowing the hypocrisy of him telling you not to be scared of a monster but you were someone who would never ever need to be scared of him. 

“Andrew…” You sigh in relief but his hand slides up to cover your mouth. 

“Shh…” He silences you gently, recognises the sad edge in your voice and it will break him. 

One solid arm is around your waist until it slides up, over your breasts to rest on your chest, feeling your heart and swearing it beats the same rhythm as his.

His hands are all over you, he fists the cotton skirt of your dress into his hands as he wraps his arms around you. He doesn’t kiss you, just buries his face into the crook of your neck. Over the shell of your ear, your hairline… breathing you in. Three months without you this close felt like another three years. In another life he wouldn’t have left your side for a second. 

He’s trembling and you reach down to cover his hands with your own. He lets you lace your fingers with his and he moans softly in your ear at the simple touch.

You don’t stop him when his hands trace patterns on your inner thighs making your knees weak but he just pulls you closer to him. Pushing you softly against the shelving unit. He’s memorising the feel of you under his palms, giving himself this one moment of weakness. If you’ll let him. 

There was no question about it. You’d give him anything he wanted if he just stayed. Never wanting the moment to end. 

“Miss you…” He murmurs as he pushes his forehead against your shoulder. You try to turn wanting to face him but he doesn’t let you.

“I miss you so much…” Just as much pain in your voice that it makes his eyes and throat burn as he forces away the tears. 

The hard lines of his body press against yours and you feel how much more solid he is, bigger than you think you’ve ever known him and you so badly want to look at him. Tell him how good he looks but you don’t want to compliment something caused by his violent distractions. 

You slide your hands over the muscles in his forearms instead as he tries to almost fuse your bodies together. One hand slides up his arm to reach behind you and when your fingers stroke through his hair, nails scratching gently into his scalp he turns his face into you, leaving desperate kisses down the back of your neck. 

You shiver against him as one of his hands disappears under your skirt to stroke gently just above your panties. That silent question brings tears to your eyes and you nod as you push his hand further down. All the permission he needs and his hand slides into your panties, straight down to your slit. 

The noise he let out was low and involuntary. The kind you knew him to make when he was trying his best to behave. He can never believe how wet you are. For him. 

You had been the second you felt his chest against your back, heard that rough voice in your ear. 

He sucks gently on your neck as you give yourself over to him. He rubs around your slit to gather the wetness, his thick fingers parting your folds, wasting no time before rubbing maddening circles on your clit. You moan and you head falls back onto his shoulder as his other hand joins, fingers delving into you, his strong arms a vice around you, keeping you in place. Keeping you stable.

“Please…” You beg but you aren’t even sure what for. For his words… for an orgasm… for fucking anything from him. 

“Can I fuck you? Please.” He asks in a pathetic voice that has you clenching around his fingers. “You can say no. I don’t deserve you… You’re so beautiful.” 

“I’m yours, handsome. Always yours.” 

Something about that confirmation flicks a switch in him and no sooner has he pulled his hands out of your panties you hear the cling of his belt. His zip lowering before he pushed the skirt of your dress up your back, gently guiding you to bed over slightly. 

You’re shaking with need when he pushes into you in one long stroke, knowing you can take him. 

“I’m sorry…” He whispers but his voice isn’t as tortured as before.

His pace is fast, frenzied as he fucks into you hard, the new muscle and weight of him behind you, the shelving unit rattling in front of you. You feel him gather the material of your dress, twisting it. Feel it tighten as he wraps it around his wrist and knuckles, using it to pull you back into him. 

You can only moan imagining how his hand and arm looks doing it. 

He’s whispering incoherent things that you can’t make out, no matter how hard you try to quieten your little gasps every time his hips push against your ass. 

“You’re mine. No matter what. You’re mine.” He growls in your ear as he bends over you fisting your ponytail in his hand before straightening back up.

He pulls gently on your ponytail again, drawing you back against his chest until there’s not an inch of space left between you. The sudden closeness punches a helpless sound from your throat. You feel yourself tighten around him instantly.

Even in the dark he knows you’re close. 

His hand stays wrapped loosely in your hair, patient, guiding, until your neck arches back fully against him, the crown of your head settling between his broad pecs. You can feel the weight and warmth of him everywhere now. His chest rising behind you with heavy breaths.

If it wasn’t pitch black you know he would be looking down at you, eyes dark and fill of lust.

Then his mouth brushes softly against your forehead.

A kiss so gentle whilst he pounds into you it undoes you completely.

You come with a broken cry, body trembling against his, and he groans quietly at the feeling of it, pulling you even tighter against him like instinct.

“Yeah… that’s it, sweetheart,” he murmurs against your ear, rough voice shaking. “Fuck, you feel so good for me.”

His hand slips from your ponytail only to wrap around you again, secure and heavy, holding you through it while his breathing turns uneven against your skin. You feel yourself getting wetter, gushing as you come around him, milking his cock so well that he can’t help but come inside you. 

His cock is pulsing inside you and you whine as you both feel the aftershocks. 

He’s collapsed against you, breathing heavily against the nape of your neck leaving kisses wherever he can reach. Allowing himself this time to pretend that nothing else outside of you exists.

“Shit… I’m s…sorry.” You hear him from behind you before he pulls out of you, putting your dress and panties back into place. It feels so unlike what you’re used to from him afterwards. You tense, not even turning, steeling yourself for what you know is coming. The moment he leaves again. 

“It’s okay…” You whisper as he fixes himself.

“Im so sorry.” He says softly. He’s just stood there behind you and you spin so quick your weakened legs almost falter but he steadies you. His large hands strong and painfully familiar. You tilt your head up and his lowers, his forehead finding yours like he couldn’t have stopped himself if he tried. And when you both exhale, softly, pure relief he presses his face against yours. 

Cheek to cheek like you fit into the indents of him and him to you. His grip tightens on your waist as his lips brush the corner of your mouth ever so slightly but then he pulls away. Abruptly with gritted teeth like it’s painful not to kiss you. 

And then he’s gone. He knows he has to before he forgets why he has to. 

You stand in the dark hearing him shouting, hear a loud crash from the kitchen and open the door to peek out. 

“You don’t get it Deran! She…I CAN’T let anything happen to her. Not because of me.” You hear Andrew shouting before everything goes too quiet for you to hear anything and you use the moment to slip out of the bar. 

You don’t cry. 

You think about how he’s still there. Still orbiting you in all the ways that matter. Her claws weren’t as deep as you thought. 

And for the first time in months, the ache inside you feels a little close to hope.

A lot of surprising things had happened to you in your life. It was anything but boring being so heavily involved with a Cody. But nothing. And you mean nothing had ever surprised you as much as seeing Smurf at your door a few days later. 

She’s in a casual grey hoodie. Very unlike herself. She looks worn out. 

“How do you know where I live?” Is the only thing you can think of to say. 

“Baby I’ve always known where you live.” She scoffs and you can tell she’s a little drunk. Great. She walks into your home like she owns the place in true Smurf fashion. Just side steps past you into your apartment. 

What’s Andrews is hers, you suppose. 

She looks around before heading to the kitchen and the way she looks around before doing so at least gives you some security that she hadn’t been inside before. 

“You win.” She sighs as she drops into one of your dining chairs, the same one Baz had been in. The memory felt like an ice cold rod down your spine. 

“What the fuck are you talking about.” You ask you sit across from her. Not wanting her shit. It had been a hard three months. 

“He needs you. Not me.” She leans back in her chair before pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.  “He’s been a wreck without you. You might think I’m a selfish bitch but I love my sons. I can’t watch my baby boy like this anymore.”

You study her. The silence long enough for her to need to flick ash into your houseplant twice. The one Andrew had paid special attention to keeping alive you. One thing you had learnt during your time with this family was to never take anything this woman said with face value. 

Something had happened. Something that Smurf couldn’t control. Smurf would not be admitting this if not. 

“What did you say to him? To make him stay away?” You say it with such certainty that that is the only reason he would have that she rolls her eyes. 

She looks mad but there’s something else in her eyes that looks a lot like shame. She just shrugs like she wants it to be known she doesn’t care. That what she’s about to say doesn’t affect her. 

“Told him he was going to get you hurt… or killed.”  You’d suspected something along those lines. “Told him I’d forget that Lena and you existed if he didn’t see you again and moved back home.” 

“Fuck Smurf you never fail to amaze me with how astoundingly fucked up you are.” You knew it was something. But hearing what had made all the progress you’d made crash down broke your heart. 

“I have cancer.” She says it like she’s telling you she has a nail appointment. 

You freeze. Not sure what to say.

“We might not see eye to eye but Andrew’s gonna need you when I’m gone.” The look in her eye, not vulnerable but as close as she got made you see her in a way you hadn’t for a very long time. A mother. “Sure as hell not leaving him with that junkie Angela.” 

“What?” Your heart stutters. 

Angela. 

You probably hated her only a little less than Smurf. Her and Julia had become friends around the same time you first met Andrew before you’d even met his family. Even from a young age you could read her. Always out for what she could gain. Whether it was Andrew’s violence or Julia’s generosity. The Cody reputation. 

She’d kissed Andrew when they were younger since they were the same age. You remembered fully hating her from the second Julia told you about it. She hated you back because Andrew never left your side and that’s what she wanted. She was poison just like Smurf. Just a different strain. Not as potent but still something to avoid.

 It didn’t stay a childish hatred though. 

She eventually was the reason Julia’s addiction spiralled. She was one of the people who poisoned Julia against you when you were the only one she let help her. 

The thought of her around Andrew. Around J made your blood boil. 

The glint in Smurfs eyes made it all clear. 

“Don’t worry, baby there’s nothing going on there. He’s only ever had eyes for you. She’s just hanging around him, using him for a place to stay. She hasn’t changed. But he’s vulnerable so he can’t see it.” 

“That bitch has always been able to smell any vulnerability a mile off.” 

Smurf smirks around her cigarette as she nods. As if she’s not exactly the same. Just better at it. 

“He’s probably just trying to help her… like he didn’t Julia.” 

Smurf smiles. “You’ve always known my Andrew. Only other person besides me who knows what’s going on inside that head of his.”  You want to argue. 

You don’t. 

She can tell you have so much you want to say and aren’t. She laughs again. 

“You’re smart. You weren’t like all the other floozies the boys brought home. I liked that.” She stubs out the cigarette in the soil and you immediately pull it out and stand to throw it through the window. 

You snort as you sit back down. “You never liked me.” 

She just shrugs slightly with a smirk. “And you never liked me.”

“We agree on something then.” 

She laughs before she stands up. You had never heard this woman laugh as much in your entire life. 

Your eyes meet hers, and something settles between you both. Not a truce exactly. Just an understanding that he was the most important thing.

“Come on. I want that conniving bitch out of my house.”  

“I can’t just turn up.” You say. Part of you is worried he will still turn you away through fear. 

“Sure you can.” She turns to look at you. Straight faced and serious. “You’re family.” There’s something about the way she says it. Like it’s just a statement or order maybe? To look after him. As if she had ever had to tell you to do that. “I’ll wait in the car.”

“What the fuck.” You whisper as she leaves. 

That was never something you thought you’d hear from that woman’s mouth. 

“She’ll be in the kitchen making a god damn mess.” Smurf tells you as enter the house. “I’ll be by the pool if you need me.” She says sarcastically. You knew her and you would be business as usual now. 

Your heart is racing when you walk into the kitchen. Not sure how the sight of Andrew and Angela would feel. The small insecurity, that what if… what if he didn’t choose you. 

The other reason your heart was racing was the fact that you might have Andrew back in your arms tonight. Finally. 

The second you saw her, alone, thankfully all you saw was red. She was making herself at home like she always had.

When she spotted you her face fell and you couldn’t help but smirk. 

“Miss me?” You say sarcastically. 

“Should have known you wouldn’t be gone for long.” She sighs like she’s extremely put out by your appearance. Good.

“Should have known you’d come try to leach of the Cody’s some more.” 

“I came to find Julia.”

“Cut the shit. You expect me to believe you didn’t know she was dead?” 

“I was in jail.” Her mannerisms were still that of a moody teenage girl and you knew for certain she hadn’t changed. 

“Exactly.” You say. It was all the same people, all the same circles of course she heard about her best friend dying. You were livid. “Pack your shit.” You cant deny you have more confidence knowing Smurf agreed.

“No. Pope wants me here.” 

You grit your teeth and let out an exhale, trying to stay calm. 

“Andrew is trying to be nice to his dead twin sister’s best friend. You know why? Cos he’s actually a good person.” 

Angela scoffs. 

“Don’t fucking laugh.” You spit. “You don’t know him. You see a place to stay and an easy way to score.” 

“I’m sober.” You don’t believe her. You shrug your shoulders and shake your head. 

“I honestly don’t give a fuck.” You walk up to her slowly until you’re right in front of her “You’re done using this family.” 

“You always thought you were better than us all. You stuck up bitch. Mommy and daddy paid for everything. You’ve no idea what a hard life is. I understand him in a way you never could.”

Angela’s getting angry now and it’s because she knows, she remembers that Andrew has always and will always choose you. 

You just shake your head. “You know nothing about me.” Your family were by no means rich, it was always pay check to pay check which is why they couldn’t help you when pope was in prison. You didn’t want them worrying. “It’s actually Andrew that pays for everything. Won’t take no for an answer.” You grin as she looks at you like she wants to claw at you. 

He doesn’t. Not everything but she doesn’t need to know that and you just want to make her mad.

“Pack. Your. Shit.” You growl, a glare Andrew would be proud of. “Or I’ll do it.” 

“You’re a fucking bitch. Julia always hated you.”

“No she didn’t.” You laugh in her face because you know it’s not true. You loved Julia. And she had loved you. 

Andrew and Julia’s bond went beyond anybodies, you’d always known that. Never tried to touch it. She was just happy to have someone else who cared about him. 

“You better get out of my face, sweetie you’ve no idea what I’ve had to do to survive in the last two years.” Angela says.

“Make me.” You say and just as Angela pulls back her arm Andrew’s large figure appears behind her grabbing her arm with a grip that makes her cry out. 

“Don’t you fucking dare.” He growls. 

It’s the first time you’ve seen him in three months and instantly you notice how sad he looks. How the scowl that he wore around everyone else had deepened. Noticed the faded bruise on his cheekbone and the healing cut above his eyebrow.  

You were right. He is bigger. More solid. He uses that strength as he drags Angela into one of the bedrooms you assume she’d been staying in and pushes her in so hard she bounces off the wall. “You heard her… pack your shit.” He slams the door behind her so hard you feel the floor shake. 

And then he walks back over to you looking you up and down. Making sure you’re okay. Making sure you’re real after aching for you every second you were apart. You close the gap between you both, reaching out for him.

You feel like you’re back where you both started as he looks at you with those sad eyes like he’s expecting you to laugh and tell him you’re joking. He looks every bit the kicked puppy backed into a corner unsure if the hand reaching was to harm or to heal. 

You could tell the last few months, loosing Lena, loosing you, Smurfs manipulation back tenfold only to find out she had cancer had splintered his mind in some way. 

The confidence you’d helped him build piece by piece gone and all you could think was where to start. How to build him back up like you had done time and time again. His eyes fall shut as he pushes his face into your palm. 

“I thought you said she doesn’t get to say how things are supposed to be, huh?” Angela’s agitating voice comes from behind him and he tenses. His hands going to your waist, he doesn’t even turn to acknowledge her, just makes sure he’s blocking you. “But she is?” 

“I think you already got your answer.” Smurf says from the open door. You can only imagine how pleased with herself she looks. Andrew does move then, turns instinctively to face her not letting you move beside him when you try. 

“You guys are still just as fuckin’ weird.” Angela shouts, defeated. You watch her leave, glaring back her. 

The front door slams. 

“Hallelujah.” Smurf sighs. “Well done, baby.” Only then does Andrew let you step out beside him. A confused look on his face. You look down at the floor suddenly feeling like you had betrayed him in some way by helping Smurf. But you would explain. 

“You don’t need to worry, okay baby?” She’s talking to Andrew now. “Our deal still stands.” She looks over at me. “But me and her have our own now.” 

You nod slowly. Unsure if you’d done the right thing. 

When she leaves you turn to him wringing your hands. “I’m sorry.” You say. “I know this must look…”

“I heard everything you said to Angela.” He says simply. His mouth pinches up in one corner, his eyes worried. “You aint got to be sorry… I do…” 

You shake your head pulling him into you, hands stroking through his hair and rubbing his back comfortingly. 

“Shhh… it’s okay, handsome.” You shush him. His arms just hang by his sides but not in a way that he doesn’t want to hold you. Just that he doesn’t feel like he deserves to and you realise you’ve really got your work cut out for you this time. “She told me everything.” 

He cries as his arms finally wrap around you so tightly that momentarily the air pushes out of you but you say nothing. Just hold him. 

As you turn your head in the embrace you see Smurf outside laid on her sun lounger, bathed in darkness. Her face remains unreadable, but the resignation in her eyes is impossible to miss. The kind that comes from realizing some things were decided long before you ever tried to stop them.

You and Andrew had woven yourselves too tightly into each other to ever come apart cleanly.

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[bunniebrains]

Full time party girl, part time daughter.

In which: Bruce Waynes daughter, Y/N Wayne is a full time party girl. Club hopper, party animal, hedonist. Whatever you want to call it. To full the void her father left, she turns to nightclubs, dingy bars and basement raves.

Chapter eleven. If I get high.

Fic masterlist!

cw: Reader is in hospital, breathing machines/masks, medical talk, inaccurate medical information (i tried but im not a doctor), mentions of addiction, mentions of underage drinking, Reader has bad mental health, reader undergoes a mental health evaluation- suicidal talk, depressive thoughts, reader is not well mentally, mentions of trauma. - I DO NOT CONDONE OR SUPPORT ANY UNDERAGE DRINKING OR SMOKING, stay safe stay in school

Jason runs his hand through his hair with a long face. He grits his teeth and sucks a mouthful of air through the cage in his mouth. “Alright, sit down. It’s a long story.”

No one dares to break the silence. Not yet. If they left it unbroken, they could pretend they hadn’t heard what you just said. Everyone could live in la la land, where nothing went wrong and no one ever had to confront anything that made them uncomfortable. 

You look from the left of the room to the right and take in the strange picture. From your left, Damian perches on the edge of a blue plastic chair, Dick hovers behind him, Alfred by his side, and finally Bruce, who looks like he’s just seen a ghost.

His grip is tight, as if you might float away, and that feels stupid because you’ve never felt so heavy. Every bone in your body is an anchor tethering you to the bed. Even though it hurts a little, you don’t want him to let go. He hasn’t held you like this before, like you meant something. 

You think about saying something smart like ‘well I’m already sat down’ or, ‘it’s not like i can go anywhere else’ but your throat is too sore. It’s a strange feeling, not scratchy like a cough, more like graze. It feels like a scrapped knee. Inside you. 

Tim’s eyes dart from Jason, to you, to Bruce. He’s searching for something. You know his tells. The same way he knows yours. Sometimes better than you do. Does Tim know this guy too?

Dick shatters the silence. 

“This is Jason-”

“She knows his name.” Damian is the second to break it. His posture is similar to a cat moments before jumping off a ledge. Poised but hesitant. “She just said it, Grayson.” He’s never defended you like this before, if that's what you could call this.

“Both of you shut up.” Jason groans. He exhales, his shoulders tightening up, and then he begins. “I’m Jason.” He says it like it’s supposed to mean something. When you don’t get the hint, he continues. “Todd.” It rings a bell but it doesn’t connect any dots yet. Trying to remember anything feels like flying a kite. You’ll get a running start, and it’ll take off, but then the wind disappears and the kite falls. 

All eyes are on you. Again. This whole thing starts to feel like a monkey's paw. You used to be afraid of that story when you read it in the Manor’s library. It went something like this- A married couple are gifted a mummified monkey’s paw. They are told that each finger of the Monkey’s paw can grant a wish, but it will have disastrous consequences. The husband wishes for money. The next day, his son dies at work, but he gets bereavement pay from his son’s employer. 

When you think about the story, you remember the tiny note written at the bottom of the first blank page. Property of Jason Todd. Return if found. No. That doesn’t make any sense. 

“What?” That's all you can say. You don’t have time to think of a smarter question. 

“Just listen to him.” Tim urges with a tone that borders on patronising. 

“I used to- shit this is hard to explain. Okay. My name is Jason. When I was a kid I lived ‘round Crime alley. Bruce took me in. But I… I ran away, and didn’t come home. But I’m back now.” 

Even under the influence of the medicine, you can smell that bullshit from a mile away. “But you died. Right?” You turn to Alfred in hopes he would back you up, but instead he just gives Bruce a look, a silent message, and says nothing. 

“Jason died. You told me he died. And that doesn’t-” You cut yourself off with a violent cough, one that rattles through you like sharp wind in tunnel. It reverberates loudly thanks to the oxygen mask on your face, making it sound worse than it was. Everyone lurches at once. Like that would do anything. You want to swat them away, but a tiny part of you tells you that if you push them away now, they’ll never come back. You wanted this right? 

You rip the mask off your face and let it dangle around your neck. The first hit of fresh air is magical. Not perfectly fresh, it tastes stale, but it’s a welcome change.

“That doesn’t explain Damian.” you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand when your coughing fit stops. You feel gross. This isn’t the first time you’ve woken up and felt disgusting. Some days you wake up with smeared makeup and new bruises. Sometimes it's in someone else’s bed. But there’s always a cloud of shame. Over time it’s become something akin to a friend in the sense that it’s familiar, and you know it will always be there.

“Why did you tell me he died?” This time your eyes are on Bruce. Something shifts behind his eyes. Not pity or disappointment. Something else you can’t point. “At the time, we thought he did.” He moves his hand from your shoulder and adjusts the neck of the hospital gown. When you took it off, the cord of the oxygen mask had caught on the edge of the neckline. 

He noticed. His movements are slow and tactile, painfully comforting. You could’ve had this before. There could’ve been a world where he held you with that same gentleness, but you weren’t in that world. 

“We didn’t know how to explain it to you.” He concludes. “I thought that, given your past, you’d find it overwhelming.” You want to cry. Or scream. Or hit someone, maybe even yourself. Why does everyone treat you like you’re stupid? 

“How does Damian know him then? Didn’t you think he’d find it ‘overwhelming’?” 

Damian’s posture straightens like he was anticipating a move. “I asked.” He says simply. 

“Oh so it’s my fault for not knowing? Sorry, let me understand this- I was supposed to go up to Bruce and ask ‘hey is Jason still dead or did he crawl out of the grave and come home?’ Is that what you’re telling me?” The room goes uncomfortably quiet. 

Oh no. No no no. It’s going to happen. They’re going to leave you. You pissed them off. That’s why they’ve shut up. The Monkey’s paw. Behind you, the heart monitor starts to escalate. Your chest feels breathless. But you can’t move. 

Alfred clears his throat. He breaks from the crowd around you and ushers Bruce out of his spot without a word. Bruce complies. When Alfred sits, he picks the mask you tore off and holds it to you. Not an order. But you both know it’s not a question. Your fingers shake when you try and put it back on so he has to help. 

“I think it would be best if everyone gave you some space. For a minute” 

The men, and Damian, take the hint. One by one, they slowly filter out. Dick offers a small smile before he goes. Damian straightens out your blanket but doesn’t look at you. Tim delivers an awkward side hug, careful not to touch the equipment around you. Jason does a slight nod, the kind you give a stranger when you hold the door open for them. Bruce is the last to go. He squeezes your hand and stands up. Hesitates. Then his hand holds the side of your face and he plants the smallest kiss on the top of your head. 

You freeze. This has never happened before. Not with him. Ever. Burning tears start to bloom in the corners of your eyes. He leaves before they grow. 

Alfred starts to stand but your hand darts out and holds onto his sleeve. “Don’t go.” He sits back down and gives Bruce a nod. Then the door closes. 

“Good save.” Dick’s sarcasm is laced with anxiety. No one could’ve planned what just happened. Unfortunately for you, you live with detectives who live double lives 24/7. They created that story on the spot. This wasn’t the first time they’d run with a fake story. Undercover work wasn’t anything new, but this was different. “Ran away? Really Jason?”

“What else was I supposed to say?” Jason chides. He tries not to let his face show it, but he’s scrambling. He’d only ever seen you under the influence, so he hadn’t expected you to be so sharp when sober. This was the first time he’s seen you string together coherent sentences without slurring or stammering. 

A lot of things were clicking into place. You had told him about your brothers, now he could put a face, or faces, to the names. The Oolder brother who doesn’t really like you’ was Dick. He pins Tim as the ‘Only nice one’, and all signs for ‘The one who is embarrassed of you’ point to Damian. You never named them, he reasoned you didn’t want to give all your personal life to the big bad Red Hood. Maybe if he pressed you would’ve spilled, but then what good would that have done? 

“You think she’d be completely fine with the pit? That wouldn’t raise any questions at all.” He mirrors Dick’s sarcasm but the nervous edge Dick flavoured it with is gone, instead Jason peppers his bite with venom. 

Bruce clears his throat and all eyes go to him. Jason feels his shoulders rising, squaring up against a potential threat from Bruce. Like a junkyard dog moments before being thrown into a fighting ring. Bite or get bit. Though they were mostly cordial now, not like how it used to be, there was always a part of him that told him he had to always be ready for anything. To get ready to kick and bite. Sometimes that part felt so big that he wondered if it was a part of him, or if this was him. 

“We’re going with Jason’s story.” He decides. And then it’s law. “Jason left, and now he’s back.” It isn’t a perfect story, but he thinks it will pacify you for now. 

He did love you, he does love you even, but in a broken way. When hasn’t Bruce loved someone in a broken way? Instead of holding you and telling you every day that you were enough, he left you to your own devices. He wants to lie and say it was out of nobility, that he believed it was the most ethical choice, but it wasn’t. Every time he smelt the alcohol on your breath, or saw the bruises on your legs and arms, when he caught your eye and saw how spaced out your pupils were, it reminded him of everything he was. 

Self destruction. Trying to escape yourself. Filling an endless void with material goods, with drinks and drugs, just for the hole to deepen. Being surrounded by people but feeling like you're alone in a lifeboat in a cold and uncaring sea. The eyes that dissect your every move. Chasing pleasure from people you won’t remember thinking that’ll change something, and when it doesn’t, you just find someone else and try again. 

You were both in that lifeboat. In the vast unfeeling ocean, and you were clinging to him, begging him to pull you up. There’s a boat in the distance, a ship, salvation. He flags it over. When the boat comes, he climbs the rope ladder. You reach to be pulled up. If he takes your hand, you could lose your balance and fall in. So he leaves you. From the deck, he looks down on your lifeboat. You’re alone. If he lowers the rope back down, it means he’ll have to get back into the boat. He leaves the ladder dangling from the side, an open invitation to a party, but there is no one to escort you there. 

Every time he took someone under his wing, they broke. But, at least they could break together. He left you to fall apart all by yourself. If you were going to drown in that sea, he should’ve held your hand and sunken with you. 

But you were sinking. Every night you were drowning yourself in a bottle. You had called for help, leaving your proverbial SOS in the sky. Leaving empty bottles in plain sight. Cigarette butts on your windowsill. Eating breakfast in front of him with dark eyebags. 

You were shot in front of him. 

Even though you cried and begged not to die, he knew that look. Relief. Maybe your conscious brain couldn’t register it, but he’s certain that subconsciously you knew you’d die if you ran down that alley.

He’ll drop the ship’s anchor. He’ll climb down the rope ladder and pull you up, out of that darkness. He’ll pull you onto the ship’s deck and hoist the ladder back up, so you’ll never go down again. The storm will calm, and the waters will still. 

Bruce exhales, freeing himself from the image. Today, it will change. 

Alfred keeps fretting with the cord of the mask, adjusting it over and over again so it fits snugly without digging into your skin. You want to enjoy the attention, but you can’t focus on anything. Since you woke up, there’s been this… itch. If you can call it that. Like fingernails scratching at your chest from the inside. Everytime you think about the alley, it comes back. When you think about anything but the present, the scratching starts. You’ve felt anxiety before, you’ve had a handful of acid induced panic attacks before, but this feels so much worse. Like the breath in your lungs is slowly being siphoned off by invisible claws. 

Neither of you speak, just enjoying the silence. Well, you aren’t enjoying it, but it’s easier than talking. Everything takes effort, breathing, blinking, thinking. You wonder if you’ve actually woken up, or if you’re still dreaming. 

“You know you’re lucky, don’t you?” Alfred cracks the silence. There’s a tone in his voice. It makes you want to cry immediately. Normally you’re better at hiding that. But when doing literally anything takes effort, it’s easier for the dam to burst. The tears roll down and trickle around the mask, not breaking the seal. Alfred looks taken aback, instead of continuing his lecture, he just thumbs away the tears. 

The anger you felt at your family, for hiding such a big lie, is still hot, but not like fire, like boiling water. It bubbles and rages inside you, but it isn’t quick hot anger, it's a slow, wet kind. The kind that makes you upset for feeling angry. Like a child regretting their temper tantrum after they’ve been put in timeout. 

You lift your head when the door opens again, thinking it’ll be the gaggle of men and boys, but instead a single doctor comes in. His clipboard is snug against his chest and he walks like he’s being watched. That’s when you see a shorter doctor behind him, she carries herself with grace and controlled confidence. 

They greet you but it feels stiff. Something’s wrong. The scratching gets worse. “Good morning Miss Wayne.” the taller one greets, his voice a little shaky. He looks like he’s five minutes from imploding under stress. “How’re you feeling?” 

It takes you a moment to find the words. “Fine. My throat hurts.” You’ve never liked going to the doctors. “My stomach hurts too. But I mean I was shot, so.” Trying to find the humour in the situation backfires because Alfred tuts. That signature, ‘you’re better than this’ tut. 

“Considering..?” Alfred pries. 

The doctor seems to find it funny at least. The taller one gives a small smile and checks the clipboard again before looking back up to meet your eyes. “Well your charts look… surprisingly good. Considering everything else.” 

“Her, uh, condition on intake. Although we can’t trust these charts 100%, there could still be some floating in her system. But all things considered, you’re looking well. But uh, we’ve- uh”’

“I’ll say it.” The short one pipes up, clearly irritated by his stuttering. She takes the board from it and clasps her hands together in front of her. “Miss Wayne, we want to keep you under observation for another seventy-two hours after you’ve healed from your surgery."

“What? You said I was fine-” Alfred takes your hand in his, a silent grounder. The scratching ramps up. “I’m not sick, I didn’t break anything. You already did surgery on me, right? Look, I just want to go home.” 

“This isn’t about the surgery.” Her voice is clipped but there’s a softer ring to it. She’s exercising restraint. “We’re concerned about your substance intake. If you drink, or take recreational substances while on the medication we’ve prescribed for you, I’m not going to beat around the bush, it could turn lethal. Do you understand that? If you continue to abuse your body, you’ll die. We want to keep you under observation to make sure you put yourself in danger.”

Humiliation burns through your core. This is rock bottom. You feel like you’re back in school, getting told off for not doing your homework in front of the whole class. You wish you didn’t ask Alfred to stay. Having him hear this makes everything feel so much worse. 

You really are the worst daughter ever. No wonder they don’t want you. God if Mother could see you now she wouldn’t recognise you. She’d leave you too. If she wasn’t dead, she’d have left you. 

“How long do I have to stay?” Your voice is shaky and embarrassing. 

“Depends on how quick your stitches take to heal up. After that, we’ll keep you on some antibiotics, and once you’ve finished the course, you’ll be okay to go home.” The taller one pipes up. 

When you don’t reply, but instead just nod, they take their leave. “Someone will come by later and ask you some questions. Don’t think too deeply, just answer them honestly.” The shorter one finishes. “I hope you’ll feel better soon.” And you believe she means it. 

The group is divided. Jason and Damian come in just after the Doctors leave. Jason still looks uncomfortable. You wish you could’ve met under different circumstances. It would be nice to be alone. Or make a better first impression. He stands in the back of the room, not making any first moves, so you end up being the first to try and break the ice. 

“I’m not normally like this.” You broach weakly. “I mean, I don’t dress like this normally.” Sheepishly gesturing to the hospital gown and mask. “I’m Y/N.” 

Jason bites back a quick ‘I know’ and instead just dips his head. “Yeah, well, weird circumstances.” he summarises. You notice the scuff marks on his jacket. His clothes don’t look new and pristine like everyone else’s. They’re clearly lived in. The leather is old and worn, with discoloured patches on the elbows. He must work with his hands. 

“I like your jacket.” You try. A tiny, almost invisible, smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. 

“Nah, this thing? It’s ancient. Bet it’s older than Damian.”

Damian’s always envied how easily you connect with people. Something so simple as a trivial compliment, and you’ve already started hacking away at Jason’s icy walls. You had a charm that he lacked, and that drove him mad. How are you able to be so likable, even now when you’re practically strapped down to a bed, unwashed and dressed in thin, flatout ugly attire? 

“How come you two know each other? I know I asked but you didn’t really answer.” You try again. 

“His Mom knew mine. I left home to find her but, well it’s done now.” He puts his hands in his pockets. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be, you didn’t do anything.” He scoffs. 

“Where are the others?” Alfred asks, finally standing up and stretching his legs. You wonder how long he waited for you to wake up. How many hours had he been by your side?

“Outside getting air.” Damian clips. He’s sat back on the same chair he was before he left, right by the bed. 

“Tim’s vaping, isn’t he?” You muse, a tiny laugh fighting it’s way out. God you’d kill for a vape right now. You normally hate it, and tease Tim for 'not committing to real tobacco', but you’d do anything for a hit. Something to damp down the scratching anxiety. 

“Yeah.” Jason makes a noise, something like a laugh but more subtle, like he’s surprised you can still joke in this situation. 

“I’m going to join Master Bruce. Some fresh air will do me good.” Alfred lets go of your hand and you miss the warmth when it slips away. You feel so cold. “I’ll be back soon.” he promises, then closes the door behind him. 

Great. Now you’re stuck with Jason and Damian. You had turned Jason, or rather the vague concept of Jason, into an imaginary friend for years and vented to the fictitious friend about anything and everything. Now he was real, and old, and breathing. Old was a stretch, older is the right word. Part of you felt guilty for warping him into something he wasn’t. He wasn’t yours, it was wrong to impose an identity onto him when he wasn’t there. But it was nice to have a friend that couldn’t leave, or hurt you. 

When the door closes, the shift in the air causes the book peeking out of Tim’s backpack to fall out and hit the ground. You didn’t realise he left it there. Then you recognise the cover, it was the same book you were struggling to get through the other day. The one you were trying to read to pass the time before you went to Roy’s. 

Jason bent down to put it back, but when he saw the cover he paused. He turned it over in his hands, checking the back, then looked up at you. “This yours?” 

“Yeah.” you admitted with a twinge of embarrassment. It was below your reading level. You found it in the library one day and held on to it. It was a little older than what you were used to, to the prose and language was harder to understand. 

“No way. I used to love this one.” He handed it to you with care, like the pages would fly out. During your walks with Red Hood, you never mentioned reading. 

“Really?” He swore he could see something in your posture shift, like you were getting less afraid of him by the minute. “I haven’t gotten super into it yet. Is it good?” 

He starts a small rant about it. Jason doesn’t get to talk about his interests much. There’s a light in his voice, strong but not overpowering and loud, just passionate in a confident way. He knows what he’s talking about, he doesn’t overexplain anything.

To be honest, you aren’t really listening. A lot of it goes over your head. He talks about the themes and the character dynamics, how the time period influences their choices and actions, but a lot of it gets drowned out. You’re just grateful to have something else to focus on. Something other than the beeping of the monitors, the cords rubbing against you, the way the gown feels against your skin. 

Damian doesn’t interject, but you can tell he wants to say something. You won’t force him to. If he feels like it, he’ll talk. It’s still painful to be around him. Everytime you see him in your peripheral vision, you see yourself pushing him. You feel like a monster. A beast. 

Before he can finish, the door knocks. It’s a different doctor this time, one you haven’t seen before. She isn’t dressed like the other ones. She’s not in a lab coat, but instead just wearing a simple button up and a cardigan. She looks more like a teacher than a doctor. 

“Sorry to interrupt, I’m Dr Wyatt, I’m here to ask you some questions.” Her voice is soft and direct. Jason and Damian exchange a look and reluctantly leave the room. 

“You guys are coming back right?” Your hand grips the edge of the thin blanket tightly. 

Damian nods. Then they leave. And it’s just you and the Doctor alone. You haven’t had a single minute to yourself yet and it’s starting to drive you crazy. 

You sit up in the bed when Dr Wyatt sits down in the chair Damian was in. You’re assuming the questions will just be ‘how are your stitches’ or asking if you want anything to eat, but instead she pulls out a thick stack of papers from her bag. They’re stapled together and frighteningly official looking. You decide to take the oxygen mask off if you're going to be talking for a while.

“Now Y/N, I’m going to ask you some questions, and there is no right or wrong answer, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Okay, good. Now, when I ask you a question, you can answer it with ‘Never’, ‘Sometimes’, ‘Most of the time’, or ‘Everyday’. You understand? And again, there are no right or wrong answers. Or judgement. This is only for me and the Doctors to see.”

“Okay.” your voice quivers a little. 

“Alright, I’m going to start now. Over the last two weeks, how often would you say you’ve been feeling anxious, or on edge?” 

Oh. It’s those questions. When Mother died, you remember a lady at the social services building asking you similar stuff. You don’t think it went anywhere though. Maybe it’s the near death experience talking, but you don’t feel shame when you say “Sometimes.” Normally, you placate yourself, you water down your feelings, you make them smaller to avoid bothering anyone. But now you don’t want to be small. You want to be seen.

“Okay, and do you have any trouble relaxing?”

The question makes you snort. That catches her attention. You can already see her scribbling something down. “Something funny?” her tone isn’t accusatory. 

“No,no, it’s just- I’m really good at relaxing. I don’t do anything. I’m not in school. I don’t have a job. Or hobbies, or friends, or anything a normal person does. So I don’t do anything. I lie in bed. Or on the floor. I sleep through the day. I doomscroll. I drink.”

You’ve never said that part outloud. 

“Or I smoke. To pass the time. Then I go out, and I party. It relaxes me I guess. Then I go home and sleep for ages. That’s pretty relaxing.”

She writes something down quickly and looks back up at you. “And do you find yourself becoming easily irritable or annoyed?”

“Back off!” You fight back your growing frustration. It burns in your throat with a flaming chokehold. Your lip quivers under the heat. It’s wet and raw, warm like blood. “I’ve had a shit day and I don’t want to spend another minute here.”

“Sometimes. Yes.” It’s clipped and avoidant. 

“Have you felt little interest or pleasure in things you normally enjoy?”

You have to think for a moment on how to word your answer. “Sometimes. I used to really enjoy partying. But, I uh, I don’t know. Sometimes it feels like I have to do it. Like, if I want to drink, I have to go to a party. I don’t just want to drink at home. If I’m outside, and I’m with people, then it feels less… weird.” 

“And can I ask who these people are? In your own words you ‘don’t have friends.’ So who are you partying with?” 

“I don’t know. Just people. I meet them randomly. I don’t know them. I just talk to them and then we drink.”

“Do you feel down or hopeless?”

“.. Yes. Most of the time”

“Do you feel that you’ve let someone down? That you’ve failed.” 

You think about your college friends' graduation pictures. Of the life you could’ve lived. You think about school. How your grades were only ever fine. Average, bordering on underachieving. “Yes. All the time.”

“Do you have trouble connecting with something, like reading a newspaper or watching TV?

“When I try to read I can’t think about the words. It’s like autopilot. Most of the time. I watch TV but I'm not really taking it in, it just passes over me”

Doctor Wyatt pauses before asking the next question. “Do you have thoughts about dying? That you’d be better off dead, or hurt?” Her eyes are soft as the press. 

“Yes.” it shocks you to admit it. “When… When I got shot, I think I didn’t want to wake up. I didn’t want to die, but I didn’t want to wake up. Does that make sense? It’s stupid. And pathetic. But I just, I don’t know anymore. I think I’m tired of trying, but then I haven’t done anything. I’ve never really tried to be anything. So what's there to be tired of? It’s disgusting.”

“You aren’t disgusting Y/N.” 

You needed that more than you knew. You break into tears immediately. Again. Wyatt hands out a tissue for you and you wipe away the rolling tear drops. One strays against your lip and you taste the salty sweet residue. 

“Do you have repeating memories of a traumatic event? Recent or Old.” 

“Sometimes I see my Mother. And I see her yelling at me. And I see her body at the morgue. I was the only one that could identify her. She didn’t have friends. Or family. She died- killed- when I was thirteen. I used to get nightmares. But, when I drink, or get high, or whatever to distract myself, she’s not there anymore. And then I get sad that she isn’t there. So I go home.” 

“Where’s home?”

“I live with my Father, but my Mother’s home was on Birch street. So I just wait outside the apartment building for her to come out. But she doesn’t.”

“Do you find yourself bothered by strong negative beliefs?”

“What does that mean?”

“Thoughts like, ‘something’s wrong with me’, or ‘the world is out to get me’.”

“Yeah, sometimes. I mean, I know there’s something wrong with me, I know I’m bad, but I think the world is just the world. I think life just sucks for everyone, I think some people are just better at managing it.”

“How many times a week do you consume alcohol?”

“Pretty much every day.”

“When you start drinking do you find yourself unable to stop?”

“Yeah. I just, I don’t want to be sober. I want to stay drunk. Everything feels easier. I feel normal.”

You don’t have an answer. Dr Wyatt continues. “Has a Doctor or a relative expressed concerns, or asked you to cut down?”

“How can you tell when you’re drunk if you’re never sober?”

“Sort of. I mean, my brother does sometimes. But he doesn’t stop me.”

She writes on her notepad and you watch her face twitch. Her eyebrows knit together and droop at the end. When she stops, she gathers the papers together and looks back up at you as she stands up. “Thank you for your time Y/N.”

“It was nice to meet you.” You try a smile but you doubt she bought it. You’ve never been that open with anyone. Not even imaginary Jason. There was something freeing about deciding not to care anymore. “Do you think I can take these things off? I need the bathroom?” 

At Dr Wyatt’s request, someone comes in to take off the mask and the monitor attachments, freeing you from the bed. Your feet feel like mud when you put weight on them. For a second you nearly stumble, but you catch yourself. There’s a tall window in the room, so you prop it open to get some air in. Then you head to the bathroom. 

One day, those feelings will end, right? They have to, because there must be more to life than this. Chasing something that’ll never come. When you look in the mirror, you see her. The thirteen year old you whose life stopped because one man couldn’t take no for an answer. She’s afraid of you. Of course she is. You look awful. Her eyes are still bright. When did that light go out? 

You want to hold her close and never let go. To melt into her and try again. Go back and make better choices. Beg Mother to stay. You’d never fight with her again, you’d be her good girl. You’d let her shout and belittle you without protest if it meant she’d stay. Try school again, make friends that wouldn’t leave you. Become a better person. Be kinder. Less selfish. Choose a normal, uninspiring life. Work a job you feel ambivalent toward. Take home a paycheck that keeps the lights and fridge on. Live in an apartment that feels like it’s actually yours, not just a guest room in a hotel. 

In the blink of an eye, she’s gone, and it’s just you and staring at yourself. The last person you want to see right now. 

WE’RE HERE TEAM WE DID IT. 

GOD LIFE GOT WEIRD AFTER CHP 10. Okay so- I got my apartment keys, only for my landlord to give me the wrong ones, so I had to sort that out. And then when I started to finish packing, i got a tooth abscess which WAS THE MOST PAINFUL THING EVER OMFGG. I literally couldn’t do anything but lie in bed, even sitting up hurt. I was on strong painkillers so I couldn’t focus on anything- ended up just watching Malcolm in the Middle while trying not to move too much. 

I finished my assignments and the universe immediately struck me down. We ball. The sun is shining and I’m moving soon. Life will be good.

LMK what u think, inbox is always open <3

Taglist:

@hearts4mica @caassiieee @lettucel0ver @galaxypurplerose @fratbrochrisgf @candlewitch-cryptic @sugarxrottentiger @adhxmoony @liliesofth3valley @vivi-iiis-blog @leahgokam @majsx @bunniotomia @itonlyhastobetruetoday  @4rachn3 @huntedreader @higanyuuu @desolatelyperfectcreator  @capswife  @fettuccinispiz @iloveescara @notnecessarilyenjoyinglife @a-taken-url @missmontiopath  @quynkiz  @willowkarmachance @platonicwithacapitalp @maradcrs @freddiweasly @pix-stuff @looha @nerdjoenjoyer  @riy4m  @lilaclesia @4mrplumi @witch-inthe-woods @rad4bean @notplutos @theworldscalamity @thatluckygirl19 @officialslendermanfannumber2 

Gonna go play tomodatchi life now for the next three hours.

[ghxstrobins]

Third Wheel?!

Jason Todd x Reader x Superboy Prime

Part 1 | Part 3

All things considered- despite the Justice League monitoring him and not really having any friends- Clark’s redemption arc is going well! He gets to hang out with Lois Lane and save Metropolis on a daily basis. It’s not one of those half assed ones either, like when the writers proclaim that the characters are good now without any work being put in.

Clark is pretty excited to be in universe without having to deal with those large crisis events that writers are so fond of. He can get to know these characters and places in person and not in the pages of his comic books. There is a whole list of things to do and places he wants to go stuck to his fridge with a Superman magnet.

But most of Clark’s days off right now are dedicated to catching up on comics. He was imprisoned for a while so he has a lot of the current continuity to catch up on. On his days off he only leaves to save people.

Which is what he is doing when he runs into you.

The subway tunnel is collapsing because some villain decided to set explosives around the support pillars. He really doesn’t understand why. Clark was a villain at one point so he knows all about motivations but this just seems excessive.

Super speed really comes in handy in situations like this. He is zipping from person to person pulling them out of the growing hole in the concrete. Each person is set safely on the street above the large sink hole forming in the middle of Metropolis.

“Grab my hand!” Your voice is clear in his ears as he sets down a business man on his feet.

A fond smile crosses his face for a split second before he flies to you.

He finds you helping a child across concrete that is cracking fast, fissures are quickly snaking through it around you. You have a good heart, it’s one of the things he finds himself liking about you. Clark doesn’t have the heart that Superman does but you do so it seems natural that he gravitates towards you.

“Need some help?” Clark grabs you by the waist, feeling complete as you fit against him.

“Superman! Please save the girl first!” You don’t even look at him as he lifts off the ground.

How could he deny you anything when you ask him so sweetly?

He grabs the little girl with the arm not currently around your waist, she grabs onto his cape like a lifeline. Clark feels a warmth fill his chest at being appreciated even if it is as small as people trusting him.

“Hold tight!” Clark shouts and lifts off the ground.

You shut your eyes tight as he shoots out of the sink hole. He even notices that you are scrunching your nose slightly. It’s adorable. Clark wants to keep you in his arms as long as possible if you keep holding onto him like he is the only thing in the world.

He sets down the little girl first on the ground near her mother who crushes her in a hug the second Clark lets go of her. The girl is crying with her mother but gives him a small wave of thanks as he leaves.

Clark flies back to a safe spot near the edge of the sink hole to put you down. Your heart is pounding so hard in your chest Clark is concerned it may break out of your ribs at this rate. His hand lingers on your back to try and ground you in the present.

“Breathe.” He instructs gently. “Breathe with me.”

Clark breathes in and out slowly, holding the air in his lungs for a few second then releasing through his mouth slowly.

You begin to do the same and your heart rate begins to slow down to a normal speed. This close he can see the flutter of your eyes and the way your lips are slightly parted.

You are beautiful even in disastrous situations like this.

Clark’s interest in you was a gradual thing. It started with small things, like the types of comics you buy that catch his eye. Then he noticed how nice your voice was in the minimal conversation you two had when he checked you out.

Everything struck him when you started actually talking to him about comics.

You were talking with one of his coworkers about reading through silver age superman comics. He joined in, not to correct you because he isn’t a gatekeeping asshole, but to gauge how you are enjoying them. You had happily talked about where you were in his silver age storyline to him and he found himself drawn into you.

From then on it had been an instant click for Clark He didn’t really have time to date between working and saving Metropolis from the weekly big bad that tried to invade or take over the city so he never looked for anything like that. But after finding you his free time was devoted to trying to get your number.

The only problem is that his attempts to flirt with you seemed to not quite land.

He would shoot you a blinding smile and try to compliment you and you would just thank him and move on to talking about comics again. It’s almost like a karmic joke from the writers to make him meet someone who enjoys comics as much as he does but make you so oblivious to his advances!

Clark was practically pulling out his hair when you dropped the bombshell that you were already taken. It made sense. You were fun, beautiful and had perfect opinions about comics.

Of course you had a boyfriend.

He had moped on Lois’s couch about it over ice cream. She had tried to comfort him as best she could by telling him that there are many more fish in the sea. Which is technically true- but he wants a particular fish and that fish is you. So she just let him eat her ice cream and rant to her.

Clark decided to just try and wait out the relationship. He will be there as a friend until something happens to your boyfriend and he can help you get over him. That isn’t very Superman-like, Clark is very aware of that, but he is working hard on redeeming himself so he can have a little bit of wishing your boyfriend randomly gets set on fire as a treat. He was sure he could just wait this out.

Until Jason Todd walked into the shop like he was lost with you in toe.

You dragged Jason back to the new comics, his face immediately softening around you as you guided him. If it was anyone else he may have been jealous of you touching him but he doesn’t mind if it’s Jason. Clark tried to pretend like he is organizing comics but in all actuality he was eavesdropping on your conversation.

Jason was weary of him, that much was clear from the nasty glare he sent Clark’s way when they first met but he can’t help but think of it as cute how protective he is of you. Clark would never hurt you, not in a million years, so the fear is unwarranted.

Jason had crossed his arms as the two of them make stiff conversation while Clark was trying to keep his cool with how the shirt stretched over his skin. You had easily pull the conversation back into friendlier territory with a smile that made Clark want to melt into the ground.

The both of you short circuit his brain just by talking to him.

Back in the present your eyes open slowly as you grow accustomed to the new surroundings. Clark tries not to look too deeply into them because he is sure he may get stuck like that. Like everything else about you they draw him in.

“Thank you for that.” You say, your voice still shaky.

“It’s no problem, we all have times like that.” Clark comforts you and mourns the loss of contact as he pulls his hand away from you.

“Are you Superman?” You narrow your eyes in confusion.

Clark chuckles at your usual sharp perception, “I’m filling in for him for now.”

“That makes sense, the usual superman is older and has some muscle on you so it checks out.” You nod.

“I have the right amount of muscle.” He pouts slightly, mask slipping slightly as some of his usual personality slips out.

You let out a startled laugh, “I think you look great! No extra muscle needed.”

A blush tints his cheeks at your compliment.

“Thanks.” Clark looks away in embarrassment, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You are doing a good job so far.” You assure him which only makes the blush deepen.

“Well!” Clark announces abruptly needing to get out of this situation before he embarrasses himself more. “I will just head out, stay safe!”

“Oh okay!” You look a little dejected that he is leaving. “Good luck out there Superman.”

Clark flies away from you as fast as he can, face practically on fire. He has to do a couple laps of the city until he calms down enough to go home.

‘This second encounter definitely needs some work’ Clark thinks to himself as he is pushed up against the wall of his Metropolis apartment, a furious Jason Todd pressing his elbow on his windpipe. He must have heard about Clark saving you and decided now was the time to try and chew him out.

After the whole fiasco where he punched a hole in reality he didn’t have the time to check on what exactly he changed. He was too wrapped up in his own troubles to see what he did but when he finally got around to it he didn’t regret it.

Jason Todd was the Robin Clark grew up with on Earth-Prime so he has always been attached to his character. Him waking Jason up from the dead was completely unintentional. But he wouldn’t take back his actions when he got the Red Hood out of the situation.

The comics really don’t do Jason justice Clark notes as Jason leans into him. The heart shaped curls and scars are lost on the page. The exact greenish blue color of his eyes are duller on paper. Only a few panels capture Jason’s looks, like Batman Annual #25 that Clark looked at for far too long before he realized that he was Bi.

“I don’t know what you get out of stalking them but I won’t let you hurt my partner Prime.” Jason’s words pull him back to reality as he sneers at him.

Clark doesn’t know how Jason got into his apartment. Not that he isn’t pleased to see Jason in all of his Red Hood gear, besides the helmet. But he is sure that Jason broke into his apartment to yell at him.

Maybe he should just leave his window open so that he can let himself in next time.

“I didn’t stalk them!” Clark raises his hands in a sign for peace. “I saved them.”

The whites of the domino narrow in obvious suspicion. “You have interacted more than just that so I don’t believe you.”

“How can I change your mind?” Clark leans forward, a smile forming on his lips.

“Stay as far away from them as possible.” Jason says and quickly pulls back from him.

Clark wonders if Jason is adverse to touch or just his in particular.

“That’s no fun Jace.” He smirks, seeing how far he can push Jason.

That gets a hard glare from him, “You don’t get to call me that.”

“Why not?” Clark pouts. “It suits you.”

“Fuck off Prime.” He snarls before walking away from him.

Jason walks over to the window and climbs out of it. Clark would be worried but he hears the almost silent sound of a grapple firing. He listens to Jason’s elevated heart rate as he swings away.

Slowly Clark comes to a realization.

If he wants to get close to you and Jason, he needs to prove that he isn’t a threat to Jason. Which is easy, he can just help Jason out with his vigilante stuff to prove that he isn’t a villain anymore.

Plan in mind, Clark grins as Jason’s heart beat gets more and more distant.

“Get out of here!” Jason snaps at Clark, throwing a nearby brick at him.

“Bricks won’t hurt me!” Clark crosses his arms and lets the brick bounce off of him easily. “I am trying to help you!”

Suffice to say his plan hasn’t been going so well. He has been flying over to Gotham on a regular basis to help Jason out and overall just interact with the man.

Only to find out that Jason is extremely stubborn.

So far he has had to deal with Jason testing out what will hurt him enough to leave and regular yelling matches but now, figuring out that no amount of yelling or kryptonite will dissuade him, Jason has started throwing things at him like he was a pesky bird at Jason’s window.

“God!” Jason shouts like he might help him and begins to pace on the rooftop. “What can I do to make you stop following me?!”

Clark pouts, “What if I just like following you around?”

“You are full of shit.” Jason scoffs. “Like I would believe an obvious lie like that.”

Clark realizes how low Jason’s self esteem is if this is how he reacts to that statement. He blinks for a minute at Jason. Then makes the executive decision that you are needed to resolve this issue.

Without a word Clark picks Jason up, arms around his back and under his legs, and begins to fly away.

“What the fuck! Put me down!” Jason fights him with everything he has- which is a lot considering how strong Jason is.

Soon enough when Clark speeds up Jason is holding onto him tightly. It’s nice despite the situation. His grip is a lot tighter than ours was a couple days ago.

The trip from Gotham to Metropolis with super speed is pretty fast for him normally. But with Jason it take a couple minutes instead of seconds because Clark doesn’t want to hurt him.

Your light is on when Clark stops at your window, Jason in hand.

“What are you planning?” Jason hisses quietly to him.

“I am resolving this issue without all of this miscommunication that the author is throwing in for comedic relief.” Clark explains and Jason just looks more confused.

Well not everyone can see that they are in a fanfic.

“Don’t you dare drop me Prime!” Jason is still keeping his voice low probably so he doesn’t disturb you in your apartment.

“That would be counterproductive-” Clark gives him a smirk, “-Jace.”

“I am going to find a way to kill you-” His threat is cut off by a sharp snap of a window opening.

You are standing at your window, arms crossed and pajamas on, a look of exasperation on your face. Clark can’t help but brighten at seeing you, a grin replacing the smirk on his lips.

“Are you both going to argue all night?” You demand, “Or are you going to come in so we can talk like adults?”

“Well-” He drawls but is cut off.

“Bring Jason inside C.K before you start talking.” You say then walk further into your apartment.

Both men stare at your retreating form in shock. They share a bewildered look before Clark sets Jason down on the fire escape. He is quick to escape his arms and get inside.

“You knew?” Jason asks you once both of them are inside and the window is shut.

You raise a single eyebrow, “You aren’t subtle with your gear since you hide it under my bed when you stay over.”

Clark winces at the obvious placement.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Jason sounds a little hurt by your words and Clark suddenly feels like he should be looking anywhere but at the two of you.

You sigh and walk up to him, grabbing a gloved hand in yours.,“I wanted you to tell me when you were ready Jace. It’s your secret not mine.”

Jason leans into your touch like a starving man. Clark craves the touch you and Jason have with each other, it’s so soft and gentle which Clark hasn’t had in a long time.

“But we need to talk about what is going on between you and C.K since it is effecting the both of you.” You continue on, shifting your warm gaze to him.

“Didn’t know that you knew about me.” Clark admits sheepishly.

You laugh a bit, “I didn’t know until you saved me the other day. You acted too much like C.K and looked exactly like him without glasses. Plus it’s a classic superhero disguise.”

“Hey it works for the most part.” Clark defends himself lamely.

That gets a snort from Jason, a sound he hasn’t heard from the other man before.

“Now, what is going on?” You guide the conversation back on track.

Clark’s words fail him as you ask. How can he explain that he has murdered dozens of people without a care in a way that won’t make you hate him? He doesn’t want to lose you because of his past actions, that’s why he wanted to keep you in the dark about his powers.

Jason looks over at him with a conflicted expression, “It’s not my story to tell.”

You look to Clark.

“I am not a good person- my past- it’s not pretty and Jason knows about it so he wants to protect you from me.” Clark is vague but he doesn’t want to delve into his actions right now.

You walk over to him and Clark is prepared to be told to get out.

It’s not the first time that his past has come between him and others. The only other people who view him without any judgement are Superman, Lois and the Kents so he doesn’t think that the circle is about to grow until he feels your hand grab his.

“Do you regret it?” Your voice is soft.

“A lot of it.” Clark dares to look up at you.

You are giving him a small smile, “Then that’s all I need to hear. If you aren’t going to hurt me and anyone else then I won’t judge.”

“Are you sure?” He whispers.

“Of course.” Your answer is so sure that Clark can’t find an arguement to combat it.

A blanket of silence falls over the apartment, all three of you settling into something none of you can name. Clark doesn’t want you to let go of him. He also wants to reach out to Jason but stays back since the man may have taken a step back from trying to keep Clark away he still doesn’t like him.

“As long as they are fine so am I.” Jason concedes with his eyes casted to the side.

“Good!” You cheer and the mood shifts to something less deep and emotional. “Now are you staying?”

Clark blinks, “Oh- um- well-”

“I have the spider-man movies and was planning on a marathon.” You tell him.

He perks up immediately, “Which ones?”

“Andrew Garfield.” You smirk in triumph knowing that Clark won’t say no.

Clark wants so badly to agree but before he can he hears someone yelling for his help. He can’t just turn them away, that’s not what Superman would do. Looking between you and the distant call he tries not to sigh.

He hangs his head a little as he speaks, “Someone needs help, maybe later?”

“Definitely.” You promise him despite looking disappointed.

Clark momentarily glances over at Jason who looks deliberately neutral. His posture is more relaxed than before. He must feel better having everything out in the open.

“Have a good night.” Clark forces a bright smile before leaving your apartment.

As he flies towards the voice Clark huffs in annoyance at being interrupted. Of course the moment he is making progress he is called away.

It takes Clark an hour to deal with the plane crash that the person was yelling from.

Once he is done he flies back to your apartment. He sees you asleep on the couch next to Jason, your legs swung over his lap. Jason is also asleep with his arms crossed and his head back. The both of you look so comfortable and distant from him.

Talking about his past brings up a sense of shame even if he isn’t that person anymore. He shouldn’t want either of you since he isn’t a good person but he finds himself wanting to be next to you both on the couch.

Clark decides to just fly home.

Blue’s Notes - I kind of hate the later half of this but I can’t keep rewriting it over and over. Also the angst at the end wasn’t planned, it just happened. We have one last part to this (hopefully)

Taglist- @calums-betch @m-0ona

[aldryrththerainbowheart]

Meet cute with Red Hood but you just killed Joker

The laughing was thinning, but the Joker was still cackling, his chest heaving with that jagged, rhythmic wheeze. He probably does not even register what happened, or chooses to ignore it out of sheer arrogance and delusion, even with his skull basically cracked open.

You didn't mean to... You just tripped, the heavy chrome fire extinguisher slipping from your numb fingers, dropping with a sickeningly wet thud directly into his temple.

He stopped breathing. Just like that. The silence in the warehouse was louder than the gunfire had been.

"Well," a gravelly voice drawled from the rafters. "That's one way to handle a clown."

With a sharp intake of breath, you spun around, your heart hammering against your ribs, to see a figure drop gracefully to the concrete. He wore a red helmet that glinted under the flickering warehouse lights, and his leather jacket was scuffed with the dust of a dozen rooftops.

The man - a vigilante or a villain by the looks of it - tilted his head, his gaze locked on the motionless body of the Joker, then shifted to you. He didn't look angry at you; he looked impressed.

"I've spent years trying to figure out the best way to end that freak," he said, stepping over a discarded crowbar. He held out a gloved hand, his posture relaxed, almost inviting. "Red Hood, by the way. And I think I'm officially in love with your technique."

I looked down at the fire extinguisher, then back at the man who was supposed to be Gotham's most dangerous phantom, in complete disbelief. "I... I think I just committed a murder."

Red Hood chuckled, a low honey-soaked sound that sent a shiver down your spine. He grabbed your hand, pulling you towards the shadows of the exit.

"Technically," he whispered, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, "you just committed a public service. Come on, sweetheart. Let's get you a drink before Bat shows up to ruin the mood."

[bunniebrains]

Full time party girl, part time daughter.

In which: Bruce Waynes daughter, Y/N Wayne is a full time party girl. Club hopper, party animal, hedonist. Whatever you want to call it. To full the void her father left, she turns to nightclubs, dingy bars and basement raves.

Chapter ten. Reasons to be Beautiful.

Fic masterlist!

cw: Reader is unconscious, breathing tubes, hospitals, medical talk, inaccurate medical information (i tried but im not a doctor), mentions of addiction, mentions of underage drinking, Reader has bad mental health - I DO NOT CONDONE OR SUPPORT ANY UNDERAGE DRINKING OR SMOKING, stay safe stay in school

The wind hits Tim as soon as he walks out of the hospital. If he had it his way, they’d all still be with you. He trails behind Bruce and Dick with his head low. If you were here you’d tease him about his shrimp posture.

It doesn’t feel real yet. This is a waking nightmare. He'll wake up and be in his own bed, and you'll be in the room across from his. You’ll be there, waiting for them. You’ll all eat breakfast together and they’ll treat you like a human being and not a piece of furniture. It’ll all be okay. He just has to wake up first. 

But it never happens. Each step back towards the car drives that point home. Every step he takes puts more distance between the two of you. No one opens the door. It’s admitting defeat. Instead, it opens from the inside. Jason sits in the driver’s seat. 

It’s not the batmobile, but instead it’s one of Bruce’s personal cars. His eyes have a quiet fury in them. That's new. Normally Jason’s rage is loud and evident. Somehow this is scarier. 

“We’re going to talk. You’re going to tell me everything. Who is she?” he wastes no time in asking. Tim hasn’t even clipped his seatbelt in yet. He sits in the back with Dick, and Bruce sits next to Jason in the front. 

Bruce’s eyes look hollow. Defeated. 

“When we get back-”

“No. Now.” Jason pushes back, starting the car and driving at a leisurely pace. “We have time. Visiting hours won’t be open for, what, another three and a half hours? Should be plenty of time.” His snark makes no effort to go undetected. “Who is she?”

Bruce clears his throat. 

“Her name is Y/N. She’s Nineteen.” He notes that Jason’s shoulders tense when he hears your real age. “Her mother was… we had a thing. Once. It wasn’t supposed to be serious. I was young and stupid. I didn’t hear anything from her after we stopped. I didn’t know she- we had a child. Thirteen years later she comes to the door.” 

Bruce has to pause. “Her mother was attacked by a stranger and thrown into oncoming traffic.”

“Jesus.” Dick mutters. He’s heard the story before but it doesn’t change how bleak it is. 

“She refused to go into the system and I… it didn’t feel right to send her away. I thought that I could do something good. She grew up living hand to mouth. The apartment was a mess. I thought she could have a better life. That's what I told myself. I thought she should have the chance to be a normal kid.” 

‘She fought to be here, Mr Wayne’

“So I kept her away. I wouldn’t let her get close. I thought about you. I wanted to give her the life you should’ve had”

Jason looks like he’s going to explode. He tries to keep it in but his face betrays him. He’s got that look in his eye. The one that always sees through Bruce.

“I thought it was for the best.”

“No you didn’t.” Jason cuts him off as he turns a corner. “You just didn’t want to look at her. I know how you think Bruce. If something reminds you that you’re a fraud, you turn it away.” His knuckles tighten on the wheel. They turn white and his nails carve little crescents into the leather steering wheel.

“I know.” Bruce’s voice is uncharacteristically empty. 

“Why didn’t I know about her? Who else knows?” 

“I’ve kept her out of the public eye-”

“Let me guess, you thought if the Gotham Gazette snapped a picture of her at the clubs you’d get it in the neck?” Jason huffs. 

The car goes silent. 

“Yes.” He admits. “And I know how the paparazzi treats women like her. Young, vulnerable women. She wouldn’t be able to cope with it. So I didn’t take her to the galas. I didn’t drive her to school. I wouldn’t let us be seen in the same room.” he takes a breath in. “I didn’t tell you about her because I didn’t know how you’d react. I didn’t know how to explain you. She knows that you died. How do you explain that to someone?”

“How I’d react?” Jason parrots with a scoff. 

“Cmon Jason, you know it’s not completely unreasonable.” Tim interjects. “When you came back you were hellbent on destroying everything. He didn’t put it past you to use Y/N as leverage. Or a punching bag.”

The car jerks to a halt with a violent screech. Jason whips his head around to the back of the car. “You think I’d hurt her? Look who the fuck’s talking! I haven’t set foot in her home life and she’s in a hospital bed- that’s all you!” he spits to the three. 

“Don’t act like you know how this happened.” Dick defends himself. “You weren’t there.”

“Ha.” Jason’s voice is dry. “No, you’re right I wasn’t there. And who’s fault is that?” he snaps back to Bruce. “I wasn’t there, so I wouldn’t know anything about her. I wouldn’t know that she’s a drunk. Or that she only smokes Marlboro golds. Guess I wouldn’t know that her first home was on Birch street, would I? No, I’d never know that she wanted to be a vet, but dropped out.  Bet you guys know all about that, right? Bet you know her dealer too. Ah, no, you wouldn’t. What did she say again… oh yeah, ‘my Father can’t stand me’, ‘my oldest brother hates me’, ‘they all think i’m a screw up’.”

The tension in the car grows. “You guys let this happen to her.”

That does it. Bruce slams his hand against the dashboard. “ENOUGH Jason.”

“What are you talking about?” Of course Tim knew about the drinking and the dropping out, but what was that last bit, and how did Jason of all people know? “Did you stalk her?” The accusation chills the room. 

“God no.” Jason starts driving again. The tension dissipates a little when they start moving. “I met her last year. I was patrolling around the area, round Park Row. She was just a stranger. She was absolutely wasted and alone, so I walked her back.” 

“Walked her back where?”

“She wouldn’t let me walk her the whole way. Thought she was afraid of me, she said she didn’t wanna bother me more than she already had. I walked her to the bridge on Queen’s river and she made her own way back from there. Then next week she was there again. And the week after. You get the point. She just kept talking the whole time.”

Jason narrows his eyes, “She talked about you guys a lot.” 

Dick swallows a lump in his throat. “What kinda stuff?”

“You know she thinks you all hate her right? That's all she’d talk about.”

Bruce feels like his throat is getting tighter. Something’s choking him. 

Before he continues, he bites the inside of his lip, deliberating on how to word his next statement. “One time she asked me to walk her to the train station. She said she was gonna get the first train out of Gotham and never come back. Thought she was joking, but she was dead serious. God she couldn’t walk in a straight line but she just kept saying she was gonna do it. After that I didn’t see her for a week. Assumed she made it out. Turns out, it was just having a rough comedown- according to her.”

Before they know it, the car approaches the Manor. The sun begins to crest over the horizon. Five AM. No one speaks when they get out of the car. When he opens the door, Bruce is greeted with Alfred. He looks more tired than usual.

“Master Damian told me everything. Is she…” his voice drifts off when he can’t see you. For a moment he assumes the worst. His perfect posture falters. 

“She’s alive.” Dick promises. “There was a surgery- they got the bullet out, that’s all that matters right now.” His promise does little to soothe Alfred. “We’re gonna go back as soon as visiting hours are open-”

“She’s alone?” Alfred isn’t one to interrupt. He’s too good at his job for that. But when he heard that you were on death’s door, and now that you’re all by yourself, it cracks him. 

Bruce could have Dick, Jason, Tim and Damian, but you were always Alfred’s. When you came home for the first time, you followed him around like a lost puppy. Always afraid of setting a foot wrong, so eager to make a good impression. If you weren’t at school you’d be helping wherever you could. You’d handwash the dishes, even though they had a dishwasher, or insist on giving him a hand with dinner. When you got a little more comfortable, you’d joke with him. Or ask for help with homework. He remembers the day you asked him to come to your parent teacher conference. Then there was the school play. You were so excited when you got a good part, not the lead, but you still had a good handful of lines and stage time. You reserved a seat for Bruce as well, but that was a bust. 

On that ride home you asked him why Bruce didn’t show. Alfred made up some kind of lie about a board meeting over running. Well, not a total lie, it wasn’t a board meeting, but instead it was a meeting with the justice league. How could he explain that to you without exposing everything?

So the image of you, the girl he failed, lying in an unfamiliar bed all by yourself instantly sends him into a spiral. You’ll be afraid when you wake up. He knows you hate being alone. 

“Visiting hours open at Eight.” Bruce’s voice is steady. “We’re going to rest and go back at half seven. Where’s Damian?”

“He’s asleep.” Alfred replies curtly. Bruce can tell he’s pissed. He has every right to be. 

Dick yawns. An attempt to settle the air. That's normally his forte. The peacekeeper. But nothing can calm the room. “I’m gonna get a couple hours of shut-eye too. Nothing we can do until they open.” he heads upstairs but turns his head around when he’s half way up. “Jason, you coming?”

Jason doesn’t say anything when he passes Bruce and takes to the stairs. When he gets to the right floor, he calls to Dick with a lowered voice. “I’m gonna take a guest room. See ya.” Before he can depart, Dick grabs his arm and drags him into the nearest guest room. 

“What the hell Dickhea-”

“You said she had a dealer. It’s Roy isn’t it?” Dick’s eyes are cold. They’ve lost the playful spark they normally hold and instead they’ve frosted over. 

“I don’t know wha-”

Before he can lie, Dick pulls out your phone. He has the messages open. When they were driving, he had taken the liberty of going through your phone. Some would call it an invasion of privacy. He would say it’s research. The messages go back further than he could’ve guessed. They’re consistent though. That's not even the worst part. He’s the only person who regularly texts you back. 

“Are you going to let me talk or are you going to just keep cutting me off?”

Dick says nothing. 

“Okay, yes. It’s Roy. Listen, I have nothing to do with that alright? I barely see him.”

“Barely?”

“I let him stay at my apartment. Trust me I don’t want him there, but if I know where he is at least I can keep an eye on him.”

“Thats how you knew about the acid, right? Did Roy tell you?” Dick pressed. 

Jason pokes his head around the corner of the door to check if anyone could hear. When he doesn’t see anyone, he reels back in. “I was there. Look before you blow up, listen. I thought- shit i don’t know- I thought she was grown. I didn’t know she’s nineteen, okay? I thought she was twenty something. I figured she was old enough to make her own decisions.”

“And you didn’t stop her?? You preached about us not being there for her and you let her get high right in front of you?!” his voice is ripping itself apart. It’s trying to be quiet but the weight of the words make that hard. 

“Oh yeah Dick, you’re so right. I should’ve just slapped it right out of her hands, because that's what a normal person would do. Are you stupid? If I intervened she’d know something’s up. Yeah, I was there, but so was Roy. He was keeping an eye on her.”

“Where was he when she got shot in the stomach?” Dick snaps back. 

Neither speak. The elder bat takes a moment to think. He has to plan. Dick knows he hasn’t been a good brother. But as the oldest, it’s his job to make the plans, to get everyone together. 

It’s Jason who speaks first. “I would’ve been there if you guys let me.” There's a thick layer of malice and venom but underneath the spite there’s a sliver of vulnerability.  

He leaves the room before Dick can stop him. His feet lead him to an empty guest room, the one furthest away from anyone else’s room and he crashes onto the bed. The bed swallows him whole and he sinks into a dreamless sleep, anything to pass the time. It’s going to be a long, painful day when he wakes up.

Bruce cracks his son’s door open with delicate care, not wanting to wake him. It is in vain however, because Damian hasn’t slept a wink since he got home. Instead, he finds Damian training with the dummy in the corner of his room. Each hit is precise and quick, leaving no room for error. The door creaks and gives Bruce away. Damian’s head swivels, his eyes wide with anticipation until he sees who it is. Then, his arms fall to his side. 

“Why are you still up?” Bruce lets himself into the room and sits on the edge of the bed. He taps the spot next to him. Damian takes the hint but doesn’t comply. 

“Can’t sleep.” he shuffles uncomfortably. “I don’t see the point of sitting around and doing nothing.” He speaks like it's obvious. 

“Damian, are you okay?” it comes out slowly, like the words themselves could bite. 

“I’m fine.” It's too quick to be real. “Why are you asking me? I’m not the one who got shot.” his voice cracks on the last word and it tells Bruce all he needs to know. He opens one arm out, a ‘come here’ and Damian finally complies. The smallest Wayne slots next to his father and keeps his eyes forward, unable to look at him. 

“Is she okay?”

Bruce inhales. “She’s alive.”

“That’s not what I asked.” Unconsciously Damian worms a little closer to his father. “I asked if she was okay.” 

“We’ll visit her soon, you’ll see for yourself. She’s okay. Everything is going to be okay.” A dark voice nags him in the back of his mind. ‘You never sat like this with her.’ Would things be different if he did? He wonders which moment set you down the path you were on now, and if he had even been there for it. Could he have steered you away if he was there? 

“You did good tonight. You stayed calm.” 

Damian bites his tongue. He wants to admit that he wasn’t calm. He was terrified. But he doesn’t want to know why. He’s seen blood before, more than anyone his age has or should. People die all the time, so why did your near death experience rattle him so much? Why can he still see the gunman when he closes his eyes? The sound of your body slamming against the ground keeps playing whenever it gets quiet, then it gets followed up by your agonised screams. 

He knows the real answer. Guilt isn’t a new feeling. Neither is shame. He’s well versed in these emotions. He can recognise them within himself and he’s got practised pushing them down enough times to make it muscle memory. But he’s drowning in it now. If luck hadn’t been on your side, for once, your last action would’ve been cursing at him and pushing him. He knows that's not you, but it could’ve been your legacy. 

Before last night, he found your insistence on leaving with a ‘love you’ annoying. The way you would pester him by knocking until he let you in. You wouldn’t let him go to school without saying it on the way out. If he wasn’t around you’d text him instead. It used to get on his nerves. But he missed it last night. It could’ve been lost forever. 

So you have to be okay. You must. That can’t be the last time he saw you. 

The hours drag on until Seven AM finally arrives. Bruce is awake. He didn’t sleep. That's nothing new. Instead, he spent the remaining hours in your room. After getting Damian into bed, he went to your room. It certainly looks lived in. The bed is made, Alfred’s doing, and the walls are littered with posters and knick knacks. Photos of you with people he doesn’t recognise, movie posters- he didn’t know you liked that genre, bands he’s never heard of. There’s a shelf lined with books and trinkets. 

Bruce came in with the intention of packing a care bag. To pack up a few things that might bring you some comfort or pass the time, but when he looks around he feels utterly defeated. He doesn’t know which books you’ve already read, or which pyjama shirt you’d prefer. 

“She likes that one.” Tim’s voice brings him out of his trance. He stood in the doorway, with a backpack in hand. Guilty minds think alike. “She’s halfway done.” he’s pointing to a book on your nightstand. Bruce picks it up and feels the weight of it. It’s not thick, but instead it's thin. Should be a quick read. It makes him wonder when you started it. There’s no bookmark, but instead the top corner of the page has been dog-earred. 

“Did you get any sleep?”

Tim doesn’t need to say anything. The answer is obvious. “I was busy. I saw the pamphlet in your pocket when you sat down earlier. I wanted to do some research.”

“So. What do you think?”

Tim fiddles with his fingers while trying to find the words. A quirk he’s always had. He didn’t notice himself doing it until you pointed it out once. “I think she needs help,” he started, “but I don’t think sending her away is a good idea. Last time she left she got worse, remember?”

When Bruce doesn’t reply, Tim assumes he forgot. Of course he did. “College. Remember now? When she dropped out and came back she just… I don’t know, deflated I guess. It was like all her energy just disappeared. Took her a month to get out of that slump. Do you really think sending her away again is gonna make her any better?”

“We’ll look at our options.” Bruce sighs non comitally. Another reminder of how he failed you.

“Bruce, you know I respect you. But if I have to fight you in this I will. We nearly lost her last night, do you really want to lose her again?” his words cut deeper than Bruce thought they could. He was glad for it. 

The drive to the hospital was rough. The road itself was smooth, but the atmosphere inside the car was rocky. Damian was weirdly quiet, Dick was fidgeting in his seat-unable to keep still, Jason was a timebomb waiting to explode, Tim was tapping his feet against the floor, Alfred kept his eyes on the road as he drove and Bruce was… well the brooding wasn’t new. That was comfortably familiar. 

Gotham wakes slowly. Men and women walking to work, cars honking and gulls squawking. Tim watches them all moving. He likes people watching, but it’s only fun when you’re there. You had this game, you’d both pick a person and make up a story for them. It’s not fun alone. It just makes him realise that the game itself isn’t fun, you’re the one who makes it playable. 

Inside it's clean and for once the ER room is quiet. The sounds of rubber soles squeaking against the tiled floor and the gentle hum of the overhead lights all float around the room. Bruce checks them all in, filling out the guest log with a sea of names. 

Your room is a couple floors above the ER. Severe trauma. Instead of sharing a room, like most patients would, you’d been given your own small space. Given the severity of the injury. Bruce knows that it isn’t so you could have peace and quiet. It was so if you got worse, they could close off the room and not disturb anyone else. 

The man in charge of the floor isn’t the same person he saw yesterday. It isn’t the surgeon who warned him about your liver damage. He leads the group to your room, tucked away at the end of the corridor. The floor smells of antiseptic cleaner and bleach. A good sign. 

He's about to leave the group when they get to the door. “You can go in when you feel ready. She’s not awake yet but she’s in better shape than she was when you last saw her.” He consults his charts and grimaces. “Although we did have to intubate-”

“You said you’d call if something happened.” Bruce’s voice is sharp and accusatory, weathered by his exhaustion. 

“It was an hour ago.” He states bluntly. “We didn’t have any other choice. She stopped breathing for two minutes. Her lungs just needed a kick start. Once she’s breathing on her own, we’ll take it out. She’s uh… Mr Wayne, a word.” 

He peels Bruce away from the rest and he motions for them to wait. It’s the second time he’s been pulled aside by a surgeon and he knows it’s going to be bad news. 

“Were you aware that your daughter is a smoker, Mr Wayne?” His voice doesn’t hold any fear, even against the billionaire. He almost respects it. “Her lungs couldn’t keep up with her body. When we intubated it was because the tissue on her lungs was thinner than it should be. If she hadn’t been brought in, we wouldn’t have known. We checked her records, she hasn’t had a medical checkup in three years. This could’ve been caught earlier. It's not cancerous, thank god, but a nineteen year old shouldn’t have that kind of damage. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“How long will she need the tube?”

He hears the surgeon mutter ‘unbelievable’ under his breath before saying “It’s only temporary. Just till she’s awake enough to breathe by herself. Then we’re going to start her on Nintedanib. It’s risky but the alternative is off the table.”

“What’s the alternative?”

“Pirfenidone, normally. It’s more effective but there’s a risk it could cause liver damage. And given the current state of her liver- it’s not compatible.” He looks disgusted. Not at you, but at the man who let you get to this point. “Mr Wayne, your daughter is going to be very sick for a long time. The recovery is going to be hell. Are you prepared for this, or are we going to be seeing her back here again? She’s going to be in a lot of pain. Don’t make it any worse.” The surgeon takes his leave. 

Bruce can’t find the words. He drifts back to his group. When his hand reaches the door handle, he can’t open it. If he does, he’ll have to look at you again, and he’s not sure he can handle the sight. Dick’s hand is on top of his without a word, and he pushes the door open. They filter in one by one and try not to cringe at the sight of you.

You’re definitely looking better. The colour has returned to your cheeks, your blood is pumping like normal. But the tube in your mouth takes away from that small victory. The IV drip attached to your arm and the heart monitor’s steady rhythm draws all their attention. 

At first no one knows what to do. They hadn’t really thought this far.

Tim does what he always does when he’s afraid. He tries to problem solve. The chart at the end of your bed is supposed to be for the doctor's eyes only but he can’t help himself. It hasn’t changed much from last night, but there's a new note about the intubation. It details what happened an hour ago. 

From what he can read, you were fine throughout the night- or rather early morning- but there was a brief spasm, and then you stopped breathing. They caught it quickly and managed to prevent anything worse from happening, but Tim can’t find a reason. That's all he needs, he needs something to show that this makes sense. Randomness is his worst enemy. It makes him powerless. 

Dick pokes around the room. There’s a TV in the corner, cushy, an empty flower pot and the window looks over the west side of Gotham. He opens the window and the sound of the city floods in. It drowns out the beeping monitor. There’s a chair in the corner and he makes himself comfy on it. 

Alfred stands at the foot of the bed, reading over Tim’s shoulder. After giving the file a quick glance, he gets to work. He does what he can to make the room feel more comfortable, like Dick did last time.

Damian picks up the TV remote and tries to summon life from the screen. When nothing happens he tries the old reliable- taking out the batteries, swapping them round, and then putting them back in. Still nothing. Misplaced anger bubbles up inside him. He leaves the room without telling anyone where he’s going. 

Bruce and Jason stand together by the door, their voices hushed. They’re trying to work out how to break the news that your ‘brother’ was actually alive the whole time. They go back and forth for a few minutes before they realise Damian left. Jason sighs gruffly. “I’ll get him.”

He finds him at the desk on the other side of the floor. Damian is on his tip-toes, his head just a little over the desk. He’s still a kid afterall. He’s battling the woman behind the desk, tapping his finger against the wooden desk over and over again. When Jason gets closer, he listens in. 

“You gave her a faulty room on purpose! Out of every room in this building you gave her the one room with no TV.”

“I’ve already told you, I can’t control the room assignment kid. It’s just bad luck. I can get someone to look at it-”

“That's not good enough! Do you know who we are? We could buy and sell this hospital! If you do not get my sister a bigger room with a working TV, I will make you wish you were never-”

Jason grabs him by the scruff of the beck- the back of his shirt- and hauls him away, throwing an apologetic hand to the worker behind the desk. Damian squirms and kicks but it’s futile. When they round the corner Jason drops him. 

“What’s gotten into you? You think you can just bully your way into what you want?”

“It’s not bullying.” Damian huffs. “And it’s not what I want, it’s what she needs. You saw the size of the room. How dare they cram her into a tiny square and expect her to get better?! It’s asinine!”

“The room’s fine. The machines just make it look small.”

Being reminded of the machines hooked up to your body seems to make Damian uncomfortable. 

“Stop being a nuisance and go wait in the room.” 

Damian’s brow furrows but he relents and storms back to the room, muttering out a string of curses as he goes. As soon as he’s gone, Jason goes back to the desk. 

“So, about that TV…”

Something’s wrong. It all feels off. Your senses come back slowly, all but one. Sight. Your eyes remain shut. It’s like you aren’t strong enough to lift them, emotionally and physically. First you hear people around you shuffling. Who are they? You can’t make out every word, it’s like they’re behind a waterfall. You know they are talking, you just can’t put what they’re saying together. Then your touch comes back. There’s something in you. In your throat. The surprise chokes you. 

Tim snaps his head up when he hears noise. You're choking on the intubator. He runs to the side of the bed and presses the call button over and over again. He doesn’t know what to do. If he does nothing, you’ll- no, he doesn’t want to think of that, but if he tries to remove it himself he knows he’d mess it up and hurt you more. Dick’s already racing down the hallway- but there’s no need. 

Two nurses are already half way down the corridor. They enter the room and move to your bed, muscling everyone else out of the way. They work together to get the bed into the upright position, then they unhook the ventilator. The first nurse removes the tube like it’s a deadly snake, holding it with a gentle but firm hand. It slithers out of your throat and Tim feels like he’s the one struggling to breathe. 

“She’s breathing by herself. That's a good sign.” The second one promises the family. “Means she’ll wake up soon.” She offers them a smile but everyone is too perturbed by what they’ve just seen to return it. They didn’t think the tube would be that deep. “We’re going to give her an oxygen mask. Think of it like a helping hand. Her lungs are stable now, but they just need something to lean on.” She talks gently, like they’re kids. 

The first nurse leaves and comes back quickly. The mask in her hand slides over your face smoothly and she hooks the elastic up behind your ears. It’s a lot less invasive than the tube. 

Once you’ve been sorted, they leave but promise they’ll be close if you need them.

That's better, but now there’s something on your face that feels like a face-hugger. That alien monster from the movie Tim made you watch once. Your consciousness starts to come back like the tide of the sea. It pulls in and out, but each time it pulls in you feel a little stronger than the last. 

You can taste something on your tongue. It’s bitter and dry. Like morning breath without the dampness. Despite the taste in your mouth, everything smells clean. 

Where are you? You know this isn’t your bed. It’s too small. 

Shit. The woman with the coat. The gun. The party. Batman. 

It all comes back with a bang. The images flash one at a time in rapid succession. 

Damian. The tabs. The music. 

Shit. Are you dead?

Damian comes back into the room and notices the change. “What happened?”

“They said it's a good sign.” Dick’s looking out the window, watching the traffic below. Trying to distract himself from the reality in front of him. 

“Where’s Jason?” Bruce looks toward the door like he’s about to walk in at any moment. 

“Bathroom I suppose.” Damian glides towards Dick and shoos him out of the chair. He takes the blue seat and moves it toward the other side of your bed. It scrapes against the ground while he makes himself comfy. “Did they say when she’s going to wake?”

No, you aren’t dead. You’re alive. So what is this feeling? Wait. Are you… disappointed?

Finally, you muster the strength to open your eyes. Everything is white. It’s painfully bright when you do, but when you move to shield your eyes with your right hand you feel something tugging at your wrist. 

“She’s waking up!” Tim sounds like he’s in delighted shock. Hysterical relief hits him like ice water. 

Once your eyes take a moment to adjust, you take in the sight. Oh. The hospital. Shit, it must’ve been bad. You want to move, but when you try there’s a sharp, stabbing pain in your lower chest. Like boiling thunder. You can’t help but gasp and grit your teeth. 

Without warning there’s a pair of hands on you. In terror you whip your head around to see who it is. You take in his face like it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him. Bruce is here. He softly pushes your body back to where it was. It must’ve been really bad. 

“What’re you…” the words die on your tongue when you take in the scene around you. Everyone is here. Everyone. All eyes are on you. 

“It’s okay.” Bruce rubs small circles onto your shoulder. It’s supposed to relax you but it does the opposite. This doesn’t happen. You’re never seen. So why are they all staring at you? What did you do?

“There was an accident,” his voice is strangely soft. He’s never talked to you like this before. Not that you can remember. “You got hurt. There was a gun, but it’s going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay.” you can’t tell if he’s trying to convince you or himself. 

“I got shot?!” it rips out of your throat and it scratches from the inside. Your voice is slightly muffled by the oxygen mask. You want to rip it off and throw it out the window. You instantly look down and see that you’re wearing a hospital gown- when you look down the neck of the gown to your bare skin, you see a line of stitches across your stomach. It’s fresh and tender. 

“Don’t freak out.” Tim is about to elaborate but Damian cuts him off. 

“Easy for you to say, you’re not the one in the bed.” 

This is a first. Damian’s defending you- or rather he thinks he is. 

Bruce silences both of them with a look. “You had surgery. We came as soon as we could-”

“How?” your voice is groggy and dry. 

“We got a call from the hospital.” Dick is quick to lie. “They said you wanted your dad, so we all came by.”

“Oh.” The pieces start to click together. You know you have to take this to the grave. When you were begging Batman to call your dad, you didn’t mean Bruce. You wanted Alfred. You’re relieved to see him there but the guilt is enormous. “You actually came?”

“Of course we did.” Damian cuts in.

You don’t know how to feel. Is this what it took to get their attention? Did you have to bleed to get them to see you? Before the thought can marinate, the door opens. It’s the guy from Roy’s apartment. 

Jason walks in, pushing the door with his back. He has a new TV in his hands and a smug grin. His back is to the room when he enters, so he is blind to everyone’s dread. “See Damian, if you ask nicely, you get things.” 

When he puts the new TV down and faces the room, the grin drops. You meet his eye. Your eyes go from his, to Damian’s, and then the rest of the room. “Wait… Damian, how do you know Jason?”

Bruce feels like the world around him is collapsing. There’s no way you just said that. His grip on your arm subconsciously gets tighter. 

“Is Roy here?” there’s a hint of dread in your question. 

Jason runs his hand through his hair with a long face. He grits his teeth and sucks a mouthful of air through the cage in his mouth. “Alright, sit down. It’s a long story.”

Chapter 10 bb!!!!

This is the longest chapter to date and god does it feel like it. 

This is the end of part one! Part one is the downfall, and part two is the recovery. I decided I didn’t want the story to just be doom and gloom, I didn’t just want it to be about a main character who does nothing but suffer. So, we’re going to be on the road to recovery. There will be ups and downs but it’s going to be a story.

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[bunniebrains]

Full time party girl, part time daughter.

In which: Bruce Waynes daughter, Y/N Wayne is a full time party girl. Club hopper, party animal, hedonist. Whatever you want to call it. To full the void her father left, she turns to nightclubs, dingy bars and basement raves.

Chapter nine. I might say something stupid.

Fic masterlist!

cw: Reader is injured, reading has seizures, hospitals, surgeries, medical talk, inaccurate medical information (i tried but im not a doctor), mentions of addiction, mentions of underage drinking - I DO NOT CONDONE OR SUPPORT ANY UNDERAGE DRINKING OR SMOKING, stay safe stay in school

Is this sinking, or floating? No, maybe it’s nothing. But that can’t be it, everything has to be something. So what is this? Why can’t you move? Everything is dark, but it's not total blackness, it's more like closing your eyes on a sunny day. A reddish brown colour blinds you. You can’t feel your body. Someone’s talking but it's too far away to hear. Is it your voice? 

“GET THE CAR!” Bruce’s voice loses its composure and becomes scratchy and raw. Right now, he isn’t Batman, he’s a father watching his child die in his arms. Again. At first no one moves, until Dick snaps out of his shock fueled trance and darts out from the alley. 

The car was parked two streets over. Ten minutes away. He knows he can make it in five. Adrenaline and terror spur him on until he’s only a corner away. Out of instinct, he nearly sucker punches her when a woman in a white coat jumps out in front of him. Dick is able to stop himself before anyone gets hurt tonight. 

“Is she okay?!” Her voice is hoarse and her eyes are wide, bloodshot. Under her coat she’s trembling. If he didn’t have a onetrack mind right now he would’ve spotted the drying blood clumped in her hair. “That girl, is she okay?! She saved my life and I- I didn’t know what to do- I left her there! I heard the gun but I didn’t- it’s my fault- just please tell me if she’s okay-”

“It’s not your fault.” Dick promises. Survivors' guilt. He knows the signs. “Everything’s gonna be fine.” Is he lying to her, or himself? He keeps running. And running. 

The car door opens with manic urgency and Dick throws himself in. He doesn't bother with a seatbelt. There’s no time. The engine screeches to life as the car races to the alley. He’s sure he’s broken three different traffic laws within a two minute drive but there’s bigger things to worry about right now. 

Oh, you’re moving. Your body comes alive again and you regain feeling. You wish you didn’t. All you can do is scream in pain when a pair of large hands scoop you up from the ground and lift you up. Every nerve is on fire. The torture eats you from the inside. You can feel everything, but you can’t move. 

Bruce thinks he’s going to be sick when he watches your face twist as you scream. You were supposed to be proof that he could love someone without destroying them. Yet here you were, broken in front of him. No, not broken, breaking. He’s being forced to confront what he’s done. He stupidly thought that if he kept you away, you’d go. You’d leave Gotham and find a life for yourself. He could support you from a distance. 

But his child, his firstborn, is shaking in his arms. Bleeding and screaming. 

When the car arrives he wastes no time getting you in the back seat. “You two stay here.” he looks at Jason and Tim. “Keep him down. Wait for the commissioner to come-”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Tim spits. His normal, dependable, put together mask has shattered, revealing the terrified boy underneath. “I’m going with her. She needs me.” He’s already striding toward the car. 

“That wasn’t a suggestion Red Robin, it was an order.” Bruce shoots down the protest without even looking at him. He’s too busy loading you into the back and tying his cape around your torso- a makeshift tourniquet. 

“Fuck you mean ‘she needs me’?” Jason interjects, squaring up to Tim. His broader frame casts a shadow over Tim, swallowing him whole but Tim doesn’t stand down. 

“Enough Red.” It comes from Bruce, surprisingly. He turns back to them. “You are going to take Robin back to the Manor and wait for further instruction.” he points to Jason. “And you are going to call the commissioner to take care of him.” This time his finger lands on Tim, and then drifts to the unconscious gun man.

“Nightwing and I will take her to the hospital-” 

“YOU AREN’T TAKING MY SISTER TO THE HOSPITAL WITHOUT ME.” Tim’s voice cracks under its own weight. It’s furious and feral. Desperate. All the weight in the air vanishes. Silence. 

Why is it silent? Shit, why aren’t you screaming anymore?!

Before Jason can open his mouth, shock evident even behind the helm, Bruce relents. “Get in the car now. Red take Robin back.” When he looks back into the car his heart stops. You’re seizing. 

“NOW.” he bellows. 

The team disperse. Bruce, Dick and Tim leap into the car. Dick sits in the passenger side and Tim crams himself into the back of the car, lifting your head and keeping it on his lap. If you choke on your tongue, its over. 

Before they can drive, Jason slams his fist against the passenger window. Dick rolls the window down. “We’ll explain everything later-”

“She’s on acid and ecstasy.” 

“What-”

“You gotta tell the hospital. If they give her downers while she’s got that shit in her system she’ll get worse. GO.”

Bruce doesn’t need to hear it twice. Hearing once is bad enough. He tears through the streets like the flash. Everything around him blurs until there’s just him and the road. You’re making noise again, that's a good sign at least, but every sound feels like nails on a chalkboard. 

You aren’t speaking, you’re just screaming and wailing. Every now and then something intelligible comes out but it’s washed away by groans and another quick seizure. My. phone. It’s all he can make out. 

Tim finds it in your pocket. The screen is cracked but it still turns on. Your lockscreen isn’t a picture he recognises. It’s a party, that much is clear, but he doesn’t recognise the location, or anyone in it. Your passcode, your birthday, is typed in and the phone bursts to life. Your homescreen is the same picture. 

The pained groans continue. But then he hears something. Between the screaming and seizing, you’re still trying to speak. My. Dad. Call. him. Dick looks over his shoulder and meets Tim’s eyes. It’s both crestfallen and guilt ridden. They both know they can’t do it. 

They reach the hospital after a fifteen minute drive. Normally it would’ve been half an hour, but when death is chasing you, you move quickly. Bruce slams on the breaks and it jerks Dick forward. “You have to take her in.”

“Without you? Bruce you can’t avoid this-”

“She wants someone to call her father. I have to get out of this costume. I can’t go in like this, it'll blow everything up. Take her in now, I’ll be out in ten.” Tim wants to protest but he knows Bruce is right. He hates it. He hates all of this. Seeing you so powerless, feeling powerless himself. Tim knew you had these… moments, where you got in over your head. He remembers the time you fell down the stairs, too drunk to walk in a straight line, or the time you had a depressive slump after a party and wouldn’t leave your room for a week. (He researched it. Turns out the comedown from acid causes a temporary depressive mood- and it can last up to seven days.)

But he can’t say he didn’t see it coming. 

Dick carries you into the hospital, sprinting through the doors. “We need help!” a sea of heads turn when they burst through the door. The room smells of disinfectant and fear. Four nurses rush towards the three of you. They take one look at your face and start organising themselves. Codes and orders are shouted to one another, some of them are familiar to Dick, but others are lost on him. 

When a nurse tries to take you from him, he flinches and reels back. 

“Please.” The nurse’s voice is gentle. Dick wordlessly nods but his eyes don’t leave you. 

Tim can only watch as you're placed on a bed and rushed away. “S-she’s on acid!” The nurses pushing the bed look back at him. “And ecstasy.” They nod and continue taking you away. It hits Tim like a hammer to the chest, that this could be the last time he ever sees you. 

The two leave once you vanish behind the double doors. Their walk is slow and unsure. It’s like walking on ice. Feeling as if the ground could give way at any moment. Dick breaks the silence. “I didn’t mean this,” he promises. “I didn’t know she would- I thought it was just drinking- what was she doing there anyway? Why did she do that?” 

Tim doesn’t like not knowing. He needs structure. Not knowing leaves him vulnerable. So, he finds the answers. He works and works and works himself to the bone to find the answers. But what’s he supposed to do when he doesn’t have any?

Your phone springs to life and knocks him out of his trance. When he looks at the screen he says a name he wishes he didn’t.

R. Harp Hey where you at? If u went home that's cool but u should’ve told me. 

Dick leans over and peers down at the screen. “What the hell- HOW THE FUCK DOES SHE HAVE HIS NUMBER?”

When the car is finally empty, Bruce breaks down. He can’t unsee the bullet going right through you, or the image of you instantly collapsing like you were already dead. That sound is going to haunt him. He feels like he can’t breathe. When you left you must’ve taken all the air with you. 

How did it get this bad? He knew you had a drinking problem, it wasn’t hidden, but he thought it ended there. It was still bad, but he thought it was a better alternative to you being in harm's way. Look how that ended. His child was doing class A drugs right under his nose. 

If he had been a better person this wouldn’t have happened. If he was a better father, you wouldn’t have gone down that path. If he was better at being Batman he would’ve stopped the ring already.

“Alfred, I need you to come to these co-ordinates and pick up the batmobile. Red Hood and Robin should be on their way back to the cave. I need you-”

“Master Bruce what on earth is happening-”

“Red Hood will explain. There isn’t time. I need to go to the hospital.”

“Sir if you’ve been hurt we can treat it in the cave.”

“It’s not me Alfred. It’s her.”

Dead air fills the line. 

“I’ll come now sir.”

After changing into the spare civilian clothes he stashed under the driver seat, for times like this, Bruce walks to the hospital’s door. The walk turns into a sprint. He doesn’t care if anyone sees Bruce Wayne running, or if anyone gets a pic and leaks it to the paparazzi, right now you need him. 

“My daughter’s here, she came in twelve minutes ago, I need to know where she is.” His tone is sporadic and the sweat beads dripping down his forehead makes his state of mind obvious to the nurse behind the desk. She puts her paperwork to the side and shifts to the computer and keyboard. 

“Name?”

“Y/N Wayne.”

He watches her fingers as they glide across the keyboard, finding you in the system. “Says here she’s waiting for an OR room, you’re welcome to wait here unti-”

“No, no, she can’t wait. She needs a room.”

The nurse looks up like he’s stupid. “Sir, we have thousands of patients waiting for a room. Trust me she’s one of our top priorities right now. The second the room opens she’s going in. The surgeons need time to prepare for her given her…” the nurse’s eyes shift from looking fed up with him to housing sympathy, “conditions.” 

She lowers her voice to keep it private. “They had to sedate her to stop her from seizing, and it took them a while to find a sedative that wouldn’t mix with the stuff in her system. She’s on Phenobarbital. There’s nothing more I can do for you. You’ll have to just sit and wait until we hear something from the surgeons.”

The pleather chair creeks under his weight. Every second drags. He can’t peel his eyes away from the clock. Whispers drift from patient to patient, amazed that the Bruce Wayne is in the same waiting room as them. 

After a lifetime, there’s news. The nurse calls him over with a manicured nail. “She’s in surgery now. If there aren’t any complications she should be out in forty five minutes.”

“What kind of complications?” his voice is deceptively calm.

“In surgery there's always the risk of something going wrong but I promise you she’s in good hands.” Her eyes return to the computer and she grimaces. “I’ve been asked to direct you to the pamphlets next to the water cooler.”

He dips his head, a silent thanks, and heads to the rack of pamphlets by the cooler. His heart sinks when he reads the tagline on the front. In bold text it reads: Addiction and recovery. Underneath, in smaller text: Helping yourself or a loved one to recover. 

Bruce looks over his shoulder, scanning for anyone with a camera, before taking one and tucking it into his pocket swiftly.

Tim and Dick arrive, in civilian clothes, and take a seat next to Bruce. One on either side. He knows their tells. Dick keeps fidgeting with the lowest button on his shirt, rolling it back and forth between his pointer and his thumb. Tim’s foot taps against the floor with no rhythm. Bruce puts his arm around Tim and rests his hand on his shoulder, bringing him a little closer. 

“You’re gonna tell me everything.” Jason’s voice echoes around the cave and surrounds Damian from all angles. “Who is she? From the top.” He leans against the console with his arms crossed and shoulders squared. 

Damian takes a deep breath. “Her name is Y/N. She’s Father’s first born.” When Jason doesn’t interrupt, he keeps going. “She doesn’t know about what we do. Her Mother got hit by a truck and she refused to go into the system. She moved in two months after you, well, you know.”

Jason doesn’t blink. “Okay.” Once he digests that information, he presses further. “So if she's been here the whole time, why am I only hearing about her now?” there’s a growl lying underneath his voice.

Domain doesn’t mince words. “Because Father thought you’d go berserk.” 

Jason isn’t proud of who he was when he came out of the pit. The rage and hate warped him, and since his rampaging days he’s been trying to become better. To be human again. He thought that they understood that, he thought he understood. But now he finds out that Bruce didn’t trust him.  

A familiar anger bubbled. “Oh yeah? Is that right?” he wants to shout about your late night walks with him, but he chooses to wait. He’ll confront Bruce. He’ll play his cards close to his chest. Jason is angry, but he’s smart. 

“She’s out of surgery. The bullet went through but there was some residual shrapnel lodged just under her rib. The shrapnel was cutting into her small intestine but we were able to get every piece out.” The surgeon reads from her clipboard. 

The weight on Bruce’s shoulders begins to melt. “So she’s in the clear?”

The surgeon pauses. “Not quite. Mr Wayne, if I may pull you aside." She gestures towards Dick and Tim. Bruce obliges and steps out into an empty corridor. “She… well there’s no easy way to say this, she nearly died. Her body was under a lot of strain, it's a miracle she survived. She fought to be here, Mr Wayne. But during surgery we were operating near the liver. I’m going to be blunt sir, her liver is severely damaged. We only see that kind of damage with alcoholics.”

Bruce has to act surprised. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that your daughter has been drinking underage, not just recently. Given her age, for the damage to be as bad as it was, she would have to have been drinking for at least five years. Heavily.”

“Can I see her?”

The surgeon nods. “Grab your sons and I’ll lead the way.”

“She’s not up yet, we can’t say when she will be, but you’re welcome to sit until visiting hours are over.” She closes the door behind them to give the three some privacy. 

Tim thinks he’s going to be sick. Your face has lost all colour and emotion. That smile you always had when you teased him is gone. Your eyes are shut. Dead to the world. If it weren’t for the steady rhythm of the heart monitor next to you, he’d assume you were no longer among the living. 

His eyes trail to the folder at the foot of your bed. He can’t help himself. It details your surgery and the steps the hospital will need to take for you to recover. Pabrinex and Diazepam. He grimaces. Those are prescribed for people with alcohol withdrawal. Morphine and Dabigatran. Pain killers and an Anticoagulant. 

Dick starts fussing with the room. He draws the curtain and draws the blanket a little closer to your chin. Anything to make the room feel less like a hospital room. When he’s done all he can he sits by the window and takes in the sight with defeat. 

Bruce sits next to you. Up close, he notices something he didn’t realise he never saw. The shape of your nose, and how it looks more like your mother’s at the base but the bridge looks more similar to his own. Not identical, but similar. It's something so, so small but it forces him to admit to himself that this is the closest he’s been to you in a long time.

When he holds your hand and rubs his thumb over your knuckles he can’t remember the last time he held your hand. He must’ve held it before. Surely. But the memory doesn’t come.

Dick checks his phone when it vibrates. 

Jaybird Alfred is home. Damian is with him. I’m on my way. We need to talk. 

A knock comes from the door. It's a different person this time, a doctor. "Visiting hours are over." His voice is soft but firm. "You can come back tomorrow morning. They open at Eight."

When no one moves, he clears his throat. "If something happens to her, we'll let you know."

The promise works, and the group shuffle out. Bruce is the last to leave. He takes one last look at you and its like he's trying to commit you to memory. Something has to change. He promises he'll be better. You just have to wake up first.

Chapter 9 baby!!!

I rlly deliberated on this one bcs i wanted to make it jason centric but in the end i decided to make chapter 10 the jason focused one. Theres a lot to do so I think he needs his own chapter. Hope u guys enjoy!

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