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sypnosis. [ 1.9k words ] arranged marriage au.
— stuck in an arranged marriage with the crown prince of castrum kremnos, you both try to find a way to make the arrangement a lot more hell for the people who forced the two of you into this, and maybe you end up working together better than you thought.
usagi's note: hi!! currently sick so i got to take time off of school and posted this, it's short now but istg it'll get longer towards the end. enjoy mydei lvrs!
“Only through the union of the kingdom of war and the sea will the Titans be appeased,” the oracle had claimed, yet you and Mydei had the intention of doing the absolute opposite.
You had never met the prince, now almost king, in your whole life. You’ve heard of him for sure, but you’ve also heard of Thanatos, did you want to be wed to him? Exactly. Yet as the eldest daughter and current war and commerce strategist of Rhodes, a kingdom near the sea, who excelled in trade and was well known for routes to the West, you knew better than to turn a proposition like this down.
The last siege had run the manpower of your kingdom down, but what Rhodes lacked, Castrum Kremnos made up for it twice, maybe even thrice the power. They were a kingdom bred, born, and raised for war, everything Rhodes was not.
With the patricide of the king, his son, Mydeimos, successor to the throne had begun to make changes to the way Kremnoans lived.
During the reign of his father, the people starved, mainly because Kremnos did not believe in trade, they believed it would sire a weakness through their impenetrable military power, that having too much contact with outsiders would leak their practices and eventually lead to their ruin. And with most, if not all, the funds and resources being fed into the militia, their people were bound to the famine of hunger.
Thus, the kingdom of Castrum Kremnos proposed a union, as backed up by both of your kingdom’s oracles, for what the other lacked, the other made up in succession.
The only problem? Neither of you wanted to get married.
Mydeimos complained to the council that only a union, not a marriage, was needed. Krateros only sighed and let the kingdom elders do as they see fit and told the prince to just follow their advice.
You complained to your parents about the absurdity of marrying a man you’ve only heard of, why did they encourage you to marry for love, only to be forced into a marriage of convenience at the end? Your father only sighed and told you that the wishes of the gods cannot be challenged and should be heeded.
“To incur the wrath of a Titan is dire, my dear,” he warned you.
Unfortunately for the both of you, what you complained as having never met the prince, was met with a swift solution. A banquet to announce the union of Castrum Kremnos and Rhodes. Delightful.
…
“Lady Aglaea, do I really have to wear such tight rings in my hair?” you winced as she tugged too tight on a strand of your hair as she secured the rings holding your braids together.
“Yes, stop squirming, koritsi mou.”
You purse your lips as you think how pointless this all is, all your problems could probably be solved with a treaty, but both kingdom’s councils were very old fashioned and refused to think that the other would keep their end of the deal, so they choose to lock you and the prince together in a marriage neither of you want.
“You keep sighing,” your head lady-in-waiting and seamstress notes, “Nervous?”
A grimace makes its way onto your face, “Not at all, just… a headache,” you lie and yet when you look up at the mirror, Aglaea’s eyes seem to tell you that she doesn’t buy it.
“I’ll be fine, Agy, really,” you reassure her.
If not for yourself, then for the kingdom. Duty and honor over your heart, always.
…
He’s everything you expected him to be.
Not to be, well judgemental, but he exudes the aura of a war god. Tall, fierce, a jaw that looks like it could cut, a body that’s twice the size of yours, blood red tattoos all over his body, and not to mention the fact that their cultural clothes were literally just armor? And that he was basically half naked? Yeah, he’s everything you’d expect the prince of Castrum Kremnos to be.
“We welcome his highness, Prince Mydeimos Gorgo, of Castrum Kremnos,” your father greets him and bows in the culture of Rhodes, you follow suit, meeting his eyes as you do so, he says nothing to you, only flits his eyes for a second before saluting to your father.
“It is my honor, King Pontos,” he drops his hand and greets the rest of the royal family and exchanges pleasantries.
…
You’re not what he expected you to be.
During the council meeting, he pictured a hopeless romantic princess who would cling to him and bat his eyelashes and try to catch his attention, just like all the other choices he was given. But, you’ve… surprised him. You gave off the impression of someone sharp, an air of elegance, with the way your hair was braided and ringed to keep out of your face, and he has to admit, the simpleness of Rhodes’ cultural garments shocked him, too. He expected someone who would dress in pompous fabrics and jewelry, someone who would flaunt the wealth they accumulate through trade, yet you fit none of that. Your dress was a mix of white and very sheer blue fabrics, almost mimicking the shores of the sea at dawn, flowing elegantly on you.
If he had to guess, you might be more than just a trophy princess for your kingdom. Maybe even a strategist with the way your eyes slowly trail over the guests in the banquet.
…
To no one’s surprise, the two of you are seated together in the middle of the banquet, with your families, in his case, Krateros, on each of your sides.
A moment later your father rises and clinks his cup, “Greetings my people, I extend my gratitude to all of you for taking the time to attend this banquet, however, I must have something to announce.”
He motions you to rise and your hand hooks on Mydeimos' elbow, encouraging him to stand beside you as well.
“Today, we celebrate the union of two kingdoms, a union that has been smiled upon by the gods and will prosper as long as the tides crash against the shore and as long as the fire of the people’s passion burns brightly in their hearts. Today, we celebrate the union of the Prince of Castrum Kremnos, his highness, Prince Mydeimos, and my daughter, the Princess of Rhodes, Strategist of War and Commerce.”
Loud cheers rang out from the banquet halls, the sun blazed brightly, and you nudged the Prince beside you. He looked at you with an eyebrow raised and you only looked at him for a moment, before turning your eyes back to the crowd.
“Smile, dear Prince,” you say through your teeth as you fake a smile, “Otherwise the people will think you were coerced into this,”
He nods and only smiles with his lips.
Looks like you weren’t the only one forced into this.
…
As per tradition, the betrothed couple will dine dinner together, no one else can come into their meal and disturb them. You had no idea where the tradition came from, but you guessed that it probably came from rulers who were tired of people barging in on conversations.
Prince Mydeimos was already there when you entered the private dining room. He stood and bowed curtly as he pulled a chair out for you. Once the both of you were settled, the food was brought in and you dined in silence.
You could feel that he wanted to say something, it was obvious, he couldn’t look at you for more than two seconds, his eyebrows knitted every few seconds, and he looked like he was angry at the food.
“Is there a problem with the course?” You ask as you push the star anise away from the middle of the plate, “I can have the chefs prepare something else if it is not to your liking,”
The prince shakes his head, “No, there is no need, however…” he trails off and sighs.
“I cannot- rather I do not wish to marry you,” he admits.
You take a sip of your wine, “What a coincidence, neither do I,”
He looks at you as if you sprouted five heads, “What? Then why did you accept the proposal?”
You sigh and put your glass down, “Rhodes cannot handle another siege,” you tell him, “I’m sure you’ve heard of the recently won battle? One that put our trade on a different track than I had planned.”
“You lack manpower,” he notes and you nod.
“And you lack resources.”
“I see.”
The two of you sit in silence, contemplating the weight of the duties thrusted onto the both of you. Two barely adult royals made to bear the consequences of the decisions of past rulers. In the end, that’s all there is to it. Duty and honor over your heart, always.
“So, what do we do then? Do we break off the proposal?” He asks and you shake your head.
“I’m afraid it’s not that simple, your highness, the council has a good hold over our kingdoms, especially with yours, since you are but a prince at the moment. They believe that a marriage will suffice as a life-long commitment for both parties, leaving no room to back out for both our ends of the proposition.”
“... Do… Do we really have no choice?” His voice was just above a whisper.
You only stare at your food in defeat.
“It’s for the people,” you say, not quite believing the words that come out of your mouth, “For our kingdoms.”
Prince Mydeimos stares at you, guessing if you’re trying to convince him or yourself, you’re not sure what reprieve to give him if he asks, even you don’t know the answer to that question.
“Well, hell, if we’re going to do this, might as well make their heads spin while we’re at it right?”
You raise an eyebrow, “What do you mean?”
He leans back in his seat, “What I mean, your highness, is to make this marriage as much of an inconvenience to everyone who is involved in planning it, so much so that they would call it off on their own, we can make a treaty on our own once I’m crowned king,” he says.
“And that’ll be when?”
“Less than a year from now, an easy way out for the both of us.”
You chew the inside of your cheek as you contemplate the risks and rewards of this… alliance (?) with the man who you’ve just been betrothed to. It was risky, that’s for sure, but you know there has to be another way to save both your kingdoms without tying each other down to the other for life.
You sigh, “Fine, but we have to have rules set in place.”
The prince grins, “Anything you want.”
“Rule one, don’t cause a war,” you say, “Our kingdoms cannot afford it right now, not with the current riots throughout the continents.” He nods at this, urging you to continue.
“Rule two, you cannot back out of the treaty once you’re crowned king,” He nods again, “Easily done.”
“Lastly,” you sigh, “You cannot fall in love with me.”
Prince Mydeimos raises an eyebrow at this, “Only if you promise to do the same.”
“Easily done,” you mimic his words from just a moment ago, “So? Do we have a deal?”
“We have a deal, pleasure to be working with you, Princess of Rhodes.”
“I return the sentiment, Prince of Kremnos.”
masterlist
usagi's note: so um hi, i rewrote this, just cuz i wasn't satisfied with the intro, here's a better version, i'll post the next one within a week, i promise i wont go AWOL anymore!
@usagiarchive 2025. do not repost, translate, or use for AI. reblogs, likes, and comments are very appreciated!!
marriage of (in)convenience — mydei x reader — masterlist!
↳ header is from 芝麻汤圆煮多久 on weibo !!
sypnosis — stuck in an arranged marriage with the crown prince of castrum kremnos, you both try to find a way to make the arrangement a lot more hell for the people who forced the two of you into this, and maybe you end up working together better than you thought.
started: 5-14-25 — ended: 8-29-25
total-wc : 48.2k words !! READ ON AO3
content : arranged marriage au. slowburn kinda. shenanigans. idiots (the smartest of their kingdoms btw) falling in love. jealousy. miscommunication. also smut in the last chapter but they're married, just read responsibly cuz i know u guys are gonna read it anyway lol.
I. RECKONING : [ 1.9k words ]
II. RESISTANCE : [ 4.7k words ]
III. UNRAVELING : [ 13.5k words ]
— part one [ 9.2k words ] / part two [ 4.5k words ]
IV. SURRENDER : [ 15.2k words ]
V. DEVOTION : [ 12.5k words ]
TAGLIST: closed!
THANK YOU ALL FOR BEING W ME AS I WROTE THIS!!
usagi's note: HEY!! i told u guys i would post on the 14th HAHA, anyway sorry this took so long, i finished all the current trailblazer quests AND THEN i found out i passed my dream college so i had to get that sorted out first ^^ anyway, do tell me if you guys like it!
@usagiarchive 2025. do not repost, translate, or use for AI. reblogs, likes, and comments are very appreciated!!
zuko wouldn't take too kindly to other men telling him how to handle his wife.
an unfortunate situation arises where this happens; you're chatting happily with zuko before being playfully mean, reaching up to tap nose. zuko's smitten, his smile affectionate as he teases you back, causing you to laugh.
all the while, the men around you are watching you in disdain. their looks judging, almost scathing, as you and zuko remain blissfully unaware. a friend of yours catches you attention and you excuse yourself, placing a quick kiss on zuko's cheek before leaving. there's a brief moment of silence that zuko is about to relax into when one of the men clears his throat.
"pardon me, my lord, but don't you think you're too...lenient with your wife?" he asks and zuko blinks, looks behind him, before gesturing to himself.
"are you talking to me?" zuko replies and the man nods. "i don't understand."
another man speaks up. "well, women are supposed to be seen and not heard, right?" he adds. "unless they're in the bedroom moaning like a bitch in heat then that's acceptable."
the men laugh loudly but zuko doesn't join in, the resting fever of his anger spiking.
"we understand she's the fire lady," another man chimes in. "but she should have some decorum around us and her husband. daring to be so playful with him in public. if she was my wife, i would have slapped her."
the reaction zuko has is visceral, his expression darkening like thunderous clouds. steam begins to stream from his nostrils, his temperature raising as his hands curl into fists. to think that they feel comfortable insulting you in front of him, to degrade his wife because she doesn't conform to their ancient and horrid ways.
they're telling him to be less lenient with you, to snip your wings and lock you in a cage because, apparently, you aren't your own person. apparently, they see you as a piece of property that belongs to him and the very thought makes him horribly ill. it makes him want to scream because why on earth would he silence you?
silence your wonderful voice and amazing opinions? take away your spectacular personality and your fearlessness? he fell in love with you because of you were yourself and now these men think they're entitled to tell him how to love you? no, not love you.
control you.
"i see none of your wives are here," zuko says, after cooling the most of his rage. "how come?"
"oh, i'm divorced." the first man says.
"my wife ran away with the stable boy," the second spits out. "heartless bitch, after everything i did for her."
"i'm not married." the third adds.
"ah." zuko smiles humourlessly. "well, forgive my rudeness, but i don't think i'll be taking advice from two men who can't keep a healthy marriage and one who can't even find a spouse."
all three men go still at the insults, noting the sudden change in zuko's tone—it's dangerous.
"talk about my wife in such a way again and i'll personally see that your lives are made less than pleasant." zuko's gaze is deadly, his power imposing as he stands tall above the three of them. "do i make myself clear?"
the men quickly lower their heads, faces blanched in fear as they stutter, "y-yes, fire lord zuko!"
perfect.
zuko looks towards you, his expression softening when you meet his gaze. you beam happily, waving at him and zuko waves back, smiling.
why would ever think about trying to change the amazing person you already are?
AHHH!! My first ever tag on a post — Thank you Dan ദ്ദി(˵•̀ ᴗ -˵)
And i also happen to get earth… wow i did not expect to be reading a diary about myself. It was a lovely (and weird) experience answering the questions!
@risolmayooo @sageqydeee @yae-yu127 @tyuoui (hope you guys dont mind!)
Summary: Bruce Wayne is proud to say that he has one child that never devoted their life to fighting crime. You were the easy one. The healthy one. The normal one. After years of radio silence, he decided to reach out to you.
Masterlist, Chapter Five
The vastness of Wayne Manor was often severely underestimated. Endless hallways with boundless doors hiding unimaginably big rooms, and as asinine as it sounded, the architect of this monstrosity of a home had found a sense for every single one.
The walls have been replaced with windows, looking east, and granting the perfect opportunity to enjoy the morning sun in every season. Hand-painted tiles paved the floor that would have even inspired Antoni Gaudí. A table stood before you, all kinds of rarities spread out: flower-shaped pastries, ripe fruits arranged into colorful art, and freshly cut flowers flattering noses with their aroma.
The sunroom was a beautiful start to a day of lazing around. But here in Gotham, rain whipped against the windows, rattled them with its sheer force, and dooming clouds swallowed the sun behind grey curtains. Thunder vibrated through the air. You sat at the table, leaning against the chair. You have spent many mornings in this room. Sunday breakfast – which used to be Friday nights in the time that Martha and Thomas Wayne were still alive, the wine glasses and candleholder still tucked away in a delicate armoire, as Alfred had told you once – was a tradition that Alfred decidedly did not want to cut out of his life. It was almost noon, but when people lived more in the night than day, breakfast sometimes started at twelve.
You have spent many breakfasts here. Week upon week, sitting down at the beautiful table, picking at your food as words flew over your head without ever acknowledging you. Alfred has forced you down to every single one, no matter what you did. He would then place a tea next to you – never coffee, you were always too young for coffee – and put food on your plate. At first, you were only allowed to leave the table when you finished your food. It didn’t matter that you hated the black English Breakfast tea he always served you; that bile crawled up your throat with every sip you took. You were raised to be a person of society, not a spoiled child crying over some bitter herbs. It didn’t matter how long you would sit there; what mattered was that you learned to sit still.
The rules changed over time, adjusting to your behavior. After you begin to wolf down your food like an animal, trying to leave this damned table as fast as possible, Alfred set up a new rule. You were only allowed to stand up after everybody had already left.
You never understood why Alfred clung to this tradition – clung to your presence. These breakfasts have always been filled with talk about some case that you were never allowed to participate in.
“You are too young.”
“It’s too dangerous.”
“You don’t know enough.”
“You will be no help.”
And that didn’t include the days on which the room was empty except for you. Empty chairs would line up around you, plates and cups taken away. “The gentlemen will breakfast in the Cave today.”
You have questioned the rationale behind sitting in an empty room, sitting at the table till someone far away from you, below the earth, finished their breakfast. It was always the same sentence.
“I will not let you succumb to his disastrous behavior.”
The words rang in your ears. The flat tone of his voice left no room for elaboration, for arguments. His presence would leave the room, but his watchful eyes never missed any of your moves.
You have never seen the room as full as today.
Chatter filled the air, cutlery scraping over plates, cups clinking while being put down. Duke and Cass spoke in low tones to each other, sharing smiles like good friends did. Dick and Tim talked over the table, discussing things you were not willing to take an interest in. Steph seemed to be teasing Damian, a sparkle in her eyes that could only come from mischief. The noise was dynamic, ping-ponging into a lived-in rhythm that every one of them knew.
The cut of your suit pressed against you, and you smoothed over it. Your broken nail got caught between the threads, tugging on your finger. Ants crawled up your arms, hundreds of little legs swarming over your shoulder and down your spine. You removed your hands, laying them flat on the table. The splinter from the morning prickled in your skin, too deep in for you to pick it out by yourself.
“How did you sleep last night?” Startled, you blinked at your father. This time, you sat at the other end of the table, facing him directly. You questioned if that was truly the better option as his vibrant blue eyes stared at you. “It is, mind you, your first night home in some time.” Silence settled over the table in a moment, attention redirecting the moment they heard the low bass in Bruce’s voice.
A few seats away, Stephanie mumbled into her juice. “He never asks us how we sleep.” Tim elbowed her in a move that was supposed to be casual but was nothing but. She rubbed her side and gave Tim a nasty look. “What? You think the same.” The next second she held her leg, frowning in Cass's direction, who smiled so plainly that it was bordering on threatening again.
Dick threw a panicked look between the three, a vein pulsing at his forehead. The next time you blinked, the expression was gone as he sprawled back in his chair like a god waiting to be fed grapes. He huffed, cherries dangling by their stem from his pointer finger as he aimed it accusingly at Tim. “The last time I asked you how you slept, you tried to bite me.“
“Should have given you rabies,” spoke Duke next to you, picking a masterfully cut piece of kiwi with his fork.
“Excuse me?” Duke didn’t answer Dick, idly eating his breakfast.
“Right,” said Bruce, taking a big sip of his coffee.
“I slept well,” you lied.
Cass snorted.
“Pig,” mumbled Damian.
“I would never have rabies,” cut Tim in with red ears.
“Oink, oink,” mocked Cass.
“Say that to all the Gotham rats that bid you when -,” began Duke.
Steph began to laugh. “Oh that -”
“You are disgusting, Cain,” hissed Damian.
“We don’t talk about that,” yelled Tim.
Cass opened her mouth, showing the boy the chewed-up food inside.
Dick slapped his hand on the table so hard, the whole table vibrated. Some of your tea sloshed out of the cup, past the saucer onto the tablecloth. It was English breakfast tea, you realized as the white cotton turned into a dark brown. Terribly bitter, even if you added five spoons of sugar. You ripped your attention away from the tea – terrible, terrible bitter – and looked up to Dick. “Can you all stop?” His electric blue eyes are wide open, scanning everybody with sharp, cutting intensity. The pulsing vein reappeared on his forehead, glistening with sweat. “I haven’t seen my sibling for years, and you act like you have never seen the inside of a house.”
“That’s because you guys act weird,” said Steph, crossing her arms and leaning back. “It’s not our fault that you just suddenly remembered some family existed again and need them to hold your hand.”
The corner of Dick’s mouth curled up – for an outsider it would be a smile, but you knew it was more dangerous. It was too wide with too many teeth. His next words would be carefully chosen, sharpened with every insecurity you held close to you, twisting every self-doubt into a tool he set right between two ribs, ready to stab right into your heart.
You swallowed, your dry tongue rubbing against your gums like sandpaper.
“Dick didn’t forget about me,” you tried to cut in, but your words neither reached Dick nor Steph. The only one was Duke, his gaze coming far too close to pity to dissect it further. Instead, you looked at your father, waiting for him to hold Dick back like a dog that barked too loud.
Your father redirected his attention – always so careful with who he gave it to – from you to Steph. It was minimal, the shift in his body, the turn in his lips. “Stephanie,” her name came out like judgment. She didn’t flinch, tilting her chin forward. “I think I already explained why these holidays are so important this year.”
Steph pressed her lips together, her big blonde curls falling into her face. “You are just mad that I’m right. Please. I have known this family for years – and none of you ever even mentioned them.” She threw her arms up, pointing towards Dick and Bruce. “You didn’t even tell Damian they had a sibling.”
“Brown,” hissed Damian, eyes darting between Bruce and her.
“No, Damian, we should talk about how fucked up this is, because no one else at this table here acts like they should.”
“When exactly should we have told Damian about his?” Dick raised an eyebrow, curious. “It is only now that he stopped behaving like a savage and came near to being human.”
"Hey now," interrupted Duke, eyes narrowing and hands clenching into fists.
The boy in question held his head high like they didn’t talk about him, but you caught how the grip around his fork tightened, picking food from his plate in a controlled manner.
Bruce set his cutlery down, straightening out the wrinkles in his suit. “Dick,” he didn’t raise his voice, didn’t bark out a command. Their eyes locked in, a conversation happening before you that nobody was privy to. After just seconds, Dick lost his edge. His smile fell like a card house as he leaned back. The tension bled out, but his face was not that of someone who just lost a fight – it was that of someone who won.
Your father’s voice sounded distant, professional. But you knew that felt worse than any angry remark he could have directed at you. “As far as I remember, you invited yourself. As always. So if there is any problem, you are welcome to leave. As always.”
Humiliation burned red in Steph’s face, glassy eyes looking around the table, stopping at Cass. But Cass didn’t meet her face to face, turning away from her.
„Fine.“ Steph stood up. „Fine. I will leave. And I will leave gladly. Have a fun-fucking Christmas, everybody.“ She left the table, marching straight past Alfred, who has watched the whole ordeal with placid professionalism. She stopped at the door, turning around. Tears ran down her face, reflecting the light like liquid diamonds, unafraid of being seen – unafraid of being judged. She pinned you down in your seat, showing a mocking smile just for you. “I hope you have a fantastic stay at the Manor, Wayne.”
She left, slamming the glass door. Hairline fissures followed her leave, spreading from the bronze handle like a spiderweb. You waited for the crack, but the glass stayed in the frame; broken, but not out of line.
“I'm going to have to leave.” Duke stood up, the first to break the silence. He opened his mouth, clearly ready to comment on what had just happened. He took in Dick’s victory, Bruce’s stern face, Damian’s silence, and Tim’s stubbornness. He stopped at Cass, taking in her guilt, the way she didn’t meet his eyes and closed his mouth. His face became unreadable.
“Duke,” said Bruce, softer.
The boy shook his head. “I’m visiting my parents, remember?” He looked into the round, detached. “My cousin and I are going to be celebrating Christmas together, so we will see each other for New Year's Eve again.” Duke didn’t bother with a goodbye. He left, ending breakfast with the absence of his presence. One after the other, everybody stood up.
You stayed seated, legs feeling heavy as you watched them leave. Your eyes got caught on the small shoulders hugged by a green wool sweater. The same haughty cat from yesterday followed Damian on silent paws, curling his tail around his leg till he reached down and picked the cat up. The cat pressed his head against the boy’s shoulder, loudly purring when gentle fingers pet him under his furry chin.
Damian's stony face softened at the display, his green eyes growing fond as he looked at his companion.
Divider: @uzmacchiato
A/N: tada! New chapter is out! And some drama is starting. Bruce general treatment of Steph - especially while she was Robin - directly inspired this chapter :) Also I stand for Duke hating Dick's guts. He did gave Duke to the GCPD in I think Robin War, which well... I don't think I have to explain why that is bad. Also I loooovee Damian. I have some scene planned with him and I just can't wait to write him more. My boy is a child, let him be one. if if you find any big mistakes in grammar/spelling please tell me! also if you have any particular thoughts on this chapter let me know, even if there just a swarm of emojy, it is always great to see what you guys feel!
(A/n: Hello again :) hope you enjoy this chapter, I know you guys have been waiting for reader to stand up for themself and here it is! also, some of the big reveals you've been wondering about are in the works, so please bear with me as I try to get them to you quickly and thoroughly)
Why's your family trying to connect so hard with you after so many years of neglect? Well . . . I guess its not all that bad- why are they staring so hard???
(pt.1, pt.2, pt.3, pt.4, pt.5, pt.6, pt.7, pt. 8, pt.9, pt.10, pt.11, pt. 12, pt.13)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The family settled into their designated spots at the table: Jason to your right, Bruce at the head, Dick across from Jason, and Damian to the other side of Tim.
The setup mirrored your awkward family dinner from Friday night, the only difference being the subtle buzz in your nerves, both from the painkillers and your bubbling frustration.
You didn't probe the topic right away, instead waiting until dinner was starting to wrap up before poking the bear.
This time around, Jason didn't do any of that weird bullshit about serving you food, only because Alfred had taken that responsibility beforehand.
Well, kinda. Your worries about upsetting your already unhappy stomach with a heavy Sunday roast turned out to be unnecessary, since Alfred had made you an entirely separate meal.
Your food consisted of warm miso soup and a side of some kind of seasoned tofu. For a second, you couldn't believe that Alfred had taken the time to make you something separate from the others, it was out of character for the man.
For the gang of vigilantes, Alfred regularly made specialized meals, but since you weren't usually recovering from massive injuries, you just went along with whatever was on the table that day. Regardless of the dish, the food was always high-quality and delicious.
You'd never complained, and he'd never deviated, until today.
You supposed that a concussion was reason enough to get a different meal, but it was still odd to have that kind of direct attention on you, doubly so from Alfred.
Whatever, at least it saved you from Jason playing Jenga with your food again.
You still felt intensely watched by the people around the table, but kept your head buried firmly down at your plate until it was time for dessert. Only after Alfred had set out the Bread Pudding (you got a platter of cut fruit) did you clear your throat and look up at Bruce, who was already looking straight at you.
This was it. You'd had the craziest three days of your life. Your boundaries (built over years of careful movement through a house that wasn't yours) had been violated repeatedly, you'd had not a smidge of autonomy (upon reflection), the people you'd come to accept as unfortunate constants had completely flipped their personalities, and you'd been kidnapped by the fucking Riddler because he thought that Bruce would come for you.
And craziest of all was that he was right.
You'd put up with it only because you had to, it wasn't like these fuckers let you get a word in edgewise, instead dragging you along like a passenger on the rollercoaster of your life.
And now, they were essentially threatening to isolate you entirely, after 3 days of completely insane behavioral changes.
You weren't quite sure if you were the one going through psychosis or they were.
Inhale, exhale.
You cleared your throat again and started slowly, "Tim said you had my phone? That the doctors gave it to you at the hospital or something?"
Bruce answered back just as calmly, cutting into his dessert as he responded, "Yes, that's right."
This asshole really wanted you to spell it out, huh? World's greatest detective my ass.
"Could I have it back?" No please, no explaining yourself. You didn't need to, the request was perfectly reasonable. Somewhere inside you knew Bruce didn't care much about reasonable. This was the same man that dressed up as a Bat and beat the shit out of criminals every night.
"No."
Like father like son.
Inhale, exhale.
"Why not?"
The rest of the table was quiet, watching the exchange carefully.
Bruce lifted his bite toward his mouth, "No screens, remember? That's what the doctor said." He frowned, "You do remember that, correct?"
Funny how Tim had said the same thing, huh? These people either thought you were stupid or were banking on you not to question them.
"I do. I also remember her saying that I could have them back after 48 hours."
"Ah and therein lies the problem. It hasn't been 2 days yet, sweetheart, you're not cleared for screens."
Sweetheart?
Inhale, exhale.
"Yeah, funny, Tim said the same thing." You pretended not to notice the withering glare the others sent his way. "He also said that you're not planning to give me my phone back even after the time's up, so uh what's the deal there?"
Bruce continued to fix his icy blue eyes at a point through you. "For smoothest recovery, we'll be increasing your screentime slowly. It wouldn't do you any good if you immediately went back to the numbers you had before, and- hours a day? Really? It'll be good for you to find some other hobbies."
At that you had to laugh, something disbelieving and forced.
"You know, its not even really about the phone, it's..." You trailed off, waving your hands around towards the table.
Your father leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and bringing his hands into a clasp in front of his face. Terrible manners and a guarded pose, he was gearing up for something and while you couldn't put a name to it, so were you.
He raised a brow, "It's what, exactly?"
Inhale, exhale.
Maybe when you were younger, still licking your wounds from being tossed to the side, you would have lost your bravado there, clamming up and holing back up in your room.
But you'd worked hard to get away from that, becoming someone who wasn't deathly afraid of confrontation. You wouldn't start the fight, but that didn't mean you'd let someone walk all over you.
That said, when it came to Bruce, phrasing was important. You'd been a silent bystander to many of his fights with the others, slinking around the manor and listening in to them play mental gymnastics.
The second any of them heard something that could be twisted in their favor, they would take it and twist, you knew that.
So you paused a second to think about how you could say this. Again, he'd find some way somehow to misconstrue anything you could possibly say, but from your side, you had to be smart about this. You didn't have years of experience fighting Bruce like the others, but he'd never had the chance to study you the way that you had been doing to him.
You were, at the end of the day, his child.
"You tell me, Bruce. for the past three days, you've been...like a whole different person. Is that what this is? Are you dosed with something? Are all of you doused with something? Because you have to recognize none of this is normal."
"What part exactly isn't normal?"
"The part where you care."
At that, Bruce worked his jaw.
"I care more than you think."
"Really?"
Jason had given up part way through the conversation and lounged back in his seat, slowly working through his dessert with a smug set to his lips. Tim's eyes were wide, bouncing between yourself and Bruce, the gears in his head visibly at work. Damian was still perfectly poised, his stance coiled up in preparation for a fight you wouldn't be having.
Dick, ever the martyr, stepped in to diffuse the palpable tension around the table. Or maybe he was just an attention whore who lived for the fantasy of trying to stitch his broken family together every time.
Probably the second.
"Wait. Both of you, calm down. (Name), of course Bruce cares, we all care-"
Inhale, exhale.
"Really? I mean, sure, fine, I concede, maybe you think you care, but that doesn't change the fact that you nothing you've done has been normal since Friday!"
"Friday? You mentioned you thought that was a PR stunt, is that was this is all about? You believe that any intention to be a father must be because of some external influence? Or that I have to be dosed in order to want to spend time with my child?"
Bruce's volume didn't get any louder, a dangerous illusion of calm, even though by the end he was practically hissing through his teeth, eyes narrowed into something sharp.
"Yes." The words slipped out before you could stop them, quiet but they seemed to echo around the room.
You continued, "I do think there has to be something foul at play for you to talk to me because why wouldn't I? I can count on two hands the amount of times we've had a conversation over the last 8 years!"
"You don't care about me! And I was fine with that! I was finally fine with that! I made my peace with it. With you. But then you come back, demanding to—what, get breakfast, sit through family dinners, follow medication schedules? For fucks sake, Bruce! Why couldn't you just let me live in peace?"
"You threw me to the side, you gave up on me. But why'd you have to come back."
The words weren't stopping, not even as you watched, tunnel vision on your father, as Bruce's face turned shades paler (no small feat), his knuckles white around his utensils.
"Now that's not fair, (Name)." Dick again butted in, hands raised with his palms up, staring intently at you, cornflower blue eyes unblinking. "This is family, and that means understanding that-"
You were tired of this conversation already, head starting to pound a steady thrum in the back of your skull, but you'd tussle the verbal 5v1 if needed, no going back now.
Inhale, exhale.
But it wasn't you that responded. It was Jason, hands scrubbing over his face, grin gone, looking more exhausted than he was a minute ago.
"No, they're right. They're right, Dickie, you know that. We knew this was going to happen, and you can try to pull as much bullshit as you want around them, but the little bird's smart. Always has been."
"Jason-" Tim started, urgency in his tone.
But Jason never listened once he got started.
"No, Timbers, I'm not-" he exhaled harshly, clearly frustrated, "I put up with this shit because you all said it would work out. That (Name) wouldn't ask questions, and when I said that this would blow up in our faces, you told me that we'd come clean. "
You felt frozen, like the room was revolving around you, time becoming syrupy and slipping right through your fingers.
"What? Come clean? Come clean about what? Jason-"
"Jason. Stop." Bruce this time, barking sharply at Jason from the head of the table. "This is not how we agreed to tell-"
Dick looked pissed, glaring daggers into Jason from across the table, "Wow, Little Wing, well done. Now they're even more confused, you were the one harping on about a gentle appr-"
Inhale, exhale.
Jason cut them both off, "You heard them! You heard what happens when (Name) slips through our hands, you know this! Right now, concussed, sitting at a table with people that are practically strangers, is this a gentle approach? You want to lose ours too, you fuckheads!"
Lose...you? And who was 'them'? And why was the room starting to spin even faster?
Tim was looking straight at you, the only one at the table that was still focusing on you, Damian watching the exchange between the three oldest, still bickering, with clear disgust and disbelief.
"(Name), listen to me, I know you're confused, but you need to stop and breathe, you're panicking. Stop-"
Oh. He was right, you weren't breathing properly anymore.
Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.
While you tried to suck down some actual air, head pounding, Tim just continued to say something at you, words too quiet to be heard over the thump in your ears and Dick, Jason, and Bruce's fighting.
"(Name) is on the verge of passing out. Congratulations to all of you, we've done exactly what we most feared. Now if you could stop acting like imbeciles for ONE SECOND, you'd see that they're swaying in their seat."
Damian, making a stunning debut in the ring.
But he was right, get yourself together, you have shit to do.
Inhale, exhale.
You were going to get your answers, no taking the easy way out and passing out this time.
"From the top, no bullshit, no lies, what happened? Who are 'they'? And what do you mean lose me?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(A/n: OMG WE'RE HERE, WE FINALLY MADE IT, the (so far) climax of the series, where I get to deliver to you my rendition of "the big one", the fight that gets you some answers. Answers that are coming....next time, YAY! (sorry i wanted to answer them in this chapter, but I'm not happy with how that went, and you guys deserve a better draft than I currently have) so until we meet again!
Also, I hope I've redeemed myself with reader finally gaining a backbone! I've heard the people, I know you guys have wanted to see reader stand up for themself and so have I! This is how I see it going down, but as always all feedback is more than appreciated! <3)
A loud knock interrupted sleep, well your attempt at falling asleep. You turn over, eyes peeking at the clock on your side table, 2:12AM.
A knock rings through your room once more, slower this time, heavier, as if whoever was standing on the other side of the door was putting their weight into it.
You groaned, running your red-rimmed eyes and dragging yourself out of bed and towards the door. Who was up at this time? There's no way your neighbours were out this late and locked themselves out — especially not on a weeknight.
You straightened your night shirt and shorts, the shirt wasn't even yours, it still smelt of him yet you couldn't bear the shame of returning it.
“Satoru?”
Gojo swayed in the doorway, tall frame hunched beneath the dim hallway light. His white hair was a mess, cheeks pink from alcohol and the cold night air. His designer jacket smelt of cheap alcohol and expensive cologne.
And his usually bright, blue eyes looked… wrecked as if he hadn't slept a wink in days.
The moment his eyes met yours something in him cracked.
Before you could even question him on why he was at your dorm at this hour he slumped into your arms, his large frame nearly knocking you over. “Missed you… S’much,” he slurred into your hair, nuzzling his face closer and inhaling your shampoo.
Something in your stomach twisted. You shouldn't be bitter about it, not really, it's not like you two were official or anything. But it still hurt.
It hurt because he was the first guy to really see you, not just as the ‘quiet kid’ or the ‘nerd,’ Satoru saw you for you, despite being a frat brother, all those late night drives, those cafe study dates, even the lingering kisses.
Then one day he stopped answering your texts, started avoiding you in the library, and eventually told you he had lost feelings on some random Tuesday.
You cried for an entire week, beating yourself up for believing he would want to be with you.
“Satoru,” your voice came out shakier than intended, “are you drunk?”
“Only jus’ a little.” he slurred out, drool starting to pool at the corner of his mouth. “Why are you drinking, I thought you didn't like it?” He giggled at your words, “You always know me too well, pretty girl.”
He stayed clinging to you, backing you up until he was fully inside your dorm and the door clicked shut behind him. It was silent for a moment — except for Gojo’s breath in your ear, then something wet dripped onto your neck.
“Ew are you drooling —” you pulled him off you, finally meeting his gaze again, a soft gasp escaped you, “— why are you crying?” His eyes were redder now, soft tears spilling onto his pale cheeks.
He hiccuped, pulling you closer once more. “I lied… I messed up s’bad, I didn't get bored, fuck I could never get bored of you. You're so funny, and pretty, and you smell really good. Like a cupcake.” His rambling continued as fresh tears welled in his eyes.
You swallowed hard, forcing yourself not to look away. “Then why did you do it?”
“M’stupid, that's why.”
“I know that, but that's not an answer.”
His head dropped forward until his forehead rested against yours. “The guys got to my head,” he admitted quietly. “They said I’m wasting my ‘potential’ and could pull that hot girl Shoko hangs out with.” He took a gasping breath, face contorting into one of disgust, “but she isn't hot, she's just not a nerd like you. But that makes you hot.”
You had to bite back a laugh, forcing a serious expression as he continued. “They said you're clingy, too serious but I loved that about you. You're perfect for my stupid self.”
“It really hurt me, what you did.” Your voice felt small, as if your throat was tightening.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Tears blurred your vision before you could stop them. “You don't know how it felt,” you choked out. “Like I was some hobby, or some prop you kept around.” Gojo’s mouth twisted into a deeper frown, “Don't say that —”
“It’s true.”
“No it's not.” His voice came out desperate this time, yet somehow firm.
He cupped your face carefully, like he thought you might break apart in his hands. “You meant everything,” he said shakily. “That was the problem, I let them convince me that being utterly whipped for you was a bad thing.”
You stared at him through your tears, and a soft sniffle filled the silence.
“A-and I tried to ignore them, o-or tell them that I didn't care about you like that, but I do.” He gave a soft laugh, words sloshing around his mouth as he slipped further into his drunk haze.
Another tear slipped down your cheek, and he caught it with his thumb, swiping it away. “I wanted to answer your texts, to see you in the library at lunch — hell I wanted to come over,” he whispered, “I knew I fucked up.”
He was silent for a moment before speaking again. “I got hammered just to tell you this, y’know? I hate drinking but you're worth it.”
His eyes searched yours desperately. “Kept thinking about your laugh and your stupid jokes you make and the way you steal my clothes—”
A choked laugh escaped you despite yourself and Satoru’s expression softened at the sound. “There she is,” he murmured.
You shook your head, crying harder now. “You’re an asshole.”
“Yeah…but I’m your asshole…?” He looked down at you hopefully, “Ew, don't make it weird.” You laughed, wiping the tears from your eyes.
A tiny smile tugged weakly at his mouth. He swayed dangerously, alcohol still humming in his veins, “Let's get you to bed, Satoru.” You caught the mischievous glint in his eyes, “Don’t be a freak, I mean to sleep.” You watched his face fall then brighten up once more, “Can we sleep together —” He straightened when he saw your stern gaze, “— not like that.”
You guided him to your bedroom, he kicked his shoes off messily near the door and practically collapsed into your bed with a dramatic groan that almost made you laugh again.
“God,” he muttered. “The room is spinning.” You rolled your eyes, tossing over some of his clothes that you had stole forgot to return. “Hey, keep your eyes to yourself.” He muttered as he not-so-gracefully shimmied out of his jeans.
You climbed into bed beside him, the second you did, Gojo opened his arms. You hesitantly curled up next to him, the feeling oddly familiar.
“M’sorry,” he whispered into your hair, his eyes fluttering shut and sleep began to take him.
“I know.”
He pressed a wet kiss to your forehead, finally succumbing to the after-effects of the alcohol.
He's going to be in for it tomorrow when you ‘ran out’ of painkillers for his hangover.
a/n: thank you @ingydingyy for the request I hope I did your idea justice <3
JUST THINKING ABOUT men who lean their heads down to listen to what you have to say because of the height difference, humming along to your words, accidentally nosing against your cheek because he knows it flusters you before murmuring, "keep talking, sweet girl. i'm listening."
You'd always heard horror stories of friends staying the night at each other's houses and not knowing how to work their showers. You'd also considered yourself smarter than the average cookie because that has never happened to you. Most showers seem self explanatory.
And then, you stay the night at your boyfriend's for the first time and take a look at his stupidly expensive shower.
You eye the four knobs that control temperature and the dozen jets, two waterfalls (one higher, one lower (what is the lower one for?)), the removable showerhead and what you're assuming is the rainfall head. The symbols on the knobs may as well be hieroglyphics, giving next to no insight on how to turn this mother fucker on without being soaked immediately by the jets.
You don't even try. You wrap yourself in a towel and walk back into the adjoining bedroom, shaking your head with your eyebrows raised.
"Satoru, what the fuck is that?" you ask, motioning behind you to the bathroom.
"A shower..?" he says, looking up from his phone. His eyebrows furrow in his own confusion.
"Yes," you reply through grit teeth. "How do I turn it on?"
"Oh!" He jumps up from his bed and crosses the room to you, placing a hand on your hip and a kiss to your lips as he leads you back into the bathroom. "Why didn't you just say that, love? I'm more than willing to show you."
Satoru opens the glass door and steps in the shower, dragging you along with him. He points at the individual knobs and explains each of the symbols, explaining which is best for which occasion - the misters for when you're hot, rainfall for normal showers, waterfall for when you want to feel like you're lost in the jungle and it's been a week and you're losing hope of being found, etc.
You're giggling by the time he finishes his spiel and he's got his own 1000 kilowatt smile plastered on his face and turned on you.
"So what'll it be tonight?" he asks, clapping his hands together. "The waterfall is a personal favorite."
"A normal shower, please."
"Can do, baby." He kisses your cheek and sets the shower to your preferred setting. "The temperature control turns the water on," he says, stepping out of the shower.
Your towel drops to the floor just as he's exiting, the sound making his head crane back around to catch a glimpse of your ass before you step into the fog of the shower.
"You know, on second thought," he says, grabbing your attention as his shirt joins your towel. "Maybe we should shower together. Just in case you have questions."
campus heartthrob and resident fuckboy GOJO SATORU shocks everyone by going exclusive with you
gojo satoru settling down was as unlikely as catching the hour hand of a clock moving.
notorious for being a lady's man , he had it all going for him. he was all bedroom eyes and cheesy smiles that can make anyone's knees go weak. he was full of loud laughter and nonchalant swagger.
like he didn't give a damn.
cigars for breakfast, skipping lunch to attend classes if he felt so, hard liquor with his frat boys and a different woman in his bed at night—for dinner of course.
he had the face, he had the body, he had the charisma. none could blame the poor souls who wanted a taste, even for just one night.
and satoru. oh. satoru was just a guy. who was he to turn away the beautiful ladies? he didn't chase after them, it was just his luck that they came to him first.
then he caught his first glimpse of you. at his party, looking so out of place that made his eyes zero in on you. not even a cup in your hands. looking so good that it made him want to do something bad.
so he slid up to your side with his usual confidence. started a conversation he could hardly care about. and ultimately, was shocked into silence when you hit him with a "sorry, that pea in your bed is going to bruise my back".
rejected him.
rejected him.
and thus began satoru's chase. the chase for your heart.
the local campus gossip forum ruminated , 'the heartthrob, gojo, has been caught getting rejected by unknown woman. the university has since, seen a rise in the number of women left unsatisfied as gojo's bedroom door has been closed for shocking reason. is a reform on the way? is exclusivity on the horizon? '
heads turned as the usually absent satoru was seen attending classes almost to the point of regularity.
gasps rang out when someone leaked a picture of him handing you flowers. red. roses.
so awfully cliche that you couldn't even blame your past self for the disgust on your face in the aforementioned leaked picture.
women raged when a video of him begging you while chasing after you on the sidewalk surfaced in the stories of satoru's frat bro's.
the man who was known for being as careless with his words as people are with their phones after a year, was suddenly mindful of his vocabulary.
when before, smirks and winks were handed out to the girls so easily—now they were reserved just for you it seemed.
and the crazy part of it all? you made him run. you made him grovel. you made him fix his failing grades. made him fix his fillipiant attitude.
and made him take 2 hiv tests.
made him give a damn.
but you couldn't change his cliché-ness. he was a sappy romantic. he snuck candy in your stationery, climbed up your window ledge and left flowers in your hair when you weren't paying attention to him.
he even started gifting you books which you had talked about in that first meeting. at the frat party. and that was when you caved in. not enough to let him in your bed. but enough to go out with him.
the frat boys tripped over themselves when they caught satoru in a white formal shirt and black slacks. a red rose in his pocket. the picture of a lover boy. the change was not sudden, he had been chasing after you for months . but it was shocking nonetheless.
and satoru. oh. satoru was in love. the goodness tasted way better on his tongue than cigar smoke. your perfume on his clothes smelled better than nightly sex.
and your hand in his made his heart race faster than any orgasm he had ever had.
he never imagined himself to be tamed by a woman. yet here he was. and he had no regrets.
not when people all around him gaped at your fingers scratching the hair at his nape.
not when his boys hollered at the tattoo of your name over his heart.
and certainly not when you finally let him in your bed.
he still had a long way to go though. to prove that he was there to stay. to prove that he was exclusive to you.
so as he lay stroking your back as you slept on his chest, he planned the perfect little outing to take you on the next day. (and ways to woo you so that you would invite him to your bed again)
Pre-menstrual depression is always depicted as like "He He! I had a box of icecream bars and cried while watching the Titanic!" But in reality, it's more like, "I'm standing the edge of an abyss. There is nothing good inside of me, I'm filled with rage and desperation."
It's crazy that being told how to deal with that is never a part of anyone's menstrual sex education.
This has already been said in the notes, but if PMS causes extreme depression and even suicidal ideation, that is in fact something that most people do not experience and it can be treated
Like for the majority it really is "oh i'm hungrier and moodier than usual"
^this should be a part of sex education so the point still stands
I went to my doctor after I was walking to work one morning and saw a bus coming and actually took a step to throw myself in front of it before I pulled myself together. Later that day I started bleeding and was literally like someone flipped a switch and I didn't feel suicidal anymore. Which made me feel like I was loosing my mind because who goes from 'I want to throw myself in front of a bus' to 'I'm perfectly fine' just like that? I did some research, I went to the doctor and described my feelings, he looked me in the eye and gently asked what I thought it was, I said I'd read about PMDD and I thought it might be that, he said 'I think so too' and wrote a prescription.
If, before you get your period, you feel furiously angry, suicidal, irritated by every tiny thing to the point you want to murder someone, stuck in a black hole you'll never escape from. If you are experiencing extreme emotions for what seems like no good reason, especially if you get your period and those extreme emotions just go away. You're probably not just PMSing , you may have PMS's feral big sister PMDD and it's treatable.
Also this is something that can develop as you get older. So if you used to get normal PMS but what I wrote above sounds more like your norm now then don't just write it off as regular PMS.
You actually cannot skip to being good at a creative endeavour that you haven't put much practice into. You cannot trick your way out of the 'knows that your work is not what you want it to be but don't know how to improve it' stage by planning or reading or talking about it really really hard. At some point you just have to craft through it until your brain finds it's own unique way back to the 'everything I make slaps' stage and be prepared to start the cycle all over again. You just have to make that project you're excited about slightly less good than you want it to be. (Says this standing in a pool of blood and covered in blood and also coughing up a little blood)
