Hi hi idk if u're still accepting smau reqs but i rlly love ur batfam + wally smau JSHDJSH if not feel free to ignore
But what if... Poly!superbat texts, like... I imagine their conversations would either be full of gossip abt gotham AND metropolis, photos from both clark and reader about their day bcs it reminded them of each other and bruce just sending likes or heart reacting, steamy ones bcs either bruce or reader was being a brat during a gala, UGHHHHH I LOVE THEM IF U COULDN'T TELL KAHDJWHHS
A/N: AHH THANK YOU SOOO MUCH!!! Since this is my first time writing a poly fic I really hope you like this and turned out the way you imagined it <33 Also, excuse me for the format change. The other app wouldn’t allow me to create a groupchat :(
I WAS THE ONE WHO REQ THE POLY SUPERBAT AND U SERVED POOKIE TYSMMMM😭🫶💜
Now if you're up for it, how would each batboys—and anyone else from DC that you write for honestly— would be offended or go with the flow if you call them dude, bro etc etc either out of nowhere, because reader is excited, or just to see their reactions LMAO idk if this has been done b4 😭
stay hydrated!🫶💜
Do not call me that!
featuring: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Wally West
suguru is obsessed with aftercare...and you apparently
There’s a soft rock song playing in the background when Suguru finally finishes inside you, his hair sticking to his sweat slicked forehead and his eyes looking at you with that soft gentle quality he only reserves for you.
He swipes his thumb over your cheek as your eyes flutter open, allowing for the last wave of post-orgasmic bliss to wash over you.
“Hey gorgeous,” Suguru whispers softly, slowly making his way out of you and peppering kisses along your jaw, neck, and chest.
“Hey loser,” You reply back, smiling up at him as your eyes drift close again.
Suguru slowly gets up, making you groan as you feel the loss of his weight and his warmth. “Come on, you should shower,” He says, lifting you up with his strong arms and carrying you to the bathroom.
He strokes at your hair and allows his hands to roam all of you, as if he’s trying to remember you through engraving your body on his fingertips.
You push at him delicately, creating distance as you stretch out your limbs languidly.
“I have to shower,” You say faintly, your voice hoarse and your throat a little sore. Suguru closes the distance once again, kissing your lips with fleeting warmth and slowly trailing his hands all across your body again.
“I don’t see why I have to go for that,” He mumbles in between kisses, alternating from kissing your lips, to your earlobes, to your neck, and to your jaw.
“I have to shower,” You reiterate, feeling a soft giggle bubble in your throat as you feel his touch hovering over somewhere ticklish.
“Exactly, let’s go,” Suguru says, dropping his hands to yours and leading you towards the bathtub.
“I don’t remember showering being a group activity,” You chuckle as you see Suguru pout.
He shakes his head, his long raven hair falling perfectly over his shoulders and accentuating his form as if giving him an outline. “It is now,” He replies defiantly.
You shake your head and give him a look that has no heat in it whatsoever—only love, a quiet bubbling love that is subtle but definitely there. “Well you can find someone else to shower with because it won’t be me.”
Shaking him off of you, you make your way to the shower, stepping in and you’re about to turn on the water before you feel someone wrap their strong arms around your waist.
Suguru pulls you into a deep kiss, a one that is not messy but slow. It’s slow and it’s purposeful. A love letter laced in tongue.
He gives you a soft laugh when he hears you moan softly into his lips, pulling back to brush hairs from your face and tuck it behind your ears, “It wouldn’t be the same,” He says finally after looking at you for ages. Stroking at your cheek and holding your jaw.
“What?”
“It’d have to be you, it’ll always be you baby.”
You look at him incredulously, your heart beating a mile a minute before you watch him turn away and walk out of the bathroom, leaving you to shower like you asked.
You can’t help but miss the way his arms slotted around you perfectly, and the way his breath felt on your skin as he poured out his sentiments.
When you finish, you see Suguru on the bed, hair wet and wearing a big band tee and long pajama pants, smoking a cigarette while looking out the window.
You climb on the bed and slot yourself right in between his legs like you belong there—and part of you thinks that in more ways than one, you do belong there.
He reaches up at your face and cups it in his hands, pulling you down to kiss him. Soft, sweet, and deep like everything is with him.
He palms at your hair, and kisses you like he means it—like he really wouldn’t want to do this with anyone but you.
When you pull back you give him a smile, your voice dipped in honey and totally saccharine, “You smell like cigarettes.”
Request for the lovely @skiyommii - I haven’t written for ex-toji IN A MINUTE !
1. The Flowers
It started during the first year after the divorce.
Out of instinct more than anything else, Toji bought your favorite flowers like he always used to and had them delivered to your apartment.
Not long after, his phone rang.
“Toji, please,” you sighed softly. “This is hard enough already… no flowers. No gifts.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, staring out the window while the florist receipt still sat on the counter.
“Wasn’t trying to make you feel bad,” he muttered. “Think of it as a thank you… for being married to me for so long…dealing with my bullshit.”
You didn’t know what to say to that.
The flowers kept coming every year after that.
Even when you both started dating other people.
The bouquet always arrived on the same day, with the same arrangement.
2. Winter Tires
The first winter apart, he called you out of nowhere.
“Hey,” he said casually, like he hadn’t been rehearsing what to say for the last ten minutes. “I know I usually change your tires for you, and the deadline’s coming up.”
You stayed quiet while listening to the familiar sound of him tapping his lighter against the kitchen counter.
“I made you an appointment at my friend’s shop,” he continued. “If you’re not comfortable, I can just bring the car over myself before I pick up the kids.”
You closed your eyes. “Toji… thank you, but I don’t think that’s necessary anymore. I can bring the car myself.”
A pause.
“But really… thanks for the reminder. And for making the appointment.”
“Yeah,” he answered quietly. “No problem.”
After the call ended, sadness settled heavily in your chest.
He still remembered the little things. The things no one else ever thought about.
3. The Wallet Photo
Toji never removed the family photo from his wallet.
“Don’t you think it’s time to get rid of that?” Shiu asked one night, taking a drag from his cigarette.
Toji glanced down at the worn picture tucked behind cracked plastic.
You smiling. The kids younger. His arm wrapped around your waist.
“Hell no,” he scoffed.
Shiu snorted. “Women aren’t gonna like that.”
Toji nudged him with his shoulder before taking another sip of his drink.
“Funny how you think I’d ever waste another dollar on a woman,” he smirked faintly.
But later that night, when nobody was around, his thumb brushed over your face in the picture before he tucked it safely back into place.
4. The Snowstorm
There was a bad snowstorm one morning, and the kids were staying with you that week.
Toji knew how difficult mornings like that were.
Getting two sleepy kids bundled into snow suits. Cleaning snow off the car. Trying to make it to school on time without slipping on ice.
So he woke up before sunrise and drove over while the city was still asleep.
He shoveled your driveway. Cleaned off your windshield. Salted the front steps and made a path from the door to the car.
You didn’t realize it was him until you noticed the familiar brand of cigarettes butts left behind in the snowbank. A small smile tugged at your lips.
Later that morning, he got a text from you.
Thank you. You really didn’t have to.
Toji stared at the message longer than he should have before locking his phone.
He blamed the warmth in his chest on relief. On the kids being safe and nothing else.
5. The Voice Messages
This one embarrassed him the most. A guilty pleasure.
Toji kept every old voicemail and voice memo you had ever sent him.
It was the only version of you he had left that still sounded soft, loving, and happy.
Sometimes, late at night, he’d replay them while laying in bed.
“Hey babe, I’m on my way home. Love youuuu.”
He always smiled at the way you sang the last word.
Another beep.
“Ji, you’re not gonna believe this— I got the promotion!” you practically shouted through the speaker. “We’re celebrating tonight. I’m buying that fancy wine you like.”
You sounded so proud. So excited to tell him first.
And then there was his favorite one.
“I know you’re working late tonight,” you mumbled sleepily. “I left food in the fridge.”
A pause.
“Be safe, my love.”
That one ruined him in the best way every time.
6. The Wedding Rings
You arrived a little early when dropping the kids off one weekend.
Toji answered the door shirtless, clearly in the middle of getting dressed.
“Sorry,” he muttered, stepping aside to let the kids run in.
You barely heard him; because around his neck, hanging from a thin silver chain, was your matching wedding band.
Not on his finger anymore. But still with him.
Your breath caught before you could stop it.
Toji noticed your stare immediately and instinctively grabbed the chain, like he’d forgotten it was visible.
For a second, neither of you spoke.
Then the kids ran past yelling about breakfast, and the moment disappeared just as quickly as it came.
But the image stayed with you long after you left.
Because even after all this time, he still wore his ring every day. Hidden beneath his shirt.
Keeping the memory of you as close to his heart as he possibly could.
Summary: When Barbara and Cass start training a new Batgirl, Stephanie isn't sure what to think. You're perfect, everything she wants to be and everything she could never have, and your arrival forces Stephanie to confront whether she wants to be you, or be with you
froggi yaps -> lowk this has been sitting in my drafts foreverr because i know it won't do as well as my other dc fics and that made me sad >.< but i love steph and hopefully the other 12 steph enjoyers will like this <3
If you asked Stephanie Brown who Batgirl was, she’d say it depends.
Barbara’s Batgirl was strong, brave, and cunning. A pathfinder, a wonderful hero who saved countless lives and gave everything she had to the life. She was a pioneer, a champion who pathed the way for the rest of them.
Cass’s Batgirl was different, a fresh take on an old hero. Though she’s quiet, though she’s vicious in her fighting, she’s still heroic. She brings a calm sort of comfort wherever she goes.
But if you asked her about herself, she’s not sure what she’d say. She’s a civilian amongst gods, someone dressed in a knockoff costume playing pretend while the others do the real heroic work. A cheap imitation of the real thing.
As far as hero-ing goes for her, she already feels that she doesn’t have much going on. Not that she needs the reminder.
Entering the Batcave, already exhausted from her lack of sleep and the incredibly long day she’s had, she’s not sure what to expect. Maybe the usual arguing amongst Bats, Tim and Damian trading insults like a normal day while Cass sits quietly and reads in the corner.
Definitely not the scene that comes to play out in front of her—Barbara and Cass teaching someone new to spar, someone she’s never seen before who is very much dressed in a rendition of the Batgirl costume. She blinks, rubbing her eyes like the scene will disappear when she does.
It doesn’t.
Her lips purse into a frown. Another Batgirl? Something ugly twists in her chest. She’d fought like hell for this mantle, had done it all on her own against the will of pretty much everybody, and here’s someone new, wearing it with the support of both her predecessors.
She shakes her head, blonde hair bouncing. No, that’s not fair. She forces a smile, stepping up to the mat to watch.
She watches quietly for a few minutes while you trade blows with Cass, watches you fight as hard as you can to keep up with Cass who’s very clearly restraining herself. Cass sweeps a leg, taking you down to the mat easily, your mask bouncing off your face.
You squeak, sitting up and rubbing the back of your head where it hit the mat.
Steph’s eyes widen slightly. You took that hit like a champ, and now, seeing you without the mask, she can’t help but think how pretty you are. That twistiness inside of her only grows heavier.
“Hey, good timing,” Babs calls, waving her over.
Steph tugs down her hood and mask. “Hey, guys.” She strains to keep her voice as cheery as usual, “who’s this?”
Cass introduces the two of you, and Steph can’t help but note the way she already seems warmed up to you. How long has this been going on?
You smile and step forward, offering her a hand. “I’ve heard so much about you!!”
“Hi.” She takes your hand, that same strained smile on her face, and shakes it. “It’s really nice to meet you.”
She can’t help but notice the softness of your palm against hers—not yet calloused by night after night of hard fighting and acrobatics—and the purple sheen on your nails, almost perfectly matched to her costume. Her hand lingers just a moment too long.
“She’s helping us with this drug trafficking operation at the docks,” Barbara explains, and Steph wonders if she can see through the facade she’s putting on. “Cass and I are helping her brush up on her fighting skills.”
She nods thinly, “right.”
“The Batgirl thing is just temporary,” you explain. “I just needed something to conceal my identity and Babs—”
Stephanie winces at the way the nickname rolls off your tongue, like you’ve always been friends.
“—just had this one laying around.” You finish.
You do a little twirl in the costume, the long cape splaying out as you do. Steph can’t help but look you up and down, examining the way the costume seems to fit and accentuate every curve on your body. Her eyes widen slightly. It fits you like a glove.
The three of you get back to your training, leaving Steph to watch on the sidelines. Slowly, she edges her way out until she’s back outside in the Gotham rain.
If you asked Stephanie now who Batgirl was—her version at least—she could only tell you one thing: replaceable.
The Batgirl thing, it seems, is not just temporary, and Stephanie can’t seem to escape you.
She’s gotten used to your presence now—the way you linger nearby on missions, the way you spend more time with Cass than without, the way your eyes occasionally meet hers only for you to look away quickly like it never happened. She’s never quite sure if you’re judging her, or trying to get her attention, or some other third thing she hasn’t thought of yet.
It would almost be sweet, if it didn’t have her feeling so self-conscious.
It’s after patrol one night, the summer sun just beginning to kiss the horizon of Gotham City, when you catch up with her.
“Steph, hey, Steph, wait up!”
She’s tempted, if only for a moment, to speed up and pretend she hasn’t heard. And yet, for some reason, she can’t. You’ve never been anything but perfectly nice to her, and this jealous mean girl act of hers is so high school.
She tugs down her mask, turning to face you. “What’s up?”
“I think Cass and I were going to this cafe this morning for breakfast, do you want to come?” You smile awkwardly, tilting your head to the side, “they have amazing coffee.”
She considers it for a moment, gears whirring in her head. Some coffee and breakfast would be amazing right now, as well as some time with Cass. But you’ll be there, like a constant reminder of everything she isn’t, and she knows she won’t be able to keep up her positive mood the whole time.
She flashes you a weak grin, “I think I’m just gonna go to sleep.”
“Oh,” disappointment flashes behind your eyes. “No worries, sleep well.”
You turn on your heel to leave, approaching the edge of the old warehouse rooftop you’ve been standing on, when suddenly you look over your shoulder. The golden light of the rising sun reflects off your skin, making your eyes glow and your skin shimmer. You look so pretty like this, Steph can’t help but be a little grateful she only sees you at night.
“I’ll get Cass to text you the address,” you say, that familiar hope back on your face, “y’know, in case you change your mind.”
“Thanks.”
Despite what she said, an hour later Steph finds herself freshly showered and digging through her closet.
She pulls out a casual pink sundress and tries it on, standing in the mirror and examining herself. She frowns at her reflection, smoothing her hands over the dress like that’ll make it fit better. It doesn’t.
Discarding it in the growing pile of clothes on her bed, Steph goes back to the drawing more. She pulls different garments out, trying them on only to drop them back in the pile. She always never struggles this much getting ready, least of all for a casual breakfast with friends.
Sighing, she lets herself flop onto her bed, sitting on her mountain of clothes. It’s just a casual outing, Steph, she tells herself. Just pick a damned outfit,
But she can’t, because all she can think about is what you’re going to be thinking. Are you going to look at her with those eyes like you usually do? She wonders what you’ll be wearing, if you’ll be dressed casual or cute or comfortable. Knowing you, it’s probably some perfect combination of the three.
Her eyes flutter closed as she pictures it. You, wearing some comfy practical outfit, hair perfect, sipping on some fancy drink from the cafe. She thinks about how your face will light up when she walks into the cafe, the way you’ll smile and wave at her when she approaches the table.
“Glad you can make it,” you’ll probably say, or some other line of the sort.
Her heart speeds up at the thought, stomach doing a whirlwind. You’re so…perfect, and here she is, sitting in her mess of a room, unable to pick a damned outfit. It’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair.
Tears prick at her eyes. One minute, that’s all she asks. One minute where you’re not constantly on her mind, where she’s not constantly wondering about what you’re doing, who you’re with or how you’ll replace her next.
She doesn’t end up going to the cafe.
Steph’s not sure how she ended up here.
The two of you, trapped in a burning warehouse, surrounded by low level lackeys. She’s not even sure who they work for, their outfits a mess of colours and patterns that she can’t quite make out through the steadily thickening smoke.
Your back is pressed to hers, the warmth of your body seeping through both of your costumes, acting as a comfort. At least, it would be a comfort, if the two of you were in any other situation.
The masked men close in, the roar of the distant fire burning gets louder. Steph’s nerves catch fire, buzzing with the impending promise of action. She bounces on her heels, loosening up her muscles just like she was taught. One more step, one more step and she’s ready.
The heel of the closest man inches forward. Steph pounces. All hell breaks loose.
It’s a blur of action, of fighting her way through the seemingly neverending wave of goons. Her muscles ache, every punch and kick only making the burning under her skin worse. The warehouse gets hotter, the smoke rises, clogging her senses.
Behind her somewhere, the sounds of your own violence echo off the walls. You’ve always been a good fighter—probably better than her—but something in the back of her mind buzzes with worry. Like something bad is going to happen, like she needs to look out for you.
She shakes it away, diving back into the action, trying to ignore the constant nagging in the back of her mind.
She finishes off the last of her men, freezing at the sudden silence. She can’t hear you fighting anymore, can’t see you through the smoky haze. Her heart hammers in her chest. Where on Earth could you have gone?
One second. That’s how long she’s distracted for, maybe less. But one second is all it takes for someone to come up behind her, a forearm pressed over her throat and a leg hooking over her ankles. She’s taken quickly to the ground, back thudding hard against the hard ground.
Stars explode behind her eyes, the wind knocked out of her. Through the haze, she just manages to make out the masked goon above her and the gun barrel shoved inches from her face. She cringes, bracing herself to duck and roll, to do anything but lay here and take it.
And just like that, he’s gone, slammed into the ground by a familiar figure. You’re breathing heavily above Steph, eyes wide behind your mask as you reach a hand to help her up.
She grabs you, letting you tug her to the feet, and the way your hand lingers on hers reminds her of the day you met. Your jaw is slack, worry written across every feature. Steph blinks, letting the air come back to her lungs.
“T-thanks,” she gasps.
“We need to get out of here.”
Steph nods curtly, letting you tug her after you as you search for the exit, only dropping her hand when you brace yourself against the emergency exit and shove hard. Cold night air greets her, filling her burning lungs with sweet relief.
She’s dizzy from the smoke, dizzy from the hit she took. Her lips purse into frown. It’s surely going to leave a big, ugly bruise. Goodbye sundresses.
Standing on the rooftop of the burning warehouse, she watches you approach the edge, scoping out the ground below for any sign of the goons who almost overwhelmed you.
You turn to face her. “Tim called the fire department, they’re on the way.”
She braces her hands on her knees, still lightheaded from the fall. The fall. She forces herself to stand up straight, peeling off her mask and hood. “Where did you go back there?”
“Huh?”
“You—you disappeared, it distracted me. Where did you go?”
She cocks a hand on her hip, waiting for an explanation. She was too busy worrying about you, about your safety, to take care of herself. If it weren’t for your impromptu disappearance, she wouldn’t be coughing her lungs up like an amateur right now.
You scratch the back of your neck awkwardly. “One of them tried to get away and—”
“You couldn’t have told me that?” She snaps, walking towards you, closing the gap until you’re inches away. “We’re partners, you’re supposed to tell me these things.”
“I didn’t think I had time!”
“Or you just wanted the glory for yourself,” she spits bitterly.
You pause, lips parting in confusion. She tugs at her hair. Even now, a slight cut on your cheek and sweaty from battle, you still look perfectly cute. She’s sure she must look a complete mess, sweaty and dirty and bruised.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She tucks a sweaty strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “Nothing, just—nevermind.”
You shake your head. “No, what did you mean?”
“I mean it’s—it’s—”
Frustration bubbles up in her chest, muscles pulling taut like she’s about to enter another fight. She’s not even sure where she’s going for it, what word vomit she’s about to shove in your face now. You’re inches away, staring at her like a deer in the damn headlights, and she’s the lone car on the road with the choice to hit you or not.
“It’s what?”
“It’s you! Always being so—so perfect about everything, being everyone’s favorite, having everything come naturally to you and—and—”
And that urge buzzes beneath her fingertips, that urge she’s always felt just beneath the surface. The one she felt that day you met, when she’d had that fear you’re replacing her. The one she’s felt every day since when you’re around, the same one she gets before a big fight.
She raises a hand and you don’t even flinch, looking up at her with those damn wide eyes. She’s not sure who’s more confused by what she’s doing—you, or her.
And then she’s kissing you, the taste of smoke heavy on both of you. Her hand reaches to cup your cheek, thumb swiping over the length of your cheekbone. It’s hot and tense and she feels more that she’s trying to eat you alive than kiss you.
She pulls away, taking a big jump back like she’s been burned.
“Steph,” you breathe her name.
She shakes her head, closing her eyes. “No.”
“Stephanie—”
“No, okay? I don’t—I don’t want to talk about it.” She’s shaking slightly, her voice breaking on the words, “I don’t even—I don’t want to see you right now. Okay? Just…just forget it.”
She spins on her heel, bolting over to the far end of the rooftop. She can still taste you on her tongue, like smoke and leftover chapstick and something else buried beneath. She wipes at her mouth and the taste still lingers, follows her down the fire escape at the edge of the roof, chases after her on the way home.
It’s only when she’s in the shower, desperately trying to wash it away, that she feels she can breathe again. What on Earth was that?
Your soap isn’t enough to wash away the smell of smoke on your body, or the taste of Steph’s chapstick lingering in your mouth. You stand under the water for what must be an hour, scrub every inch of your body twice, and still, it doesn’t help. Stephanie’s voice still rings in the back of your head.
You disappeared, it distracted me.
You just wanted the glory for yourself.
Always being so perfect about everything, being everyone’s favorite, having everything come naturally to you.
I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to see you right now.
Coming from Steph of all people, someone you’ve looked up to, pined after, tried to forge a friendship with, the words hurt. They leave you cold and numbed, a new weight in your chest that wasn’t there before the mission.
She’s always been the sun in your eyes, warm and scalding, bright and beautiful, painful to look at. You’ve always gravitated closer to her, done your best to accommodate her, and this is where you end up. With a bitter kiss and more distance between you than there was to start.
You blink the thoughts away, staring into the steam rising from your kettle on the stove. Your phone buzzes, an unfamiliar number popping up on your screen.
Hey, it’s Steph. Can we talk?
You pick up your phone, contemplating opening the message and answering, and yet you can’t. What do you even say to her right now?
You turn off your phone. Let her sit with it for a while.
A while turns into a week. A week of unanswered texts and calls, of attempts by Barbara and Tim and Cass to get the two of you to talk. You shirk your duties as Batgirl, spend as much time as you can locked away at home, far far away from your double life.
Still, Stephanie isn’t one to give up.
The knock at your door comes early in the morning, so early, it rouses you from your sleep. You rub the sleep from your eyes and sit up in bed, the pink hue of the rising sun greeting you.
Another knock at your door sends you stumbling down the hall, slippers barely on your feet. You squint through the peephole, stomach syncing when you see who it is.
Steph stands there, dressed in low rise jeans that suit her just a little too well and a baby tee. Her hair is still wet, curling slightly at the ends where it’s started to dry. She must have showered and ran over here right after patrol.
You sigh, turning away from the door, fully intent on ignoring her.
“I can hear you,” she calls.
You stop in your tracks.
“I know I screwed up,” she says, “please just hear me out.”
“I thought you didn’t want to see me.”
“You know that’s not what I meant, I almost just died, c’mon.”
You pinch the bridge of your nose, taking a deep breath. Deep down, you know she has a point. You almost wish she didn’t, if only so you could stop seeing it from her side.
Despite yourself, you turn around and unlock the door, inviting her in.
She looks sad, undereyes sallow like she hasn’t been sleeping properly. She steps on the backs of her shoes, peeling them off before falling you inside.
“Do you want something to drink?”
She shakes her head, blonde strands falling into her face. You settle in on the chair in your living room, Steph settling in on the far end of your couch—the distance between you hurts, but you’re not sure you could take it right now if she was sitting any closer.
“I’m sorry,” she starts.
You nod, tight lipped.
“About everything.”
Everything. She doesn’t say it outright, but you can hear what she hasn’t said: I’m sorry for kissing you.
“I shouldn’t have—I shouldn’t have said what I said, I was scared and-and frustrated, and I took it out on you and it wasn’t fair.”
You always take it out on me, you’re tempted to say. It lingers on your tongue like her lipgloss from the other night, heavy and toxic and yet filled with something sweet.
“It’s hard, you know?” Her voice cracks on the word, pretty eyes brimmed with tears, “I’ve been Batgirl a while. I-I fought to be Batgirl even when nobody wanted me to be.”
You remember Barbara telling you about that, heard whispers about it from Tim. It was strange to you, you couldn’t possibly imagine a world where Steph isn’t Batgirl. Someone as wonderful and capable as her.
“But then you show up and it’s like, what’s even special about me anymore? And you do everything so well, you’re so—so perfect all the damn time, and everyone loves you and it’s like…what’s even left for me?”
Tears brim at your lashes and Steph’s face drops. She frowns, reaching forward like she can stop them from coming. And then you’re laughing, the sweet feeling of relief flooding your chest.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make yo—”
“Do you think I don’t feel that way?”
Her lips part, shock clear on her face. “No,” she mumbles out.
“Do you think I don’t find you perfect and capable and honestly, really fucking intimidating?” You shake your head, “you left some big shoes to fill, Stephanie and—and it hasn’t been easy.”
She laughs, equally as wet and filled with emotion as your own. “You really think so?”
You rise to your feet, shuffling over to the couch and sitting down next to her. She’s so close, you can smell her strawberry scented body wash and the vanilla lotion she put over top of it.
“Yes, god.” You giggle, and it tastes like relief, “I wish you would’ve just told me this before. We could’ve had this talk a long time ago.”
And she laughs with you, the sound like heaven and sunlight and everything you thought you could never reach, and her laugh makes you laugh more. You let your eyes flutter closed, leaning your head back on the couch, ribs starting to ache from the laughing you’re doing.
And then she’s cupping your face and kissing away the laughter, vanilla flavoured chapstick heavy on your tongue. She moves against you, body pressing to yours and pressing you further into the couch.
She pulls away, cheeks flushed. “Does this mean you forgive me?”
You press a hand on the small of her back, pulling her in again. “You might need to do that a few more times.”
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thanks for reading & have a wonderful week /ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡
[𝝑𝑒] :: calling true form!sukuna by a nickname for the first time :: tags. fluff, sfw.
“ryo,” it rolls off your tongue naturally. as if you’ve called him that thousands of times before. you don’t realise it until he suddenly stops in his tracks.
sukuna narrows his eyes. you turn your head and look up, oblivious to your slip-up. the sorcerer doesn’t utter a word and instead glares down at your short frame. he looks irritated, or more annoyed.
“oh,” you realise why only a few seconds after.
you bow your head at him and try to explain yourself in a hurry. normally, you’d address him with respect like everyone else does. ‘my lord’, ‘lord sukuna’, or even ‘master’.
you nearly fall to your knees. you don’t know how or what sukuna’s going to do now that you’ve dropped the honorifics on accident and called him by a nickname.
you hold your hands together, “my deepest apologi—“
“again,” sukuna demands in a rough voice.
you freeze for a second before tilting your head back. you catch a glimpse of his expression; he’s amused, intrigued and perhaps still a bit annoyed. he repeats, “call me that again.”
sukuna isn’t annoyed by the fact that you’ve called him by a nickname for the first time. he’s annoyed, because your sweet voice makes him feel stuff he’s sworn to never feel for a regular human.
that warm feeling in his chest. . . he hates it. yet he yearns for it. from you.
you hesitate for a second, unsure if the firm tone in sukuna’s voice was a bad sign or not. you decide to just comply and hope for the best, “. . . ryo.”
sukuna grits his teeth. you think he’s mad, but in reality, he’s trying to eliminate the feelings of love from within him. your voice calling him so affectionately—so intimately; it makes him feel that warmth in his chest.
no one’s dared to call him anything like that before. everyone’s formal with him. it’s a must. sukuna’s used to everyone acknowledging his superiority in the conversations he holds. it’s a given.
no one refers to him so casually. no one dares to.
you’re the first one to break that pattern. the first one to make sukuna’s cold heart tremble. if it were anyone else, they’d be his dinner by now. but it’s you so it’s. . . fine, he assumes. an exception.
silence falls in the hallway. luckily, not another soul is around to witness the king of curses struggling to contain his own ‘foolish’ emotions.
sukuna clicks his tongue and sighs before continuing to walk ahead of you.
you scurry after him—keeping your head low. you don’t wish to upset him any further. you feel like you overstepped a boundary just now.
the silence continues for a couple seconds, both of you deep in thought.
sukuna’s the one to end the quiet atmosphere. his voice is as deep and cold as ever, though there’s no denying the subtle softness that creeps in whenever he talks with you.
he takes a deep breath and sighs. he keeps walking and doesn’t spare you a glance, however his words say enough;
“from now on, that’s the only way you’ll address me until i say otherwise, understood?”
there is a written part below the divide >~< !! since it's an smau imma be more lax on the written stuff so don't come at me... comment to be added to the taglist !!
one / masterlist / navigation / next (that's my sister)
face mask?
check.
slippers?
check.
phone… where the hell was your phone?
you dig through your blankets that have come undone, then move to the undersides of your pillows.
still nothing… so you check the canyon between your bedframe and your wall and ah– there it is on the floor.
you scoot along out the door and make your way to the kitchen, woefully pausing your show in the meantime.
"gahhh," you exhale, rustling through the pantry and cupboards for those chocolate turtle chips you always keep in stock… until you guessed right now.
great.
"hey you're the ice queen right?"
startled, you turn around, your face mask sliding off the peak of your forehead. "yup that's me, except my hero identity is actually 'chill-her,' being called 'ice queen' is just a nickname."
the dark-haired boy nods–mark, eve's friend. "like elsa right?"he jokes, but you only cross your arms in front of you.
you sigh, pursing your lips, "can I help you? in any sort of way…? to get away from me…….?"
mark basically droops like a kicked puppy, "uh, I just wanted to get to know you… eve speaks very highly of you, you know?"
you hum absentmindedly, moving past him to the exit, slipping on your errand shoes. "–hey are you going somewhere? could I tag along… maybe?"
you slowly turn to face him, looking him up and down, "maybe not," you state as you proceed out the doorway.
"hey," he jogs up and catches up to you, "i'm not that bad you know?"
you take a deep sigh, "i'm sure you're not invincible–""–mark, just call me mark."
"if you wanted to just humbly be called mark, your supersona would not be 'invincible–' I mean who ever told you you were invincible? pretty pompous and self-important if you ask me"
you scoff. its truly absurd that this boy would call himself invincible– because no one is.
by now, the two of you have just been walking in silence for about 10 minutes until the two of you have made it to the asian store at the corner of 5th and 42nd.
you open the door first, now feeling kinda bad you went all in on the kid to the point he was just silent. "you coming?"
his eyes light up, quickly making his way in the store. you walk in behind while he grabs a small basket. "sooo, what are we getting?"
"I don't know what you are getting… but i'm getting my snacks and probably some other things since I need to restock anyways."
he nods thoughtfully, taking in your words like a sunflower on a warm sunny day, "i'll probably ask my mom real quick if she needs anything."
at this point, you knew this store was like the back of your hand. making your way over to the snack aisle, you take a second to breathe… until mark pops up behind you again.
thank you for the tag jae!!!!!! (@kryptidfiles), i get really excited when im tagged in these things and its really fun to see everyone doing all of these. sidenote: how tf is ryland grace already popping up on here
rules: go on pintrest and type in the prompts down below. whatever image pops up first is your image.
prompts: color, quotes, character, hobby, accessory, song lyrics, flower
no pressure tags: @scissorhvnds @wichu127 @starr-jazz @mariasont @luvieriesse @deerfawnn
thank you for the tag jae!!!!!! (@kryptidfiles), i get really excited when im tagged in these things and its really fun to see everyone doing all of these. sidenote: how tf is ryland grace already popping up on here
rules: go on pintrest and type in the prompts down below. whatever image pops up first is your image.
prompts: color, quotes, character, hobby, accessory, song lyrics, flower
no pressure tags: @scissorhvnds @wichu127 @starr-jazz @mariasont @luvieriesse @deerfawnn
i always find it pretty insane when people place value on women's sports based on whether or not their male counterparts can beat them. female athletes do not need to justify their skill, talent, and prowess in relation to men - they stand perfectly capable on their own. this is especially true for women's tennis, which I feel in comparison to a lot of other dual-league sports, is just as popular and visible as men's tennis.
katie ledecky and her 14 olympic medals do not need to beat michael phelps in the 800m freestyle for both of them to be the greatest swimmers ever. serena williams and her 23 grand slams do not need to beat the big three for them to be GOATs of tennis. aryna sabalenka and iga swiatek do not need to beat carlos alcaraz and jannik sinner to be modern icons of the sport.
all of these women are accomplished in their own right and strive for greatness just like any male athlete. they are strategic, fast, powerful, and as ruthlessly competitive as anybody. the stakes are always high, evident in the passion, frustration, emotion, and elation of every match.
preferences are one thing, but you cannot sit there and tell me women's sports are inherently deficient. pls go and watch them be really fucking good at what they do.
