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dcxdpdabbles · 4 months

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There are so many fics out there where Danny is either adopted by or the biological son of Bruce. In many of these he might have an existential crisis but other wise he is fine and happy to be part of the BatFam. Where are the ones where he fights against this just doesn't want to connect with Bruce of the rest of the family.

One: Bruce is a billionaire and Danny has had some bad experience with Vlad trying to adopt/get him as a son. So even if Bruce is one of "the good ones" Danny does't like billionaires.

Two: Danny for the most part grew up in a mostly normal family and home, with two Parents and a sibling. Most of the BatFam were only children and parents are dead or came from dysfunctional homes. I think Duke is the only one who really had a normal childhood.

Three: The Fenton family is pretty openly affectionate with each other and are pretty normal emotionally. Danny has a great relationship with all of them (Danny went evil in the timeline where they all died). Most of the Batfam is emotionally constipated.

Four: Danny is used to his boundaries being respected. I don't think that the Batfam is great at that. With Bruce needing to know everything, Tim's stalking tendencies, Barbra's hacking, just to name the obvious.

Danny knew that he was adopted into the Fentons. His parents had never hidden it from him, but they never treated him as anything besides their child.

He had come into their lives one day when one of Maddie's old high school friends had called, bawling that she had gotten pregnant and that her husband wasn't the father. He had discovered the truth and thrown her out, leaving her pregnant and alone on the streets of Gotham.

Maddie had been furious at the affair- she hated disloyalty- but had decided to help her only for the baby's sake.

She had driven over multiple state lines back to her home city to pick up the friend only to find out she had taken her life and left her newborn son to Maddie. While Maddie had been able to escape the hellhole that was Gotham, Rebecca never got the chance, not with her average intelligence.

In high school, the two were as close as sisters until Rebecca fell into the whisky bottles her father carelessly left around. She blossomed into a beautiful woman upon their graduation- more so than Maddie-, turning from a sweet homebody into someone who got into exclusive parties and powerful men.

Maddie had slowly drifted away from her, so far away at college, and Rebecca fell further and further into the party scene. It was a surprise that she settled down for marriage and Maddie truly believed that she had been happy with her husband.

That's why Danny was such a surprise. Maddie did not know who Danny's biological father was, but she did not care. Not after they placed the sobbing infant into her arms, and she realized that she was his mother now.

She immediately phoned Jack to tell him what had happened, and he told Jazz she was a big sister before the call ended. They told him the story about when he started to learn his colors. Not with her taking her life, of course; that was when Danny turned fourteen. This was only a few days before Danny revealed he was Phantom to them.

They were first shocked, but then they became supportive. Phantom now had two proud ghost hunters following him, shooting photos instead of guns.

It was embarrassing, but it was also nice of them.

And that was that. Danny is a Fenton, adopted, but a child of Maddie and Jack Fenton all the same.

He never gave his biological parents a thought. In fact, he all but forgot about them until Sam convinced him to take an ancestry test. He had allowed her to swipe his mouth, package his DNA, and send it off to see where his people came from, completely forgetting that he would not match with Jazz, who had done the same thing a month prior.

His results were shocking, to say the least.

Somehow, someway, Rebecca Silver had been in the system of DNA samples, and they had matched him to her alongside his biological father.

Bruce Wayne. Rebecca had an affair with Bruce Wayne, arguably one of the wealthiest men in the country, and they had sent him a message to let him know he matched with his son.

An eccentric billionaire has just been told that Danny was his. He knew that song and dance well, and it was never fun to dance to. Danny could only stare at the results with dread as Sam apologized profoundly.

"Maybe he won't see it." Tucker tried. "I mean, Wayne is probably so busy with rich people stuff he doesn't have time to even look at his emails. Especially ones that will come in spam since it's comersolized."

"Yeah, Maybe" Danny doesn't think he's that lucky.

A month later, the Fenton's home phone rings. His parents are working on a new invention on the dinning room table, Danny is stretched out in front of the TV watching a mindless cartoon and Jazz is crocheting in the love chair.

It's a typical Tuesday night where everyone is doing their own thing but close enough to each other that they can call it family time. Jazz is the closest to the house phone so she picks it up with a cheerful "Fenton house, this is Jasmine."

Her smile slowly slips away as all the blood drains from her face. Alarmed by her reaction, Danny sits up. "Jazz? What's wrong?"

His words have his parents' heads snapping up, zoning in on their daughter's rapidly growing destress. Yes, they get distracted often with their work, but the Fentons have always been loving parents.

They quickly spring into action.

"Jazzy-pants?" His dad says, walking up to her and taking the phone from her slack hand. He covers the speaking end of it, not paying attention to the call as his mom hugs his sister. "What's the matter?"

"It's... Bruce Wayne's lawyer," Jazz says faintly. "He's calling about Danny. He said that Mr. Wayne has been attempting to take Danny back and that they are going to take us to court soon."

The room goes dead quiet, and Danny snorts. "He can't do that without a letter or something. Come on Jazz, it's obviously a prank."

Someone at school likely found out and thought it would be funny to make "the biggest loser of Casper High" Danny Fenton, think a billionaire wanted him as a son. Honestly, he wouldn't put it past the A-listers.

He laughs to show how stupid this prank is, but neither of his parents joins him. Instead, his mother closes her eyes and whispers, "We received his court papers weeks ago. We've been trying to get a lawyer."

What.

She pushes Jazz into his dad's arms, where his sister is slowly panicking. His dad tries to soothe her as his mom opens the drawer under the TV, pulling out three orange envelopes. She looks remorseful as she hands them to Danny. "We didn't want you to worry. I'm sorry we didn't tell you sooner. Vlad said he would help, but he wasn't sure what he could do against such a powerful man"

And there, in overly complicated terms, is clear as day. Bruce Wayne wanted full custody of Danny Fenton and was willing to take the Fentons to court to get it done.

The man- who has never so much as met Danny, much less have a right to say what happens to him- was accusing his parents of child abuse and child neglect! He not only was trying to take Danny away but Jazz as well!

Where did this man get the audacity!?

"I don't want to go with him!" He shouts rage, making his eyes glow green. "I don't even know him!"

"I know, sweetie. I won't let him take you" His mom says, yanking him into a protective hug, and he realizes that her shirt is getting wet with his tears. Tears that fall just like the woman who raised him. "Everything will be alright."

It won't be, he knows, but he won't tell her that. He just lets his mother hold him, and when his sister and father crash into the hug a second later, he holds them just as tight.

He's not sure how they will win against Bruce Wayne, but Danny will fight his biological father every step of the way. He will not be his son.

______________________________________________________________

Bruce stares at the photo of Danny Fenton- his son. His boy, whom he wasn't aware was alive until a month ago- and the reports from concerned teachers and whatever information Barbra could pull from his classmate's social media.

Dramatically dropping grades.

Clear signs of sleepless nights.

Flinches whenever his parents pull out "ghost hunting" gear.

Strange bruises and cuts along his arms and legs.

His small stature is no longer growing properly like his peers.

It all pointed to one thing. The Fentons were abusing his son and Bruce would bet the sister was suffering from the same treatment if her own grade dropping, sleepless eyes, and desperate race to adulthood were any indication.

Bruce laces his hands, resting his chin on them as the Batcomputer slowly flips through various reports being quickly dismissed by incompetent social workers who all claim it was Ghost Hunter related and not a cause for concern.

Those same social workers all seemed to have gotten quite generous donations from one Vlad Masters, a well-known family friend of the Fentons.

He hates corruption that allows children to be hurt, more so when it;'s his own children.

"When do we go retrieve Brother?" Damian asks, green eyes narrowing in rage as the reports scroll slowly. Ever since he found out Danny is a blood sibling, all Damian has been talking about is getting his elder brother home. "I am displeased with how long it's been, Father."

"Soon," Bruce promises, aware the rest of his children gather around him. They don't speak, but he feels their protective rage at what Danny has gone through, and he knows they will use every last bit of their training to get Danny home. "Either through the courts or in person. Danny will be with us come summer."

"Good," grunts Jason. "I'll have a little chat with his adoptive scumbags when we get him."

"I'll help," Dick tacks on.

"I'll make it look like an accident," Tim says, voice leveled but eyes blazing as the reports get to the neglect section. He has personal issues about that.

Bruce has never been so proud. "Court date is set for three weeks. They can't weasel their way out of it this time."

Don't worry son, he thinks to Danny, I'm going to save you.

#dcxdpdabbles #dc x dp crossover #Rescue Mission Au #misunderstanding #TW: mention of suicide #Off screen but there #Danny is just ghost fighting #But Bruce thinks his son is being abused #Tw: Assumed child abuse #Danny will not be a wayne #The Waynes think he needs a hero not that he is a hero

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tschulijulesjulie · 1 year

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after all this time this still makes me sick to my stomach

#also how tf did Damen not suspect anything???#i know he always assumes the best in people (unless theyre Laurent of Vere in the first book)#but he already knows what a monster the regent is #is it really that unthinkable?#i really would have loved for him to have at least some suspicion & force it down throughout the book because he doesn't want it to be true #tschulis capri reread: kings rising #tw abuse #tw child abuse #damen of akielos #laurent of vere #captive prince

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faytears · 2 years

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no bc how fucked up is it that hunter grew up surrounded by adults that did not give a shit abt him and had no moral compasses...this is all speculation but i cant help but think how unsafe an environment that must be for a child to exist in. w the exception of Team RED these r all extremely manipulative people that hunter watched constantly backstab each other (which clearly impacted the way he viewed friendships in general) that include the likes of terra snapdragon and adrian graye. even when he attained a position of authority they did not respect him and probably saw him as just some nepotism baby. like no wonder hunter latched on to belos if all the coven heads were outwardly just creeps w ulterior motives. there was literally no other adult he was sure cared abt him besides his uncle and belos knew that and used it to his advantage

#toh hunter #hunter toh #toh #the owl house #toh spoilers #emperor belos #raine whispers #toh darius #darius toh #toh eberwolf #eberwolf toh #terra snapdragon #adrian graye #child abuse tw #this is all assuming hunter spent his childhood in the castle but i cant imagine where else he could possibly have grown up lmao so.#laying on the floor at 2 am thinking abt how fucking sheltered and isolated hunter was all his life #there was never gonna be any support system in the castle for him and belos KNEW that #obv there is raine who is incredibly kind but theyre just one person. they probably tried their best for him but i doubt #they wouldve been able to spend much time w him one on one :( although its implied that they had a positive relationship #w darius i dont think he was ever outright cruel to hunter but i also dont think he could stand to be in the same room as him lmao #it was probably too painful and frustrating + if the beginning of asias is anything to go by #he had a LOTTT of bitterness towards the kid el oh el...#and eberwolf is eberwolf need i say more.#oh and cant forget former ec head lilith who saw him as just some brat <3 #like. THINK ABT IT. someone shouldve called boiling isles CPS years ago #mine

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defiantsuggestions · 1 year

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As a general rule; living things in your care do not exist with the express intent of pissing you off

The cat who knocked your vase over is expressing curiosity and play behavior, it did not know that the vase was expensive and it was not trying to hurt you

The dog who tore up your carpets is experiencing separation anxiety and is reacting to stress, it's not doing it because it's angry that you left, and it is not doing it to hurt you

Just because something is difficult to deal with, that doesn't mean they're doing it on purpose out of spite

Stop taking your anger out on the lives you choose to take care of.

#tw animal abuse #applies to child abuse too #as an abused child who grew up in a house with pets #i feel like there's a connection somewhere #the person who assumes malice in a pet that's just showing normal pet behaviour #is the same kind of person who assumes malice in a child for showing child behaviour #im struggling to put it in words #the abuse comes from a similar place and for similar reasons #a guardian signs up to care for a living thing #and then hurts and traumatizes it for existing #because the guardian wants all the power of raising a life but doesn't respect the life it's raising

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mx-paint · 1 month

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The funniest comment I've gotten on tiktok to this date, on a video about a lady dumping her fiance because he beat her kid, was a guy saying I was going to go to jail for not getting beat as a kid amd that I'll have a meltdown the first time someone sets a boundary with me.

#first of all thank you sincerely for assuming im well adjusted enough that i didnt #second do you think the one who threatened people with a gun was the one that went to jail. or me #whats my prison sona random stranger #as for the second weird comment its funny to those that know anything about me #ive broken up with friends and a partner in the past for not respecting my boundaries #but sure. im going to jail and be a inconvenience to your remarkable society #child abuse tw #ask to tag #it was genuinely funny i dont even care that more were agreeing with his comment than mine #especially considering i checked his profile and the ones responding were his four and only friends on there #not to judge but bro had to bring in the squad so he wouldnt get ratiod #i remembered it bc tiktok keeps marking my comments and not appealing them #one of them was literally like. the gays are winning.#it would not appeal and i got a strike.

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vacant2007 · 2 years

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me: why am i so fucking whiny about my childhood clearly it wasnt that bad compared to people who were starving or in war zones or etc. i think im honestly fine

also me: *operates on an insane system of logic leaps to live my life in the most paranoid, closed-off, detached, and out-of-touch way possible because i interpret the most harmless things as sources of potential pain and cannot convince myself of the inherent goodness of other people unless they prove it to me constantly everyday*

#and i dont normally consider it to be out of the ordinary until i catch what im doing and im just like boy why?#otherwise i will just be accepting thoughts like that as fact #today's that i caught myself with was 'you should assume every parent abuses their child because you cant prove that they didnt'#'therefore if someone you care about is a parent youre actually supporting and loving a child abuser'#its fun living in my mind. its really fun #tw abuse #tw negative #tw trauma #ask to tag #tw vent #personal

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iressails · 11 months

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Bayliss is looking extremely bad post shooting of homeless man. Eat his gun bad. He's unmoored without Frank, without his stabilitising influence, without his framing of his world in primary colours. All of Bayliss's stuff about being true to all the parts of himself, trying to reconcile his profession with his sexuality and spirituality and being left with just the former because when it came down to it he fired his gun and killed a man.

He's deleted his website, deleted parts of himself for his job, and I don't know if he has much left. Not with Frank being gone. (Where even if Frank? Did he ditch Bayliss after he left the department? He must have.)

I noticed he had a bit about surviving child abuse on his website, it seems it was ignored/shut down too so he's pushed that back down. Again? Same thing his father did, denied and voiceless again. JFC this is so depressing.

#i dont know if im feeling garbage cause ive zipped through s7 in a couple of days #or if its because im sort of violently back as a young adult who lived through the same shit #leaving most of yourself at the entrance of your workplace and putting a sharp divide between personal and work #and just daily dealing of the world being against you and parts of yourself #or the whole bisexuality thing because before i sort of gave up why #i asked myself why for a good few years or rather what #im twenty years older and its weird but a close friend who ive known since university didnt uh... well i never told her i was bi #it doesn matter or if youre in a long term relationship people just assume #maybe how bayliss is rn and hes def suicidal and idk i barelymade it out alive #heyyy thanks lithium for saving my life but killing my kidneys #tw suicide #hlots #hlots posting #tw child abuse #*with my friend it was literally a couple of days ago i told her i was bi apparently in the 15 years shes not known... i dont go around #telling people i guess #the gf doesnt like it actually #and what does it matter #i think it does matter #my hlots black hole is getting bigger #tw homophobia #tw biphobia

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fateviled · 11 months

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love was a complicated thing. if anything, gable had once been certain that love was the thing that had definitively broken him. (it wasn’t the grief that had destroyed him when his mother was gone but the love he’d had for her.) after that, love had often tasted of bloody knuckles against his cheek and half-pleading, half-taunting words for a man who no longer held the right to be called his father. and certainly, for those empty years of his life, gable had thought that surely love wasn’t real after all. or if it was, then his kind of love was not a good thing, and which of those was worse?

now he scoffed at love, turned his nose to everything that may have once made him smile. bou and loren humored him, but even they had their limits when it came to his cynicism, chosing isntead to step away when similar talks surfaced. no, gable could not say he was much fond of loving acts, and to have gavin of all people speak those words was a bit like the ice pressed to his wounds all those years ago. frigid and sharp and familiar. not a wake up call, but an awareness. and maybe he hated that a bit too much.

he leans against the open door of train car he’s sitting in, the scent of rusted metal heavy in the humid air. ❝ and what would i do with love in a world like this? ❞ a shake of his head, something like disgust peeking through. he remembers bou telling him how easy he made it to hate him, wearing looks upon his face that would piss anyone off. he knows he’s wearing one now. ❝ cherish it? hope that it’ll be enough to save anyone? this world is a ticking time bomb, gav; you’ve seen how it is out there more than most of us. ❞

he was a shitty leader, he knew that. why anyone stuck around, choose to follow him, was in all parts thanks to the two women who dragged his sorry ass with them into something that resembled safety. this world wanted to destroy the weak, and it hated people like them— outcasts, nobodys, misfits. gable was the one those misfits looked up to now, the one who placed face and words first against anyone who wanted to hurt them. somewhere along the line, gavin had become someone for gable to protect as well, joining their ranks besides a little girl that gable would make sure nobody would ever touch again.

and somewhere else along the line, gable had found himself fixated on the other. he would not admit how many minutes of the day he spent gazing at the other across the encampment, their eyes shining and body moving with a fluidity and easy gable had never felt. not the hard lines of someone who was raised to fight. heart out in the open rather than tucked away under a thick layer of stone. but it wasn’t love that gable felt; he would never let himself feel affection for someone the way he’d once yearned to. they couldn’t afford that.

@faeties said : ❛ take a gamble that love exists, and do a loving act. ❜

#abuse tw #child abuse tw #internalized homophobia tw #wow the triggers are loaded with this one oopsies. but anyways #you: are they even on our muse lists?#me: bold of you to assume that's gonna stop me #i love them okay im not sorry #and gable is such a fucking idiot like 'no i don't feel anything for them ahahahaha'#[is accidentally soft with gavin. keeps looking at gavin. calls gavin 'gav']#some characters put their clown shoes one foot at a time just like the rest of us #faeties #faeties: gavin.#faeties: [gavin & gable].#private muse: gable r.#╰ 𝚀𝚄𝙴𝚄𝙴 ╯ ⋯ like a fist ‚ like a knife

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parameddic · 3 months

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@contradictivs from x:

There was a long second that Ryder could not help but think that it should be obvious that he knew it wasn't normal. Well. It was normal for him. Something that had been happening since he was a little kid and, thankfully, seemed to lessen as he got older. Though, to be completely honest, he knew that it was because of the fact that he was older. He could take care of himself. His father had no problem with leaving Ryder to his own devices. Borderline abuse, the 'tough love' approach, turned into more neglect than anything else. Ryder found himself preferring the later over the former. "I know that." He was old enough that he could simply cut contact -- And that was what he was slowly working toward. You would think that the act would be much simpler given the fact that his father seemed to avoid him to begin with. "It's just... Not as simple as that."

One of the many things TK had going for him was that he loved his family with his whole heart, held onto them with both hands, and had always -- if he squinted, and moved things around a bit, and sort of meddled a bit (and he always did) -- felt loved back. There were lines in the sand, sure (things like Alex cheating on him) which made it easier to know what was concretely not OK, what he absolutely couldn't put up with: but for these purposes that wasn't really a strength. Not a bad person, but the idea that someone could just -- deal with that and love them anyway?

TK knew that it happened, he had seen the results of it on the job more often than he cared for, he knew how important it was to offer the unconditional support anyway. But he didn't get it. And until he thought about it a little more deeply than just his gut reaction, he probably wasn't going to.

And he wasn't going to ask the question of someone he was trying to support, 'cause it wasn't Ryder's job to tell him, but this was definitely gonna be a conversation he had with his family, later. A gap in knowledge he was suddenly very conscious of. In the meantime: "Well," he settled on, "if and when you do wanna do it, you don't have to do it alone. I'll support you." Whatever that meant. Help moving his stuff, help making a report, help changing his name if that's what he wanted. TK could be there.

#ic #contradictivs #shrug emoji #abuse mention tw #child abuse mention tw #this might be giving them a bit more of a pre-estab then we have discussed and i'm happy to change it but i don't think it is #a very pre-established relationship i would just assume kdjfslkj they're like. mild acquaintances on good terms maybe #if you need me to change it please poke me! love u

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klemen-tine · 2 months

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Blowing Raspberries

Batfam x Male!Reader Platonic

@jaythes1mp Sorry this took so long and is not all in one part! But here is the first half.

TW: Break in, Child Abuse (not the Batfam), and neglect

Publicly, Richard ‘Dick’ Grayson is the oldest Wayne sibling. Taken in by Bruce Wayne at 8-years-old, he is the first child and the oldest. In the eyes of the law and adoption papers. In the eyes of the Wayne family however, the oldest sibling title belongs to Y/N L/N. Similar to the Drakes, the L/N’s live on the other side of the Waynes, and similar to Tim, Y/N had been left home alone… a lot.

Which meant he was over, a lot. So much so, he had his own room, Alfred made him a plate for every meal, and he was aware of their little nightly activities. Y/N L/N was a needed normalcy within the Manor, reminding them that there is more to life outside of crime fighting.

“Did you see that new cafe?” Y/N asked, looking into Dick’s exhausted eyes while resting his chest against Jason’s head. Dick shook his head, “No. Why?” Y/N pouted, “Because you guys literally broke their windows last night.” Jason winced, remembering the shattering of glass and wide-eyed stares as he handled some thugs.

“Please tell me that isn’t the cafe you wanted to go to today.” Dick buried his head in his hands and begged every deity that it was not that cafe. Y/N has been talking about it for weeks and finally found a time where all their schedules aligned so they could do it.

“It was.” Jason and Dick groaned while Y/N stared at them with an annoyed expression. His arms that were wrapped around Jason tightened in a mocking chokehold, knowing that if Jason wanted to he could easily get out and have Y/N pinned. Dick groaned again, “Is… is there somewhere else you want to try?”

“Not really.” ‘Fuck!’ Jason and Dick stared at one another, trying to figure out a way to still have this day with Y/N. If they don’t hurry, the vultures will swoop in and suggest something that will catch Y/N’s attention and–

“Y/N, how about we got to the petting zoo.”

“Dami!”

“Buzz off short stack!” Y/N thumped Jason’s head with his chin, “Don’t talk to Dami like that.” The youngest Wayne smiled victoriously while his two older brothers glared at him. Dick looked offended and Jason was actually ready to strangle him. Y/N shook his head, “Dami, aren’t we going on Friday? I’m picking you up from school to go.” Damian scrunched his nose, “We can go twice.”

Y/N couldn’t help but to chuckle, “Hmmm, those rabbits are cute.” Jason’s grip tightened, “The new bookstore in downtown! There’s a new bookstore that is supposed to have a cafe attached to it.” Damian scowled at Dick perked up, “Yeah, I forgot about that.” Y/N hummed, staring at Jason in concern, “Jay, you hate downtown.” It’s full of rich snobs and people who have nothing better to do than walk the streets in designer clothing.

Jason made a face, “It’s our day with you, I’m fine with it as long as you’re there.” Dick gagged and Damian looked ready to chuck a knife at him. Y/N blinked at the younger man in shock before laughing, “That’s cute, okay. Let’s go there then.” He released Jason from his hold, unwrapping his arms from Jason’s neck and standing tall. Dick smiled at Y/N, who was talking to a pouting Damian and ruffling slicked back hair.

“Alright, Y/N, I'm assuming you’re ready.” Unlike the Wayne brothers who had a father that did not care why they landed on the NEWS or magazine as long as they didn’t kill anyone, Y/N’s father was different. For someone who was always gone, he had a firm hold and opinions on Y/N’s life.

Bruce may not care that his kids go out looking like they haven’t showered in three days, but Y/N’s dad has ordered the maids to get rid of all the ripped jeans Y/N had because the paparazzi made an opinion on them when Y/N wore them. Jason remembers listening in on that call, and numerous other calls from Mr. L/N, as he hollered at his child he did not care about.

“You are a L/N! If you still want that last name then you will dress like a L/N!”

Unlike Dick and Jason who are dressed in jeans, Y/N is dressed in slacks and a nice polo shirt. His hair was clean and styled and the shoes he wore still shined. The aesthetic is called ‘old money’ and boy did Y/N have that. He and the Wayne siblings have become the newest trend setters in Gotham.

Whenever the paparazzi caught them together it was always Old Gotham vs New Gotham. Slacks vs Jeans. Hair combed vs natural. Clean vs Rugged. L/N vs Wayne.

They were the topic whenever they were out together, which was a lot. The only reason Mr. L/N hasn’t said anything is probably because Bruce is keeping his mouth shut about the child-neglect and abandonment. Point is, seeing the Wayne kids and L/N son together wasn’t odd, in fact there were jokes of Bruce Wayne adopting him, but they still always turned heads.

“Y/N, I am telling you that is a horrible choice and you’re not gonna like it.” Said young man raised an eyebrow at Jason and tutted disappointedly, “Jay, you haven’t even read it.” The guy motioned at the cover, “Look at it! Dick! Come ‘ere and look at it!” The other made only a side glance at it and sighed, “Y/N… this is only going to lead to problems.”

“It is literally a book about romance.” Jason screwed up his face, like someone had shoved a lemon down his throat, “But like… young adult romance. Read the classics.”

“I have read the classics. You have read me the classics. I read them in class and if I have to read how Ms. Elizabeth Barnett falls in love with Mr. Darcy one more time I’m actually going to throw myself in traffic.” Dick agreed with Y/N on that, remembering all the time he had to read the damn book.

“It's Elizabeth Bennett.”

“Jay, I swear to God.”

“Are you sure you read them because there’s no way someone who’s read them would get that name wrong.”

“Little wing–”

“–Dickie, maybe. But not anybody else.”

“–Excuse you.” Y/N snorted at the now bickering brothers, watching in amusement as Dick pulled Jason’s ear and Jason to Dick’s hair. Sighing, Y/N stepped between the two. Y/N L/N is possibly the only person, other than Alfred, who would dare do such a thing. Fear was absent on his face as he calmly walked into the dog fight, and helped release their bites with gentle tugs and stern words.

“Enough. The line is picking up at the cafe, so let's checkout and head over.” Y/N is the person who quells the fights and mends the bonds. The only person in the Manor that knew how to communicate their feelings and help others realize and communicate theirs.

He is the kind, patient, and understanding older brother of the Batfam. Always paying attention to other’s needs and always willing to listen to someone vent their frustrations and offer sound advice. Y/N is –

“–And what about the company?! How come the sales are low this month?”

“Father, they are riding average, it’s just the last month was a boom because–”

“I don’t care about last month! Why are the sales low this month?!”

– not Bruce Wayne’s ward, and therefore there isn’t much he can say in this scenario. Bruce listened and watched Y/N slouch as Mr. L/N continued to scream and berate him from across the world. He watched the exhaustion take over Y/N’s features and the way his forehead creased, Bruce knows that a headache is now present.

“If you still want the company then you better act like it! Enough of prancing around like the money you spend is yours!” Y/N is grateful his father hung up after that, because Y/N had a clapback to that and he’s sure his father would fly back from wherever he is just to smack him around for saying it.

Setting his phone down on the coffee table, the weight of the conversation making his shoulders sag and melt into the armchair with a huff. Bruce chuckled at the pout, “For what it is worth, fluctuating prices are normal in businesses. As long as it doesn’t go too low, you are fine.” Y/N smiled at the man, fixing his posture and picking up the mug of coffee.

“You heard all of that?” The man can still remember when he first met Y/N. The property alarm was triggered, and when Bruce and Alfred went out to investigate, an 8-year-old Y/N was there, his hands holding the wild raspberries and his cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk.

He huffed at the memory, making Y/N give him a weird look. Bruce had been grateful to Y/N’s impromptu trespassing, because when Dick came into his care, a now 10-year-old Y/N had welcomed the traumatized and blubbering 8-year-old. Something Bruce had little to no idea how to handle.

Then Jason came and that was a wild ride, followed by Steph, then Tim, and now Damian. That's just the Robins. It doesn’t include the others that have become family but never took the Robin mantle. Y/N had been there through it all, and welcomed each one with a smile and open arms. At the same time giving Bruce a raised eyebrow and icy glare that screamed, ‘Really? Another child?’

Y/N never faulted Bruce for his lack of communication, but he did let the man know repeatedly that while words may start fires, they can also put them out. Y/N had laid it on him one time, after a particular nasty fight with Dick and Jason.

“For a man who loves using his vocabulary to start arguments you sure don’t have the vocabulary to fix them. What are you, a toddler?”

Mending things with Y/N is always easy, because Y/N does not hold grudges. Not to mention having the emotional intelligence of a therapist, Y/N was always in-tuned to his emotions and whether he was projecting or not. Or if anyone else was. Living in a manor filled with people who have traumatic backstories and skeletons in the closets, Y/N has become the voice of reason and unbiased opinions. Similar to Alfred, just without the sass.

“Do you still like raspberries?” Bruce asked, and Y/N nodded, “You ask this every time a celebration of some sort comes up and the answer is always the same. Yes, I still love raspberries.” Y/N had once confided to Bruce, over a glass of wine, how he had asked his father if he could paint the bookshelves in his room. Little did Mr. L/N know that the color would be burgundy, the closest color to a raspberry he could get without poking someone’s eye out, and when his father found out he had the bookshelves removed and set ablaze.

Y/N got his ass handed to him when Mr. L/N came back from his trip, and was then prohibited from decorating his room without prior approval of design and permission.

Bruce had the bookshelves in Y/N’s room in the manor painted burgundy, and when Y/N saw them, it was like watching a child be told that they were not the bad child. The relief and the path to healing across his face as he took in the bookshelves.

The man watched Y/N sip his cup of coffee, watching how exhaustion seemed to seep off of him like cologne and fill the air with his tired and somewhat annoyed state. Phone calls from Mr. L/N we’re never received well by anybody, and Jason and Tim have more than once thought about sending the hateful man a few messages. Damian offered to ambush him when he came home.

Y/N quickly shot those down.

Tim came from nowhere, his face screwed tight and body tense. Y/N gave him a once over, before making space for the college student on the couch. He gave him a worried look-over, “Is everything alright?” Tim melted into Y/N’s side, huffing and grumbling about something.

Bruce’s phone vibrated, and it was a message from Tim sent before he got down here.

‘It’s in Cabo.’ Bruce huffed, already knowing that if Tim was listening then so was everyone else. Referring to Mr. L/N as an ‘it’ seemed to be everyone’s favorite pastime. Everyone but Y/N’s, but as long as it wasn’t said around him then it was fine.

“You’re going to the Gala, right?” Tim asked and Y/N nodded, “Of course, when have I ever missed one?” Tim continued to grumble a bit, but relaxed into Y/N’s side as he ran his fingers through Tim’s messy hair. God he loves it when Y/N does this. There was barely anything better than Y/N’s head massages, easily lulling him to a calm state as everyone mentally prepared for the Gala tonight.

When Y/N had turned 13, that is when he started showing up to the Galas representing L/N Industries, and he would be in Bruce’s care while there. Whoever Bruce met, Y/N was expected to make a great impression. Bruce never missed the way Y/N would sometimes stare at the Wayne kids in jealousy as they got to do whatever they want, while he is forced to be an adult and try to win other adults over.

Then forced to be yelled at afterwards by his father on the phone afterwards for something miniscule. Either someone commented on a piece of clothing, or how he wasn’t smiling, anything that was negative Y/N got yelled at for. It was like Mr. L/N didn’t know how to do anything else other than yell at his child.

Tim took no offense when the fingers in his hair stopped moving, and Y/N’s body became limp. The other was knocked out on the couch, napping away the stress and enjoying the weekend. Unlike Tim who had Bruce’s help when managing Wayne Enterprises, Y/N is all on his own. Learning from his dad’s assistant, and also Bruce’s, Y/N was basically alone when his father had forced him to take the mantle. In face only, because as far as Mr. L/N was concerned, the company’s profit was still his profit. None of it going to Y/N, except as a monthly allowance.

Jason had once said he should just stop managing the company, and if his father loved it enough, then he’ll take over. Y/N chuckled-the bags under his eyes were deep and he had just gotten over a stress cold- and he said that although his father may care a lot about the profit, it was his late mother’s company and he wouldn’t want to embarrass her soul by purposefully failing.

However, now all that company did was cause him stress and make him sick more frequently. Bruce had said it was probably stress from his father, and not so much the company, but that didn’t stop them all from wishing the company would just go away.

Tim looked up Y/N through his eyelashes, taking in the similar dark circles they both shared and how Y/N looks paler than usual, and he knows that Y/N’s health would only get worse if they targeted the company. His oldest brother would do everything in his power to keep the company afloat, and it would be devastating on both sides. Y/N would run himself ragged trying to keep it alive and that would mean less time with them.

“Let him rest, Tim. He needs it.” Everyone has asked Bruce if he plans to do something. However, there isn’t much Bruce can do now that Y/N is an adult. He’s offered a room in a manor for Y/N to stay at forever, but Y/N has always been a bit hesitant about leaving the L/N’s home. Bruce can understand why.

Aged blue eyes observed the steady rise and fall of Y/N’s chest, and he wondered if there was anything that could convince Y/N to stay here.

++++

“Mr. L/N, what a surprise.” A surprise it is too, because instead of Y/N being here, it is his father. The one who was in Cabo earlier today. The man smiled, looking nothing like Y/N’s, and he held out a hand, “It has been a while. I figured it was time to show my face and give my son a rest.” Dick stared at Mr. L/N in shock and weariness, not liking how he said ‘his son.’ If it was a jab at Bruce, it didn’t land. Brucie Wayne, the social bug he was, laughed and clapped his hand on Mr. L/N’s shoulder.

“Is Y/N not showing up?” The man’s eyebrow twitched, “No, unfortunately he felt under the weather so he’s taking a break.” Dick’s eyes narrowed, and Bruce’s smile faltered, “Is that so? How unfortunate, he’s fun to talk to.” Mr. L/N’s smile tightened, “Indeed.”

The Gala was tense, at least it was for the Wayne family, because Y/N never misses a Gala. Never. Dick saved a slice of raspberry cheesecake, for when Y/N comes over tomorrow. He’s going to be upset that he missed a fresh slice, but knowing Y/N, he’ll worry about missing the Gala. The cheesecake will act as reassurance that no one is mad. They just had to wait until tomorrow, when Y/N will show up.

Only he didn’t. Dick can’t remember the last time he hasn’t seen Y/N in a 24-hour period, but he does know that he didn’t like it. Almost like there was a force keeping his shoulders tight and chest heavy. Looking around, he could already see the effects it was having on others.

He didn’t answer his phone, and when they called the L/N Manor, it was one of the maids picking up and stating that Y/N was either out, sleeping, or feeling under the weather. Which doesn’t make sense because when Y/N is sick, he is always over at the Wayne manor. No one makes a better chicken noodle soup than Alfred.

They let it go. Maybe Y/N wants to be home because his dad is home?

Then the next day, there was still no Y/N. Not a text message, not a phone call, complete radio silence. Following radio silence while on patrol, radio silence from Y/N had to be one of the more terrifying forms of silence.

There was nothing. His father left late last night, and usually that would mean Y/N would be over. He would be over complaining about his dad and how he needs to work harder. He’d get a stress cold that would last for two days before he would be back to normal.

Every phone call, every text message going unanswered.

‘Y/N, I swear I’m about to break into your house. Please answer.’ The threat was real and Dick meant every word. He’s talked Jason, Damian, and surprisingly Tim from doing it but now four days of radio silence was enough to make even Bruce stir-crazy. Batman has become a little more violent throughout the week, and Bruce Wayne a little more stressed looking.

‘Hey! Sorry for the silence, I’m just not feeling too well. I’ll see you in another few days.’ Everyone read the text message, and everyone’s mind filled with the same idea.

“Honestly, with how often he’s with us you’d think he knows better than to lie.” Damian’s nose scrunched, eyeing the message as if it spit in his face. Tim shrugged, “It just means he’s hiding something.”

Bruce said nothing, falling into the role of silent protector.

“You are not actually going over in your Bat costume are you?”

In the L/N Manor

Y/N walked the dark hallways back to his room. Under his arm was a book and in his other hand was a cup of coffee, still steaming and warming his fingers. The lightning that occasionally flashed filled the area with white light, casting long shadows and creating an eerie atmosphere.

When Y/N was younger, he used to sprint back to his room. He hated how dark and silent the hallways are, reminding him that he is alone in a place that does not want him. When he whispered to Dick that he was scared of the lightning, Dick had told Bruce and sure enough Y/N would be spending nights at the Wayne manor whenever it was forecasted to thunderstorm.

Y/N had gotten over the fear, but he still occasionally slept over when the forecast predicted rain. Just because he no longer feared it, didn’t mean he liked it.

Pausing to look out the window like some gothic prince trapped in a tower, Y/N recalled the argument he had with his dad. The older L/N making a surprise visit and berating his child when he first saw him and when he left. Y/N wondered if with the allowance he was given, if he could just move out. Apartments in the upper end of Gotham were expensive, and he’d never hear the end of it if he moved to East Gotham.

Not to mention, if he did leave to move out on his own, he’d be further from the Wayne family. Sure, Jason and Dick live on their own, and it wasn’t like Tim or Damian needed him around all the time, but it was home for him.

Maybe, he’s the one that needs them.

Lightning flashed and there was another reflection in the window.

“Ahhh!” Y/N threw his cup of coffee at the stranger behind him, and only paused in throwing the book when he saw the familiar cowl.

“Bruce! What the hell?! Oh my God, oh my God, I think I just lost like 10 years of my life.” Y/N clasped a hand over his heart, trying to calm the organ. Taking deep breaths, he finally managed to steady his heart beat and scrunched his nose at the older man. To which, Bruce Wayne glared back, “What happened to your face?”

‘Oh shit.’ Y/N sighed, “Nothing Bruce. I just fell, but what are you doing in my house? Did…did you break in?” Y/N tried to get around the taller and bigger man, but Bruce grabbed his arm. He spun Y/N around and thanks to the flash of lightning, Bruce’s jaw clenched at the fading bruises on Y/N’s face.

“Did F/N do this?”

“Bruce, I told you I just fell.” The lenses on the cowl narrowed, and Y/N saw the frown grow on the man’s face. Sighing, Y/N scrunched nose and winced when a bruise scrunched with it, “Honestly though Bruce, how did you even get in here? No, how did you even guess this hallway?”

“You’re rooms this way.”

“Ahhhhh!” Y/N screamed and ran into Bruce’s side for protection against the voice.

“Dick! Ho-wha- why are you here?!”

“We were worried.” This time Y/N only flinched, and whirled around to see Damian in the Robin costume. He gaped at the pre-teen, “Oh my God, you all are just spawning out of nowhere.” Damian grabbed his hand, and Y/N couldn’t help but to hold the youngest’s hand. Muscle memory.

“Y/N, you’re face,” Dick whispered, gently tracing the swollen and discolored skin, “We thought you were sick.” Y/N smiled, leaning into the palm of Dick’s hand, “I was. I’m just getting over it, as for the bruises… Like I was telling Bruce, I just fell.”

Damian’s grip on Y/N’s hand tightened and the oldest sibling smiled down at him, “What’s wrong Dami?” The youngest gave a small glare through the lenses of the Robin mask, “I find your lies insulting and belittling, Y/N. The truth would be appreciated before things get more drastic.”

“...Excuse me?” Y/N tried to remove his hand from Damian’s grip, and panicked when Robin refused to let go.

“Y/N, please be honest. What happened?” Dick, in his Nightwing costume, rested his hands on Y/N's shoulders and tried to coax the truth out of the person he sees as his oldest brother. It only made the other tense, and tried to get out of Damian’s grip.

“Guys, you’re scaring me.”

“Y/N, what happened?” Bruce’s voice did nothing to ease the fear that Y/N was experiencing, and for the first time ever in the time he’s known the Wayne family, Y/N didn’t want to be around them. He struggled some more to get away from them, but with Robin’s grip on his hand, Nightwing’s hands on his shoulders, and Batman’s gaze keeping him in place, Y/N found it harder to move.

Batman sighed, and with a nod that Y/N would have missed if he wasn’t focused on the man, Nightwing’s hand moved closer to Y/N’s neck. The other’s eyes widened, his one free hand moving to stop Nightwing.

“Wa-”

“Good night, Y/N.” His vision went dark and the only thing he registered was a pair of arms catching him before his body hit the floor.

++++

Y/N woke with a start, in a very familiar room, with raspberry painted bookshelves and dark sheets. His arms shot up to his face, and bandages rested on his cheeks. Looking at his arm and seeing the sleeves of his pajama pants, Y/N closed his eyes in misery and knew that if he were to lift the sleeves, there would be bandages.

Sitting up, Y/N grunted and rested his forehead in his hand.

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

“Jay…” Y/N watched the other carefully, watching the taller and bigger man silently move across the room to sit next to him. His nose scrunched, “Your brothers and father have some explaining to do. Where are they?” Jason shrugged, “Out. Don’t worry about that, but Y/N, why did you hide this from us?” Y/N stared at Jason for a bit, processing the question and sighing irritably.

“Cause it's not a big deal. This was the only time and–”

“One time is still too many times!” Jason yelled, startling Y/N. Wide E/C eyes stared into Jason’s furious blue eyes, the slightest hint of green starting to slowly take over. Y/N gulped, “Jason, it’s fine. I am here now, right?” He reached out and grasped Jason’s larger hand, watching the other calm down with deep breaths. Those blue eyes of his seem to fall on every bandage across Y/N’s face, before looking back down at their clasped hands.

“Everyone was a mess, you know that right?” Y/N chuckled at him, chalking it up to Jason being overdramatic, “You guys are too funny. I know me going radio silent wasn’t appreciated, but you don’t need to guilt trip me further.”

“I’m not joking around, Y/N. Everyone was a mess.” There was something in Jason’s tone that had Y/N pausing. His E/C eyes landed on Jason and watched how those eyes continued to glow green. The larger man took a deep breath and seemed to calm whatever raging thoughts he was having, “But it's fine now, because you are here.” Y/N furrowed his brow, but smiled nevertheless, “Yeah.”

Silence overtook the room and Y/N is still unsure how to proceed. It wasn’t rare for the Batfamily to be a bit… dramatic. For fucks sake Bruce dresses as a giant furry and terrorizes criminals. However, there was something in Jason’s tone that had Y/N stilling. Contemplating his next words and wondering if they were the correct ones to say.

“You’re awake.” Y/N’s head snapped to the door and standing there was Damian. He gave a smile to the youngest Wayne, “Damian, you're not one to usually enter without knocking.” The youngest strolled over and eyes Jason’s and Y/N’s hands, “I heard you two talking and figured it would be okay if I entered.” Y/N pursed his lips, “Well, true but Dami you should still–”

“Father wants to talk to you, after dinner.” Green eyes met E/C and there it was again. A glint of something sinister lurking underneath the green. Y/N gulped and outstretched an arm. His palms up like he was approaching a dog, asking to pet it. Damian took the invitation and fell into Y/N’s embrace. Crawling onto Y/N’s bed and into the space underneath Y/N’s arm and against his chest, Damian nuzzled into the space with a content smile.

Y/N felt his heart rate spike, something alerting him that he is surrounding himself with something dangerous. Which is preposterous. Yeah, Damian was a little psychotic and so was Jason, but they wouldn’t harm Y/N. They wouldn’t hurt anyone that didn’t deserve it.

Yet, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling of something being wrong.

“When is dinner, Dami?” The younger boy hummed, “At 5:30.” Y/N glanced at the clock reading 5:25. Sighing, gently nudged the two away, “C’mon we have five minutes. Alfred will be upset with us for being late.” Damian grumbled while Jason outwardly expressed his discontent. When Y/N fully stood up, he noted that his clothes were different.

“Who… who changed me?” Jason shrugged and Damian continued walking. Y/N looked back down at the sweatpants he was now wearing and the oversized shirt. None of which are his.

“I-I should change first–”

“C’mon Y/N, no one cares.”

“Indeed, Drake has shown up before looking horrid. You look wonderful, like always.” Y/N said nothing to address those comments, but the time clicking on the clock had Y/N forgoing dressing and instead grabbing his house slippers. Damian was quick to grab his hand and Jason walked behind like he was protecting Y/N from something.

The walk was silent, and there were some bruises on Y/N’s body that had him wincing sometimes. Nevertheless, when the sound of chatter began to echo through the halls, Y/N controlled his expressions and braced for the question and answers he wanted.

“Well, look who finally woke up,” Dick joked and Y/N rolled his eyes, “I don’t want to hear that from the people who broke into my house.” He said it as a jest, but some part of Y/N wanted to mean every word he said. The three culprits didn’t even pretend to look guilty.

Y/N gave Bruce a pointed look, he busied himself by pouring himself, Y/N, Dick, and Jason wine. Damian released Y/N’s hand to go sit at his respective seat, between Tim and Bruce, while Y/N took his between Bruce’s and Dick’s. Dick smiled at him, “Happy to have you at dinner. They have been quiet for the past few days.”

“If that is your way of saying I talk too much Dick, may I remind you who is the reason we had to enact a five minute quiet period during meals before.” The man laughed, unbothered by that little fact being thrown into the air.

Dinner continued with the usual chatter, arguments, snide remarks, and dirty looks. Y/N’s absence was barely brought up, and instead he got filled in about what he missed while he was radio-silent. No one questioned the bruises on his face, or the now open secret that Y/N had tried to keep quiet about.

“Y/N, please see me in my studies.” Bruce gently squeezed Y/N’s shoulder and Y/N followed, thanking Alfred as he did so and waving to all the brothers. The walk was tense, and something kept stirring in Y/N’s stomach that he was walking into something dangerous. Not a trap, because a trap means Y/N didn’t see it or feel it coming. However, he can feel this one. He can feel this one coming, something that would have his life changing, and yet he still kept walking forward. It’s the Waynes. His family.

They wouldn’t do anything he didn’t like.

Bruce’s study was as dark and aesthetic as Y/N remembers. A dark oak wood desk, bookshelves, the laptop and monitors, and papers. Y/N rarely set foot in here, mainly because there was never a need to, but he remembers being young and playing hide-n-seek in here with Dick.

Bruce turned and gently cupped Y/N’s bruised face, turning it slightly to take in each discolored patch of skin and open wounds. Y/N smiled, “Bruce, it’s fine. I’m fine. You and everyone else are just being overdramatic.”

“Is that what all of this is? Us overreacting?” Y/N gave a nervous chuckle at Bruce’s tone, one he’s heard when the man was Batman.

“I mean, considering you broke into my house, that seems excessive.” Bruce released Y/N’s face and walked behind his desk, and motioned to a stack of papers.

“Y/N, if entering your home is considered excessive, then I don’t know how you are going to handle this.”

“Break in, Bruce. It was a break in, and what are you talking about?” Y/N picked up the paper, and quickly scanned the document. Bruce watched the color drain from Y/N’s face and horror take over those bright E/C eyes. They flickered from the top of the page back to the bottom, and then to Bruce and back to the paper.

Y/N’s mouth opened and closed, trying to form words he was desperate to say.

Wayne Enterprise Acquires L/N Industries

Bought. Bruce bought L/N Industries. Bruce bought the company from Y/N’s father, because Y/N isn’t the owner, and there is no way in hell that Y/N would have ever signed off on that. His mother’s company, now just a part of the Wayne monopoly.

“Wha-what is- Why- Bruce! Bruce, what the hell is this?” Eyes filled with betrayal and anger as Y/N glared at Bruce. The man sighed, “It is as it says. L/N Industries in now under Wayne Enterprise-”

“But why?! You’ve never shown any interest in the company.” Bruce wasn’t interested in L/N Industries. Wayne Enterprise was not a monopoly, and they didn’t buy companies unless that company was already going bankrupt. Bruce was interested in Y/N’s health, and vengeance.

“Don’t take it personally, because it's not at you.” Y/N rolled his eyes, “It sure feels like it. Bruce, you know what this company means to me, you can’t just–”

“Well I did.” Bruce met Y/N’s gaze head on, “The company is not in your name, you do not reap the profits, this acquisition was not a jab at you.” Y/N knows who it's a jab at, and he understands why Bruce is angry. However, it does not excuse the fact that this was a jab at the L/N family.

Y/N clenched his jaw, “There’s no way he just signed it over like that.” Bruce handed him another piece of paper and sure enough, there was his father’s signature. Y/N stared at the inked lines, wondering just how had Bruce gotten that signature so quickly.

“Blackmail really makes people move faster than the Flash.”

“Wha… what blackmail?” Bruce raised an eyebrow and Y/N closed his eyes in misery, “Bruce, I get it. I do. He’s not a good father, but you didn’t have to buy the company. He’s literally going to ret-”

“You and I both know he would never retire. You would be working to the bone for him while he reaps all the profit.” Y/N rolls his eyes, and opens his mouth to say something but Bruce cuts him off, “Do NOT roll your eyes at me! Y/N this is serious.”

Momentarily taken aback by the tone of voice, Y/N stared at a fuming Bruce. He processed the reaction and felt the heat in his stomach return, “Excuse you! You literally bought my family’s company, kind of if not really kidnapped me, and broke into my home! I have every right to be upset, let alone roll my eyes at you.”

“That place wasn’t your home and you know it.”

“Doesn’t change anything! That's like saying a break-in at a hotel room doesn’t count because the person doesn’t live in the hotel room.” Y/N could feel his heart rate pick up, and the reality of it all began setting in.

“Holy shit. Fucking hell Bruce.”

“Language.”

“Do not ‘language’ me! Bruce, what the actual hell! All of this is way out of proportion for what happened.” Bruce slammed his hands on his desk, making some papers fly and the cup holding his pens fell. Blue eyes filled with rage glared at Y/N, “You can’t even say what happened! He hit you, Y/N. He beat you like a dog, and animal abusers still go to jail. He’s getting off with only losing the company.

“And I know that those bruises are the only ones we do see!” Y/N glared at Bruce, fighting back tears and biting his lips. Bruce sighed, his shoulders deflating and a pained expression on his face. He walked around the desk and hugged Y/N, bringing his son close, “Y/N, I’m sorry. I am. You’ll still be running the company, and will have a final say in things. It's just… God, Y/N. Not hearing from you and then seeing you like that...” Bruce took a deep breath, trying to control his emotions, "It was terrifying, Y/N. How could I let you stay there when all of that was done to you?"

Y/N wrapped his arms around Bruce, ignoring the feeling of dread of doing so. He ignored how Bruce’s arms tightened around him, “Oh Y/N, please. Please stay here where you are safe.”

He didn’t want to admit that it sounded more of an order than a request. This was Bruce! His father in everything but blood and paper.

“Just… just please don’t do that again.”

“It won’t happen again. I promise.”

______________________________________________________________

Not a whole lot of Yandere, but thats why there will be two parts! Not just one.

864 notes · View notes

allfearstofallto · 1 month

Note

hii! can i make a request?

I've been thinking about angsty things a bit. say if, reader got pregnant, would she hate it? how would scara/childe react? in my opinion, id like to think that scara thinks of this as a way to tie her down to him more, plus its canon he likes kids!! and as for childe i think he'd be very very happy since he has soooo many siblings, (maybe he wants a lot of kids too??)

and..what if reader miscarried? i have this thought of where scara would still be cold to her but give her breaks and more space than usual, but what if reader completely locks herself in and then when he confronts her about it they get into a huge argument, how would scara tackle that, would he resort to abusive tactics and would it increase readers hatred & distance more?

just a brainrot, you dont have to write about it if you're not comfy^_^

This took me so so so long!! I'm so sorry if you were waiting for it!!

I don't typically write for things like pregnancy because it makes me uncomfortable, but I'd be lying if I said I do not absolutely fucking adore angst and hopelessness.

Parasite

Yandere! Scaramouche x Fem! Reader

Forced Marriage AU

TW: 18+ MDNI, Dark Content, Forced marriage, Pregnancy, Miscarriage, Mentions of Dub/Non-Con

A week late turned into two. Two turned into a month. A month turned into three. And three turned into unusual cravings for foods that didn't go together. Sickness and vomiting clouded the hours of your mornings. Dread filled your body the second you realized what this was. Stress makes your cycles late, you told yourself, stress makes your entire body change, and this was a stressful situation, but stress wasn't causing this, was it?

Scaramouche could tell the changes in you immediately. As someone who constantly kept tabs on your life, it was only fair to assume that he'd noticed your slight fluctuation in weight and lack of asking for your monthly cloths. When you were called into his office, you felt a hot flash all over your body, you assumed it was fear, but it could've also been nausea.

His office was a place filled with dread. The air in the room was too thick and worst of all, he was there. The room made you feel small, the only good thing about it was that he was usually too focused on his mile high stacks of paperwork. Except today. Today his razor sharp gaze was focused on your trembling form as you bowed to him, his eyes following down, then back up.

“Answer me honestly,” he began, hands planted on the wood in front of him, “Are you with child?”

If you could throw up again, you would. Of course, you knew all this time, but you never wanted to say it. You hoped, just hoped and prayed that maybe if you never acknowledged it, it would all go away. It would all be a bad dream. But it was true. There was something disgusting living inside you. And it was his.

“I believe so, my lord,” the words couldn't even completely fall from your lips before you were a blubbering, sobbing mess of anguish and fear. Despite the fact that you were completely breaking down before him, he had a small smile on his face, like he was proud of what he'd done to you.

“That's good,” he said calmly, wiping away your tears and planting a forced kiss upon your face. His touch felt cold as ice, but his hands against you made you want to melt your skin away.

The reaction to the “good news” was immediate, whether that was good or bad was up in the air, but everything changed. The tight obi of all the kimono you owned would put too much pressure on your budding stomach, new one's were ordered to be ready as you grew more in size. Your diet was changed completely, less of the Inazuma raw delicacies and more lean meat and vegetables. Daily classes of calligraphy and tea ceremonies were switched to resting with your feet up or light stretching, everything to keep you happy and healthy during your pregnancy.

The biggest change was Scaramouche himself. A man filled with so much hatred and disgust, was suddenly being kinder. Or trying to at least. You watch him open his mouth to make a comment, only to shut it again in favor of saying something still rude, but less insulting.

The Scaramouche that believed that he could take your body whenever he pleased was long gone, even though that was what got you in this predicament in the first place. He'd taken to leaving you in the middle of the night and going to the bathroom to sate his urges. He'd come back with cold damp hands and lay next to you, a protective hand over your stomach as he kissed your cheek and told you how much he loved you.

The day you saw blood between your legs and felt an aching pain in your stomach was a joyous one indeed. A part of you wanted to scream out in glee, but you didn't want to wake your already on edge husband. The blood that coated your fingers could only mean one thing. One good thing. It was gone. You were free of it. Almost immediately, the dark air that seemed to linger over your body vanished and you let out a sigh of relief.

Scaramouche was informed shortly before breakfast that same morning. You relayed the information to a maid, who then told him, whispering the words in his ear so quietly, it sounded like she was speaking gibberish. His face, his expression, changed to one shock, then horror, then pain. You didn't even know he could make such a face, yet there he was with tears in his eyes.

“Wh-what happened?” There was that tone again. The one you were used to. The anger and distaste for you in his voice. He slammed his fist down on the desk, turning his head away from you as his voice became high and breathy, so desperate for answers, “What did I do wrong?”

You stood in his office awkwardly, even this display from a person you hated, this display of agony was hurting you as well. You thought it would be funny. Seeing the man who pulled you from your home and forced you into marriage in pain was supposed to make you happy, but you felt your own chest clenching, felt your hands tremble.

“I-i suppose…I was stressed, my lord,” you muttered, his already labored breaths hitching at those words. The few months you were carrying that thing inside your body, was when he asked for less from you. He expected you to laze around all day and relax. For your body to fall into a daze like trance of naps and delicious food. He wanted happiness for both you and his child that you carried, yet you were still the most stressed you'd ever been in your entire life, knowing that he had something inside you. Something that would continue to fester and grow, until it eventually ate you alive.

He sat back in his office chair dejected, hurt, and empty. Scaramouche's normally sharp, glaring eyes were wide as he stared at the ceiling, body limp as he bit his lip, “Leave me,” he sighed, his voice barely above a whisper. Had it not been for the quietness of the room, you wouldn't have heard him.

Leave him you did, closing the door as silently as possible and not lingering behind. You felt yourself finally stop tensing, telling yourself that all your woes were over, for now. The thing was gone. You were happy. For once, even if unintentionally, you'd won over your captor.

#mai<3 answers #genshin #genshin x reader #yandere genshin #genshin impact #yandere x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #yandere scaramouche x reader #yandere scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #tw pregnancy #mdni

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ghoststyles · 28 days

Text

Casanova

HIIIII 🤍 Here is a little piece I've been working on for a while! This is inspired by the song Casanova by Rayland Baxter. Harry is a manipulative little twat in this, so bare with me 🤍

7.5K words;

TW: SLIGHT mommy kink. He doesn't call her mommy but he calls her mama and Miss/Missy. P in V sex, oral sex, phone sex. FACETIME SEX <3 Slight mentions of suicide. EXTREME drug and alcohol abuse. Arrests, jail. the works.

ENJOY AND GIVE ME A BOOP IF YOU LIKE IT :D

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Money, all I ever want is money But I never wanna work for the money So I borrow the money from a woman

Harry Styles knew who he was from a young age. A charmer. A flirt. He uses his wits and his good looks to manipulate the people around him until they have no choice but to give in, conning them and infiltrating their lives for his own gain.

His days are simple; He sleeps until 11, combs his hair into a perfect swirl of chocolate curls, brushes his perfectly white and straight teeth, spritzes his neck with his ridiculously priced Tom Ford cologne, climbs into his Porsche Cayenne to hit the gym, and grab an $18 smoothie for the ride home. From there, he lets the day unfold how it pleases, until it’s time to go to the club with his friends. Here and there, he’ll meet up with his dealer and his bookie to spice it up.

Rinse. Reuse. Repeat.

As a child, Harry was dirt poor. He’d never let anyone know that, however. His perfectly curated image blossomed the minute he got to college, leaving any ounce of mediocrity behind. His friends were none the wiser, assuming Harry was there blowing his trust fund like the rest of them, when really, he was a charity case.

Every day, he’d walk to the corner store for cigarettes for his dad and cans of tuna fish, stealing a small item to try and feel something. The owner, Mr. Abbott, knew Harry stole from him, but never said a word. He’d return to their one bedroom apartment, flicking the light on, only to find the electric bill hadn’t been paid.

His parents are not addicts or criminals, by any means. If they were, he’d at least have a touching back story. Neither of them have the drive or the desire to succeed like he does. They lived their simple lives, worked paycheck to paycheck to support him and his siblings and never worked for more.

On the day he left for college, he vowed to himself to never let anyone see him as the poor, pathetic boy he was. He’ll put his own silver spoon in his mouth, if he must.

So, as he sits high and mighty on his throne after doing a few lines off a pretty girl’s tits in the VIP section of his favorite club, The Viper, surrounded by his fellow socialite friends, he thinks of one person.

You.

Harry isn’t unemployed, per se, but, he doesn’t exactly have a job, either. Two years ago, at the ripe age of 21, he graduated magna cum laude from university, with top marks in all of his classes. But, he knew he didn’t want to work a traditional job. He wanted to travel, he wanted to live lavishly, and he wanted to party.

That’s where you come in. The gorgeous, alluring and kind-hearted woman that feeds the beast that is his lifestyle. He wouldn’t change it for the fucking world.

Swiping aimlessly one day on the dating apps, he stopped his scroll abruptly to study your profile. You’re perfectly curated - the collection of photos reflecting your outgoing personality and beauty.

38. Looking for some fun. Dog mom. CEO. Let me spoil you <3

Seeking a male ages 21-28.

His eyebrow quirks. A sugar mommy? Is that a thing?

He swipes right, hoping deep down you match. This could be it. This could be his way in. The funds from his financial aid are quickly dwindling, and he’d be sooner caught dead than with a part-time job.

He dawdles around his apartment for a few hours, pacing the room to see if you matched with him. The possibility of this arrangement is scratching an itch he’s been desperate to quell.

He readies himself to meet his friends at the club, placing cologne on his neck and wrists. For good measure, he adjusts himself in his trousers to get a little blood flowing down there.

As he plucks his keys from the door, he hears the familiar ping from the dating site ring out from his laptop. Stopping in his tracks, he pivots to stand at his desk. He swallows thickly before entering his passcode.

Congratulations, Casanova94, you matched with BabyHoneyxo

A dazed smile makes its way to his lips, his dimple popping significantly. This is going to be good.

Can you believe I never met her? Can you believe she never met me, too? But she calls me everyday, telling me to behave And no I never listened

Now, almost two years later, you and Harry have still never met in person. But, that’s by your request. You want a companion. A call boy. Someone who will always answer the phone when you need it. And ever since you inherited your family’s wealth and company, you want someone to spoil.

It started off slow; texts asking about one another’s day, learning about hobbies and interests. Then, the wire deposits came in. Harry wasn’t sure if he had hearts in his eyes or dollar signs. You don’t tell him how to spend the money, but you definitely drop hints.

“Get yourself a new outfit, baby. Then send me a picture,” you smiled lazily on FaceTime one night. “Maybe you can find something to match the Porsche.”

Harry chuckles boyishly, “You’re too good to me. I just went shopping last week!”

He has you eating out of the palm of his hand.

“I know, I know. I just want my baby boy to be happy. Can you pull yourself out for me, baby? Wanna see you,” you purr, making yourself comfortable on your king sized bed in your quiet penthouse. You’re winding down for bed, even though your lover is just getting ready for the night.

“Mhm,” Harry responds, voice an octave higher and desperate sounding. He slides himself out, letting his cock harden slowly in his hands. “My friends will be here soon, Missy.”

“That’s okay, bubba. We’ll be quick. Mmm, look how big and gorgeous you are,” your sultry tone sends shivers up his spine. He adjusts the camera so you’re looking at his abdomen from below his thick cock.

“My perfect boy,” you moan out as you touch your clit for the first time this evening. “Always so good for me.”

“Yes, Missy. Wanna be good for you. Can I touch myself harder now?”

“Yeah, baby, go ahead. Squeeze that big cock. Tell me when you’re close.”

At this point, you’re furiously rubbing your clit, and gently teasing a finger inside. His breaths are becoming more labored as he pumps his cock at a faster pace. You pause just before your climax, sending your heart rate to a thunderous pace you can hear the ringing in your ears.

You look over at your phone propped up next to you to find your little love sweating and fisting himself hurriedly. The whimpers coming from the other end make the hairs on your arms stand up. After a beat, you continue the assault on your clit, starting off slow in order to reach that peak again.

“I-I’m close, Missy. Please let me cum. I f-feel so good,” at the tail end of his begging, he moans deeply.

“Uh-uh. Who always cums first, baby?”

“You, Mama. You cum first,” he pants, his eyes making panicked contact with yours.

“That’s right. Good boy. I’m so close baby,” you squeak out as you stick two fingers in your cunt. You cry out, at your release, gently tweaking your nipple with your other hand.

Harry isn’t far behind, taking one last swipe over his tip, using his other hand to cup his balls. He cums all over his fist, small specks of white littering his belly. He whimpers again, barely able to open his eyes.

“Let me see, baby,” you whisper, waiting for him to show you his load. He pans the camera silently, the haze already leaving his head. But he’d never tell you that.

“Thank you, Missy. I feel so good.”

“Mmm, bet you do, baby. Now go clean up and have fun with your friends. I’ll talk you tomorrow. Behave!”

“Okay, I will. Goodnight.”

The minute Harry presses ‘end’, an ounce of remorse bubbles in his chest. Just an ounce. He rises from his bed to jump in the shower, ridding him of his guilt and shame.

Sure, you’re gorgeous, and nice. But you’re not what’s getting him off. Or so he likes to tell himself. Throughout your sessions on FaceTime, Harry’s mind wanders to the girls he’s hooked up with the weekend before, and the countless drugs he’ll consume on a night out. That’s what gets his rocks off.

You’re the means to his ends. The gateway to his wildest dreams. He’s going to hold onto you for as long as he can, even if he has to get off over the phone a few nights, or pretend to care about the philanthropy you’re supporting that week.

Harry should be your only philanthropy, he thinks to himself. This is the easiest job he’s ever done. And it only makes it better that he can do whatever he wants, with no consequences.

As he gets out of the shower, his prick still swinging in the air, he picks up his phone to see a Venmo payment from you.

Y/N L/N paid Harry Styles - $2,000.00 - 😘

Without even hesitating, Harry, heart rate rising a bit, opens up a text field - to his club promoter. He ignores the dozens of texts from family members over the last few weeks. He’ll make his yearly obligation call to his mother at some point.

Hey, Mike! Can we upgrade to V.I.P tonight? I can put $2K down now.

He’ll thank you later. Tonight, he’s the hero of his friend group. A slight nervousness prickles on his neck. Harry isn’t naive - he knows he should be smarter with his money - your money. But you haven’t given him any reason to believe the well will run dry any time soon.

So far, despite your generosity, Harry still lives paycheck to paycheck. He blows his money on extravagant trips, nights out at the club, and plenty of booze and coke. It’s times he hopes to look back on one day and smile. He swears to you he’s saving the money and working towards investing and buying a house.

Scout’s honor.

I got a real bad feeling, I'ma let her down Got a hole in my pocket and I'm running around Spending all of her money on drugs and things To keep my mind from runnin' Back to the hole that I came from

Every night that he steps out of his apartment, he shakes the nagging feeling in his gut, the embodiment of the life he left behind. He calls his Uber Black to take him to the Viper, his little white baggy in the breast pocket of his Burberry overcoat.

He nods to the driver when he opens his door and proceeds to pour a small line of the substance onto the screen of his phone, but not without seeing another text from you.

Mrs. Robinson 🤍: Enjoy the night, sweet boy! Be safe xo

Harry smiles to himself at your contact in his phone. You all but had a fit when you found out he’d never seen The Graduate. Once he saw it, his world changed.

Swiping away your message, he plugs up his nostril, inhaling sharply as he moves his face over the surface of the screen. He grunts lightly, throwing his head back and shaking it out. That should hold him over until they’re in their secluded area of the club.

The car pulls up to the club around 11:45, the house music already bumping. The line looks brutal. He scans it to see if he spots any 10s waiting that can keep him company later. Miles, Marquise and Jade are already inside at their table.

The bouncers greet Harry, bumping his fist and patting him on the back. He can feel the eyes of the nobodies in line glaring at him enviously. When you spend the average person’s salary in one night at the club, you eagerly reap the benefits.

As he’s escorted through the crowd by the five-foot-nothing hostess, his senses are on high alert. He can hear his heart beating over the music and can feel the bass shaking the floors. He smiles tightly at the girl as she leads him to his table and scurries back into the crowd.

Marquise and Miles, his best friends from undergrad stand to greet him, as Jade greets him from the lap of her catch of the day, a burly, bearded dude already glowing from sweat and the 8-ball they’re about to dig into.

Taking his first swig of the Don Julio his regular bottle service girl, Tasia, pours into his mouth, he cracks a wicked smile, convincing himself there’s no where else he’d rather be.

Back to the hole that I came from Back to the hole that I came from Back to the hole that I came from And I don't ever want to go back

“So,” you start quietly on your daily FaceTime coffee date. You’re perched in your home library’s windowsill. “I was thinking of flying you in for my 40th. It’s going to be pretty chill. I’ll probably hire a chef and have a dinner at my place. Maybe 15-20 people.”

Harry is cocooned in a blanket on his bed, his iced coffee you had DoorDashed to his apartment slowly melting on his bedside table. His eyes had slowly drifted shut as he listened to you talk about everything and nothing. That’s how these things went — you talk and he listens. You’re after his companionship, after all.

At your words, his eyes shoot open, causing him to try and sit up gently so he can hear you better, not believing what you’re saying. Inhaling, he hesitates before he starts to reply.

“Uh, um,” he bites his lip and looks at himself in the corner of the screen, trying to gauge if he looks as shocked as he sounds. “W-when are you thinking? I have a couple trips coming up and plans with my friends.”

He decides to play it cool. You have to know this is a huge development in this arrangement, right?

“Well, my birthday is the 27th, obviously.”

He scoffs, “I knew that part, Miss. When is the party?”

“Watch the ‘tude, baby. I was hoping for that Saturday, maybe. But I’d be willing to work around what you have coming up.”

He’s lying through his teeth. He doesn’t have major travel plans until the summer, when his friend group will jet off to Greece. He’s been saving up your pennies to charter a private plane.

“Don’t agree to it now, but please think about it. I love spending time with you and I’d love to finally meet you. We can tell my family that you’re part of one of my philanthropy groups. I’m your largest donor, after all,” you stick your tongue out at him.

“Okay, let me get myself together for the day, and I can see what’s going on,” Harry grits out, trying not to let you down.

“Okay, baby. Have a good day. Let me know if you get up to anything fun,” you say with a mild hurt in your tone. The least he can do is make an effort to finally meet you.

“Will do. Bye, Miss,” He says quietly, swiftly hanging up the call and chucking the phone towards his pillows.

“Fuck!”

Hm, Casanova You know that I'm a casanova Throw my pennies in the well Waking up in jail 'Cause I never paid attention Do you remember all the good times? Do you remember all the bad times too? She reminds me everyday, telling me to behave And no I never listened

You didn’t let him off the hook that easily. Every day that passes as your birthday party looms, you mention flights, or activities you can do once he arrives. Harry laughs them off, distracting you by touching himself or telling a story from his gatherings with friends.

It’s not until you’re barking orders at him over the phone, 1 week before your party, denying his orgasm that he finally relents.

“Miss, please, I-I need to cum,” he whimpers as he has a ghostly touch over his angry, red cock. “P-please, I’ll do anything.”

“Anything, hm? I want my pretty baby at my birthday party. Wanna show you off and whisper filthy things in your ear and feel that pretty cock under the table. Agree to fly out to me and I’ll let you cum, baby.”

“Miss,” he croaks out, his stomach in shambles trying to stop himself from coming for the third time. “Okay, okay, Mama, I’ll go. I-I’ll come for your birthday! Please let me cum.”

You all but squeal in delight, instructing him to finally let go. Talking him through it, he keens from your praises for following the rules. A nervous heat travels up his neck, realizing what he agreed to in his post-nut clarity.

“Good boy. Take a picture before you clean up, okay? I’ll talk to you in the morning and I’ll have my assistant send over your travel information.”

He nods, unable to make eye contact. You’re oblivious and overjoyed, thinking he’s just too fucked out to look at you.

“G’night, Missy,” he chokes out.

“Goodnight, sweet boy,” you hum before hanging up.

Harry snaps a photo of his messy left fist and cum-covered stomach before cleaning himself up and returning to bed. He eagerly picks up his phone to check his dating apps for his matches. He’d been talking to a new girl, Madelyn, for the past week, so excitement bubbles in his stomach.

She’s meeting him and his regular group at the Viper tonight, so he’s excited to show off to her. Maybe she’ll even be down for a romp in the back seat of his Porsche.

His phone pings, signaling another deposit from you.

Y/N L/N paid Harry Styles - $5,000 - Can’t wait to see you 😘

He smiles, his right thumb picking at the skin of his ring finger. The guilt he feels from abusing your kindness starts to eat at him. But he didn’t get this far by being nice to people. You can’t possibly have feelings for him, right? You haven’t even met, for god’s sake. He shivers, shaking the feeling so he can focus on the night ahead.

Pushing you far, far in the back of his mind.

It’s now the night before your 40th birthday party, and you’re buzzing with excitement. Your penthouse is decorated in pink and floral frill - almost like your Great Aunt Gertrude exploded - but it’s chic and will be a hit amongst your New York City socialite friends. Your party planner floats around the room, puttering with the florals, candles and gem stones scattered around.

You anxiously check the time, counting down the hours until Harry boards his flight from LA. He’s jumping on a red eye, so you’ll greet him with coffee and donuts when he lands. A pang of nervousness hits you as you remember how distant he was this week, saying he was busy with friends or doing god knows what an unemployed 23 year old does in Los Angeles.

Monday, 3:31 PM

Mr. Gladstone 🤍: Sorry, missy. I’ve been at Miles’ art showing all day.

Wednesday, 11:27 AM

Mr. Gladstone 🤍: Sorry! At the gym with Do Not Disturb on. Hey, can you send me some cash? Last min car maintenance 😢

Friday, 5:58 PM

Mr. Gladstone 🤍: Hi missy. My friends want to go to the opening of the new Carbone out here. Think your friends can get us a table? It’ll be 9 of us.

Hope your dad’s chemo appointment went okay.

You can’t be mad at the little monster you’ve let him become. You are always an after thought as his only priority is making sure the cash cow is alive and well. He extends effort just enough to make the butterflies in your stomach reappear when he does give you the attention you crave.

Inhaling deeply, you ascend up the grand staircase in your Upper East Side brownstone and begin your pampering routine, sending photos to Harry of the hydrating eye patches on and curlers in your hair, blowing kisses and sticking out your tongue.

Typically, Harry answers relatively quickly to your silly messages, but, tonight, he’s gone radio silent. Maybe he’s trying to conserve his phone battery for the flight?

You open your medicine cabinet to examine your fast-acting anti-anxiety pills, hoping you can will away this uneasy feeling. Padding over to your bed, you pop your pills before tucking into your silk sheets. Before putting your phone on the charger, you send Harry one last message.

Mrs. Robinson 🤍: Safe flight, baby ♥️ I’ll be tracking you, but tell me which terminal when you land. Can’t wait to see you 😚

Flicking out the light, you close your eyes with the hopes of finally meeting your lover in just twelve hours.

I got a real bad feeling I'ma lose my cool Everywhere that I go, everything that I do Stop me using the money on drugs and things To keep my mind from runnin'

Back to the hole that I came from Back to the hole that I came from Back to the hole that I came from Back to the hole that I came from And I don't ever want to go back

Ping!

Harry, Delta airlines can’t wait to welcome you aboard Flight 0723 to JFK, departing 18:35

Ping!

You may now board Flight 0723 to JFK, departing 18:35. Welcome aboard, Harry.

Harry’s leg is bouncing uncontrollably as he watches the busy bodies move around him. Despite his social butterfly nature, his social anxiety rears its ugly head every once in a while. Or, it could be tonight’s concoction of pills.

He places his phone on Do Not Disturb, just as he gets a text from you. Closing his eyes in defeat, he comes face to face with the awful, shameful and downright despicable choice he’s made.

He’s not going to New York.

Instead, he’s standing booth side at a club next to John Summit, his favorite DJ, as he passes around a bottle of 1942. The pills he’s on are plastering a wide smile on his face as the throng of bodies around him jump around, despite the absolute panic and guilt he feels in his veins.

He’s wondering when you’ll realize he’s not coming. The lack of texts? The empty escalator to the pick-up area well after the flight has landed? He can picture your cherub cheeks reddening with embarrassment, fighting back hot tears.

To distract himself, he leans down to capture the blonde girl to his left in a kiss, despite not even making eye contact with her prior. When she peers up at him, her pupils are just as dilated as his as they sway back and forth.

He kisses her once more, just as Marquise offers him another baggie.

The panic sets in about 30 minutes after his flight landed. Surely that’s enough time to grab his bag and meet you here, right?

Your eyes urgently scan over every person that walks by probably sending them into fight or flight as a deranged woman looks them over in search for her boy.

You look down at your phone, the background a photo of your dog, completely clear of any notifications. With vigor, you throw out the box of donuts and his iced black Americano. Swallowing your pride, you skulk back to the parking lot to cry in the safety of your car.

You feel like a loser. A pathetic middle-aged woman who got fooled by a man half her age. The mental gymnastics that takes place as you drive home with white knuckles on the steering wheel should have you committed.

Your dating life wasn’t easy. It started in high school, where you were invisible to the boys, always deemed not good enough to date. Extending through college, you were still nearly invisible, working over time to find just one guy to have any interest in you and take your virginity. Just to get it over with.

As the dating scene expanded in your 20s, you still struck out with men your age. It wasn’t until your late 30s when your hopes and dreams of a family came crashing down on you that you’d made that godforsaken dating profile.

You still remember how your heart skipped a beat when you saw Harry’s photo for the first time. His boyish charm was palpable, followed by his incredibly witty prompt answers. He was your solution. If you couldn’t earn someone’s love, you could at least buy it.

The lump in your throat is preventing you from calling him and leaving the fiery voicemail you so want to do. You assume he’ll ignore any calls from you anyway.

Pulling into your private garage, you let out your frustrations by wailing and smacking the steering wheel of your Bentley. To prying eyes, the cops should be called. You allow yourself to flip for 5 minutes before putting on a brave face and going inside to begin getting ready for your birthday party, ringing in another year of heartbreak and disappointment.

3 glasses of a 1982 Cabernet Sauvignon. That’s how much alcohol it took to have you crying in front of your friends and family.

You couldn’t tell them what was really wrong, of course. They have no idea about your and Harry’s arrangement. They’d call you an idiot if they knew how much money you’ve sent him.

Everyone is shooting you sympathetic looks as you cry on your best friend’s shoulder. For all they know, you’re stressed with work and your dad’s cancer diagnosis. It’s a lot of pressure on a single woman.

Rubbing your back, Candice whispers all the affirmations she’s been telling you since college. It’s incredibly annoying to get advice from someone whose life is perfect.

You quietly thank her, clearing your throat of the lump that’s formed. Looking around the room, you make a break for it, grabbing your phone as you lock yourself in the guest bathroom.

Tears blurring your vision, you dial his number for the first time all day. It rings and rings, finally sending you to voicemail, as you’d suspected.

You’re silent for a beat after the beep.

“I-I don’t even have words for how I’m feeling right now. I was so fucking excited to see you…feel you….kiss you. And instead I’m locked in a bathroom at my own birthday party, calling you like a fucking loser,” you start, snot threatening to drip down your face.

“I give, and I give and I give, and yet you still let me look like a fucking idiot in front of my friends and family. You couldn’t do one fucking thing for me? You…You didn’t even have to put any effort. I paid for a car service, paid for a first-class seat, bought you a wardrobe…”

“I just hope whatever the fuck you’re doing right now is worth it. I don’t ask questions about what you do with my money, since I’m the one who started this. B-but I thought you were a decent person. I feel so fucking stupid right now,” you are talking to yourself at this point. You shakily inhale and stare at the ceiling.

“We’re done. I’m done with your bullshit. I’m not gonna let some ungrateful brat take advantage of me anymore. Have a nice life, Harry. Hope you have to move back to bumblefuck and lose all the friends you’ve been lying to this whole time,” you end off the message with pure venom leaking through your words.

You press end, feeling slightly better that you’d used his deepest darkest secret as ammunition. The mirror in front of you shows a shocking picture; running mascara, watery, red eyes, and disheveled hair.

Patting some toilet paper under your eyes, you clean up the best you can before returning back to the party. If you were strong, you’d block his number. But you can’t help but wonder what his response could be.

He deserves it. It’s 4:40 AM and he just mustered the courage to listen to your message. His under eyes feel heavy as he listens to your words, hitting him where it hurts. His hands are shaking as he lowers the phone to his lap, drowning out the sound of your sad, heartbreaking voice.

5 years ago, he was a decent person. Now, he looks in the mirror and sees his slightly gaunt face and tired eyes staring back at him. He even notices a few gray hairs every once in a while.

His lifestyle takes a toll on him — He’s well aware of that. But for now, he has no reason to stop. Harry lightly smacks his head back on the seat of the Uber back to his apartment. Cracking the window, he lets the sounds of the early morning deter him from vomiting.

The car arrives at his apartment — a guest house in Hidden Hills, the only place he can afford with the zip code he desires so badly. He never brings anyone to his place, too paranoid of his secrets getting out. Vision doubling, he struggles to stick his key in the lock. He knees the door has he twists the knob, sending him tumbling flat on his face.

Smacking his head on the tile floor, he recoils, lifting his hand to feel droplets of blood on his nose and bottom lip. The metallic taste is leaking into his mouth, sending him into a spiral. His front door is still wide open, allowing him to see the sun peaking over the hills in the distance.

He crawls over to the threshold, slamming the door shut with his foot. He lays back down on the cool floor, exhausted from his efforts. His breathing evened out, lulling him into a comatose state before succumbing to the darkness.

But before he passes out, all he can picture is your gorgeous, disappointed face.

I'm back in the hole I got nowhere to go La la la la, la, la Spinning around In the cold dark hole deep down in the ground Back to the hole that I came from Back to the hole that I came from

The thing about rock bottom is that you don’t realize you’ve hit it until you’re clawing your way back to the top.

In the days following your fallout, Harry’s experienced enough misfortunes to last a lifetime. It started off with his credit card declining on a $6 breakfast sandwich, only to come back hungry and sad to his car being repossessed in front of all the Hidden Hills housewives out and about.

The panic rises in his chest, and it’s taking everything in him not to call you and beg for forgiveness. He’s come to realize how fucked up his actions towards you became. He misses the butterflies and longing he felt when you first started your arrangement.

He stomps back inside, miserable and feeling like a loser. If it wasn’t for Marquise’s birthday party later, he’d be sure to go dive in the ocean in hopes of never resurfacing.

His closet is taunting him — full of the clothes you’ve bought him. He can remember every single piece he tried on for you, and the praise you were so quick to give him. He never reciprocated when you’d show him new pieces and showing off your incredible body. But, you hadn’t called him out on it, so he continued on.

The all black outfit he chose reflects his mental state. Filled with dread and remorse, he pulls out his kitchen drawer to peruse the substances he has left. His stash is dwindling as fast as his bank account, so he has to be strategic until he figures out his next move.

Grabbing the baggies, he situates them in the breast pocket of his jacket to conceal everything. They’re going to a new club tonight, so there’s no being saved by the bouncers if shit goes south.

The party goes off without a hitch. Bottles pouring, dancers hanging from the ceiling, and an influx of out of town girls willing to do anyone and anything. Harry has nearly pushed you completely out of his mind, but he does something completely out of character.

Mr. Gladstone 🤍: I’m sorry.

You’re at a wine bar with your girlfriends in the Village, and the message you receive shakes you to your core. You haven’t heard from him in days. Not even after you repossessed the car and canceled his credit card tied to your account. You thought for sure that would smoke him out of his foxhole. But, he’s Harry. He’s selfish and too full of pride to ever come forward and apologize.

Your friends notice the faltered look on your face, but opt to ignore it as they bitch about their husbands and kids. Despite your fleeting dreams of having a family, most of the time you’re thankful you can’t relate to them.

Turning off your phone, you throw it in your new Kelly bag — a little treat to get over the heartbreak — and return to the conversation.

He doesn’t even remember how it went down.��

The last clear memory he has is being escorted out of the club to go back to Marquise’s. The combination of coke and alcohol, plus this week’s tumultuous events had him on edge, so when the unfamiliar bouncer at this mediocre club grabbed him wrong, it sent Harry into a frenzy.

To match his bloody nose and busted lip, his knuckles are now decorated with crusty amber smatterings of blood — his own, and the bouncer’s. His jaw and wrist were aching, still mouthing off like a rabid animal as the cop read him his Miranda rights.

So now, he sits in a cold cell in the county jail awaiting his arraignment — a seemingly straight forward assault and battery charge, now amplified by the 40 grams of cocaine and Adderall in his coat pocket. The bastard cop smiled to himself when he patted him down. Harry will give him this one, the rinkydink small town cop who is used to giving out traffic violations.

Tired, in dire need to piss, and on the verge of a mental breakdown, Harry’s head snaps up when the officer notifies him of his bail — a measly $75,000 — and lets him know he has one phone call. Balling his fists, he looks up at the ceiling.

“Fuck!”

The cop assists him in standing up. His wrists are chained together behind his back, after all. Releasing him from the confines, Harry rubs his wrists where the cheap metal chafed him.

“You have 5 minutes to make a call. Do you know the phone number or do you need me to access your cell phone?”

Harry scoffs. Who the fuck still memorizes phone numbers?

“Phone,” he replies, a clear edge in his voice.

“Whose contact am I looking for? Mom, Dad?”

“Fuck’s sake. No, I need the number of,” Harry pauses suddenly as he remembers your name in his phone.

“Mrs. Robinson,” he finishes quietly.

The cop raises his eyebrows, but says nothing, and reads the number aloud to him. It rings, and rings, diminishing any hope that you’ll answer. It’s in this moment Harry is at his rockbottom.

“Hello?”

“This is a collect call from the Department of Corrections for the City of Los Angeles. An individual is trying to contact you. Do you wish to answer?”

You gasp as the automated voice informs you of your worst nightmare.

“Hello?” you say quietly. It’s 8:15 AM, and you’re at the cafe on the corner for a latte and reading, trying not to disturb those around you.

“M-missy?” His voice sounds broken. It sends a stabbing pain straight through your chest.

“Harry, what happened? What did you do?”

“I-I fucked up. I fucked up so bad. N-not just with you. I know I fucked everything u-up,” he’s starting to sob, unable to catch his breath between words.

“B-but I got into a pretty bad fight last night, and I had some,” Harry pauses to look over his shoulder to make sure the officer isn’t listening. He wipes the tears in his eyes with his thumb. “I had some stuff on me, so now I’m in a lot more trouble. A-and I know I fucked everything up and I don’t deserve anything from you, but I don’t have enough money for bail.”

You sigh, not really even sure where to begin. Tears are threatening to spill over as you hear his clearly broken sobs.

“How much do you need?”

At this point, Harry hung his head at your silence. He snaps his head back up when you agree to help him.

“It’s $75,000.”

“Jesus, Harry, what the fuck did you do?”

“I don’t even know, I barely have any memory of—”

“Five minutes, inmate!” the officer interrupts him.

Harry rolls his eyes and continues.

“I’m not sure what happens next. B-but thank you, Y/N. I know I don’t deserve this in the slightest.”

You shiver at his use of your first name. Closing your eyes, “I know you don’t. Just tell me who I need to call.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you mutter as you hear your incessant doorbell ring. It’s 6 in the morning, just a few days after you paid Harry’s bail. You’ve been laying low, unsure if you’ll even hear from him again.

Your doorman, Paul, informs you of a visitor. A visitor? At this time? Unable to even comprehend what’s going on, you press the button to confirm opening the door, and wait.

Your bunny slippered feet tap your coffee table anxiously. Is it your mom? Here to inform you of someone’s death? Or is it your best friend from college who couldn’t come to your party? Or is it —

You’re broken from your racing thoughts as a timid knock on the door echoes through the house. You shuffle hesitantly over to the door, unable to even bring yourself to look through the peephole.

Closing your eyes while pulling open the door, the absolute wind is knocked out of you as you eye up your waiting guest.

He’s tall, tanned and gorgeous as his photos. It’s unfair to look like this after stepping off what she assumes was a red eye flight. He looks exhausted. His lip and nose are busted, and he has a yellowing bruise on his left eye.

“W-what?” you flounder in disbelief.

His hands fold together at your reaction, unsure if he should hug you or keep a respectable distance. He opens his mouth to say something, but stops himself. He’ll play by your rules.

“What the fuck is going on?”

You look adorable. The sleep barely wiped from your eyes. Slight bed head and disheveled silk pajamas. Harry is in disbelief that this is the woman he’s come to realize his feelings for.

“I know this is so fucked up,” he trails off. “Coming here. I don’t deserve even a minute of your time, but I needed to come here and tell you how fucking sorry I am. How deep into the superficial bullshit I got. I took advantage of you and your kindness and I lost myself in the process.”

You must look flabbergasted, because he inches closer, placing his hands gently on your arms. His touch is searing, but the first reminder that he’s actually standing in front of you and not an extremely lifelike apparition.

“I-I,” you stumble.

“We don’t even have to talk right now. You can send me away, if you need. But I’m here, I’m here in New York and I want to change. I want to be better for you. These last few days— when I had absolutely nothing — made me realize something.”

His eyes are now earnest and starting to tear up. Your reflection is so clear in his tide pool green irises.

“I had nothing, and it made me realizing you’re my everything.”

His profession had you clutching your metaphorical pearls. Your heart is racing, sending your central nervous system into a tizzy. You know he’s not lying, because he’s looking dead in your eyes waiting for your reply.

“H-Harry, I don’t even know what to say,” you stall. Your body knows what it wants to say.

“I know and like I said, if you need time, I underst—”

“If you’re here and you’re not bullshitting me; you really want to change. Then, you’ll fuck me like it.”

If Harry’s jaw could drop to the basement, it would. Instead of word vomiting, he lunges forward, guiding both of your bodies back to the hallway and placing a panty-dropping kiss on your lips. He doesn’t even have time to admire your beautiful home.

You break the kiss, grabbing his wrist to lead him to your room. The sheets are mussed, your clothes are all over, but you can’t even begin to fucking care. You all but dive back onto your bed, pulling your nightgown up to reveal your bare, perfect pussy.

Harry drops to his knees, wrapping his hands around your thighs. The photos and the FaceTimes don’t do any justice to the sight in front of him. You’re complete and utter perfection.

He waits for your approval before leaning forward to lick from back to front. Your back arches slightly, throwing your ankles over his shoulder. His fingertips dig into your skin deliciously, so you grab onto your blankets for dear life.

“Give it to me, Missy. I’ve been waiting two years for this perfect cunt. What the fuck was I waiting for?”

You laugh, not expecting his sense of humor at this moment. For the last few months, it’s been like talking to a robot. It was an exchange of goods and services. But here, in front of you, is a man. A man who’s willing to change his ways for you. The man you’ve waited all your life for.

“Always here for you. It’s yours,” you purr, placing your hands on top of his.

He growls, vigorously licking into you. He removes his right hand to insert his two middle fingers into your center. This has you howling, unable to even remember the last time a man did this for you.

“Baby, baby. I’m gonna cum. Gonna cum for you, finally,” you whine, focusing on the immeasurable pleasure stemming from your legs.

“Mhm, I can feel you, Mama. Let go for me,” he begs, making direct eye contact with you.

It’s the moment you lock eyes that you’re letting go. All the stars are aligning and symphonies are playing in your head.

“Ah, ah! There, Harry!”

Harry keens at hearing his name roll off your tongue. He slides up your body to kiss you, allowing you to taste yourself. You grab at his under shirt, insinuating that you want it off.

He peels it off and cheekily pulls your tit out of your nightie. He winks before connecting his lips to your nipple, rolling his tongue around the bud and sucking gently.

“Please, want you inside me. Gimme my big cock, baby.”

“It’s yours, Mama. All of me.”

Harry slides his briefs down his legs, revealing the main event. His dick swings slightly before hitting him in the stomach. You moan, unable to wait even another minute for him.

“Please,” you cry out, scratching down his chest.

He lines himself up, moaning in ecstasy as he pushes in. Your mouth falls open, a silent whine escaping.

“So big, baby. I should’ve flown out to you the minute you sent me a dick pic. Like a fucking middle schooler.”

Now Harry is laughing. He’s in disbelief that he would ever treat you the way he did. The clarity from the last few days is damning.

His pumps are getting faster and longer, bottoming out every other thrust. He looks down to where you’re connected, your pussy lips wrapped around him deliciously, a slight white substance leaking out of you. He leans down to kiss you, wanting this connection he’s subconsciously wanted since he met you.

“Want you to cum with me, Missy. Cum with me. Want to show you I mean it. I mean everything I said.”

You gently put your hand on his cheek, to which he immediately nuzzles in at the touch.

“I know you mean it, baby. It’ll be okay. We’ll figure this out.”

He nods, leaning down to kiss you again, his thrusts slowing but still ramming you to the hilt.

“You close?”

“Yes, baby boy. Cum with me, I’m cumming now.”

Harry’s cock twitches as he bumps your walls before releasing long and deep into you. You push your noses together, lips ghosting over one another’s.

Harry is finally home.

“You’re gonna fucking pay for this, little brat.”

He flashes a shit eating grin, kissing you again.

“I expect nothing less.”

And I don't ever Back to the hole that I came from Back to the hole that I came from And I don't ever want to go back

#harry styles #harrystyles #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry edward styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles fiction #harry styles fan fic #harry styles x yn #harry styles writing #harry styles au #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff

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percygranate · 11 months

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⚠️PSA – ickybatz is back! Predators on AO3⚠️

⚠️TW for Mentions of Child Sexual Abuse, Child Abuse, Minor Sexual Content, Pedophilia, GROOMING, and Pedophile Conversations. PLEASE read and reblog if you can.

IMPORTANT UPDATE: Demobatz is NOT ickybatz, also known as batty-ruski, battyrusk.

I made a mistake by assuming due to the names, and after being in contact with Demobatz, I edited the post. I apologize for this but don't fully regret calling them out, as it helped Demobatz realize they made a mistake and it brought a lot of attention to the issue of predators on AO3 and Tumblr.

In-depth explanation [HERE]!

This 13/16-year-old CHILD is out here asking for pedophilia requests and getting encouraged and groomed by predators.

I accidentally came across it, and I encourage you to report them and everyone interacting with their work. There is a difference between dark romance, dark fics, and straight-up romanticization of children being assaulted.

They write about these children actively partaking and enjoying it, hoping they can please the adult taking advantage of them. These works are clearly written for the type of person that gets off on it.

——— Update ———

Their way of writing to cope with past trauma was groomed and manipulated by predators on AO3.

——— Update ———

——— False Information | Demobatz isn't Ickybatz ———

So much for “Oh, they are a traumatized child and made a mistake.” They now know it's wrong and continue doing it, even worse than before. And people continue to support it.

Their fucking apology was absolute bullshit. And everyone that came to their defense should be ashamed of themselves.

——— False Information | Demobatz isn't Ickybatz ———

↓ Here are AO3 accounts supporting this. ↓

Yes, they put warnings on their work and say “Don’t Like It, Don’t Read It!” But I would like to show you what they are writing, and how they are getting the attention of predators. I am sure you have to agree with me that they and everyone supporting this need to lose any type of platform they own. Demobatz should NOT be in any contact with these men.

⚠️They encourage each others to write this and Demobatz, A 13/16-YEAR-OLD, is actively putting themselves in danger by making “friends” for roleplay, and exchanging social media, with very likely, PEDOPHILES. They are actively getting groomed by people that know what they are doing.⚠️

——————————————————

↓These are their two original works↓

Financial Struggles — The summary says it all. But I feel like I should point out their conversation under their post.

Mother’s Milk — Sexual Assault of a male baby.

——————————————————

↓This is their work in the Stranger Things Fandom↓

Their work “Deceit” which is taking requests and actively posting has, as of May 21st, 16 Chapters.

1 — “Using this as a coping mechanism for my own trauma. Please request, any age is allowed❤️”

2 — Eddie Munson, 25 y/o | Reader, 17 y/o

3 — Uncle Steve Harrington & Eddie Munson | Reader, 6 y/o

4 — Eddie Munson, 20 y/o | Reader, 12 y/o

5 — Steve, 19 y/o & Eddie, 20 y/o | Reader, 14 y/o

6 — Dad Steve | Reader, 8 y/o

7 — Dad Steve & Eddie | Reader, 8 y/o

8 — Big Brother Steve | Reader, 4 y/o

9 — Big Brother Billy Hargrove | Reader, 6 y/o

10 — “Posting this so that you all can give me ideas on what to post next❤️ Anything is allowed/ age can be whatever you want♡♡!”

11 — Billy & Steve | Reader, 3 y/o

12 — Hopper & Joyce | Reader, 4 y/o

13 — !BILLY HARGROVE AND A NEWBORN BABY!

14 — Billy | Reader, 6 y/o & Max, 7 y/o

15 — “It hasn't been a week and I'm almost at 2,000 reads! Thank you all so much♡♡ Feel free to drop suggestions, request or even ideas/blurbs♡♡”

16 — Big Brother Eddie / Reader over the years, starting at 6 y/o

——————————————————

They actively encourage pedophilia and put themselves on a silver platter for predators.

If you are still trying to justify these types of works, please do it off anon and openly so you can be blocked since you are part of the problem.

Do not send threats, bullying, or harassment their way. Block and Report.

If you know one or more of the interacting blogs, call them out.

⚠️UPDATE: 22nd of May⚠️

Dear fellow Bloggers, Demobatz pedophilia fic “Deceit” has been taken down!

Yet their two original works (mentioned above) are still there. I ask you to keep reporting them!

Demobatz is currently using Wit as their social media to exchange ideas for their CSA & incest Erotica, and worse, to roleplay with potential predators.

⚠️Update: May 25th⚠️

AO3 has removed their account or they deleted it themselves. Their Wit profile has been deleted.

Due to this post, my blogs keep getting shadowbanned and reported.

⚠️Update: May 26th⚠️

DEMOBATZ CONTACTED ME AND I CAN CONFIRM THIS APOLOGY TO BE REAL!

In-depth continuation and explanation [HERE]!

⚠️I turned off Reblogs as the original post with false information is still making rounds and therefore people are missing information.⚠️

#ickybatz

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shallyouobeyme · 7 months

Text

Map

Platonic!Yandere!Damian x reader (GN)

Summary: Damian and you have to work on a project together and he realizes how you seem to be invisible to everyone else - how you want to be invisible - and something in him makes him want, no need, to figure out why...

! Minors Do Not Interact !

TW: Domestic abuse (not shown directly), planned kidnapping, Dark content, yandere, This is all fiction, I do not condone this

Day 4 of my Yandere Writetober, Tomorrow word is 'Golden' so if you have any ideas lemme know

People did not think Damian was sentimental, most of all his family. If a person had an idea of who Damian was, but wasn’t close to him or hasn’t personally met him then they could probably still assume that in private he might be a bit more emotional than in public. This person would be wrong though. Sure, in private Damian might be a little more open and showed a few more emotions, but most of those were rage, pettiness and sarcasm. Damian was a lot of things, but definitely not sentimental. At least not usual. And then you came into his life.

From the moment he was born, Damian had a map of how exactly his life would be played out. Then he was brought to his family and the map changed. From wanting to become the next head of the League of Assassins, he now wanted to become the next Batman. He wanted to step up once his father needed to step down and take his rightful place as the head of the family. Alone.

Everyone and everything else that was a hindrance in that way - be it his age, school, villains, friends or even his own family - was just an obstacle on the map of his life. He thought you'd be just the same, a Problem to be taken care of and to leave behind. Just another annoying child in his class - which Bruce insisted he attend - that weren't fit for the reality of life he faced every single day. It was just typical that he had to be stuck with you working on a project for a class in which he had a grade to make up, because of too many absences. He didn't bother to question why you had to do the project, he just wanted to get it over with.

"I'll be doing the project - I doubt you could help anyways - and you can just put your name on it as well, then I don't have to bother with you," Damian sneered to you once class was disbanded, already more than done with you and with the situation. You seemed to turn into yourself and he recognized how shy and intimidated you were and if he had been just a tad more empathetic he'd feel bad. Damian rolled his eyes and turned to leave when your hand tugged on his uniform's blazer.

"Uhm... I-I'm sorry, but-but I'd really like to-to work on the project together, I-I really need this grade," you stuttered, your head lowered in shame, even though you had no real reason to be ashamed. Damian wanted to make a snide comment about how the project was definitely better off if he was doing it on his own, but something about how small and fragile you looked kept him from doing so.

That was the first detour from the life on his map. That moment of emotion that no one witnessed, not even you because of how your head was held down. And it was only the beginning. He scoffed at your request, but it wasn't truly malicious like before.

"Fine, but we'll do it at your place today after school, no discussion," Damian stated and left no room for arguments, turning around and leaving the room, not hearing your small sound of protest.

During the rest of the school day, Damian couldn't help but watch you from the corner of his eyes, he saw how you were hidden in your uniform, seemingly wanting to merge with the backdrop of the classroom, how you kept completely to yourself and seemingly managed to become completely invisible to anyone but him and some of your teachers.

So after school, he had to keep his eyes peeled open to see you come out since you really seemed to disappear between all the other students. He went over to you and told you to lead the way home, not bothering to offer to have Alfred drive the two of you since, for reasons he didn't understand himself, he wanted to spend the time with you alone. Detour number two.

The way to your home was spent in silence, Damian looking around sceptically and you turned into yourself like you always seemed to be. The route to your home took you out of the more or less safe and high-income neighbourhood of Gotham Academy to the less secure area not that different from the region around Crime Alley. He wondered how your parents were able to afford your tuition for Gotham Academy, but he knew that you were rather good in school so he figured you were on a scholarship.

When you finally arrived at a rundown apartment complex you brought him to a flat on the fifth story, carefully opening the door as if you were afraid of making any sound.

"I'm sorry if it's a bit messy," you mumbled vaguely in his direction as you carefully opened the door and Damian realized it was the first thing he had seen you say since you had asked him to let you work on the project as well. Then you lead him into the apartment and everything somewhat fell into place.

To say it was a bit messy was an understatement. There were empty bottles of beer, vodka, wine and all other kinds of alcoholic beverages, Damian even caught sight of some less legal substances, but he decided not to mention them aloud, already seeing based on the darkening colour of your face and the way you tried to avoid looking anywhere near him that you were highly ashamed and emberassed. Detour number three.

He saw how you looked through the open doors into the other - not cleaner - rooms and he could hear your relieved sigh when there was no one else in there with the two of you. Then you lead him into your room if one could call it a room, which had a size just barely big enough for a measly small bed, a box usually meant for laundry filled with your clothes and a small desk that looked like you had taken it from the side of the road. There was no chair or even a stool.

Damian noticed Jason's influence - much to his anger - when his first thought was that 'Harry Potter would feel bad for you'. His next thought was that you didn't deserve to live like that, that you deserved better. Detour number four brought him right off of the road like never before.

"Uhm... You-You can sit on the bed if that's okay, I'll-I'll sit on the floor, then we can work on the project," you spoke hesitantly and shuffled to sit on what little space was left on the floor, but was stopped when Damian pulled you to sit beside him on the bed.

"There's enough space here for both of us," he argued and turned to you. "But- uhm- we don't have any space for the project then."

You were right, he supposed, as he saw that both of you sitting on the bed were basically taking up all the mattress had to offer. He sighed and decided that he was already neck deep into whatever was happening so he might as well see where it was going.

"Then we won't do the project today," he stated in the same tone that left nothing up for discussion and you seemed almost relieved, "We can work on it tomorrow after school in the library."

"O-Okay, I'm sorry it's so-" You stopped in your tracks, seemingly on the verge of tears, and then gave it another go, "-I'm sorry you came here for nothing, I can lead you to the door."

"I'm not leaving yet," Damian said much to your surprise as he saw the shock displayed on your face, "first I want you to tell me what is going on here." He tried to tell himself that it was just his vigilante persona shining through, but deep inside he knew it was you that made him so curious about this situation.

"What do you mean?" you squeaked, obviously - but badly - trying to hide something. Damian let his instincts lead him as he quickly took your hand and pulled up your sleeve, he had been noticing how you were playing with it every time you were scared or ashamed. He wasn't all too surprised to see blue, purple, green and yellow splotches littered over the area, some bruises new, some old. You tried to pull your hand away, but Damian's grip stayed strong.

He pulled your hand even closer to him as he inspected the arm and asked: "Did your parents do that to you?" He looked up at your face and saw tears welling up in your eyes. It made you look even more fragile and delicate than he already thought you looked like throughout the day, but it also made this rage well up inside of Damian. How dare these people make you cry, how dare they hurt you. He wanted to rip them apart, wanted to make sure nothing and no one ever hurt you again.

"Tell me the truth, I will help you, I promise," Damian encouraged you and received a weak nod from you as your tears started to flow down your face in streaks. "Okay, give me a second, I'll be right back, don't worry." Damian used his blazer's sleeve to gently wipe away some of the tears - something that his family would believe to be a lie if you had told him about it - and got up to leave the room to call Alfred to come pick him and you up.

He told Alfred that he'd be inviting a friend for a sleepover, hanging up on a too-stunned-to-speak Alfred who was surely already on his way to inform Bruce of this new development, he didn't bother to tell him that he planned for it to be a more... permanent... sleepover.

You needed him, you needed him to protect you, to care for you, to make sure you never again had a reason to cry. You were such a pure, fragile soul, one that didn't deserve to be left alone in this cruel world, he was sure that once his father had met you he'd understand. He'd feel the same way. You'd be safe with them, they'd become your family, the family you deserved and needed.

And if Bruce didn't agree if Bruce told him that he was crazy, that he couldn't just take you away from your life, no matter how bad it was, and take over your entire existence... well, he had already become ready to derail his entire plan, had become ready to redraw the entire map of his life just for him to have you along, so he might as well return to his roots because he was sure his mother would be more than happy to take you in as long as it made Damian return...

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