Tell Me, Where’s Your Hiding Place?
Tell me, where’s your hiding place?
Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader, Red K! Clark
Summary: Seven years ago, Y/N crossed paths with a mysterious stranger in the back alleys of Metropolis. He saved her life without a second thought, then vanished into the night, leaving nothing but questions. Now, she’s face-to-face with a dorky reporter who seems all too familiar.
part 1 . part 2 . part 3 . part 4 . part 5
complete
words: 6.7k
💌 💌 💌 💌
The night Y/N left home, the sky was heavy with rain, as if the universe itself was mourning her departure. She clutched the strap of her silver guitar case, her knuckles turning white as she stepped off the creaky porch for the last time. Behind her, the house was dark, the silence inside more oppressive than any shouting match she had endured. Her heart pounded, but she didn’t look back. Looking back meant hesitation, and hesitation meant staying. And she couldn’t stay. Not anymore.
With nothing but the clothes on her back, a handful of crumpled bills, and her guitar, she made her way to the bus station. The wind bit at her exposed skin through her thin jacket, but she barely noticed. Every step forward felt like breaking free from chains that had bound her for too long.
The Greyhound ticket to Metropolis was more expensive than she’d expected, nearly draining her meager savings. But as the bus rumbled to life and pulled away from the station, she felt something she hadn’t in years—relief. The headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating a future she had yet to figure out. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she was leaving.
Metropolis was nothing like the small town she had escaped from. It was bigger, louder, and faster than anything she had ever known. Towering skyscrapers stretched high into the sky, their windows glimmering like scattered stars. The streets were filled with honking cars, flashing billboards, and an unending sea of people. The first night, she wandered aimlessly, overwhelmed and exhilarated all at once.
She spent her first few nights sleeping in bus stations and all-night diners, nursing cups of cheap coffee to keep from being kicked out. The exhaustion weighed heavy on her, but the alternative—going back—was unthinkable. Instead, she tightened her grip on her guitar and pressed on.
Her first gig was at a dingy little bar tucked between a laundromat and a convenience store. The neon sign flickered, barely holding on to its last bit of light. She had walked in, desperate, and begged the manager to let her play for tips. He had eyed her skeptically before shrugging and jerking his thumb toward the tiny stage in the corner.
The first few nights were rough. The crowd barely paid attention, too busy drowning their sorrows in whiskey and half-hearted conversations. But she kept playing, pouring every ounce of emotion into her music, as if she could rewrite her past with each chord. Eventually, people started to listen. A few would nod along, some would toss a couple of bills into the open guitar case at her feet. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
Days blurred into weeks. She played wherever she could—street corners, subway stations, coffee shops. Anything to scrape together enough money for food and a place to sleep. But the city was unforgiving. Rent was astronomical, and no matter how hard she tried, the money ran out faster than she could earn it.
She learned to go without. Skipped meals. Slept in parks when she couldn’t afford a motel. She told herself it was temporary, that things would get better. But as the nights grew colder and her savings dwindled to nothing, the weight of reality pressed down on her.
One evening, after a particularly brutal night of playing to an indifferent crowd, she counted her earnings and felt her stomach drop. Five dollars and some loose change. Not even enough for a proper meal, let alone a roof over her head.
She sat on the edge of the sidewalk, pulling her jacket tighter around her as she stared at the blinking lights of Metropolis. Her dream had brought her here, but dreams didn’t keep you warm. Dreams didn’t feed you.
A wave of despair crashed over her, heavier than ever before. She had fought so hard to escape, but now she was faced with a different kind of prison—one built of hunger and uncertainty.
She let out a shaky breath and looked down at her guitar, tracing her fingers over the silver finish. It was the only thing she had left. Her last connection to the girl who believed she could be something more. But belief didn’t pay rent.
A thought crossed her mind, one she had been avoiding for weeks. She could sell it. Pawn it off for enough cash to buy herself a few nights at a cheap motel, maybe even a meal that wasn’t from a dollar menu. But the idea of parting with it felt like cutting out a piece of herself.
Her grip on the guitar tightened. She wasn’t ready to give up. Not yet.
With renewed determination, she stood, brushing off her worn-out jeans. She had survived this far. She would find a way. She had to.
—
Y/N had learned to navigate its streets over the past few months, though it often felt like the city had more to take from her than it was willing to give. She had her guitar, a few dreams, and nothing else. No money, no plan. Just the hope that one day, she'd find a stage big enough for her voice to echo across the world.
But tonight? Tonight was different. Tonight, the streets felt colder. The wind bit at her skin as she wandered down a dark alley, hoping to cut through and avoid the city’s usual buzz. She was tired, her back aching from lugging her guitar, and she was dangerously close to giving up for the night.
She was halfway through the alley when she heard it. The unmistakable click of boots on the pavement.
“Hey, pretty lady, you lost?”
Y/N stopped in her tracks, her hand instinctively gripping her guitar case tighter. The voice was smooth, too smooth, and there was something just... off about it. She didn't need to turn around to know that trouble was creeping up behind her. But she wasn’t about to show fear. Not now.
She forced a smile, glancing over her shoulder. “Do I look lost?”
Three men stepped into her path. The leader, tall with a scar slashing down his face, smiled like he was about to enjoy a meal. His two buddies flanked him, eyes sharp and calculating.
“Not really,” the scarred guy said, his voice dripping with malice. “But you sure look like someone who needs some... company.”
Y/N's heart rate spiked, but she kept her composure. “I’m good, thanks. Don’t need any company tonight.”
Scarface stepped closer, his smirk widening. “Nah, I think you do. You don’t wanna be walking around these parts alone, sweetheart.”
The hairs on the back of Y/N’s neck stood on end. She had to think fast—there was no way she could fight all three of them off. As one of the thugs reached out to grab her arm, she swung her guitar case at him, the metal hitting his side with a satisfying thud.
The other two men grabbed her, causing a scream to escape from her throat.
But before she could react further, the sound of someone clearing their throat broke through the tension like a clap of thunder.
“Wow, you guys are real charming,” a voice said, dripping with sarcasm.
Y/N whipped around, her breath catching in her throat. Standing just a few feet away, leaning casually against the alley wall, was a man who didn’t seem fazed by the three thugs at all. His posture was relaxed, almost bored, like he was waiting for something mildly interesting to happen. His clothes were sharp—too sharp for this part of town—and there was a mischievous grin plastered across his face like he’d just walked into a comedy show.
It took Y/N a moment to realize that he was the one who had interrupted the confrontation with nothing more than sheer presence.
“Who the hell are you?” Scarface barked, stepping toward him. “This is none of your business.”
The man—Kal, as he later introduced himself—shrugged nonchalantly, pushing himself off the wall. “Oh, I think it is,” he said with a grin that could only be described as devilish. “Can’t stand the sound of screaming. Really kills the vibe, y’know?”
Y/N couldn’t help but blink, slightly thrown off by his carefree attitude. It was clear he wasn’t here to help for any reason other than his own amusement. He didn’t even look at the thugs as he lazily kicked one of their legs out from under them, sending him sprawling onto the ground.
Scarface was clearly not used to being dismissed. He snarled and swung a fist at Kal, but Kal ducked with exaggerated slowness, like he had all the time in the world. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he sent the thug flying into the brick wall with a barely noticeable push. The sound of a body slamming against concrete echoed down the alley.
The two remaining thugs hesitated, but before they could react, Kal grinned again, this time giving a little wave. “You’re gonna need to hurry up if you’re planning on getting me. I’ve got places to be, and honestly, I’m already bored.”
One of the thugs ran at him, and Kal simply side-stepped, tripping the guy with the toe of his boot. “I should have just gone home,” Kal muttered to himself. He glanced at Y/N as the last thug fell with a yelp. “Honestly, all that screaming was getting on my nerves. Guess I had to do something about it.”
Y/N stared at him, wide-eyed, the adrenaline still coursing through her veins. “Are you insane?” she asked, taking a shaky step back. “Who the hell are you?”
Kal stretched like he hadn’t just single-handedly taken down three guys, like he hadn’t just thrown the law of physics out the window with his ridiculous display of strength. “Me? Oh, I’m just the guy who came to save your ass. You’re welcome, by the way.”
He looked at her for a beat, his eyes scanning her face, before his grin widened. “But hey, don’t go thinking this means I’m some kind of hero.” He shot her a wink. “I’m just here to make my night a little less boring.”
Y/N blinked, still reeling. “You didn’t do that to help me?”
“Help you?” Kal snorted. “I just did it so I could get some peace and quiet. Ever heard someone scream for five minutes straight? Drives you insane.”
She couldn’t decide whether to laugh or punch him. “That’s your idea of a rescue?”
Kal looked her up and down with a lazy glance. “You seem fine now. Don’t go thinking you owe me anything.”
Y/N crossed her arms, trying to steady herself, but something about his casual attitude—his complete lack of concern—bothered her in a way she couldn’t explain. He was reckless, dangerous, and completely unpredictable. But there was also something... oddly human beneath it all. Something that wasn’t entirely cold.
He stepped closer, the playful smirk never leaving his face. “You’re lucky, though. Pretty girls like you... well, you know what happens to them in dark alleys, right?”
Y/N’s stomach twisted, but she refused to let him get the upper hand. “I’m starting to think you’re more trouble than those guys,” she shot back, her voice sharp.
Kal’s grin turned even more mischievous. “Oh, I am trouble. You’ll get used to it.” He cocked his head, as if sizing her up. “You sing?”
Y/N raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“Sing. I saw your guitar case back there.” Kal’s grin turned sly. “You’ve got a voice, right? I could use something to pass the time, and honestly, it’ll be more entertaining than whatever you were planning to do tonight.”
“I don’t take requests,” she snapped, though part of her was curious why this guy thought he could tell her what to do.
Kal didn’t even flinch. “I’ll let you crash at my place for the night,” he said, voice casual as if he were offering her a cup of coffee. “Nice couch. A shower. And I’m dying to hear you play.”
Y/N just stared at him. "And what's the catch?"
Kal waved his hand dismissively. "Oh, you know, no big deal. Just... entertain me. You know, sing, play your guitar, whatever. If I’m gonna let you crash at my place, you might as well make yourself useful.”
Y/N felt her temper flare, but deep down, she knew she didn’t have much of a choice. She was on the verge of exhaustion, and this strange man had just saved her life. Even if he was... well, him, she could probably use a place to sleep.
“Fine,” she muttered, tossing her guitar case over her shoulder. “I’ll sing. But I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for me.”
Kal’s grin was practically ear-to-ear. “Now that’s the spirit.” He turned and started to walk away, not looking back. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here before someone tries to ruin my fun.”
Y/N hesitated for a moment, her heart still racing from the encounter, but something in his voice—the challenge, the unpredictability—pulled her forward. She followed him, knowing this strange arrangement was only the beginning of whatever bizarre thing was about to unfold.
As she walked behind him, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Kal was dangerous. But there was also a part of her that liked it.
—
Y/N followed Kal through the sleek streets of Metropolis, still trying to make sense of the night. One minute she was being harassed by thugs in an alley, the next, she was walking into a penthouse that looked like something out of a high-end magazine. Kal didn’t seem to care that he had just picked her up off the street—he was just doing whatever came naturally to him, with no hesitation. Y/N, on the other hand, felt like an intruder in his world. But she didn’t have many other options.
Kal led her into the building without breaking a sweat, pressing the button for the elevator’s top floor as if it were nothing. Y/N could only look around, her mind racing as she tried to understand who this guy was. He didn’t look like some rich playboy. He looked... like someone who didn't take anything seriously.
The elevator doors opened to reveal a penthouse that made her stomach drop. It was vast—wide, open spaces, high ceilings, sleek furniture, walls of glass that looked out onto the sprawling city below. This wasn’t just wealth; it was luxury. Everything looked perfect in the kind of way that made her feel out of place. But Kal didn’t seem to notice or care. He walked in like he owned the place, not giving her a second thought.
Once inside, Y/N’s eyes flicked to the massive king-sized bed in the corner of the room. She could already tell it was the only one in the penthouse, and her stomach twisted. Kal caught her gaze and immediately broke the silence, his voice as casual as ever. "That’s my bed," he said, pointing toward it. "Freeloaders get the couch."
Y/N froze, trying not to show how much his words stung. Freeloaders. That was what she was now—she was just here because she needed a place to stay. She didn’t belong in a place like this. The couch, sure, but the bed? That was his domain, not hers.
Her mind was still racing when Kal turned toward her with a small, amused smirk, clearly oblivious to her thoughts. "Anyway," he said, "that’s the couch. Sit there. Sing."
Y/N didn’t have the energy to argue. She grabbed her guitar case and sat on the couch, the weight of the situation bearing down on her. She wasn’t sure what she expected from this night, but it wasn’t this. She didn’t even know what she was doing here.
She opened the guitar case, pulled out her silver guitar, and started tuning it absentmindedly. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt this out of place. But playing always helped. The strings felt like home, even if the room around her didn’t.
As she began to strum the first few notes, she noticed Kal standing nearby, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, watching her closely. His eyes were fixed on her guitar, his lips quirked in the smallest of smiles, but there was something in his gaze that caught her off guard. He wasn’t making fun of her, wasn’t rolling his eyes. He was... listening.
Y/N sang, more for herself than for him. Music was her escape, the one thing she could control. As her voice filled the room, she felt the tension in her body start to ease, her fingers moving fluidly over the strings.
She caught a glance of Kal’s face in the light, and for a moment, she hesitated. He didn’t look like someone who was much older than her—maybe a year or two at most. His face was sharp, but there was something almost childlike about it, an intensity that didn’t belong to someone with his kind of power. How did he afford this penthouse? Why was he alone? Was this some kind of game for him? He didn’t look like someone who belonged in this world, but somehow, he was here.
She didn’t linger on it long. She couldn’t afford to. She finished her song, feeling his gaze on her, wondering if he was going to say something snarky or dismissive, like he usually did. But the silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable—it was just... there. She looked up at him, waiting for the punchline.
Finally, Kal broke the silence with his usual casualness, though there was something in his voice that made her pause. “Not bad,” he said. “Better than most people I’ve heard.”
Y/N raised an eyebrow. “That’s it? Not bad?”
He shrugged, a small grin tugging at his lips. “You’ve got a decent voice. You might actually have something worth listening to.”
Y/N wasn’t sure whether to feel insulted or relieved. She wasn’t here to impress him. She just needed to keep her head above water.
She sat back, letting the tension in her shoulders drain. “So, what now? I did the song thing. You satisfied?”
Kal’s expression turned thoughtful, almost lazy. “Yeah, for now. I told you before. You crash here when you need. But you keep up your end of the bargain, alright? You sing, you stay. That’s the deal.”
Y/N stared at him for a moment, trying to gauge his intentions. He seemed relaxed, but there was something... off about him. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but she was starting to realize that Kal didn’t take anything seriously. He didn’t care about much—except maybe the entertainment.
She couldn’t quite decide if that made him more dangerous or just... sad.
“You really live like this?” she asked, gesturing around at the luxury of his penthouse. “How old are you, anyway? I swear, you look like you’re still in high school.”
Kal’s eyes flicked to her, and his smirk widened. “I’m a bit older than that, trust me,” he said. “And as for this place? Let’s just say I’ve got a way with... resources.” He glanced toward the window, and for a second, there was something in his expression that wasn’t just cocky. It almost looked... reflective.
Y/N didn’t press. Whatever his deal was, it didn’t really matter. She had her own problems. And, for now, this was her best shot at staying off the streets.
“Fine. I’ll take your offer,” she said, standing up from the couch. “But this arrangement? It’s your idea. I’m just trying to survive.”
Kal shrugged nonchalantly. “Sure, whatever. You’re here now, and that’s what matters.” His eyes flicked down to the silver guitar resting on the couch next to her, and he noticed something. He raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Hey, Songbird,” he teased, nodding toward the small bird decal on the body of her guitar. “Nice touch. You know, I was wondering if I should start calling you that.”
Y/N blinked at him. “Songbird?”
Kal chuckled darkly, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Yeah. You’ve got the whole bird thing going on. You sing, and you’ve got a bird on your guitar. Songbird seems fitting, don’t you think?”
Y/N let out a sharp laugh, not really sure if she should be offended or amused. "You’re ridiculous."
Kal didn’t even flinch. “Yeah, I know. It’s one of my best qualities.” His eyes softened for a second, and there was an almost playful edge to his voice. “But seriously, keep the songbird thing in mind. You might grow into it.”
Y/N sighed, still trying to shake off the weirdness of everything that had just happened. She grabbed her guitar and slung it over her shoulder, walking over to the couch. “I’m crashing here tonight, but don’t think you’re gonna make me your personal jukebox.”
Kal watched her as she plopped down on the couch, his gaze sharp. "Oh, don’t worry. I’m not that predictable." He grinned. “Songbird.”
Y/N rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help but feel a little relieved. She wasn’t sure what this weird deal was becoming, but for now, the music was the one thing that made sense.
Kal didn’t respond, only leaned against the wall, watching her with that same cocky grin on his face.
“Just remember, you asked for it,” she muttered under her breath as she made her way toward the couch.
Kal raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable for a moment before he spoke again. “Yeah, I did,” he said, his voice soft but still sharp. “And don’t forget, this is your deal. You play, you stay. Simple as that.”
Y/N sat back on the couch, letting the silence fall around them, the weight of their new arrangement hanging in the air between them. For now, this was enough.
—
As the days bled into weeks, Y/N began to settle into a strange, unspoken rhythm in Kal’s penthouse. She had come to rely on the quiet, the isolation of his apartment that wrapped around her like a cocoon. The city outside felt far away, distant and muffled by the thick glass windows. It was safe here, at least in a way. She wasn’t constantly running from the chaos of her old life, and Kal... Kal was there, too, unpredictable and wild as ever.
But the more she spent time around him, the more she noticed things that didn’t add up. He was strong—unnaturally so. Sometimes it was the way he casually lifted heavy objects without a second thought, or how his muscles rippled when he moved, always so fluid and precise. Y/N had seen strong people in her life, sure, but there was a kind of effortless power to Kal that felt... off.
It wasn’t just his physical strength either. It was his behavior. His sudden bursts of energy, the reckless energy that seemed to have no bounds. One moment, he'd be the careless, cocky guy with a snarky joke on his lips; the next, he'd slip into moments of profound silence, his gaze distant, unfocused, as though he was somewhere else entirely. He’d disappear without explanation, sometimes for hours. One night, he left after she’d fallen asleep on the couch, only to return at dawn, still holding onto that same wild, untamed edge he always had.
Y/N didn’t ask about any of it.
There were questions that lingered, things she couldn’t ignore, but she learned early on that pushing Kal to explain himself only made him retreat into that shell he was so good at maintaining. He didn’t like to be questioned. He didn’t want her to probe into the spaces he kept hidden from the world.
So she didn’t.
There was an unspoken understanding between them: she would stay quiet, and in return, he wouldn’t get too close. She didn’t ask him where he went or why he looked so haunted sometimes. And he, in turn, didn’t ask her about her life outside of his penthouse—about why she was really in Metropolis or what had made her run away from her past. They just existed in their own bubble, two people living parallel lives, barely touching but sharing the same space.
Kal seemed to appreciate that. He never seemed annoyed by her silence, never seemed to mind when she let him keep his secrets. And in his own way, he started to acknowledge the little things she did for him. He didn’t give compliments easily, but once, when she was playing a soft tune on her guitar, he’d caught himself saying, “I like that you don’t ask dumb questions. You’re not like everyone else.”
Y/N had looked up from her guitar, surprised at the sudden honesty in his voice. She’d opened her mouth to say something but closed it again, unsure of how to respond. Kal didn’t elaborate, just gave her a smirk before walking off. But those words stayed with her. It was strange, hearing him admit something that wasn’t wrapped up in sarcasm or bravado.
Despite his gruff exterior, Kal was starting to soften around her. And maybe she was softening, too. She’d never intended for any of this to happen—the closeness, the quiet moments they shared—but now, it seemed natural. She played for him more often, the simple strums of her guitar filling the silence between them.
Kal, for all his chaotic energy, became a steady presence in her life. He didn’t talk much, but he listened when she played. And that, in itself, was something she hadn’t expected.
He would sit on the couch, his feet propped up on the coffee table, eyes closed, but Y/N could always feel his gaze on her—intense, almost as if he were trying to understand her through the notes she played. Sometimes, she thought he looked at her like he was trying to find something. She wasn’t sure if it was about her or about himself, but it made her uneasy in a way she couldn’t quite explain.
The first time she really noticed it was when she played a song that was more than just a song—it was a piece of herself, raw and vulnerable. The lyrics came from a place of longing, of wanting to escape, of trying to outrun the ghosts of the past. As she played, she felt herself losing control of the music, the emotion spilling out. She was giving him a piece of her, but she didn’t even realize it until it was too late.
Kal didn’t stop her, though. He didn’t say a word. But when the last note faded away, he sat there in silence for a long time. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and almost... gentle.
“That was good. Really good.”
Y/N couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Kal’s approval, or whatever it was, felt like a small victory. She didn’t need him to say more, though. It was just nice knowing that for once, he was actually listening. Not to her words, not to the outside world, but to her music.
And that became their rhythm—her playing and him listening. It was unspoken, but it was enough.
Despite his recklessness, despite the way he still kept a certain distance from her, Y/N could tell something was shifting in him. His behavior was still unpredictable—he was still prone to disappearing into the night, still reckless in the way he treated the world around him. But with her music, there was a subtle shift. A softening. Kal found something in her songs, something he couldn’t find anywhere else. He never admitted it, but Y/N could see it in the way he relaxed when she played.
One evening, after a particularly rough day in the city, Kal had come home late. He was quiet, even by his standards, and it didn’t take long for Y/N to realize he wasn’t in the mood for company. She had been playing her guitar quietly when he dropped onto the couch, eyes unfocused.
He hadn’t said much, pacing around the apartment, checking his wrist every few minutes, fidgeting with his class ring like it was something more than just a piece of jewelry. Y/N had been used to his erratic behavior by now, but there was something in his movements that felt... off. She’d tried to get him to talk, but he just shrugged it off with one of his usual nonchalant smirks.
By the time the sun had set, he’d grown quieter, the energy in the room heavier. They were sitting on the couch, her guitar resting on her lap, when he suddenly stiffened. It was subtle at first, a brief wince across his face. But then, his whole body seemed to freeze. He gripped his chest, his breath catching in a way that made Y/N’s heart skip.
“Kal?” she asked, setting her guitar down, standing quickly to move toward him. “Are you okay?”
But before she could reach him, Kal collapsed to the ground, his body trembling violently, the pain clear in his face. He gasped for breath, his hands clutching at his chest like he was trying to hold something in.
“Kal!” Y/N knelt beside him, panicked.
It wasn’t until she saw the faint glow under his shirt, the burn that was radiating from his chest, that she understood. Kal ripped his shirt open to reveal the biggest scar Y/N had ever seen. It looked like it was burned into his skin, pulsing with unnatural light, as if alive, and Kal was struggling to keep himself together under its weight. His breath came in sharp, painful gasps, and the glow grew more intense with every passing second.
“Kal, what’s happening?!” Y/N asked, voice frantic, but he couldn’t respond.
He reached up, his fingers shaking as he tried to pull the class ring from his finger, but it wasn’t easy. His hand was trembling so violently that it took several tries before he finally managed to slip it off. As soon as he did, the glow of the brand seemed to fade, but his breathing didn’t even out.
“Kal, you need to rest,” she urged, lifting his arm to help him stand. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”
He didn’t fight her as she helped him to his feet, though he was clearly struggling to stay upright. The moment he stepped forward, his legs buckled, and he collapsed back onto the floor, unable to stand.
Y/N’s heart was pounding. She didn’t know what else to do, so she did the only thing she could think of: she helped him into his bedroom. She guided him to the bed, her hands shaking as she tried to make him as comfortable as possible.
Kal barely registered her touch, his eyes glazed and distant. She could see the deep exhaustion in his face, the way the light from the brand had drained all the color from his skin.
“Just… just lie down,” she whispered, pushing him gently into the bed. He didn’t fight her, but his expression was so hollow, so empty, that it made her chest tighten.
Once he was settled, Y/N stepped back, watching him for a moment. His eyes were closed now, but his body was still tense, his muscles rigid with the strain of whatever the brand was doing to him. It was clear he was fighting something inside of himself.
Y/N took a breath, standing there for a long moment, unsure of what to do. But then, before she could move, Kal’s hand shot out, grabbing her wrist.
“Stay,” he muttered hoarsely, his voice raw and strained.
She didn’t hesitate. She sat down beside him, placing her hand over his where it still gripped her wrist. For a moment, they were just silent, her fingers intertwined with his.
She didn’t ask him what was going on. She didn’t ask why he was in pain or what the mark meant. She didn’t ask for any explanations.
Instead, she simply stayed.
Kal’s breathing evened out slowly, his body relaxing slightly as he adjusted to the quiet presence beside him. But something in his expression shifted. His eyes opened, and he looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time in what felt like forever. There was something in his gaze—something vulnerable, something raw. And before she could even register what was happening, he tugged her closer, pulling her into bed with him.
Y/N froze for a moment, surprised by the closeness, but Kal didn’t seem to care. His grip on her was steady, like he needed her there, like he couldn’t quite hold it together without her.
She didn’t protest. There was a strange stillness in the air, one that neither of them seemed to want to break. She lay beside him, the warmth of his body pressed against hers, and for a long while, neither of them spoke.
Kal’s fingers still clutched the class ring in his hand, the heavy metal like a tether between him and whatever he was running from. Slowly, after a few minutes, he slipped the ring back onto his finger.
As soon as the ring touched his skin, his breathing evened out completely, the pain seeming to vanish like it had never been there at all. But the shift in the air, the quiet tension between them, lingered. Kal didn’t move, didn’t try to pull away.
They stayed like that for the rest of the night. Not talking. Not asking questions. Just sharing the silence.
And though there was nothing between them but the unspoken, a new understanding passed between them in that quiet moment. Something had changed.
–
The days following that night felt strangely normal. Despite everything that had happened—the quiet, the unspoken moments, the way Kal had pulled her into bed with him and then slipped the ring back on, the intense weight of everything unsaid—things had just... resumed. They had gone back to their usual, odd routine.
Y/N didn’t ask about it. She didn’t question what had transpired between them. She didn’t need to. Kal didn’t talk about himself much, and she wasn’t in any position to push him. She simply spent her days doing what she did best: writing music, playing her guitar, living in the space Kal had given her, the penthouse that now felt like an odd combination of sanctuary and mystery.
And Kal? He was there, sometimes. He would disappear for a few hours here and there, always leaving with that same cold, faraway look in his eyes, but he’d always return, the tension in his shoulders just a little looser. They never spoke about the night the brand had burned—never mentioned the quiet, strange bond that had formed between them.
And then, one night, she came home to find it all gone.
She walked into the penthouse, humming a new melody she had been working on, the notes still fresh in her mind. She was excited. She had written something that felt important. Something that felt right. She had been itching to share it with Kal, eager to see if he’d pick up on the small changes in her sound.
But when she stepped inside, something felt off. There was no sign of Kal, not a trace of him anywhere. His jacket was gone from the back of the chair, the clutter of his usual disarray absent. The place felt… empty. Unfinished.
"Kal?" she called out, expecting him to appear from around the corner with that cocky smirk of his, but there was no answer.
She wandered through the apartment, heart pounding a little faster, until she reached the living room. Her eyes fell on the coffee table, where two things immediately caught her attention: a set of keys, and a piece of paper.
Y/N’s stomach dropped as she approached, her feet dragging her to the table as if drawn by some force she didn’t understand. The keys were familiar, the silver glint of them a reminder of the penthouse she had come to call home. The paper, however, was what made her stop in her tracks.
It was the deed to the penthouse. But something was different. Her name was written across the top—scrawled in Kal’s handwriting. The deed was now hers.
She reached for it slowly, as if afraid it would disappear in her hands, her heart suddenly too loud in her chest. Her fingers skimmed the paper, her breath caught in her throat. There was no note. No explanation. No message from Kal. Nothing to tell her why.
Y/N stood in silence, the weight of the paper heavy in her hands. The apartment around her felt like a shell, empty and distant. The silence stretched on, oppressive in its stillness. She wanted to call out to him. She wanted to understand, to know why he was gone, why there was no goodbye.
But there was no answer. No sound.
She looked around the apartment again, her heart aching, her thoughts swirling. Where had he gone? Why had he left without a word? And why had he given her the keys, the deed? What had it all meant?
Her mind refused to settle on an answer. All she had were the keys in her hand and the empty apartment around her, like a stage that had once been filled with something important, something real, and now was nothing more than a backdrop for memories she didn’t understand.
Y/N stood there for what felt like an eternity, her thoughts a tangled mess of confusion and questions. She wanted to ask him. She wanted to demand an explanation. But she knew, deep down, that he wouldn’t have given her one.
Kal had never been good at goodbyes. He didn’t need to say anything. His absence spoke louder than any words could.
And as Y/N stood there, alone in the silence of the penthouse that was now hers, she couldn’t help but wonder if she had ever truly known him at all.
—
Seven years later
—
Clark Kent sat at his desk at the Daily Planet, his fingers hovering over the keyboard as he sifted through the latest news. His mind was still lingering on the morning’s breaking story when Perry’s voice cut through the newsroom.
“Kent! My office. Now.”
Clark groaned inwardly but didn’t argue. He stood up, straightened his tie, and walked over to Perry’s office, already anticipating whatever mess he was about to walk into.
Perry didn’t even look up as Clark entered, tossing a file onto the desk in front of him.
“You’re covering for Sasha today,” Perry grunted, his voice gruff as ever.
Clark raised an eyebrow. “Sasha? I don’t cover entertainment.”
Perry shot him a sharp look. “Well, you will today. Sasha’s sick last minute, and the interview’s already set up. I’m not sending anyone else, and you have the afternoon free. The subject’s recording a new album, and we need an interview for the front page.”
Clark frowned, his frustration mounting. “This isn’t fair, Perry. I’m a serious journalist. I’ve been covering hard news—”
“You’ll be seriously unemployed if you don’t do this,” Perry interrupted, cutting him off with a sharp tone. He was dead serious, no room for argument.
Clark’s jaw tightened. “Fine,” he muttered, leaning over to glance at the file Perry had handed him. He opened it up, expecting some pop-star fluff piece. What he didn’t expect was the name written across the top.
Y/N.
It didn’t register at first—just another pop star. Another headline. No big deal. His eyes skimmed the rest of the file, reading about her latest album and upcoming tour, but the name didn’t mean anything to him.
He looked back at Perry. “Who is this? Some random pop star?”
Perry leaned back in his chair with an exasperated expression. “Seriously? Forbes 100 most influential people, 4 time Grammy winner?”
Clark stared back with a blank expression. Perry sighed.
Clark threw the file into his bag, frustrated but resigned. He’d cover this like any other assignment, even if it meant interviewing some famous musician who didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.
“Get going, Kent. You’ve got an interview to do.”
-- a/n: this is just the prologue. this story has been completely mapped out and is a wild ride. hope you all enjoy :)
More Posts from Bbsaeko and Others
ദ്ദി ≽^⎚˕⎚^≼ .ᐟ, 𝜗𝜚 ➜ ྀི new mail(!) — author says it’s crazy TikTok based oneshot time!! These are several scenarios in one!! Modern au!
—- ദ്ദി ≽^⎚˕⎚^≼ .ᐟ, 𝜗𝜚 ᯓ (ʚɞ) Damian Wayne x fem reader. Usual trigger warnings.
૮ ྀི◞ ⸝⸝ ◟ ྀིა AUTHORS POV + 2nd ◟ ྀི
0.1 Doing cute random TikTok trends
0.1 Damian was never interested in taking upon the interests of TikTok. However him being the youngest Wayne he was the only one who had TikTok, and the only one who had such an active girlfriend that being you of course. He never used it often yet if he did all his videos were with you. One of his videos being him voicing over you doing your makeup, you insisted he posted it on his main since he had a bunch of fans.
“Today my girlfriend suggested I voiceover her makeup.” Since you two had decided that it would be better if he just stands to the side and lightly voices over you both did it. He had a chair to the side and had a mic and you occasionally said a few words. Most people had asked for a makeup tutorial so you knew if your boyfriend could say it, it would save you time on speaking and thinking.
“Before we start this I had to do a lot for him to agree, a lot. Please don’t let me regret this.” You then gave the mic back to him and then started to apply the makeup whilst he says things. “I think her bare face is better because it’s good for kissing although that could’ve just been my own belief.” He then held your hand, he usually never shows pda on camera but it’s been a while since you have due to you both having school and life.
“Such a softie, I love him.” Since you didn’t have a mic you gently whispered to yourself, you knew nobody could hear it so you thought it would be nice to remind yourself of how sweet he really is. As you continued with your routine you then ended it and posted it. “Thank you Damie for doing this.” You then kissed his cheek, he always had a flutter in his stomach even if you’ve been dating each other for years.
— comments
@.user333 : they are so cute I need ship edits
@.2883 : I love their chemistry I’ve never seen Damian be this chalant 😻‼️‼️
@.Wendy’s : ugh my favorite couple I swear😭
0.2 You saw that leprechaun month was here, it wasn’t as romantic compared to the actual month of love but you thought it would be nice at least. Setting up your phone camera hitting record you weren’t doing bunch but just talking to him. “Damie, why haven’t you asked me to be your leprechaun? I thought you were my boyfriend..” his face completely dropped when he heard what you said. Not even in a shocked way more in just like a ‘why would you ever say that’ kind of way. “Habibti, now why the fuck, I say this in the most polite way Habibti, that you explain why I make you my leprechaun.”
“Because you love and care for me.” As almost kind of like a sharped eye cat his eyes go wide. He mumbles something incoherent in Arabic but it didn’t matter anyways. “I love you but that doesn’t mean I’m making you my leprechaun, you’re already tiny compared to me.” As you looked to the camera your face was shocked and you ended the video and posted it. Even though in the video nobody could see Damian you could tell you were gagged.
—comments
@.useridk : crazy lowkey how she got gagged trying to have a cute moment. 🙁
@.Burgerking : love you these are my parents fr ‼️‼️‼️
0.3 You hadn’t been filming TikTok’s with Damian in a while and this was the first time he suggested to make a TikTok with him. He told you to just go with the flow and let him take over, saying you’ve probably already heard of the audio. Ironically that became his most viewed TikTok. As the audio was playing he had span you around, being careful not to drop you. He then immediately picked you up as the lyrics had said “my feet are off the ground.” You had dangled your feet a bit to match the lyrics. He then held your hands his eyes only filled with love deep inside. “Habibti don’t get too excited, it’s once a while I’ll film with you.” You nodded your head he wouldn’t admit it but it was nice filming TikTok’s with you.
— comments
@.user11 : first time Damian has posted in months
@.user2 : I will forever love this duo
@.Kb9news : reporting live to my favorite couple
જ⁀➴ HOW THEY CELEBRATE VALENTINE’S DAY WITH YOU
ft. bruce wayne ‧ dick grayson ‧ jason todd ‧ damian wayne ‧ tim drake — headcanons
a/n: happy valentine’s day !! ♡
BRUCE WAYNE doesn’t really care about valentine’s day. he cares about you, though, which means he acknowledges it, even if he’d rather ignore the whole ordeal. a private dinner, away from prying eyes, in a restaurant where the lighting is low and the waitstaff are paid to be invisible. at some point, he slides a gift across the table—carefully chosen, either indulgent or deeply personal. a diamond necklace, or maybe a signed first edition of your favourite book—something you’d mentioned in passing months ago, tucked away in a conversation. he remembered. later, in the limo, bruce pulls up the partition before finally, finally catching your mouth in a kiss.
DICK GRAYSON loves valentine’s day. loves love. loves you. so he goes all out. you wake up to breakfast in bed: heart-shaped pancakes smothered in syrup with strawberries piled high. the card he hands you has a corny pun, but devastatingly sweet. he pairs it with an enormous teddy bear (too big to fit on the bed) the whole day is an adventure—ice skating, movie, rock-climbing, and when the sun starts to dip under the horizon, he leads you to the rooftop, setting up a picnic under the stars with an overpriced bottle of wine.
JASON TODD thinks valentine’s day is bullshit. it’s a scam designed to separate idiots from their money over overpriced chocolates and flowers that die in a week… but if it matters to you, then it matters. so he shows up at your door, a second helmet in hand, jerking his head toward the motorcycle without a word. he takes you on a ride through the city, the wind whipping past, your arms wrapped around his waist. when you get back, instead, when you get back, he orders greasy takeout—nothing fancy, just what you both want. the food barely lasts ten minutes before it’s abandoned, containers shoved aside, forgotten as he pins you onto the couch. the whole night was just prelude to this.
DAMIAN WAYNE does not partake in artifice or frivolity. no, he doesn’t acknowledge valentine’s day at all. the flowers, chocolates, saccharine bullshit irritates him. but you wake up to find a oblong wrapped package on your nightstand, and when you open it, it’s a weapon. a beautiful, custom-forged blade, perfectly balanced, your initials engraved into the hilt. when you ask him about it, he barely glances up from his sketchbook. if you are to be involved with me, you should be properly equipped. but you think you can see the tiniest flicker of satisfaction when you tell him you love it.
TIM DRAKE planned the entire thing weeks in advance. he’s always been an overthinker, and wants everything to be perfect for you. he shows up at your door slightly frazzled, running on caffeine and pure determination. over dinner (the reservation booked since christmas), he hands you a small velvet box. inside, a minimalistic yet stylish bracelet—just when you‘re about to thank him, he just smirks and presses the clasp. it’s not just jewelry. it’s a custom-built device, wired with a discreet GPS tracker, a silent distress signal, and—his personal favourite—a high-voltage taser disguised as a charm. just in case, he tells you, like it’s an afterthought.
fear-is-truth 2025 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.
dating tim drake would include
• tim is really sweet. he’ll kiss you to welcome you home or say goodbye when he goes out on patrol and he’ll happily carry you to bed if you fall asleep on the sofa and makes sure to tell you that he loves you everyday.
• he hacks your computer sometimes (for good reasons though). like you’ll just turn on your computer/laptop and your background is changed to a picture of you and tim together. <33
• even though everyone knows that you’re dating he still gets quite flustered and is prone to blushing if you call him a pet name in front of others. (you’d definitely do this just to see him blush).
• tim has your coffee order memorized (no matter how complicated it is).
• tim is SUPER clingy when he’s sleepy, like he can be needy and just want to hug and kiss you all the time. they’re kinda sloppy because he’s tired but his lust for affection is still cute.
• he cuddles or hugs you any chance he gets to make up for the many hours he spends on his computer away from you.
• since he’s a detective, he notices every detail including anything off about yourself. if something is wrong he will notice immediately no matter how good you are at hiding it, afterward he’d do pretty much anything to make you feel better. (even leave his computer for a day or so).
• he notices everything about you. favorite flower, favorite color, he always seems to notice that you’re cold even before you do and wraps his jacket around you. that intense focus can be a lot, sometimes, a bit overwhelming even. but at the same time you’re touched that he just seems so interested in everything about you. he wants to learn every last detail about you and is willing to take the time to do so.
• tim works really hard and doesn’t keep regular sleep patterns as a result, which means it’s up to you to make sure he gets proper sleep most of the time. plus, you’re one of the few people he actually listens to since you’re basically his favourite person. <33
• you have to learn most of his sweet spots to use against him whenever you’re trying to drag him away from the computer for a break.
• he remembers important dates even if it’s last minute— he still remembers. anniversaries, birthdays, you name it and if it’s anything to do with you then he’ll remember it and usually buys the best gifts for you.
• he celebrates the most ridiculous anniversaries, and he always remembers them. like, “it’s been one year since the first time you held my hand” or “it’s been a month since we went to that fair and rode the ferris wheel”.
• he lets you play with his hair and it’s so entertaining, he doesn’t mind and finds it relaxing when you run your fingers through it, he always checks to see what he looks like after you’ve styled it whether it be a man bun, ponytail, or braids. you told him that he looked good in a loose ponytail once and you he didn’t take it out for whole day.
• the two of you get take out food at least once a week because tim cannot cook to save his life, he just gets too distracted and the food gets burnt. he will also take time just to eat with you and ask about your day rather than work or will watch tv with you.
• tim LOVES watching detective shows with you but but sometimes it can get annoying because will usually ruin the ending by telling you who the criminal is and the exact reasons for his motives so it’s difficult to ignore the fact he just destroyed the next 45 minutes for you.
• he’s a literal genius so if you need help with anything he is on it, he’s actually written your essays for you before but you know that you couldn’t pass them off as your own because it’s not your writing style and you redo them using his basic ideas. you’re very appreciative of his assistance but tell him he doesn’t need to do that for you. however, he shakes it off as if it was nothing.
• he loves you and your acceptance of his coffee loving and sleep-deprived ways. <33
things they do that make your heart skip a beat
♱ bakugou, kirishima, midoriya, todoroki, kaminari, shinsou
fluffy and suggestive 😔
disclaimer this could all js be niche stuff i find attractive…
bakugou
♱ wears black compression shirts and tank tops that cling to his biceps, shows uncharacteristic patience helping you with schoolwork, blushes when he catches you looking at him, grabs your hips when he walks past you, cooks shirtless with a ‘kiss the cook’ apron on, chronic manspreader, reverses the car with his hand on your seat and looking over his shoulder yk exactly what im talking about
kirishima
♱ makes you sit on his back when he does press ups - will then proceed to do one handed press ups while grinning at you in the gym mirror, poses after a work out for you, wipes stuff off your face and (if edible duh) licks it off his thumb, has the worlds deepest morning voice, hugs you from behind CONSTANTLY - if he could glue himself to your backside you better believe he would
midoriya
♱ IS RESPECTFUL TO HIS MOTHER 😫😫, will hurl himself out the car to come open your door for you, gives you the most insightful opinions of clothes, makeup, whatever, rubs his thumb over your hand when he holds your hand, holds the door open for you without a second thought, the sidewalk rule <3, saves every. single. photo. you send him
todoroki
♱ pays for everything before you can protest, sends you flowers with little notes attached randomly, brushes/styles your hair for you, will sit for hours in changing rooms w you and make you do 360s for every outfit, takes candids of you and refuses to delete any of them, constantly leans down so you can speak in his ear and you get a big whiff of his fancy cologne, speaks diff languages 🥹
kaminari
♱ leans his hands on the tops of doorways when he’s talking to you, pulls you in by your belt loops to talk to you, leans over in the middle of serious conversations to whisper a stupid joke in your ear that you have to struggle not to cackle at, wears rings and lets you play with them, calls you “m’lady” and “ma’am” when you’re annoyed at him, whenever he zips you up in a dress or buttons you up he’ll kiss the back of your neck and your shoulders, is really good with his little baby and toddler cousins 🩷🩷🩷
shinsou
♱ “yeah?” “mhmm?” WHEEWWW SIR, plays guitar for you and sends u vids of him playing songs u request, stretches and his shirts always lift up to show off his happy trail 🙂↕️, drags you down to sit in his lap for EVERY activity he does - paperwork, video games, whatever, has constant bedroom eyes???, tugs on your hair to get your attention, had to lean back and adjust himself everytime he sits down bc he wears the baggiest pants in existence
do i need to start a taglist?
Babysitter
a damian wayne and batsis! reader oneshot ft. jon kent | m.list
Summary: your brother forces you to take him and his bestfriend along with you to wherever you’re going
You had a plan. A flawless, well-thought-out, foolproof plan.
Step one: Move quietly.
Step two: Avoid creaky floorboards.
Step three: Do not alert Damian Wayne, resident bloodhound.
You had your hand on the doorknob, your shoes were on.
You had one foot out the door. No one in sight. Freedom just within reach—
“Going somewhere?”
Your whole body froze.
Goddamnit it.
You knew that voice.
You closed your eyes, inhaled sharply through your nose, and prayed to whatever higher power was listening that maybe—just maybe—if you ignored him, he’d disappear.
No such luck.
A second voice, softer but just as damning, followed.
“Uh, I told him we should just let you go, but…”
You sighed. Of course.
With a slow turn, you met the unimpressed stare of Damian Wayne, standing in the dim hallway like the world’s smallest, most judgmental security system. His arms were crossed, his expression far too smug for someone who had no business being awake right now. And right beside him, slightly hunched and looking far too apologetic, was Jon Kent.
You stared at them. They stared back.
Finally, you spoke.
“I knew I should’ve left through the window.”
Jon winced. “Sorry. Again, I did say we should just let you go—”
“But he didn’t,” you deadpanned, shooting a look at Damian.
Damian tilted his head, unbothered. “Because you’re sneaking out.”
You scoffed. “I am not sneaking out—”
“You’re leaving without me. That’s the same thing.”
“It is not—”
“Semantics.”
You groaned louder. “Oh my God, I hate you.”
“Likewise,” Damian said flatly.
Jon, still watching this exchange like a confused referee, hesitantly raised a hand. “I feel like I should stop this.
At the exact same time, without missing a beat, you and Damian both turned to him and snapped—
“You stay out of this.”
Jon immediately took a step back, hands up in surrender. “Ah. Alright.”
You dragged a hand down your face, inhaling slowly before fixing your glare on Damian again.
“So,” you said, voice strained, “what do you want, Damian?”
Damian ignored your question. “Where are you going?”
You deadpanned. “Out.”
“Out where?”
“It’s none of your business.”
Wrong answer.
“Tt. Incorrect. It is my business, because you’re taking us with you.”
You blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”
“You heard me.”
“No, yeah, I heard you. I just don’t think I should have.”
Jon stepped in, looking a little apologetic. “Sorry, he kinda roped me into this,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.
You gave him a flat look before turning back to Damian. “And why, exactly, would I do that?”
“To accompany you.”
“Why?”
“You require supervision.”
You stared.
“…I require— Damian, I’m older than you.”
“By an unfortunate number of years, yes.”
You inhaled sharply, clenching your fists. “I don’t need supervision, you little gremlin.”
Jon cleared his throat. “To be fair, I think he means he needs supervision.”
You stared. “You require— Damian, you’re forcing me to babysit you?”
“Tt. Babysit is a strong word.”
“That’s literally what’s happening.”
“I prefer guardian escort.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“Yet here we are.”
You pinched the bridge of your nose, inhaling deeply before muttering, “Where’s Alfred?”
“Out.”
“Dick?”
“Busy.”
“Tim?”
“Comatose, most likely.”
“Cass?”
“Training.”
“Jason?”
“Wouldn’t care.”
Your eye twitched. “And Dad?”
Damian raised an unimpressed brow.
“…Right,” you muttered.
Jon shot you another apologetic smile. “So, uh… that just leaves you?”
You let your head fall back with a long, suffering groan. “You are not going out with me.”
“And you’re supposed to be grounded.”
“That’s why I’m sneaking out, dipshit.”
There was a brief silence.
Damian let out a long, dramatic sigh, like you were the most exhausting person alive. “You continue to delude yourself if you think you’ll be able to succeed in sneaking out.”
“I hate you.”
Jon cleared his throat. “Um—”
Your expression softened immediately as you turned to him. “Not you, Jon. You’re fine. You’re good. Damian’s the problem.”
Jon blinked. Then, slowly, his lips curled into a tiny, bashful smile, cheeks just a little pink.
“Oh. Uh. Thanks?”
Damian, meanwhile, squinted. “What the hell?”
You ignored him, turning back to Jon. “See? This is how you behave, Damian. Maybe take notes.”
Damian’s scowl deepened. “I am nice.”
You snorted. “To who?”
“To you.” Damian snapped, like it was obvious.
Jon let out a tiny, poorly suppressed laugh.
You shot him a look. “Jon. Don’t encourage him.”
“Sorry,” Jon said, not looking sorry at all.
Damian scoffed. “So where are you even going?”
“Out.”
“Not without us.”
You stared. “No. Absolutely not.”
Damian just blinked.
Jon shuffled a little, fidgeting with the hem of his sweater. “I mean… if you don’t want us to come, that’s okay, I guess…”
And there it was.
The puppy-dog eyes.
You winced.
Damn it.
Jon Kent had mastered the art of looking genuinely dejected, and it was so unfair.
You hesitated. Pressed your lips together. “…It’s not that I don’t want you to come, it’s just—”
“Great,” Damian interrupted. “Then let’s go.”
You groaned. “That’s not what I meant—”
“You’re not exactly convincing me otherwise.”
“I will fight you.”
“I will win.”
Jon coughed. “This feels counterproductive.”
You shot him a betrayed look. “Jon. I thought we were friends.”
Jon rubbed the back of his neck. “I do want to go, though…”
Your eye twitched. You knew he was being genuine. But damn, he was dangerously good at making you feel so mean. You sighed heavily, staring at the ceiling like it held all the answers.
“I hate being the responsible one.”
Damian smirked. “Then be irresponsible and take us with you.”
You snapped your head back down to glare at him. “That’s not how this works, moron.”
Jon stifled a laugh.
Damian just tilted his head, completely unfazed. “Yet here we are.”
You clenched your jaw. Closed your eyes. Took a very deep breath.
Then, begrudgingly—
“Fine.”
Jon brightened. “Really?”
You shot him a look. “Not like I have a choice, apparently.”
Damian’s smirk widened, victorious.
“But there are rules.”
You pushed the door open, already regretting everything. “One: No causing trouble. Two: No running off. Three—” You turned sharply to glare at Damian. “No murder.”
Jon blinked. “That has to be a rule?”
You looked at him, dead serious. “You’d be surprised.”
Damian scoffed. “You act as if I lack self-control.”
“You literally tried to stab a man at the grocery store last week.”
“He cut in line.”
“You pulled out a knife, Damian.”
“And?”
Jon looked as if he was used to this.
You pinched the bridge of your nose. “You are literally going to be the death of me.”
“Unlikely,” Damian deadpanned.
Jon patted your arm sympathetically. “It’s okay. Breathe.”
“I don’t want to breathe.”
“Understandable, but necessary.”
Damian scoffed. “Are you done yet?”
“Oh, I’m done,” you muttered, pushing open the door. “So done.”
And with that, you stepped outside, the two boys following close behind.
This was going to be a long day.
The night air was crisp, Gotham’s usual symphony of distant sirens, honking cars, and murmured conversations blending into the background as you walked down the quiet streets. The dim glow of streetlights cast long shadows across the sidewalk, but your focus was on the two boys trailing beside you.
Jon was practically buzzing with excitement, barely able to keep himself from skipping as he shot off rapid-fire questions.
“So, what were you going to do?”
You hummed. “What do you think I was gonna do?”
Jon tilted his head. “Go fight bad guys?”
You chuckled. “Nope.”
“Scout for intel?”
“Nope.”
“Secret mission?”
“Jon,” you laughed, ruffling his hair. “Hold your horses, kid. We’re doing nothing of that sort. Not when I’m around.”
Jon pouted but grinned anyway, adjusting the sleeves of his shirt. “Well, then what are we doing?”
Before you could answer, you caught a glimpse of movement from the corner of your eye.
Damian.
The boy had taken two steps to the side, eyes locked on the nearest alleyway, looking entirely too ready to vanish into the night.
“Oh, hell no.”
You reached out, snagging the back of his hoodie and pulling him to a halt.
“That goes for you too, mister,” you said, voice firm.
Damian let out an audible groan. “Tt.”
Jon blinked, confused. “Uh—what exactly was he about to do?”
“Disappear into the shadows”
Jon turned to Damian, frowning. “Dude.”
Damian merely sniffed, looking vaguely offended at the idea that he of all people needed babysitting. “I was merely about to scout the area for any dangers.”
You gave him a flat look. “We’re on a sidewalk, Damian.”
“And?”
You exhaled sharply. “You are not ditching me.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
“Tt. You have no proof.”
“I have a brain.”
Jon held up a finger. “Technically, that’s not proof—”
You turned to him, exasperated. “Jon.”
“Right, right, sorry.”
Damian crossed his arms, unimpressed. “So, what are we doing?”
You just smiled.
Luxurious. That was the only word for the place you were in.
Soft, ambient lighting filled the space, casting everything in a warm, golden glow. The gentle sound of water trickling from an ornamental fountain mixed with the low, soothing hum of instrumental music playing from hidden speakers. A faint scent of lavender, eucalyptus, and something faintly citrusy hung in the air, lulling your body into relaxation almost instantly.
You let out a slow sigh, sinking further into the plush lounge chair as the nail technician expertly shaped your nails. Across from you, Jon was already wrapped up in a fluffy white robe, a cooling face mask spread across his skin, and a woman massaging his shoulders. He looked blissful.
Damian, on the other hand, was sitting stiffly in a massage chair, arms crossed, looking like he was being subjected to cruel and unusual punishment. His expression was set into a deep scowl, but you didn’t miss the way his shoulders had started to relax under the therapist’s touch—albeit reluctantly.
You smirked, wiggling your fingers as the technician moved on to buffing your nails. “Well?”
“Tt.”
Damian’s eyes were shut as if that alone could block out his misery. “You dragged us to a spa.”
You grinned. “I treated you to a spa.”
Damian let out another Tt.
You turned to him, amused. “Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you’re not enjoying this.”
Damian scowled. “I don’t see the point.”
“The point,” you drawled, stretching your legs, “is relaxation.”
“I don’t need relaxation.”
“You literally live with Bruce Wayne. You need it the most.”
Jon let out a snort of laughter.
Damian shot him a glare. “Shut up, Kent.”
Jon just grinned wider, looking far too content. “Nope.”
You chuckled, letting your head fall back against the chair. “Face it, Damian. You like it here.”
“I hate this.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“I loathe you.”
You didn’t miss the way his shoulders had slowly started to loosen.
Or the way his scowl wasn’t as deep as before.
“You love me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
Jon let out a happy sigh, sinking deeper into his chair. “I knew you had a good plan.”
You shot him finger guns. “Always do.”
Jon chuckled, then suddenly let out a little noise of contentment as the massage therapist pressed into his shoulders just right. He melted into the chair, the sheer bliss evident on his face.
“Aww,” you cooed, reaching over to gently pat his head. “Look at you, kid. Living the life.”
Jon made a happy little noise in response, fully leaning into the massage.
Damian scowled. “Are you coddling him?”
“Yes,” you said immediately.
Damian scoffed. “Ridiculous.”
You smirked. “Oh, I’m sorry, would you like to be coddled?”
Damian’s entire face twisted into disgust. “Absolutely not.”
You laughed, nudging Jon. “See? He’s jealous.”
Jon barely opened one eye, too relaxed to care. “Yep.”
Damian turned his glare to him now. “Shut up, Kent.”
Jon just smiled. “Just saying the truth, Damian.”
“You wish.”
You stifled a laugh, watching Damian attempt to shrink further into his chair, clearly regretting ever coming along. You were definitely going to remind him of this later.
The spa had been a fantastic idea—well, for you and Jon, at least.
Damian? Not so much.
At first, he acted as if he were enduring actual torture. When they tried to give him a robe, he scowled as if they’d offered him poison. When they led him to the massage chair, he sat down stiffly, arms crossed, eyes darting around as though expecting an assassination attempt. The moment the massage therapist placed their hands on his shoulders, his entire body locked up.
“This is unnecessary,” Damian muttered as you and Jon stifled your laughter.
“Oh, absolutely,” you said, leaning back as a technician buffed your nails. “Completely unnecessary. That’s why you’re staying right there and relaxing.”
“I am always relaxed.”
You and Jon shared a look.
Jon, his face already covered in a cooling mask, turned toward Damian. “Dude, your entire body is clenched like a steel beam.”
“Tt. I am merely prepared.”
“Prepared for what? A surprise attack by the scented candles?” you teased.
Damian glared at you, but then the massage therapist hit a particular spot on his back, and you swore you saw his soul briefly leave his body. His lips parted slightly, eyes fluttering for a split second before he forcibly locked himself down again, pretending nothing had happened.
“Oh my god,” you grinned. “You liked that.”
Damian turned his head away, nose upturned. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
But he did shift ever so slightly to let the massage therapist work deeper into his back. You and Jon exchanged victorious smirks but wisely didn’t comment further.
Well—except for Jon’s quiet, “Told you you’d like it.”
Damian kicked him under the table.
After a tedious amount of time, Damian had finally let himself relax. Not entirely—he was still Damian, after all—but enough that he no longer looked like he wanted to eviscerate someone.
Jon, meanwhile, had been living the dream since the moment you arrived. You’d made sure to book an extensive package for him, complete with a massage, a face mask, a manicure, and even a foot scrub.
The problem?
Jon’s Kryptonian genes.
The poor spa technicians had no idea what they had signed up for.
It started when they tried using a gua sha stone on his face.
The second they dragged the tool across his cheek, there was a horrifying screech—the sound of something hard scraping against something impenetrable.
The esthetician froze, blinking at the gua sha in her hand.
Jon winced. “Uh…”
Then she tried again. More forcefully.
SCCCRRREEEEEEE—
Damian cringed as the sound echoed through the room, making your ears ring. “That is unbearable.”
“I—I don’t think it’s supposed to sound like that,” Jon said weakly.
The esthetician, determined, switched to a jade roller.
The exact same thing happened.
“Okay,” the woman murmured, frowning. “We’ll, uh, circle back to that.”
Then came the body scrub.
Which was supposed to be exfoliating.
Except the scrub was doing nothing.
Jon, ever the polite one, just smiled sheepishly as the technician literally pushed down with all her strength, trying to get some kind of reaction.
“…You don’t feel anything?” she asked, breathless.
“Uh.” Jon paused. “I mean. It’s kinda nice?”
Damian looked deeply entertained. “This is absurd.”
You nudged him. “You’re absurd.”
“Tt.”
Then came the nail buffing.
Oh, the nail buffing.
The technician tasked with filing Jon’s nails was genuinely putting her whole body into it. You could see her arm muscles flexing as she went back and forth, desperately trying to shape his nails with an emery board that had already worn down to nothing.
At one point, she wiped her forehead. “Are you sure you’re not wearing, like… armor?”
Jon laughed nervously. “Nope, this is, uh, all-natural.”
The woman blinked. Then, deciding to just accept that reality was being weird today, simply nodded.
“Alright,” she said. “We’ll… figure something out.”
Jon beamed. “Thanks!”
You patted his head. “Good job, buddy.”
Jon grinned. “I think this is nice.”
And truly, it was. You were finally getting a break, Damian had sort of warmed up to the experience, and Jon was having the time of his life.
It was peaceful.
It was relaxing.
It was exactly what you needed.
So, of course, something had to go wrong.
The peace was shattered by the sound of screaming outside.
Your head snapped toward the spa entrance just in time to see a group of civilians running past in a panic. Then—explosions.
And the unmistakable whir of something mechanical.
You bolted upright.
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”
Jon was already standing, ripping the robe off and revealing his Superboy costume underneath.
Damian, meanwhile, pulled a full Batman move by seemingly materializing his utility belt and weapons out of nowhere.
Before you could even say anything, the two boys were gone—leaping straight out the spa’s open balcony.
You turned to the wide-eyed spa staff, letting out a long sigh.
“Boys being boys, am I right?” You forced a smile, desperately trying to cover up the awkwardness of the situation. “They’re die-hard fans for action. Can’t help themselves.”
For a brief moment, the room was silent as the estheticians exchanged confused glances.
Then, in the most awkward and abrupt way possible, you scrambled to grab your purse, fumbling around as you threw an absolutely ridiculous sum of cash onto the counter—enough to more than cover the treatments, plus a hefty tip for the staff that definitely deserved more than a little credit for surviving this spa chaos.
The technicians just stared at the money, stunned into silence.
You didn’t stick around for questions.
You bolted after the two boys—still wrapped in your robe, your hair tied up in a towel, and your face mask half-finished.
You were praying—praying—that the day would somehow not end up on the news—though you knew full well that was already a lost cause. But hey, at least you were going to have one heck of a story to tell.
You finally made it to the street corner, and saw Amazo-tech robots rampaging through the streets, blasting apart cars and sending civilians running. Jon was in the air, flying between them, lasers shooting from his eyes as he took them down one by one. Damian was on the ground, expertly maneuvering around, slicing through the robots’ weak points.
You were impressed.
But you were also trying not to yell at the two boys.
Because Damian was still wearing his spa robe over his Robin suit.
And Jon still had his facial mask on.
“Just once,” you muttered to yourself, laughing despite the absurdity. “Just once, I want a normal day out.”
But then again, in Gotham, that was never going to happen.
The Batcave had never felt so… tense. The lights flickered above, casting shadows that seemed to mirror the dark expressions of the adults standing before you. You, Damian, and Jon stood side by side, feeling the weight of their scrutiny.
Bruce was standing at the forefront, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his eyes narrow and calculating. Alfred, behind him, looked as if he were about to take away all your privileges for the rest of your lives. Clark had one hand over his face, clearly trying to stifle an impending headache, while Lois had her fingers pressed to the bridge of her nose, fighting the urge to explode in frustration.
The silence stretched on, suffocating. Then, finally, Bruce spoke, his voice quiet but stern.
“So,” he said, voice level. “Would you care to explain yourselves?”
Before you could even open your mouth—
“It was her idea,” Damian said immediately, pointing at you.
Your jaw dropped. “Excuse me—”
He met your glare with a simple, “You were the adult in charge.”
You gaped at him. “Oh, so now I’m the adult?! When I was paying for the spa day, you were more than happy to—”
“Tt.”
“Don’t you ‘Tt’ me, you little shit..!”.”
Bruce let out a long, suffering sigh.
Jon cleared his throat. “It all worked out, though. We saved the day, didn’t we?”
The adults all exchanged a look, their faces unreadable for a moment. Lois then shakes her head and pulled out her phone, tapping something before showing the screen.
It was a photo.
A civilian had snapped a very clear picture of the battle—showing Robin, still in his spa robe, kicking an Amazo-robot in the face while Superboy, face still covered in a facial mask, was mid-air punching another.
It was already trending.
Jon looked at it.
Then, sheepishly, he shrugged.
“…It was nice...?”
Clark just let out a hearty chuckle.
“Well, it’s a memorable way to save Gotham. At least you three enjoyed yourselves.” he said, earning a small chuckle from Lois.
Bruce closed his eyes, clearly questioning his life choices. He rubbed his temples as Lois and Clark just share a look. “….We will discuss this later. Go and get yourselves cleaned up.”
It’s safe to say that your grounding just got a whole lot longer.
i had this as a scene to write for undoing fate but it didn’t quite fit into it as much as i’d like it to so it became a oneshot outside of it instead (completely unrelated to undoing fate but you can imagine it happening between chapter 7-9 when they’re posted lol) but hope you guys enjoyed this 🫶
taglist (open): @k1arar3 @kingshitonly @rainnyydaysworld @ceridwyn3 @darkfaethedestroyer @blueiones @strwberryglass @lithiumval @thephantomdanny @eli-mayhaveatencats @rockyeatrock @dreaming-of-the-reality @shirp-collector-of-fixations @gneepgnorpsneepsnorp @skerbablo @dind1n @gwyneveire @yukixies @kristalag @greantii | ask to be added <3
this feels nostalgic
“He even got a picture of all three boys, together, in Times Square. Smiling. Like a family.”
FAMILY, FAMILY DEAR BATS 🦇
synopsis : What happens when a normal reader enters Batfamily. Not by getting orphaned or saved but rather just visiting her uncle for the first time ( it's Bruce ). Now somehow she's become the unofficial therapist of this family and for unknown reasons the only one with enough common sense.Also why is everyone so Overprotective?
Or
Normal reader X Platonic yandere Batfamily
Chapter 2 :-
Your eyes twinkled open all while you took your surroundings into view. This most definitely wasn't your room. It was too large yet had a tiny elegance to it. Your mind raked where you were -- seconds passed before you realised you were indeed at your uncle's place.
Getting off the bed, you made your way to the bathroom and freshened yourself up. Your eyes which were in a daze snap open sharply. You smile at your reflection before coming out.
Walking out you passed through the large and bright hallways and made your way to the kitchen. Mr. Alfred, you remember, was busy making breakfast. " Good morning, Mr Alfred." He greeted you with a smile. The man had a stern yet soft look in his eyes when he glanced in your direction.
Passing you an eloquent smile he pushed the seat back for you. " Good morning, Miss Julia. You've woken quite early. " You nodded, " I'm an early wake. Also-" You said turning your head left and right. " Where are my parents?"
" They informed me they had to leave early due to an emergency at work. I was told to inform you when you woke.. "
Wow, your parents really just left you. What happened to spending a few days there? Really- still you couldn't blame them, they always made time for you but sometimes the work got too heavy or an emergency arrived. " Seems like them. " You sighed while taking a seat.
Mr. Alfred placed breakfast in front of you. You gasped at the amount, it looked like it could feed ten people. Looking back and forth you asked, " Will my cousins or someone else be joining us? "
Mr. Alfred blinked before a smile found its way on his lips. " Master Duke will be joining us." You had a hard time believing he could eat this much. But hey! It's not like you were familiar with how much a young adult ate.
As if on que you heard a voice from behind, failing to prevent himself from yawning. " Good morning Alfred. What's for breakfast?” Alfred motioned him to look at the table. You heard a gasp, “ Wow, you really prepared a lot! Is everyone coming back already?”
“ They should arrive by evening. Also-” Alfred coughed, his eyes pointing to you. “ You ought to greet our guest.” The boy's eyes finally scan and spot you.
You slightly turned your head and looked at him. He was really handsome you thought. His skin was practically glowing but the dark circle near his eyes told you he barely slept.
He came closer and took a seat next to you. Extending his hand and a smile bright on his lips, he greeted you. “ Sorry about that. I was kind of sleepy. Nice to meet you uhh-.” You shake his hand and smile right back. “ Julia..” You reply, “ A pleasure to meet you too.”
“ Duke.” He says and takes a seat. You don't notice him examining you while you eat. He follows your movements and begins to eat.
So this is Y/n Julia.
You look so ordinary, practically so small. He scans you with his eyes and powers and finds you to not be a threat. You turn to him confused as to why he's been staring at you for the past five minutes.
He places some more eggs on your plate. “ Eat more.” You nodded. “ You have some more too.” You passed him some ham. Both of you chatted with each other and despite him being at least six years older, you were able to enjoy yourself.
Duke was really good at talking.
“ Do you want me to give you a tour through the city? We can visit the hospitals too!” Wow he really was nice. You practically grinned, “ I would really like that!” Duke smiled back.
He was feeling like a big brother right now. A real one.
He's always wanted a little sibling he could take care of and spend time with. He remembers begging his parents for some. They laughed nervously and told him maybe in the future.
Then they died and he lost every chance of it.
When he got adopted by Bruce, he was scared. His new siblings were nice but they all kept their distance. Though with time he'd gotten closer to them all. Even Damien. But his relationship with them all was nothing more than a convenience. To each of them, every single one of them was but a teammate. Just a small part in their great mission.
Duke had changed in the eight years he was under Bruce's roof. He got more cruel, more efficient and more…emotionless. He had lost any desire for love and care. He couldn't even be brothered anymore.
Now talking to you, he felt hope brimming. Bruce had already told them all about your family's existence. When he read your file, after it was passed around among his siblings who for some reason just love to mess with each other. He remembers not caring.
He wants to hit his past self right now. Even if it was him from an hour ago.
Also
Your picture did not do you justice.
You look lots more livelier than the picture shows. His eyes have gotten soft in just an hour. That's something none of his siblings would ever believe. Him being kind and smiling with someone? That's practically unheard off! They'll probably try to run some rest on him later. He can already feel a headache coming.
But he feels they would understand him. They're all the same kind of monsters after all. He can already see you meeting them and them taking a liking to you instantly, just like he has.
“ Duke, are you listening?”
He turns his attention back to you. Your bright eyes stare at him with full attention and kindness. He smiles.
“ I am..” you go right back in for your live of medicine.
This is perhaps his first time talking to someone normal. Someone who isn't a vigilante, someone who isn't traumatized.
Just a normal, bright kid.
His ears sharpen in edge and his eyes slightly flicker when he hears the footsteps. Bruce is doing it on purpose to not freak you out. He sees Bruce make way to the living room, where you both have taken a seat and are talking. You of course see him and greet him with a smile.
“ Good morning, Uncle Bruce.”
Bruce pauses before smiling. “ Good morning Julia.” He takes a seat next to you. “ You're quite an early riser. I've never seen any of my children ever wake so early.” He sighs under a smile.
“ Really?”
“ Yes. They all love to sleep late, when they are home that is.” You wouldn't know but his last bit is meant for someone else.Duke inwardly scoffs. “ They must be home often then.” Bruce freezes and you feel his smile falter before returning to his face. “ They come when they wish.”
You nod.
Duke already wants to leave. Despite all that Bruce has done for him, he can't make himself stay in his presence for long. Especially if it's not related to vigilante work. He gets up and your attention turns to him. “ Duke?” You ask.
He smiles and pinches your cheeks. “ I've got some work to do. Let's hang out later, ‘kay?” You nod. Duke shoots Bruce a stare before leaving. You don't notice since it's very quick and subtle
Once Duke disappears, Bruce turns your attention back to him.
“ It's nice to see you get along with him.”
“ Duke's nice so I wouldn't take the credit.” You reply. You have no idea how cruel and emotionless he is. Bruce would say he was surprised when he saw you both chatting and smiling earlier. Duke has never been this open in front of anyone. Not even his siblings.
“ I wouldn't put myself down there. You're good at socializing.” you blush. “ Thanks…”
He smiles. “ So I heard you love medicine. Are you planning on pursuing it?”
“ I am. It's been a dream for me forever!”
“ That's nice.” He doesn't realise when his hand moves closer and ruffles your hair. He starts and pulls back quickly. “ Sorry.. I didn't realize-”
“ It's fine uncle. You can do it again.” You allow him to pat your head. He smiles at the warmth you give.
“ So uncle Bruce, when are the others coming? I would love to meet them!” especially if they are nice like Duke.
“ Right ! They should arrive right-wing” suddenly there is a loud bang and the ground shakes. You about to fall is steadied by Bruce and he helps you get stable. “ You alright?” Bruce asks seriously. “ I'm… fine.”
“ What was that!” Bruce says nothing, just points at the direction of the sound.
“ Master Damien and Master Jason. What are you both doing?” You hear Alfred's voice. He's scolding someone. Bruce and you walk out and you see two men getting scolded by Alfred.
“ It was Todd's fault, Pennyworth. I have done nothing wrong. “ You see the shorter one trying to defend himself. His face has a big blue spot forming. Probably due to a punch.
“ Don't put the blame on me Demon brat! Alfie I'm telling you! It was all him. “ The taller one argues back. You see blood falling down his arms.
Your glance at Alfred who looks like a tired dad ready to bamg his head on the wall. Bruce takes his place next to you and pats your head again.
“ Here they are.” You hear Bruce sigh holding his nose bridge like a tired parent. “ Welcome to our Mansion Julia.”
Damn-
TBC…
Coming chapters will be uploaded slowly, also if anyone wants to be added to the tag list, kindly message or comment.
All our batfam has a dark and cute side. So look forward to it ^_^ Also to everyone wondering why I gave reader the name Julia. It's a Nickname I thought would be cute. ( I don't know what it means but it kind of rhyme with jewel. So I wrote it in that context, since she's going to be like a jewel to them.)
Still if everyone wants I'll use y/n or name ( tell me what u all prefer) in the coming chapters ≧﹏≦
Thanks for reading 🩷
The Forgotten Sister
Chapter I - III
Pairing: Ekko x Fem!Reader
Tags: Minimal use of Y/N, no specific description of the reader, friends to lovers, CW swearing, CW blood, CW injury, CW violence, CW guns, TW death
A/N: I might have gotten carried away with how long this got…
Chapter II
"I missed you too..."
Feeling your sobs begin to calm and your eyes begin to puff from all the tears that cascaded down your cheeks, you gingerly take a small step back without entirely leaving your sister's embrace. Just enough to finally get a proper look at the face that changed with time. Vi was undoubtedly no longer the girl you remember looking up to as a child. The soft roundness of her cheeks that came with childhood was now replaced by sharp, hard lines with scars in places that weren't there before. And yet, despite the changes brought about by years apart, Vi looked... young. Like she hadn't lived with the chaos that covered Zaun like a blanket. Like she hadn't seen the death and destruction that followed as Silco flooded the Lanes with his damn shimmer.
"Where have you been all these years?" you ask, voice still trembling with emotion as your thumb traces over the tattoo on her cheekbone.
"I was... I was in Stillwater... But that doesn't matter! All that matters is that I'm here now." Vi says, head tilting lovingly into your touch.
"You were in Stillwater? All this time? Why?! H-how did you get out?"
"... someone... got me out,"
"It's the enforcer, isn't it?" Ekko says suddenly.
Having stood quietly from the side and letting you two sisters have your moment, a reunion long since overdue. Having watched with a soft chuckle as you bawled your eyes out and wet snot dripped down your chin. But now he stood with his stance firm and stiff. Arms crossed against his chest as the steel mask of a leader clicked into place on his handsome face.
"...an enforcer?" You gasp, involuntarily stepping away from your sister's embrace.
Your body physically recoiled from Vi, like her touch shimmered itself. Vi whispers your name, hurt flashing across her face at your visceral reaction.
But she didn't understand. She didn't know. The blood that painted your hands red and the disgusting sticky feeling that came with it from all the people who bled at your doorstep. People whose lives you so desperately tried to save as they lay dying. Beaten half to death by fucking enforcers. Some of them were sanctioned by Piltover, while others were greedy fuckers with pockets heavy with Silco's coin. And they said fissure folk were the shitty ones.
She doesn't know...
You tried to reason with yourself. But feelings of disgust and betrayal filled you faster than you could stop them. You take another step back, moving in line with Ekko. Gone was the love, replaced by suspicion and mistrust. The man beside you bumps his shoulder against yours, pulling your attention. You look at each other in silent conversation. He tilts his head in a gesture to somewhere, yet nowhere in particular. The movement you follow with a flick of your eyes, immediately knowing the message behind it. An understanding passed between you two confirmed with a nod.
"There's something we gotta show you," Ekko says to Vi before moving to lead the way.
You hobble after him silently, your cane thumping against the wooden floor, ignoring the confusion splayed on Vi's face. Seeing that none of you two were planning to explain anything further, she rushes to follow after. Opting to lag a bit ways behind. Taking in the view around her. A view so different than what you'd usually expect from Zaun. The sun bathed the base with a beautiful, bright glow. Its warmth touching the skin of her cheek as it peaked through the leaves. Children laughed and played, chasing after one another beneath the shade of firelight leaves. People walked and talked about, free from worry and strife. It was beautiful. Amazing what the group has accomplished in seven years. A small hidden reprieve from the chaos of the Lanes.
At the last set of stairs down the tree, steeper and more uneven than the rest, Ekko offers his elbow to you like clockwork. Carefully, you clamber down the steep stairs. Hand gripping tightly onto Ekko's forearm as your weak knee wobbled with every step. Vi rushes to hold onto you, hand about to reach for your other arm, when Ekko stops her with a chuckle.
"She'll smack you if you do that. And besides," he says, eyes looking towards you. Lovingly... longingly. A gaze much unbeknownst to you as you grunted at the feel of uncomfortable pressure straining against your knee at each step.
"She's doing great,"
"Damn right. My knee won't get stronger being babied," you hiss, taking another shaky step down onto the floor.
Finally...
You breathe a sigh of relief at the feeling of solid ground beneath your feet that doesn't quake or buckle at the slightest tremble of your knee.
Ekko really needs to fix these last few steps...
They wobbled too much for your liking. And they creaked in weird places that always made you antsy. Yep, he definitely needs to fix these. The man in question has stopped beside you, arm still outstretched, waiting as you find your bearings.
"You alright?" He whispers.
"Yeah, thank you for being such an excellent handrail." You whisper teasingly, giving his arm a playful pinch before letting go.
Ekko chuckles, shaking his head as he trudges forward a few paces before stopping. You follow, hobbling to a stop beside him. Eyes forward, looking at the slab of wall that makes up a part of the tree. A mural. A place of homage. A reminder of what you've all had to sacrifice.
"This is everyone that we've lost..." Ekko says, his voice somber as he looks at the colorful, familiar faces on the wall. Faces of loved ones, faces of lost ones... lost... but never forgotten.
"The price of our freedom..." you sigh.
"Some of it was enforcers... most was Silco."
Ekko wraps a pinky around yours. For comfort, you reckoned. But you weren't sure if he meant for you or for himself.
"Your sister works for him not because she has to but because she wants to."
Vi looks away. Expression torn, hurt. And your heart ached for her.
"I see you've found Jinx,"
"Her name is Powder... You're her sister! How can you call her that?"
"She hasn't been Powder in a long time, Vi,"
"So? Are you gonna ask me to leave her?! Is that what you did?!”
In a rush of fury, she lunges at you, hands grabbing onto the lapels of your coat, pulling you roughly towards her. Knuckles holding tight as you watched them turn white. Vi locked eyes with yours. A fire blazing hot behind those baby blues. But they did not burn you. Tone, cold as ice, you spit your next words, sharp like a knife. Meant to cut, meant to bleed.
"I... wasn't the one who left."
Vi breathes a heavy sigh like a fire doused with a bucket of cold water. Gently releasing you before stepping away, hiding her face behind the length of her hair. Ekko steps behind you as you stumble, steadying you. Eyes roaming over yours in worry, only calming once you gave him a nod.
You were alright...
"Look, Vi, I don't blame you for being gone. But you were gone for so long... things have changed. We, have changed,"
You step towards her, hand on her shoulder, gently squeezing it.
"Besides, we still have that... enforcer... friend of yours."
"Seems like I just keep making you mad today,"
"I remember it being... a unique talent of yours,"
Vi breathes an airy chuckle, turning to face you. Looking at you, like seeing you for the first time. You used to be so small, so frail. Someone she needed to protect. Like Powder... But now, look at you... You still limped, yes, but you stood tall. Eyes sharp, hands strong and steady. And you didn't take shit from anyone. You really grew up without her.
Turning towards Ekko, Vi says, "Her name is Caitlyn. She's after Silco. It's why she got me out in the first place. You can trust her. I promise."
You and Ekko give each other a look. Another silent conversation ensues. He nods, and you nod back.
"Alright, come on," he says before moving forward. You trailing behind him.
You both lead Vi through a tunnel-like vent in the wall, an exhaust pipe opening large enough for people to pass through. There, you find two boys, Mach and Tun, playing around. Pulling at their cheeks, making funny faces, and challenging the other to hold their laugh the longest. The same two boys who were supposed to be watching over the makeshift prison cell.
"Hey! How's our guest?" Ekko says, greeting the boys who squealed in excitement at the sight of him.
They scream his name happily as they run around him in excited circles before jumping towards you, pulling at the hem of your shirt, almost making you stumble.
"She's loud,"
"She shouts a lot,"
The two boys giggle in unison.
"Alright, you two, let's get her outta there," Ekko says, chuckling as the boys give a resounding "Yessir!".
Pulling down their masks, they race for the keys hanging on a hook beside the door. Pushing and shoving each other for it before Tun finally gets a hold of them with a triumphant "Yes!". Slotting the key into the lock, the gears turn and unlock with a click as the door swings open with a loud squeak. Inside, handcuffed to a statue in the center of the room, was a girl with a sack still tied around her head. Her identity may be hidden, but her role is betrayed by the golden edges of her uniform. Hidden by whatever she wore on top, it glinted where the light would hit. Shining despite the darkness of the room.
She grunted as she fought against her restraints, wiggling about and head snapping to the sound of something swinging open somewhere she couldn't see. To Tun's annoyance, Mach successfully grabs the keys from his hands and runs into the room, undoing the cuffs before pulling the sack off her head. Eyes blinking at the sudden glare, her hazy vision lands on the hand in front of her. A hand fully intending to help her up. The moment her eyes cleared, she slaps the offending appendage away. Mach gasps at the impact, moving away towards you and Ekko by the door. The woman's eyes follow the movement. Her sharp eyebrows pinched as her deep blue eyes narrowed, she glared at the two of you with all the anger she could muster.
"What have you done with Vi?"
... this is Caitlyn?
Also, thank you to those who thought chapter 1 was worth reading!!
@silas-222
@scarletrosesposts
Do you do batfamily? I literally love your profile aesthetic and I think it would be really cool something like girly reader who is the youngest in the batfamily, I think it would be funny the boys dealing with her and everything. ily🤍
“I PRESSED HIDE ICONS BUT I CAN STILL SEE ME” ── .✦ DOLLISH ⋆. 𐙚 ˚
A/n: this literally made me laugh but tysm ily too, but literally i tried to balance this with sass + a girl who likes pink and other colors instead of stereotypical pink girly girl and etc but if this is not correct then sorry because i only have one sister and a brother and i’m oldest out of all of them.
tags: batfamily x girly!batsis
⋆. 𐙚 ˚
The manor is, of course, dark and filled with heavy, old-fashioned furniture. Meanwhile, you’re room is beautiful with subtle hints of pink decor and white, and a beautiful walk in closet, and your room is the only spot with cozy, neutral decor and soft pinks, which you somehow convinced Alfred was “tasteful and happy”
Bruce pretends he doesn’t notice the little decorative changes you make around the house, like the rose-gold lamp in the hallway or the fresh flowers on the dining table. Alfred, though, secretly loves it because it makes the place feel a little less like a ‘depressive episode’ (I’m convinced if someone suicidal went in that manor they would likely fucking commit at this rate).
“CINDERELLA ARE YOU FUCKING READY?!” ── .✦
When you go to family dinners or galas, the boys have come to expect that you’ll need at least an hour to get ready. They used to complain, but now they’ve just accepted it (even if it means sleeping while standing up waiting) And you’re always perfectly dressed, from your hair to your jewelry.
Tim once asked why you had to wear rings on your ring finger without being married, and without missing a beat, you responded, “Because I need to let people know I have style standards, maybe you can learn a or two about fashion, your dressed like a fucking caveman.”
“ITS EXPLAINABLE” ── .✦
Alfred has somehow become your unofficial shopping partner, knowing all your preferred stores and patiently sitting outside the fitting rooms. He’s the only one who will willingly go with you without complaint, and he even knows which colors you like best
Once, Bruce was caught off guard by a credit card alert because it was awhile someone spent THAT much money and asked Alfred about it. Alfred just responded calmly, “It was for necessary purchases, Master Wayne,” even though the “necessary purchases” included a ton of “designer” things.
── .✦
Damian once challenged you to a chess match, thinking he could beat you easily. Halfway through, you made a risky move, looked him dead in the eye, and said, “You’re about to see a queen move.” Damian lost, and he’s still confused about how it happened.
One morning, Dick said, “Isn’t it a little early for all the glam and glitter?” You just gave him a look and said, “Isn’t it a little late for you to be alive, your social security number is probably one.
YOUR BEAUTY PRODUCTS BECOMING A ATTEMPT ON PEOPLES LIVES ── .✦
Bruce has almost tripped on your eyelash curler twice. The family has also officially banned you from putting skincare masks in the fridge after Jason mistook your green tea gel eye masks for some kind of salad topping (the worse part is… he ate the whole thing and didn’t realize until he went shopping trying to find the exact one until he found it in the skincare aisle instead of the salad dressing aisle…)
Tim opened the wrong drawer in your room once, and it looked like a makeup frenzy had exploded. Lip glosses, nail polishes, tiny skincare samples, and sheet masks cascaded out, and he just stood there, baffled by how much one person could need, (he thought you ran a business for a few days after.)
── .✦
You also gave Bruce a mini heart attack when you told him you wanted a different laptop because “this one’s too boring.” The Batcomputer tech isn’t boring, but you wanted a rose-gold case and “a vibe,” so Bruce ended up ordering one in the exact shade you wanted.
The family group chat is complete chaos. You regularly send pictures of quotes from romance novels, and the occasional inspirational meme with sparkles. Once, you sent a photo of the living room and asked, “Could we get some lighter curtains in here? For my aesthetic and mental well being?”
Whenever someone’s late, you flood the chat with passive-aggressive texts like, “Jason, do you know what ‘be here at 6 PM’ means?” or “Dick, if you’re any later, I’ll be old enough to vote for Kamala at this rate.”
MOVIE NIGHTS ── .✦
You insist on watching rom-coms and dramas instead of the usual action movies. Even though the boys groan, you’ve noticed they secretly enjoy the movies by the end. Tim tried to deny it, but he was caught laughing at a scene in white chicks and you swore to never let him forget it.
Once, you convinced them to watch a “fall aesthetic” movie marathon, complete with hot chocolate and fuzzy blankets. Even Jason joined in, and you teased him the whole night, whispering, “Don’t pretend you don’t love a good blanket.
THE OFFICAL FASHION GURU FINALBOSS 💜 ── .✦
You’ve taken it upon yourself to occasionally “advise” the boys on their fashion. If Tim wears a hoodie that’s “two shades too close to ‘depression’ ” you’ll be the first to tell him. You even convinced Damian to try a collared shirt once, though he looked horrified.
Dick gets roasted the most. He walked out wearing cargo shorts once, and you deadpan, “Going for the ‘i’m so old i saw humans evolve’ look i see.” He didn’t change, but he was clearly a little self-conscious the whole day (he never wore cargo shorts ever again…)
SKINCARE TIPS ── .✦
You’ve taught the boys some random facts they never knew, like the importance of hyaluronic acid for skincare and the difference between ballet flats and loafers. They pretend to brush it off, but you’ve overheard Jason giving roy skincare advice using the tips you shared.
When Bruce had a minor scratch on his face from patrol, you casually handed him concealer. “Just dab, blend, and don’t tell anyone,” you said. He followed the instructions without a word (he used to do that before, just impressed you also knew)
THE BABY OF THE FAMILY ── .✦
As the youngest, you know how to work the “baby sister” angle like a pro. The boys are fiercely protective, and any time you need a ride, money for something “totally essential,” or help with homework, you can count on one of them stepping up.
Once, you asked Damian to grab something from a high shelf for you, and when he hesitated, you hit him with, “Guess i really am alone without a good brother..” He ended up grabbing it for you with a grumble, but you swear you saw him smirk.
@dollishbabess made by me, do not translate, or repost or copy.
Second divider: @cafekitsune, other dividers not sure I kinda forgot sorry
BATBOYS’ reaction to you asking to do their makeup
Bruce Wayne:
- Would give you a gruff, “No.”
- He loves you, but that’s simply not something he’s interested in.
- You bring it up a few more times and the answer is always the same.
- And then one day, he stares at you while you’re sitting at the expensive vanity he bought you, watching you as you do your eyeliner.
- “You can put that on me,” he says after a few moments of mental gymnastics.
- You turn towards him, slightly surprised. “Huh?”
- He’s not fond of repeating himself, so he’d just pat his thigh.
- You’re getting up, because this is a chance of a lifetime, and you quickly settle yourself on his lap.
- His hands hold your hips. He looks at you with those pretty blue eyes expectantly.
- “Do you want a cat eye? Smokey?” You cup his jaw with your free hand, tilting it.
- He grunts in response. Probably a “be quiet and do it” grunt.
- He waits patiently as your fingers work, following your soft-spoken instructions to close his eyelids or look up. Other than that, he’s not moving an inch.
- You do something simple—just under his waterline, above his top eyelashes.
- When you're done, you drag him over to the mirror. You weren’t sure what his reaction would be.
- “Hm.” The noise is acknowledging, not displeased.
- You smile at him. “Do you like it?”
- There’s a difference between liking it and not being bothered by it.
- Still, he gives you an imperceptible nod. Just to see you smile wider.
- He didn’t take it off for patrol. His kids teased him about it, and Alfred had a barely-concealed humored expression.
- It’s the only thing he’ll let you do. He doesn’t ask, but at this point, he expects you to put it on.
- It’s a reminder of you while he’s out, that you’re waiting for him to come back.
Dick Grayson:
- He would probably ask you to do it, instead of the other way around.
- Just out of curiosity.
- But if you brought it up first, he’s immediately sitting.
- “Make me look pretty,” as if he already isn’t.
- He’d let you do what you want, however he’ll mention how certain colors don’t look good on him.
- Wouldn’t protest if you did a full face. He feels like a pampered princess, and he definitely enjoys the attention you’re giving him.
- He needs progress updates, and information on what you’re using.
- He’ll try to make you annoyed by shutting his eyes when you tell him not to, or talking in the middle of lipstick application.
- “Do you want to be gorgeous or not?” you huff.
- Yes, he does. He quickly stops.
- When you’re done, he’s gasping at himself, fluttering his lashes.
- He wants to match with you, so he offers to do yours.
- Sits in your lap, just like you did with him.
- It’s…a process.
- But it’s not half bad.
- You both take selfies together.
- He’s your devoted expirementee, now.
- He sets himself up by sending some of the photos to the Bat-Family group chat.
- Gets hounded on by Jason. Heavily.
- Does he care? Absolutely not. They are totally jealous.
Jason Todd:
- He’s going to laugh in your face. Sorry.
- And then it turns into confusion when he sees how serious you are.
- He’d shut it down, at first, but he keeps thinking about it for some reason.
- Secretly scrolls on his phone to look at things that he might like.
- Eventually, he approaches you, inspiration picture in hand, and says, “It has to look exactly like this or you’re fired.”
- It’s simple: light eyeshadow, some eyeliner. Stuff that isn’t super heavy and is still “masculine”.
- He can hear the teasing he’d hypothetically endure from everyone as you do it. It pisses him off.
- And then you murmur praises like, “You’re so handsome,” and suddenly he doesn’t care. It’s for you.
- Despite his lighthearted threat, he requests more things, just so you can keep giving him attention.
- Like Grayson, he’d question what you were using. He’d throw in some stupid comments about how using your fingers to apply stuff would be easier.
- When you’re finished and show him, he doesn’t actually mind it.
- “You didn’t fuck it up,” he mumbles.
- He’ll let you do it again. He finds himself enjoying it—the feeling of your soft brushes against his skin, and how you’d gently guide his head to where you want it.
- One time, while you were perched on his lap, focusing on applying, the door opened. Dick was mid-sentence before he finally processed what was going on.
- “Oh, wow.”
- To make things worse, he snapped a picture and suddenly you were moved off of Jason’s lap.
- Cue the super unnecessary and dramatic chase in an attempt to get Grayson to delete it.
Tim Drake:
- He’d look flustered. Why?
- You’d have to explain it’s just for fun, and how you’re bored.
- He’ll begrudgingly agree. He supposed there’s no harm.
- He wants you to tell him what you’re doing as you work. He’s nervous, like you’re going to poke him in the eye or something.
- You don’t want him to be uncomfortable, so you ask, “Do you want me to stop?”
- Well, your presence and warmth on his lap is enjoyable, and he shakes his head.
- It has his brain quiet down. He just listens to you. He absentmindedly leans into your touch sometimes.
- “Do you want glitter?”
- “I do want glitter,” he murmurs. The sentence has his cheeks heat up. When has he ever wanted glitter?
- Of course you don’t tease him, even if it’s cute.
- After you finish, he isn’t sure how to react. He gives an awkward smile.
- “It would look better on you.”
- While you put away your makeup, it seems everyone decided they needed him for something.
- He honestly forgot he had it on, so he’s confused why Jason is laughing and Dick is trying not to. Damian looks as amused as he can get.
- Bruce, a clueless bypasser, pauses for a moment. He makes an inquisitive hum before he keeps walking.
- You force all of them to apologize and send them on their way. Tim, who is so very embarrassed, gets an extra amount of love from you.
Damian Wayne:
- Damian would stare you down for an unholy amount of time, like you just said the stupidest thing he’s ever heard.
- He’s expecting you to backtrack, to take it back. It is a stupid idea.
- But you’re immune. You give him a soft smile. “Please?”
- He dislikes how easily he gives in. Very, very much.
- He grumbles a lot, insulting you, even as he holds still.
- He lists things you owe him for letting you do this. A lot of them are said just to mess with you.
- At some point, he gets less irritated. It’s only because he’s grown tired of wasting his breath.
- You give him the handheld mirror when you’re done, and he takes a long while to inspect himself. He doesn’t care about the fact that there’s winged eyeliner on his face, he cares that they are uneven.
- He gives you criticism. Actual, somewhat informative criticism.
- “You need to blend outwards, not in.”
- He makes you fix it until there’s no mistakes.
- It’s actually a weird and kind of unbelievable experience for you.
- You are never doing it again—you wanted to have fun, not be reprimanded.
- He still has it on when Alfred calls for dinner.
- They all kind of stare. They’re too confused to comment.
- “Am I high?” Jason whispers quietly.
- The only thing Damian says is, “Can someone pass me the salt?”
doing their nails
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