Muskan

He followed every step you took until your hips hit the counter, and groaned when you teasingly swayed your hips making you giggle.

“What?” You chuckled breathlessly at his gentle but firm grip on your waist, always mindful of his strength.

“You sweet, sweet minx.”

Clark noses at the crook of your neck but inhaling your scent only made him harden further.

“Love,” Clark chuckles when you feigned ignorance, humming questioningly at him when you reached for your toothbrush. Only for it to clatter on the counter when he spun you around. Your body grew warm at the smile stretching across his face as his head tilted, looking at you through squinted eyes.

You bit your lip, trying to contain the thrill that ran down your spine. The look on his face may have been pure sweetness on the outside, but the need to feel you have consumed his entire being.

The recent attack in Gotham had forced Bruce to ask for help and kept Clark away from you for days—he’s had his fill of the gloominess that never seemed to fade from that city’s atmosphere so your teasing after days of painful longing for just a glimpse of you had him the tiniest bit frustrated.

You might argue it’s only been four days, but for him it’s four days too long. Four gruesome days of not having you in his arms, separated even in your sleep.

You spin around and toy with the wet curls on the back of his head before cupping it, angling your face to close the gap between you. Finally giving in before you’ve provoked him further—before he ignores the already pooling arousal between your legs.

But Clark didn’t give you the pleasure of feeling his soft lips against yours. Making you gasp as he spun you back around, the motion causing your robe to slowly slide down your shoulders, his lips following the cloth down and up your shoulders. Hooded eyes looking at you through the mirror as his breath grazes your ear, causing you to whine.

“Please…”

His large hand gropes your breast, thumb playing with your pert nipple through your robe. Playfully nipping at your eat before softly pecking the sensitive skin of your neck.

“Hmm, I thought you didn’t want to?” His voice was breathy, lightheaded just from your closeness.

“Clar-k—ah.”

He continued squeezing your breast lovingly—thumbing your nipple through the fabric of your robe when your fingers desperately pulled the strands of his hair.

Clark couldn’t get enough of your scent, even with his face buried in the sensitive skin of your neck, the scent of your arousal pooling between your thighs had a trembling sigh escaping his lips.

You released your bruising grip from his hair, slowly guiding him past the slit of your soft robe to the heat between your thighs. “Oh, honey…” your heat welcomed his thick fingers immediately, clenching around him, afraid he’d pull away—tease you further.

But in Clark’s eyes, you were the tease.

Your reflection rivals the moon that he’s seen up close—your heaving breaths made your robe slip down your shoulders with only his thick hand keeping the fabric from revealing you.

The scent of your arousal had his already ragged breath stuttering in his chest—it didn’t help that he could feel the sweet stickiness between his fingers drip down his wrist and the need to drop to his knees to devour you consumed him.

Yet, he didn’t listen.

Instead, he scissored his digits as he thrusted his fingers making you mewl at the stretch.

“Nggh—Clark….” You throw your head back and Clark took the opportunity to softly kiss your temple. The softness in his touch a contrast to the deep push and pull of his digits.

“I know, honey. I know.”

You braved a look at your reflection and already saw him watching every twitch of pleasure on your face. Watching you was enough for him, and while you share the same sentiment when he’s the one falling apart in your hands, you couldn’t go on feeling empty when you could feel his arousal leak through your robes.

“Need—Clar—please.”

And ever your good boy, his hand bunched up your rode around your waist, smoothly parting your legs with his foot to make room for his throbbing length to nudge its way in between your weeping slit, with the help of his fingers still flush against your clit.

You were about to open your mouth and complain again but the feeling of his fat throbbing tip prodding your hole only forced a groan from your throat. “Good— Cla-rk!”

“Gosh-honey—I-you-golly.” His forehead sought out the warmth of your neck, struggling to keep his brain from melting as he pushed further into you. He failed. Your warm walls squeezed him as he pushed in, gripping and pulling him in like it always does, and he couldn’t help the pathetic sounds that left his throat.

He felt your hand on his waist, thumb rubbing circles on the skin of his hip—as if drawing him out of his brain before he could melt further into it.

Which he did when he felt your fingers flex and his ringing ears cleared up enough to hear your honeyed voice, “Move, honey.”

His hips started moving before he even registered it, slowly, at first, letting out small hiccups of breath against your shoulder before he squeezed the flesh at your hip reverently, pulling far enough back until he missed the warmth of you back and pushing back in.

The groan that left him came from the depths of his chest, the sound causing your needy pussy to clench and leak around his cock further.

His breaths came out in uneven puffs against the sensitive skin of your neck, and with his jaw growing slacker came his mewls in even louder volume. “Mmm- mghh!” You could feel his cock throbbing, “Clark….”

“Hmm?” He asked deliriously, propping his chin on your shoulder and looking at your reflection through lust-lidded eyes. “Need you to go faster, hun..” You pressed your forehead to his temple and saw his gaze fixed on the bounce of your breast—growing more frequent as his thrusts grow deeper and faster.

He felt himself throb at the sight of your scrunched up face against his, “So good f’me, Clarkie…”

His jaw slacks at the feeling of your sloppy kisses from his jaw to the corner of his mouth, almost instinctive when turning his head in your direction—but you don’t let him, not yet. Instead, your fingers dug into his cheeks as you dragged your tongue flat across his cheek to his ear. His hips stuttered, once, twice before a gush of warmth flooded your insides and your wrist is dripping from his squished lips.

You place a tender kiss on his temple and hum when you feel his hips—still twitching and quivering—start to move again. Deeper. Hitting that gummy spot inside you with one particular harsh thrust.

“Go—d! I wanna…have you like this all the time.” He all but slurred out as his hand gripped your hips as he kept pistoning into you from behind, it left your chest stuttering and your hands searching for purchase on the marble against your hips.

His whole face was flushed as you looked at him through the massive bathroom mirror, watching his robe start to slip off his shoulders, the flush on his face spreading down his freckled chest.

Clark nestled his chin in the crook of your neck before wrapping his thick arms around your waist, hips somehow moving faster than before.

He looked at your reflection through hooded lids and his mouth agape, convincing you to shove two fingers, which he immediately started sucking.

“All—ah—th-time?” Your eyes roll to the back of your head when you feel one of his hands squeeze your breast, tweaking your nipples between his fingers.

The globes of your ass pressed flush against his pelvis as he dug himself deeper into you, the sticky mess where your bodies connected squelching obscenely with every pump of his hips.

It didn’t take long before he took his fingers to your neglected clit. He pinched the throbbing bud, causing your fingers to press further into his throat, making him gag and drool further on your hand.

“Alf—da-ffffrickim t’me.” Punctuating his muffled words with each thrust.

And, oh, you wished he would. You wished he’d just take you whenever he felt like it—wished that he’d be just as needy as he was now. Because even as his hands tremble with trepidation—instinct most like—his mind has melted enough that he’d only care for the bruising of your hips against the counter later.

Now, all his usual apprehension vanished into thin air and it’s addictive.

“You can take me whenever you like…” your words came out in broken breaths, feeling drool slip through the corners of your mouth and doing nothing about it. His repeated abuse on your walls pushes out your arousal, creating a white ring at the base of his cock.

The force of his hips against yours shook your fingers out of his mouth, digits trembling against the marble counter as you try to ground yourself. Your drenched fingers making it harder to do so.

He let out an animalistic groan at your words, brain already clouded with visions of him fucking you—waking you from your slumber with his harsh thrusts and wandering touches, maybe even bury his cock in you during your reading time, just warming you from the inside. Clark’s knees almost buckled at the thought.

“Fuck, I will…Thank you, honey—I will,” his sweet voice breathed. “I promise. I—I’ll even spread your legs an—mhng—jus’…suckle on your clit while you nap. You’ll lemme do that—will you? Please?”

Clark’s voice tilted to a needy pitch, temple pressed against yours as his eyes never waver from yours in the mirror. He was tipping from the height of his pleasure, you could tell, and he was taking you with him with every brush of his tip against that sensitive, spongy spot in your cunt.

You look up at the mirror and watch as his form cages you in, back hunching over your bent form while his fingers continue to happily palm your breast and tease your clit between his fingers.

His fingers freeze in time with his hips, sweaty skin molding into your back as he groaned out—the pinch on your clit was what broke you. Your back arched against his chest, nipple grazing the cold marble, and as the white hot pleasure consumed you, traveling from your head down to your fingertips, you felt his thick hot arousal splash in your walls.

He was everywhere in that moment. The cold marble was a stark contrast to the warmth that engulfed you—from the heat that his body exudes across the expanse of your back and his arousal that now traveled down your thighs.

You try to blink the heaviness off your eyes, lashes fluttering rapidly against your wet cheeks, and you were met with the sight of Clark’s eyes already on you. There were still dark, the blues of his eyes a mere rim around his pupils, still bleary but, oh, did they hold so much love.

After everything, he had the gall to look sheepish, to smile shyly—pushing in his dimples—before kissing your flushed cheek. “Thank you…” he breathed, and it only made you laugh harder.

“No need to thank me, honey.” you say, leaning further into his touch.

“Still.”

Ever your stubborn boyfriend, he still thinks that you and your touch was a gift he was oh so lucky to be blessed with—to be surrounded with—like he was a mere man and you were a goddess.

One that he cannot handle being separated from—even if it was only for a few days.

💌 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐞: that black cat(antihero)!reader and clark story? yeah it might not see the light of day...

𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬, 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝!

©𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐩𝐥𝐮𝐦 — DO NOT translate, steal or post my work anywhere else without my permission.𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐀𝐈 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐀𝐘 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐁𝐄 𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐀𝐈 𝐎𝐑 𝐁𝐄 𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐀𝐈 𝐈𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐘.

Alias: Klaus / Psycho.holic Pronouns & Age: 21 - 30 Timezone: UTC +8 / GMT +8 Main Tumblr: @silverklaus

Activity level: 7 / 10 Activeness Boundaries / Triggers / Limits: No Godmodding, No Controlling Character, Trigger Warnings present and will be tagged, Plot Planning if for threads, and NSFW for only age and 18+ muns and muses. Preferred writing style: Any | Adaptive Literate [ sample ]

Anything else?: Might have other accounts I'll think would want to join JL. But for now just this one character.

Clark Kent (CK) | Superboy Prime

Secret Identity Status: Secret Character Blog URL: https://www.tumblr.com/reality-of-prime Ships: Yes Preferred Ships, if any: Primehood ╱ PrimeBat(batman who laughs) ╱ PrimeWitchfire Preferred Character Tag: ⁠ꐚ💭ﹴ ّ PRIME TIME !!

Age: 21+ Height: 5' 11" (180.34 cm) Pronouns: He / Him Gender: Male Physical Description: Looks like a younger, slightly unhinged Clark Kent with dark hair and a trademark forehead spit-curl. Though their similarities ends on his suit: classic blue-and-red superhero suit for a bulky, power-draining armor styled after the Anti-Monitor, and the eye color; looking rather colder than that of the usual blue that Clark Kent has. Face Claim, if any: None atm

⠀𝑷𝑶𝑾𝑬𝑹𝑺⠀⠀⠀⠀POWERS possessing the classic powers of a pre-Crisis hero, as a Kryptonian, but amplified to absurdly extreme levels due to his unique origin. He is essentially a Silver Age-era Superman trapped in the modern DC universe, making him easily one of the most powerful and dangerous entities in existence

𝐢 :⠀ kryptonian physiology ㅤ⇀ cellular structure is more dense, resilient and biologically more effective than human tissue. his body also stores energy actively within his bio-cellular matrix as an energy pattern that is linked to his body's electromagnetic field.

𝐢𝐢 :⠀ energy absorption ㅤ⇀ absorb yellow sun energy to give himself superhuman powers. his absorption is far more efficient, giving him much greater power, but he burns through it at a proportionately faster rate.

𝐢𝐢𝐢 :⠀ superhuman strength ㅤ⇀ augmented by yellow solar radiation interacting with the greater than human density, resilience and biological efficiency of his musculature. able to break out of the Phantom Zone with a punch that rewrote history, and was even strong enough to fight on par with the Darkest Knight, dealing significant damage to him. redemption arc, however, he keeps his immense strength in check, holding back like Superman.

𝐢𝐯 :⠀ shock wave projection ㅤ⇀ strong enough to create powerful sonic booms with just a clap of his hand,

𝐯 :⠀ dimensional travel ㅤ⇀ able to punch his way into "The Library", a realm where all Marvel and DC Comics appear as pages containing entire realities.

𝐯𝐢 :⠀ reality alteration ㅤ⇀ posesses the power to shatter reality through sheer strength.

𝐯𝐢𝐢 :⠀ retcon punch ㅤ⇀ punches can rewrite or "retcon" history itself by causing ripples of energy that literally re-shape space and time. also punch reality until it fractures open, allowing him to fall into Hypertime in order to travel through time.

𝐯𝐢𝐢𝐢 :⠀ 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘶𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘴 ㅤ⇀ can fire blasts of telekinetic energy.

𝐢𝐱 :⠀ superhuman speed ㅤ⇀ able to move at incredible speed by sheer force of will. was also fast enough to easily speed blitz the entire Shazam Family, except for Billy Batson. flight speed combined with his strength allowed him to plow through a 300-mile-thick wall construct created by the entire Green Lantern Corps.

𝐱 :⠀ time travel ㅤ⇀ fast enough to break the time barrier and travel across the timestream.

𝐱𝐢 :⠀ vortex creations ㅤ⇀ use his speed to manipulate airflow for various purposes.

𝐱𝐢𝐢 :⠀ superhuman reflexes ㅤ⇀ possesses reflexes far greater than any normal human being. allows him to easily react to danger and events, and perceive the world in slow motion.

𝐱𝐢𝐢𝐢 :⠀ superhuman agility ㅤ⇀ allows him to easily make sharp turns and easily maneuver while flying and moving at superhuman speed.

𝐱𝐢𝐯 :⠀invulnerability ㅤ⇀ extremely durable under a yellow sun. has blocked attacks from most super-heroes, flown through a red star while it was draining his powers without injury, fought two Supermen at once, and even survived attacks from the Anti-Monitor with only moderate injuries.

𝐱𝐯 :⠀toxic immunity ㅤ⇀ resistant to any toxins and diseases due to his superhuman immune system.

𝐱𝐯 :⠀kryptonite immunity ㅤ⇀ immune to the Kryptonite of New Earth.

𝐱𝐯 :⠀energy resistance ㅤ⇀ highly resistant to most energy-based attacks.

𝐱𝐯𝐢 :⠀magic resistance ㅤ⇀ mostly unaffected by magic. despite his resistance to magic, he can still be hurt by more powerful and focused magic attacks.

𝐱𝐯𝐢𝐢 :⠀flight ㅤ⇀ capable of independent flight at speeds faster than light. can travel light years in the blink of an eye and fly throughout the Multiverse.

𝐱𝐯𝐢𝐢𝐢 :⠀superhuman stamina ㅤ⇀ able to maintain continuous strenuous physical action for an indefinite period of time. his body can convert yellow solar radiation directly to energy.

𝐱𝐢𝐱 :⠀accelerated healing ㅤ⇀ possesses healing powers that enable him to heal from severe injuries.

𝐱𝐱 :⠀superhuman senses ㅤ⇀ senses are enhanced to immense superhuman levels, allowing him to perceive the world in far greater detail than the senses that a normal human possesses.

𝐱𝐱𝐢𝐢 :⠀enhanced vision ㅤ⇀ vision processes the entire electromagnetic spectrum as well as allowing vast control over selective perception and focus.

𝐱𝐱𝐢𝐢𝐢 :⠀x-ray vision ㅤ⇀ can see through any volume of matter, except objects like lead that repel X-rays. see things behind a solid, opaque object as if it were not there and can focus this ability to “peel back” layers of an object, allowing hidden images or inner workings to be observed.

𝐱𝐱𝐢𝐯 :⠀telescopic vision ㅤ⇀ can see things from a great distance. In function, the ability is similar to the zoom lens on a camera.

𝐱𝐱𝐯 :⠀microscopic vision ㅤ⇀ can see extremely small objects and images down to an atomic level.

𝐱𝐱𝐯𝐢 :⠀electromagnetic spectrum vision ㅤ⇀ can see and identify radio and television signals as well as all other broadcast or transmitted frequencies. can avoid detection by radar or satellite monitoring methods. This also allows him to see the auras generated by living things.

𝐱𝐱𝐯𝐢𝐢 :⠀infrared vision ㅤ⇀ can perceive infrared rays, letting him see in darkness and detect heat signatures as if he has night vision goggles. can even use this ability in total darkness, but it is less effective.

𝐱𝐱𝐯𝐢𝐢𝐢 :⠀super-hearing ㅤ⇀ is sensitive enough to hear any sound at any volume or pitch.

𝐱𝐱𝐢𝐱 :⠀ heat vision ㅤ⇀ can generate beams of intensified heat from both of his eyes. He can vary the heat and area affected. heat vision also generates a concussive force.

𝐱𝐱𝐱 :⠀ enhanced mental process ㅤ⇀ mental capacity is enhanced to levels far greater than any normal human, allowing him to take in and process information at an accelerated rate.

𝐱𝐱𝐱𝐢𝐢 :⠀ super-breath ㅤ⇀ able to create hurricane force winds by exhaling air from his lungs. an chill the air as it leaves his lungs to freeze targets.

𝐱𝐱𝐱𝐢𝐢𝐢 :⠀ sound manipulation ㅤ⇀ able to project his voice at a high decibel level. can generate powerful sonic screams with just one shout.

𝐱𝐱𝐱𝐢𝐯 :⠀self-sustenance ㅤ⇀ does not need to eat or sleep so long as he has enough solar energy (but is still capable of doing so) and does not need or require oxygen to breathe.

𝐱𝐱𝐱𝐯 :⠀interstellar travel ㅤ⇀ immune to the nature of outer space and is not inhibited by its lack of gravity. can travel the reaches of outer space where no human body could possibly survive without the aid of technology or protection.

𝐱𝐱𝐱𝐯 :⠀immortality ㅤ⇀ is unable to die from old age.

𝐱𝐱𝐱𝐯𝐢 :⠀resurrection ㅤ⇀ technically died or been erased from existence multiple times, only to return.

𝐱𝐱𝐱𝐯𝐢𝐢 :⠀cosmic awareness ㅤ⇀ is aware of the Fourth Wall and is able to talk to the readers.

𝐱𝐱𝐱𝐯𝐢𝐢 :⠀historiography ㅤ⇀ has an encyclopedic knowledge of comic books, which means that he knows every detail about the lives of every super-hero and super-villain in the world.

⠀𝑨𝑩𝑰𝑳𝑰𝑻𝑰𝑬𝑺⠀⠀⠀⠀ABILITIES

ㅤ⇀ Hand-to-Hand Combat (Advanced) ㅤ⇀ Escapology ㅤ⇀ Mechanical Engineering ㅤ⇀ Intimidation ㅤ⇀ Indomitable Will ㅤ⇀ Genius Level Intellect

⠀𝑾𝑬𝑨𝑲𝑵𝑬𝑺𝑺𝑬𝑺⠀⠀⠀⠀WEAKNESSES

ㅤ⇀ all his powers results from his ability to store, process and convert compatible energy sources in his body. primary and most accessible energy source is yellow solar energy. he must remain within the accessible area of such yellow solar radiation or his powers fade to greatly reduced levels; some disappearing entirely if his solar reserves are empty. red solar energy also can drains his powers. ㅤ⇀ his stupidity and easy to anger.

⠀𝑬𝑸𝑼𝑰𝑷𝑴𝑬𝑵𝑻⠀⠀⠀⠀EQUIPMENT

solar armor ˖ super-charging armor that kept his power levels at their maximum even inside of non-yellow sun solar systems. built a power suit modeled after the Anti-Monitor's, which both collected and fed him yellow sun energy, to maintain his power levels even when exposed to a red sun.

Welcome Message: "Hey there reader! You're in for something amazing again this time."

Canon Basis: Comics + Own interpretation

Brief Character Summary: After years of being portrayed as an angry representation of toxic fandom and a violently cynical villain, he was faced with the destruction of the multiverse. He chose to fight on the side of the heroes, eventually making a powerful sacrifice to protect his Earth. And, on his path to redemption, Prime does his best to protect Metropolis as Superman’s temporary replacement.

What is your Character’s Relationship with the Justice League?: Fan (Past), Enemy (Past), New Recruit? | A temporary replacement for Superman

Why do you want to write this Character?: I like digging through character background and trying to write them to the best of my abilities. Not to mention, he is fun to write as!

What would you like to bring to the group?: Aesthetics. Editing-Resources, I can also think of future events / activities for the group!

Any questions, notes, or ideas for the blog?: —

Wayne Manor knows how to keep secrets.

Some of them are architectural—passages, false walls, and staircases that don't exist unless you know where to press. 

Others are softer—rooms that stay untouched because no one can bring themselves to open them.

Everly Wayne's room is one of those.

Steph finds it by accident.

She's not snooping—not really. She's following Tim down the east hallway because he's forgotten to eat again, and she's armed with a protein bar and righteous girlfriend fury. He had ducked into the Batcomputer annex, muttering something about cross-referencing timestamps, and so she kept walking.

The door is ajar—that's the first wrong thing.

The second is the dust. Every other room in the manor is immaculate, but this one has dust like it's been holding its breath for years. 

Sunlight spills through gauzy curtains, catching on motes in the air, illuminating a space that feels… paused.

Steph steps inside.

It smells faintly like old books and vanilla shampoo. There's a neatly made bed. A desk by the window. A bulletin board cluttered with ticket stubs, scribbled notes, and photos crookedly pinned like no one ever bothered to straighten them.

Her chest tightens.

On the desk sits a framed photo: four teenagers squinting into sunlight, arms slung over each other's shoulders. Jason Todd. Everly Wayne. Tim Drake... and herself. Gotham Academy. Smiling like the world hadn't gotten its teeth into them yet; it hadn’t.

Her breath stutters. "Oh," she whispers. That's when it hits her, like how the Roman bricked a specific someone in a specific book. 

She sits down hard on the edge of the bed, fingers curling into the comforter, and the tears come fast and furious, like they've been waiting for permission.

Tim finds her there ten minutes later, like he just remembered his girlfriend exists. He doesn't say anything at first. Just kneels in front of her, takes her shaking hands in his, comforting her the way she's comforted him a thousand times before.

"Tim," she chokes out. "Oh, my god."

"Yeah," he says quietly.

FOUR YEARS AGO

Everly is upside down on the bleachers, her legs hooked over the metal rail, black hair spilling toward the floor. "Timothy Jackson Drake," she said, peering at him through her hair, "if you don't stop triple-checking that equation, I'm stealing your notes."

Tim looks up from his notebook, affronted. "You wouldn't dare."

She grins. "Watch me."

Jason, sprawled beside Steph on the floor, snorts. "Do it. Nerd needs adversity." 

Steph launches a crumpled paper ball at his head like a nuke. "You're one to talk, Todd. You failed chem."

"Intentionally," Jason says. "It builds character." He would've aced that test, but everyone knows he just wanted to piss off Bruce.

Everly drops down beside them, smooth and easy, shoulder bumping Jason's. He rolls his eyes, but his ears go red.

PRESENT

Back in the present, Tim squeezes his girlfriend’s hands. Tim and Steph—like many others—had been told that Everly and Jason died in a car crash. Private funeral, no visitors.

Steph swipes at her face angrily. "We didn't even get to say goodbye." 

Tim doesn't have to answer.

Meanwhile, downstairs, Damian is sitting far too close to Dick—that, alone, is very suspicious, coming from a guy who values personal space over the lives of almost everyone in this house. "You knew her," he says abruptly, eyes sharp. "My sister."

Cass, perched on the arm of the couch, tilts her head.

"Everline," Damian continues. "Everyone goes quiet when her name comes up. Why?"

Silence stretches.

Barbara's fingers pause over her keyboard. Alfred lowers his gaze. Duke looks between them, clearly uneasy.

Dick exhales slowly. "She was... bright," he says finally. "Too bright for a place like Gotham."

TEN YEARS AGO

Everly was perched on the kitchen counter at three in the morning, snugly in her Green Lantern onesie, eating cereal straight out of the box.

Dick leaned against the fridge with his arms crossed, wearing his matching Superman pyjamas. "You know Alfred's going to murder you."

She grins around a mouthful. "No, he won't."

“Yeah, you’re right. He won’t.” Dick amends.

Jason walks in, half-asleep, his Wonder Woman onesie hanging off his shoulder. It took a lot of convincing from Everly and Dick to wear it.

PRESENT

"She was like that," Dick says now, sighing and rubbing his palms against his jeans.

Damian frowns. "And Jason?"

"She loved him," he says simply with a faint smile.

Up in his old room, Jason sits on the edge of his bed, helmet on the floor, Everly's hairbrush in his calloused hands. He doesn't remember picking it up. There's a strand of dark hair still tangled in the bristles.

That makes his chest cave in. He exhales shakily and sets the brush down, as it might burn him. "I'm fine," he mutters to the empty room.

The manor doesn't believe him, nor does Damian, who stands outside the door, listening, curiosity sharpening into something else entirely.

Back to Stephanie and Tim in Everly’s old room—

Steph's fingers brush the edge of the desk. There's a notebook beneath it, half-hidden, its spine cracked and soft with use. 

She doesn't open it because something about it feels too personal and intimate, though the cover is familiar in that unmistakable Everly way: stickers peeling at the corners, random marker scribbles like she was testing out if it still worked, handwriting loopy and messy and alive. "Tim," she whispers. "She was right here." 

Tim nods, throat working. "Yeah." His eyes snag on something else now, tucked into the corner of the bulletin board.

Their freshman prom photo.

Everly was in a dark red dress that looked stolen from a vintage shop, paired with black Mary Janes, her dark princess curls tied up. Jason stands beside her, his dark suit jacket slung over his shoulder, tie loosened like he couldn't stand it touching his throat, both of them wearing faces like they’re posing for a Vogue magazine.

Tim and Steph stood on either side, Tim wearing an epoch dusty brown suit with his arm slung around the blonde’s waist, who looked gorgeous in her blue fitted dress and silver glitter heels, the couple smiling so hard it hurt to look at them.

Steph presses a hand over her mouth.

"She made Jason dance," Tim says suddenly, slightly chuckling at the memory. "He didn't want to. She said he'd regret it if he didn't."

FOUR YEARS AGO

The gym was strung with silver lanterns, with music from a playlist that was definitely made by a retired millennial party animal.

Jason leans against the refreshment table, suit coat slung over his shoulder, and a look on his face that says, “I was forced to be here.” 

Everly spawns out of nowhere and grabs his hand. "Come on," she says, dragging him to the dance floor.

"Lily. I don't dance," he deadpans, trying his best to keep the tough guy look up.

"You breathe, don't you?" she shot back, smirking.

"That's not—"

She drags him to the centre anyway. Steph laughs at them from the sidelines, and Tim gives Jason a thumbs-up like a traitor.

Everly leaned in and whispered, "If you step on my foot, I'll never forgive you." She smiled up at him.

Jason accidentally stepped on her foot later that night, but she forgave him anyway.

PRESENT

Steph lets out a shaky laugh that turns into a sob. Tim pulls her in; she rests her forehead against his shoulder.

"She would've loved you being here," he murmurs. "She liked that you never gave up on me."

Steph sniffles and nods her head. "I miss her so much."

Downstairs, Damian was back from his eavesdropping fling, or what he likes to call it, a bathroom break, and was currently tapping his foot against the rug. "You are avoiding the question again, Grayson," he says flatly.

Dick sighs. "You're not wrong," he admits.

"She was my sister," Damian insists. "Biologically. And yet no one speaks of her like family."

Cass sighs.

Duke's brow furrows. "She was Magpie, wasn't she?"

Barbara's jaw clenches. "She was... but she was also still learning."

TEN YEARS AGO

Twelve-year-old Everly Wayne, or as she likes to call herself—Magpie- crouched beside Discowing on a rooftop, knees drawn up, hair in a braid. "Do I look stupid, Wing?" she asked.

Dick glanced over. "You look like you're about to trip."

She gasps in fake offence. "Rude!"

"But," he adds, smiling, "you also look brave."

She shines brightly. "Cool. I can work with that."

PRESENT

"She made Gotham softer, if that's possible," Dick says now. "Just by being in it."

Damian looks away.

Upstairs, Jason presses his thumb against the handle of the hairbrush, knuckles white. There's a dent in the mattress near the wall. He never fixed it—he didn't want to. He exhales through his nose, sharp and quiet. "You'd hate this," he mutters. "Me moping."

“She wouldn't,” a brighter part of him says. “She'd sit down beside you and make you talk.”

FIVE YEARS AGO

Everly lies on her stomach across her bed with her laptop, kicking her feet as she types. "You're pacing," she mutters, not tearing her gaze from the screen.

Jason stops immediately. "I'm not."

She turns her head toward him, cheek squished against the plush pillow. "You only pace when you're nervous."

He scoffs. "I don't get scared."

She rolled onto her side and reached out, hooking a finger into his sleeve. "Jay. Stop lying."

He lets himself sit. 

Everly leaves the hotel just before sunrise.

The sky over Star City is pale and undecided, like it hasn't committed to being morning yet. She pulls the borrowed jacket tighter around herself, duffel slung over one shoulder, boots quiet against the concrete steps.

Her body throbs in a way she's learned to live with. Not loudly, and not enough to stop her.

Behind her, the lobby door creaks open. “—Hey."

Everly stops for half a second, schooling her expression and turning.

The receptionist stands there, hair hastily pulled back, a cardigan too thin for the chill. There are darker circles under her eyes today. One hand clutches a paper bag. "I didn't want you to leave without..." She hesitates, then holds it out. "This."

Everly blinks.

Inside the bag were another small, neatly packed first-aid kit, gauze, antiseptic wipes, and actual painkillers. And soft, more civilian, folded clothes that were unmistakably a woman's.

"I can't—" Everly starts automatically.

"I know," the blonde interrupts gently. "You don't have to explain anything, you don't have to say thank you. I just…" She exhales. "I see it... that look. Like you're always braced for something worse."

"What's your name?" Everly asks quietly.

"Caroline."

Everly nods, committing it to memory as she does with everything important.

Caroline hesitates, then adds, softer, "I have a daughter. She's eight months old. Some days, I look at her, and I think... If I don't help people when I can, what kind of world am I teaching her to live in?"

Everly swallows. "Everline," she says, not exactly lying since it's her legal name. "Thank you."

Caroline gives her a tired smile. "Take care of yourself, yeah?"

Everly steps back into the street, the city already waking around her. Star bustles. Cars pass; someone laughs somewhere down the block. Life. Loud and unashamed. She adjusts the strap of the duffel and keeps walking. Her shoulder twinges—annoying—not critical. She’s had worse. 

A man nearly barrels into her at the corner, coffee sloshing dangerously close to her already questionable jacket. “Watch it,” he snaps.

Everly glances at him, then at the coffee, then back at him. “You almost committed a tragedy.”

He blinks. “What?”

“That’s like… at least medium-tier emotional damage if that spills.” She gestures vaguely toward the coffee. “I just got these clothes. I’d have to go back and explain things. Nobody wants that.”

The man stares at her like he regrets waking up today. “You’re weird.”

“Correct,” she says easily, already stepping past him.

She makes it half a block before her boot catches on uneven pavement. She stumbles—terribly—windmilling for a second before slamming into a street pole with a dull thunk. Everly leans her forearm against the pole. “I meant to do that,” she mutters.

A passing woman speeds up.

Everly pushes off, regains what dignity she has left, and keeps walking like she didn’t just lose a fight to infrastructure. Her side protests again. “Okay,” she tells her own body under her breath. “Relax. We are doing great. This is a strong showing.”

She adjusts the duffel again when something inside it clinks. Everly frowns, unzips it mid-walk, and peers inside—pulling out a small first-aid kit Caroline packed.

There’s a note tucked into the top. She hesitates, then flips it open.

Eat something.

Everly stares at it for a second. “…okay,” she says softly, but there’s no bite to it. Her stomach growls immediately, like it’s been waiting for permission to betray her.

She exhales through her nose, shoves the note back in, and keeps walking. “…fine,” she mutters. “But if I get attached, that’s on you.”