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Just a mama cat helping her kitten reach her full potential- potential to wreak havoc and break hearts that is.
(Platonic Selena Kyle & insecure!fem reader, a one shot)
I am aware this is not what the people have asked for but it's all that's been on my mind all day. So, here it is anyway!
Word count: 4.3 pages / 1529 words
"Ah! You look like such a doll, kitty," Selena gasps in delight from where she stands behind you, both of you facing your mirror. It was odd, the friendship that randomly blossomed between you and your father's ex girlfriend/fiance but you wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.
You had grown up as the ugly duckling in the family, between Dick and Bruce's million-dollar smiles, Jason's rugged charm, Tim's French beauty, and Stephanie and Cass's elegance and radiance. You were painfully aware of not measuring up to the standards set by them.
It's not as if it was ever explicitly said to you or that your family or others bullied you, but nobody had told you otherwise- that you were beautiful, that is. There are only so many times you can hear people complimenting the 'handsome young man' your little brother Damian is growing up to be while you stand right there awkwardly before you're forced to acknowledge your averageness.
The few expressions of romantic interest in you came when you were younger, and you chalked it up to the fact that your younger peers just had fewer standards. It's why nobody approaches you now, you're never chatted up, hell, never catcalled. You feel gross and pathetic for wishing that it would happen to you, but you'd take anything as validation at this point. It's why when your friends compliment you, you don't believe them; they're your friends, of course, they have to be nice to you.
Selena complimenting you, however, is different. She had no obligation to; the first time she did it you had thought it was a joke- you could feel the familiar burn of self-hatred and envy in your stomach as you took in her pretty face and effortless confidence.
She could see that look of disbelief in your face, her brows furrowed, "What? You don't believe me?" She had taken your face in her hands, thumbs tracing the shape of your face, "I'm not lying, you have so much potential. You're just in an awkward teenage phase right now."
"You're kidding, right?" You had looked away, unable to meet her eyes, wanting to pull away from her hold so she would stop looking at your face too closely; she'd surely soon find all the flaws that you did.
She tutted in frustration at your pitifully low self-esteem, "Go around believing that and you'll end up in a relationship with the first sleaze bag that asks you out. Trust me, I'd know."
"You? How would you know? I doubt you've been anything short of gorgeous your entire life." You grumbled, arms crossing over your chest. What could she know about being painfully average? Her, the pinnacle of dark femininity and noir beauty, how could she ever relate to you?
She had smiled, like she was planning something, and patted your cheek, "We all have our awkward phases. Perhaps I'll teach you a thing or two."
She had kept her word; whenever she wasn't held up with Bruce or being Catwoman, she'd find her way to your room and teach you all her tricks. The way to emphasise the sharpness of your eyes with eyeliner, and where to apply eyeshadow to captivate anyone with an intense gaze. What products to use to help with acne, with dark patches- A better diet, as Selena suggested, did reduce bloating and spots. She taught you how to pout, bat your eyelashes, and play with men to get what you want.
Her hand was on your waist as she taught you to walk in heels, her fingers weaving through your hair to help separate the curls into a flowy blowout. She even began teaching you some workout routines to help with flexibility and strength. Her lessons in being 'a woman that men are scared to talk to' were a constant in your life from when you were sixteen to now, eighteen.
She was right. Everyone has their awkward phases. You'd grown into the sharper elements of your features, the slopes that you'd hated once and contemplated plastic surgery over, did in actuality look elegant. You noticed the increasing number of compliments you'd get, completely unprompted, from people you barely knew in real life or random older men in your DMs. Your style, your makeup, your body- your face grew slightly sculpted with the loss of teenage baby fat.
You had Selena to thank for it, for helping you actually cultivate some self-esteem and worth. The confidence to laugh at gross and forward messages, to simply block the men behind them. Guys your own age still didn't approach you, but it was more because you never put yourself out there, kept inside the manor for the most part, in your room. Bruce doesn't really like it when you go out too much- he says it's dangerous in Gotham, which is true, but what does he expect you to do with your summer?
You're eighteen now; it was stupid having to explain to your friends that no, you couldn't go out to clubs with them because your father would never approve. That you couldn't come to the function because you'd already been out earlier that week, and going out more than once a week was a sure way to get Bruce on your ass. You kept yourself sane with the knowledge that college would be your escape; you just had to last until then, and then you'd be free.
Selena seems to have other plans for you. She always likes to irritate Bruce; taking you under her wing started as an attempt to annoy him by being a bad influence on you, but your desperate need for help is what kept her from abandoning you, even after she and Bruce broke up. You needed a steady figure in your life, and no, Alfred doesn't count; for example, see how Bruce turned out.
That leads to now: Selena helping you get ready for your first club outing. She's clad in a sleek black, sexy number, with stilettos and her usual dark makeup. You're in a matching dress of a dark red colour, with a slightly thicker heel for more stability. Your hair is out of its usual updo, instead flowing down your shoulders. Selena isn't lying when she says you look like a doll; even you can admit that you look pretty damn good.
You spritz some glittery cherry-scented body mist as Selena collects her purse from your bed, "Ready to go?"
"Uh-huh, mama," You grin, the familiar nickname slipping out without a thought. She smiles and links arms with you, guiding you out of your room to the front door, passing your family as you do, who are gathered in the living room.
"Selena, what the hell are you doing with my daughter?" Bruce chokes out in a rare moment of genuine shock and bewilderment.
He'd glanced up from his papers to see you by Selena's slide, like a kitten with its mother cat (although you were nearly the same height wearing those towering heels- since when did you wear heels?), looking every bit like an attractive young woman and not the dorky teen girl he knew. This was bizarre.
"You look like a common harlot," Damian splutters, pointing at you like a pilgrim during the witch trials. "A Jezebel. Father, confide her to the house!"
"Holy shiiittt," Jason laughs at the sight of you. He could have mistaken you for Selena's actual kid- the look was all Selena's doing. He could only imagine what trouble you'd cause. Especially with guys. Suddenly, it wasn't so funny. Why was his baby sister dolled up like that?
"Going somewhere?" Dick raises a brow, "And without me?"
"Yes, golden boy, without you," Selena smiles coyly as she plays idly with your hair, "It's a girls' night out."
"Selena's taking me to a club," You give a twin smile, lashes batting at Bruce as you talk with genuine excitement, "It's gonna be so fun! She's got this place that plays really good music."
Bruce's face softens at your words and cute smile. How could he ever say no to-
"Father, she's trying to bewitch you with her mascaraed eyelashes- do not fall for her tricks!" Damian proclaims and prods you with the hilt end of his sword.
"Ow!-"
He bats at Selena next, "How dare you influence my sister into becoming a lady of the night!"
"I did no such thing-" Selena laughs.
Tim picks up the struggling Damian by the collar. "Have fun and be safe. I have a tracker on your phone, so call if you need any help."
"As sweet and totally not creepy and paranoid as that is, we'd better get going." Selena pulls you out of the room by your interlocked hands. "I'll take good care of our kitty, Bruce. Don't worry."
You're sick, but your family seems to think you're faking it. Things take a turn for the worse- or maybe for the better, you'll never have to be alone again.
(Neglected Bat-family member GN!Reader & Venom Symbiote [marvel]) / crossover
Word count: 11.7 pages / 4162 words
CW: child neglect, mentions of blood and vomiting, minor gore
You haven't been feeling well.
Every waking minute felt like a gargantuan effort to keep breathing, to keep blinking, to keep putting one foot in front of the other. You had a perpetual fever and a cold sweat forming rings of perspiration on your night clothes- you couldn't find the strength to change, much less shower or eat. Concerning eating, your stomach felt like a black hole consuming you from the inside out. No matter how much food you stuffed down your face (entire loaves of bread, boxes of cereal, frozen fish and shrimps, raw eggs, uncooked cuts of meat), it never quelled the ache.
Alfred had been the only one to note your deteriorating health, and when he had the time in between taking care of the rest of the family and patching them up after patrols, he tried his best to soothe your pain. The painkillers would give you five blissful hours of relief, dreamless sleep, before you find yourself startling back awake, the pain in your stomach worse than before. Maybe it was appendicitis?
Alfred tried to do a preliminary check, but found nothing indicating illness or organ failure; you can actively see his patience for your pain decreasing. You're not making it up; you feel like you're dying. Alfred doesn't seem to think so, he's stopped giving you those little white tabs of heaven- codeine, then cocodomal, then just paracetamol, before just soothing lemon tea. You're not making up this pain.
You haven't been feeling well.
You've been hearing a voice in your head- auditory hallucinations from mental exhaustion, you had tried to reason-. The guttural foreign tone of the voice, the way it'd whisper to you in the dark of night as you tossed and turned, clutching your stomach, the way it promised relief from all your pain if you simply gave into it- you were starting to believe you were on the verge of psychosis. You avoided mirrors; the first time seeing those black pools of all-seeing nothingness had been enough to send your heart into overdrive and freak you out enough to start crying.
Tim had found you shortly after, holding your knees to yourself as you wracked out tired sobs. He'd been concerned at first, trying to find out what was wrong, when he discovered no physical injury and your almost nonsensical ramblings about seeing something else's eyes in the mirror, he remembered Alfred's words about your 'illness'.
It made sense, Tim reasoned to himself, that you were acting out to get attention; the rest of the family was very busy with vigilante life and couldn't spend much time with you, but you were eighteen now, too old for childish shenanigans like faking illnesses. He'd helped you back to your room like a parent humouring a child about checking for monsters under the bed, and tucked you in, closing the door after him- leaving you to the dark, to the pain, and to the voice that cooed at your loneliness and despair.
You haven't been feeling well.
It was apparent now as you stumbled slowly to breakfast. Alfred had summoned you from your room, at his wit's end with your Munchausen's act. He declared that you'd feel better after getting out of your bed and having breakfast with the rest of the family while forcing your curtains open and opening the window- the light stung, and the shrill chirping of the birds rang in your ears. He'd left your door open for you to follow.
Maybe you were just making all this up? You thought to yourself as you held the porcelain basin with shaking, sweaty hands. Eyes downturned from the mirror, you refused to look into it even now, a nauseating feeling in your stomach forming as you thought about the monster that was waiting for you inside it. What the fuck were you thinking? There was no monster, no pain, no illness; you were fine. Alfred said so; you weren't sick. The piercing pain in your stomach was probably just hunger pangs. You could smell breakfast; your disgust with the smell of grease and cooked meat was probably hormones or something.
You shove your feet into your slippers and stumble slowly to breakfast. You were dizzy, so dizzy. Your breathing was short. The pain in your stomach was spreading to your lungs. The sounds of your family laughing and chattering made you want to cry at how much it was grating on your sensitive ears. You pushed open the door to the dining room, and no one looked your way besides Alfred, who was nodding in approval at your effort to rejoin normal activities before resuming his usual tasks.
You wanted to cry for him to come back from the kitchen, your head was feeling fuzzy and warm, and you could barely breathe. Something is wrong! Something is wrong, and your family isn't even looking at you.
Dick is teasing Jason about the new romance book trilogy he's obsessed with. 'They're ignoring you.'
Tim is debating with Damian about some details of a case. 'You don't even exist to them.'
Stephanie is laughing as she fills Cass in on the details of her patrol last night. 'You exist to me, you're all that is.'
Bruce is reading documents on his tablet while also listening to Duke's words about his latest basketball game. 'You can be so much more, we can be so much more.'
You clutch your hands to your head. This voice- why won't it shut up! You're not crazy, you're not hearing voices, you're not in pain, you're not dying. Why won't your stupid body get the memo? You're not trying to be an attention seeker- how can you be if your family doesn't even look at you when you're standing right here? You're a good kid, the best one could ask for, the kind that doesn't even get upset that their family doesn't actually know them, the kind that understands that the needs of the many, the needs of Gotham, take precedence over their need for love, to be noticed, to be held or comforted. One kid doesn't matter in the face of an entire city.
"-Will you sit down?" You missed the first part of Alfred's words, his impassive, perhaps slightly annoyed expression stings, he must think you're on your Munchausen's act again. You find the family looking at you, really looking at you now. Your shaking figure, the dark eye bags, the sweating and pale face.
Bruce looks back down at his screen, "Do as Alfred says, kiddo." That's it. The first acknowledgement in months, followed by complete dismissal. The rest of the family does the same. Why won't they look at you? Resuming their previous conversations as if you're not falling apart right in front of them. Why can't they see you dying in front of them? Like one more step isn't going to make you spew onto the white marble floor.
There's bubbling rage in your stomach. You exist, don't you? Why won't they look at you? Can't they see you? WHY CAN'T THEY SEE YOU? "WHY WON'T YOU LOOK AT ME?!" The words spill from your lips before you can even think about stopping them, like something else is forcing them from your throat. It's all but snarled out, your voice cracking with anger and pain and everything you've been suffering over the last weeks.
The table stills in utter shock. Never once had you dared to raise your voice like that at authority figures or family members.
Bruce places his tablet down, ready to presumably lecture you or something- he doesn't know how to approach this. You'd never been a rebellious kid- well behaved to the point he'd wished you'd do something stupid like a normal kid, he just wanted you to be a normal kid like he never got to be, like your siblings never got to be. This was the first time he'd ever seen you act out, a little late for a rebellious phase, but he'd take it.
He doesn't get to even speak because you're suddenly hunching over and vomiting onto the floor. Dark red spewing from your mouth as you cough and gag on the blood.
Jason, who's closest to you currently, leaps from his seat to avoid being hurled on. "Jesus fucking christ!"
Alfred's immediately by your side, pushing your hair back and shoving a bucket in front of you for you to empty into. Your chest is hurting more from the heaving, and you can't help the tired, pathetic sobs. Alfred's petting your hair, tone heavy with guilt, "Oh dear, oh dear, you're okay."
You think it's Bruce beside you also, big hands pulling your shirt up enough to scan over your stomach, looking for bruising- any indication of trauma which could result in internal bleeding- people don't just start throwing up blood for no reason. He finds nothing, and that worries him more. The rest of your family is whispering, watching in concern when Bruce picks you up in his arms like a little kid. "Ready the medbay, Alfred. Timothy, I want to know when this started and how."
"On it," Tim follows after them, opening his laptop to the manor security footage. If you'd injured yourself here, he'd find out.
"Where does it hurt?" Alfred is asking as Bruce lays you down on a bed. You gesture to your chest and up, sobbing as you choke out, "All of it, it hurts- I told you it hurt, I told you- I told you!-"
He shushes you, pushing you some morphine for the pain, "-I know, I know, I'm sorry, dear, I'm sorry." He exchanges words with Bruce over you, but the immediate absence of pain finally gives you enough relief to sleep- you've been awake for three days at the point. Your eyes flutter shut, and the dreamless void is a welcome embrace.
"Nothing?" Bruce sighs.
Tim rubs his forehead, the gesture he does when something is particularly confusing him; it doesn't happen often. "I've checked all the manor's footage from when the symptoms started, the week beforehand, the school's footage too- nothing happened which would cause this. We're gonna need Dr Thompkins, an MRI and a tox screen, most likely, because I can't tell you what happened or what to do to fix it."
He's tucking your still form into the bed properly, like he had done weeks ago, thinking you were just pretending to be ill. God, he was supposed to be smarter than this; he, of all people, should have caught this. Now his ignorance has resulted in his baby sibling on the verge of being hospitalised or... he can't even consider that you could be dying. He won't let it happen.
"I must personally apologise, Master Bruce." Tim glances over at Alfred. The usually stoic butler is bearing an expression he's never seen before: remorse, guilt, and anger. His hands are shaking as he clasps them together, looking over your bedridden form. "I had dismissed this as some juvenile attempt to gain attention. The progression of this ailment is a direct result of my indolence, if I hadn't failed to act, perhaps we may have sooner-"
Bruce raises his hand to stop the butler, "What is done is done. We're all guilty in part for letting someone under our roof deteriorate to such a state without notice. How quickly can Leslie have the clinic ready for us?"
"She says in five minutes, she was already working late," Tim looks up from where he's in correspondence with the doctor, "I'll come with-"
"No." Bruce picks up your sleeping figure. He remembers holding you like this when you were so much smaller, when all of you could fit on his chest entirely, little feet cupped in his hand, precious head tucked under his chin- when had he stopped holding you? "I need you to find whatever you can- if this was an attack meant for us, we'll need to know the source to find an antidote or cure. Contact Oracle if you have to."
Tim nods in understanding, even if his tensed shoulders betray his hesitation. The other members of the Bat-family who have gathered in the other atrium of the Batcave are ready to volunteer to go in his stead. Damian is particularly impassioned, arguing something about 'blood siblings' and how you're 'the heir' (everything he's refused to acknowledge you as until this very moment- if anyone realises, they don't call him out), and that means he must obviously be the one who accompanies his father to the hospital.
Dick is the one who ends up going as the oldest; he's driving as Bruce holds you in the back seat of the Batmobile, cleaning the dried blood from the corner of your mouth. You feel too thin, malnourished, the fat of your cheeks sunken in- the more he gazes at your face, the more he realises how obvious it was that something was wrong. Why hadn't he just looked at your face and seen this? How can he hold the title of the world's greatest detective if he can't even clock a life-threatening illness in his own child?
"Bruce. We're here." Dick's voice is pulling from his thoughts, and it's a blur as they get you inside the clinic. Leslie's waiting, and her usually steely resolve falters when she sees you. She's never met you before, which is a good thing; she's never had to stitch you back together, pump poison from your system, snap bones back into place like your other family members- you were the one kid Bruce had told her was a civilian. So why were you here now?
She's filled in on the details as you're wheeled to the MRI machine, she almost curses them out right then and there- you'd been like this for weeks, and they hadn't brought you here sooner? She manages to maintain her professionalism by a hair's thread, instructing Dick and Bruce to wait in the adjacent room as she situates you inside the MRI machine.
She enters the observation room to Dick pacing and Bruce muttering, "How long until we can know the results?" His dark eyes watch you through the glass as Leslie begins to activate the machine, the high-pitched whirring audible as the lights flash on.
"Usually it'd-" Her words are cut off by the sound of your screams. Bruce's blood runs cold, and Dick freezes.
It's a sound of abject torture; it's a sound he never thought he'd hear from you, never wants to hear it again- your legs, the only thing visible of you to them right now, are seizing violently- "Turn it off!" Bruce shouts, already rushing from the room towards where you are, Dick close behind. Leslie quickly powers down the machine, and the bed extends out.
You're awake now, gasping desperately as you sit up quickly. Bruce is holding you by your arms, "Hey, hey- breathe, breathe, in and out, sweetheart." You clutch onto him as you take in shuddering gasps. Dick is rubbing your back, and Leslie is the last to come in, stethoscope on and flashlight prepared to take lucidity tests.
You follow her directions, following the light and letting her hear your heart, "Are you doing okay? Any pain, on a scale of one to ten, one being not much and ten being excruciating, describe your pain levels, please."
"S-seven," You're slumped over in Bruce's arms, stomach still aching, the pervading hunger is all that's on your mind. 'No more machine.' Oh, and the voice is back.
'We hunger. We will eat or die.' Sure, disembodied freaky voice in your head, let's eat. You don't care anymore; you just want the hurt to go away.
You're barely there as Doctor Thompkins explains that she wants to keep you for observation as they wait for the results of the MRI, the little they managed to get, that Bruce and Dick can come back in the morning and that you'd have the very best care as you stayed here. When had you been changed into a hospital gown? You're led to a bed that's not your own, and the door closes behind the nurse after she gets you ready for bed. It's silent for a beat.
'You wish for the pain to stop, little human?' Yes, creepy voice, just make it end.
'Permit me control of the vessel.' Fine.
It's been three days since you went missing.
Leslie had been the one to break the news, apparently, the day nurses went to check on patients during the shift changes and found you absent from your room. The nurse questioned Leslie whether you scheduled to be discharged during the night as soon as the senior entered the clinic for her shift. The answer was an immediate denial and panic. One phone call later, and the Bat-family were made aware.
CCTV footage was provided to them and showed you slipping from your bed, clad only in a hospital gown, and through the window, an unlucky blind spot of the clinic security footage, as they were unsure which direction you headed after. It completely confused your family as to why the hell you'd run away. Were you delirious from your ailment- were you being threatened- feeling neglected, did you hate them?
The first night was spent in bat costumes, searching the streets, interrogating the usual suspects for any hint of involvement, asking for favours from contacts. It all led to nowhere; it's as if you vanished off the face of the earth. The second day and night were spent the same way. Bruce tried to distract himself from all the possibilities of what could have happened to you by focusing on the investigation- trying not to imagine finally finding you in some dingy warehouse, face beaten beyond recognition, cold and still, the Joker's laugh echoing-
Jason's warm hand brings him back from the present. Bruce has been staring at the hospital footage of you for three hours at this point. He wipes the sweat from his brow, the tension is shoulders hunching them painfully. "We'll find 'em, but we ain't gonna do shit if you're exhausted; we need you at full capacity."
He knows Jason's right, the lack of sleep was going to do nobody any favours. Before he can argue, the rest of the family is also forcing him out of the batcave and to bed. Alfred's there to make sure he actually enters his bedroom and not his study to continue the investigation.
Bruce permits himself to rest a while, lying in bed. The silence settles with the silk sheets, and for the first time in years, Bruce cries. He just wants his kid back home; he'd never let you out of his sight again when he found you. He can't sleep, not like this. So he finds himself walking to your room.
It's a mess from your weeks of hell, in pain and being dismissed about it. The bed is unmade, the floor a mess, and the place smells of you and sweat and something that might be mango-scented oils. The room is undoubtedly a reflection of you. Unlike the rest of the house, which is decorated in sleek black-and-white gothic style, your room is bright. Your bed frame is yellow, and your sheets are burnt orange.
Your decor is a burst of sunset colours, and the walls are littered with pictures, drawings and posters. Your favourite TV shows and bands, there are pictures of you smiling beside people your own age that he doesn't recognise, your friends? You have a bookcase full of books- some he'd read, some he didn't recognise. There are awards on your shelves, a little Oscar statue for drama, a metal star award for reading, a medal for first place in long jump- he'd never seen any of them before.
There's a whole thick folder of atleast forty certificates, your very first from grade school about creative writing, progressing through to 'for asking good questions all week,' effort, learning, determination, 'football skills', working well, good behaviour, 'advanced reading', 'coming up with scientific theories and how to test them', 'ambition', scripts and picure pamphlets of the school plays and musicals (you'd been in eight- he'd never been to any of them), an acceptance letter for being student principal in middle school, choir letters- a concert tour to Italy that he'd signed off on and paid for but never fully read or realised.
There's a picture of you from kindergarten, and he stares at it. Your little cheeks, big round eyes, chubby hands holding up your mess of a painting proudly, your smile wide on your little face, and god damn it- he just wants his sweet baby back. He'll show up, he promises; it's not too late. You could still need him.
He falls asleep in your bed, your picture clutched to his chest.
It's on the fourth day that you show up.
You casually stroll downstairs to where the family is having a sullen breakfast. They pause at the sight of you- fresh, no longer gaunt, alive, sitting at the table like you haven't been gone for the better part of a whole week. Alfred freezes in the kitchen doorway.
You spread some jam on your toast. "Morning."
Dick drops his fork. Jason and Tim are looking at you, mouths agape; Damian's brows are furrowed in confusion, and Duke beside you is staring wide-eyed. Stephanie and Cass exchange worried glances.
You're taking a bite of your toast when Bruce stands and rushes to you, enveloping you in a massive hug, "Oh- hey, wow- watch the toast-"
"Watch the toast?!" Dick sputters at your blase words. "Where the hell have you been?" Damian demands. "I thought- we thought-" Stephanie blinks.
"We've been looking everywhere for you. You- you're not ill anymore?" Bruce cups your face, analysing and evaluating; he finds a healthy flush, a lack of those bruise-like eyebags from before, no fever. You seem perfectly fine, better than ever even.
"I've- uh. I've been around. Hah." Your voice sounds strained. "I'm fine, seriously."
"Around? Where? Answer me, clearly-" Bruce's expression becomes more suspicious and concerned.
"I said I'm fine. Would you lay off?" You extract yourself from his grip, getting up to return to your room.
Feeling you slip from his fingers again, a wave of panic washes over him, and Bruce moves to grab your arm. Your body suddenly moves by itself, turning your back to him to judo flip him over your shoulder. Your family gasps, jaws hanging open even further. It's a movement you have no control over, and you know who's responsible.
Venom! What the hell!? We're trying to be lowkey! 'He is what you would call an asshole who has neglected his spawn. I have no sympathy.' You're gonna get me caught!
Suffice it to say, being the teenage civilian you are, being able to judo flip your two-hundred-pound father is an impossible feat, which no doubt raises even more suspicion about where the hell you've been and what has happened to you. Bruce stares up at you from where he's on his back, winded, completely dumbfounded.
Alfred startles forward, "Master Bruce!-"
You run past your family, who are jumping to their feet and raising their voices in alarm, and out the closest window. What the hell else can you do when you're hiding a cannibalistic alien parasite in your head?
'Parasite?!' Sorry, symbiote.
Said symbiote is also responsible for the string of decapitated bodies that your vigilante family would soon find all over Gotham. You won't force them to make the decision to send you to jail if you never get caught by them. It's not like they'd be missing much in your absence anyway. They never did before.
'I'd miss you.' You're just saying that cuz you'd die without your 'perfect' host.
(Neglected Bat-family member GN!Reader & John Constantine)
Your family's attempts to keep you safe really just succeeded in making you isolated and searching for purpose in the wrong places. Maybe it's for the best that it happened- you wouldn't have met him otherwise.
4.1 pages / 1339 words
CW: blood and slight gore
Written thanks to @noname0756 ask!! <3
"You want me to what?"
You had only just come to terms with your family's secret identities as Gotham's famed masked protectors and the existence of an entire high-tech batcave under the house that you thought you knew from front to back when your and John's mentor and mentee relationship was called into question. Reasonable, you suppose, that Bruce wants to evaluate how well you've developed under Constantine's unorthodox teaching.
It's why you're stood opposite Dick and Jason on the training mat, your brothers both clad in gym wear with unperturbed expressions. Steph tries to give you a thumbs-up for good luck, but Cass just stands impassively. You fidget with the waistband of your sweatpants and look back at John and Bruce, "Fight them? They'll obliterate me, like no contest!"
Damian scoffs something like 'weakling' under his breath from where he's sat observing the session beside Tim, who has his laptop ready to take notes on your magical ability. John shakes his head, "Kiddo, don't make me look bad. You know you can take them."
"Oh, is that so?" Dick teases with a grin, stretching his triceps. Jason cracks his knuckles, his big, burly figure intimidating enough that he doesn't even have to say anything.
You shoot John a desperate look, to which your mentor offers a reassuring nod, eyes conveying more than words his belief in you.
Bruce crosses his arms as he looks you over, "It's not a test, I just want to gauge your abilities and how your training should proceed."
John wanted to make a snide remark that his training was progressing your abilities just fine, but he kept his mouth shut for once as Bruce called for the spar to start. It's like a switch is flipped, your eyes narrow as you let out a sharp exhale, John recognises that look of strategy. You're tougher than you give yourself credit for.
Your mental incanation offers your brothers no way to predict your moves. It takes them by surprise when, with a loud snap, a whip of shimmering dark energy shoots past them.
Their heads turn to see the whip wrap around a nearby pillar instead of them, and Dick spins back to tease you, "Looks like you missed-" He's promptly cut off by a kick to the face.
The whip having been used to pull you forward at breakneck speeds to roundhouse kick Dick in the temple. Bruce's shoulders tense as he watches his son stumble from the force of your kick, and before Jason can respond with his own attack, eyes widening- re-evaluating your threat level in real time, you're rushing him. Your hand covers his eyes, and you quickly whisper guttural Latin into his ear.
Jason's eyes roll back, flashing a shimmering black colour, and his heavy body immediately slumps over into deep sleep. You struggle to put his body down gently on the mat. John has to restrain himself from shouting out in celebration like a football manager at a match, biting his lip in anticipation of seeing how you proceed.
Dick is rubbing his already bruised jaw, brows furrowed as he readies his stance, more cautious this time. You don't relent, summoning daggers of dark light which surge forwards. Dick flips and dodges them, turning round and round in an attempt to avoid slashes from the magical weapons, which just turn around to attack again when he slips past them.
"Damn- kid, what the hell-" Dick grunts, steadily being overwhelmed by the unrelenting dodging, back flipping over another twin daggers.
Steph is cheering for you, probably just entertained that someone is giving the golden boy a good fight. Damian is oddly silent, and Tim is frantically typing and cataloguing- if he'd known about these abilities of yours, god, the amount of situations you could've helped prevent, Tim is partly frustrated as he is admiring.
The Bat-family were strong, of course, but keeping up with metas almost became impossible with the outlandish all-powerful abilities that they seemed to have. You could've been their trump card, the magic user on their side- well, you are their trump card now. Tim's already eager to have you by his side on patrols if his restrained expression is any indication. He's calling dibs on you for patrol partners.
You're panting, hands outstretched to focus your magic, and you finally get a good slash against Dick's calf. He falters, and you take the opportunity to pounce, pinning your older brother to the mat with clasps made of the same dark shimmering energy that hovers around you when spell casting. You sit on his back, victorious.
John pumps his fist in the air before he can think about quelling his pride or excitement, "Yes!" Stephanie similarly is clapping for you; Bruce is watching with an unreadable expression, and Jason is peacefully snoring a little way away.
"God, damn it," Dick huffs from under you, "John taught you to do all that?"
You nod tiredly, moving off him and releasing your magic. Jason startles awake, extremely confused and spots Dick lying on the mat in defeat, and looks even more confused. You stumble towards John, who grabs you into a proud hug. You manage an exhausted laugh, chin resting on his shoulder, "Did I do good?"
"So good, kiddo," He smooths down your hair like a fretting father, "You kicked their damn arses in less than five minutes."
Bruce catches the familiar display, and a strange feeling floods his stomach; another man acting like a father to his adopted child- he didn't appreciate the sight. He speaks up, "Indeed, you exceeded my expectations." You give him a small smile over John's shoulder.
Damian has his arms crossed haughtily at the scene, and he side-eyes Bruce, "You don't ever react like that when we excel in spars." Cass hums in agreement. Bruce doesn't acknowledge that with a response.
John moves to release you from his hold when his hands feel your wettened back, his hands pulling away stained red, and he grimaces. Of course, you overextended yourself. He sees you already looking away guiltily, "What did I say about overusing your magic?"
"Not to do it," You sigh, turning your back to him in a practised motion. He pulls the back of your shirt up to cast some soothing spells onto your scarred back.
Bruce's gaze snaps back, and he steps over, "You're hurt?" Tim even stops typing, worry clouding his expression. Dick and Jason sit up on the mat at the morbid sight of your back: some occult sigil had been carved into your back, years old by the colour of the scars, but the skin was raw and irritated, it seemed, seeping blood.
Bruce recognises it; he didn't think those marks had a purpose beyond being mutilation that the cult had inflicted upon you in your youth. He was wrong. "Answer me, Constantine. What is it?"
John tuts, setting you down gently on a nearby medical bed after his spells of relief make you immediately fall asleep. "They're sigils of magic conduction and strengthening. Normally, just carving stuff like this doesn't do much, but it seems whatever intention or ritual was behind this actually worked."
John glances over at Bruce, wanting answers as much as the other man. "I will make the information available to you." The other bat family siblings look between the men, annoyed with the secrecy.
Stephanie tucks the cover over you after Cass gently wipes your back free of blood, and Steph voices their collective frustration, "What information? Who did this? Why won't you tell us?"
Bruce raises a hand, firm in his decision not to disclose it. Stephanie sends a subtle glance at Tim and finds him already nodding slightly. If Bruce won't tell them, Tim would surely be able to access the old files.
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(Neglected Bat-family member GN!Reader & John Constantine)
Word count: 2257 / 6.6 pages
CW: mentions of cults, child abuse and neglect
Your family's attempts to keep you safe really just succeeded in making you isolated and searching for purpose in the wrong places. Maybe it's for the best that it happened- you wouldn't have met him otherwise.
"Shut up- shut up-" You giggle as you clamber into Wayne Manor from the west wing checkroom window.
No security system is completely impenetrable, and you'd found this tiny blip in the manor's safety wiring when you were sixteen, sneaking out at night to play gigs at shady bars with your band. It was the same way you were using now to escape the manor to have your biweekly meet-ups with John Constantine.
The whole reason Bruce had even taken you in was your childhood aptitude for magic, which had made you the object of obsession of a Gothamite cult. He had saved you from them, from your parents who carved magical sigils into your back, still chubby with baby fat, and seeing how much magic had damaged you in those early years, Bruce saw fit to raise you with little knowledge of the occult or your latent abilities. You were only five when he rescued you after all; it was easy to dismiss memories of floating objects and dark chanting as misconstrued or ill-remembered as you grew up.
However, magic is not a thing that remains dormant; magic is a tempestuous mistress, and her presence, no matter how repressed, is a tantalising lurid scent to any creature that can sense it. Your magic was what drew that rogue tulpa to you (the one John had been chasing across continents to subdue- 'a royal pain in the arse' were his words about the creature after the fact) and it was what saved you from becoming monster chow in that dingy alley, bursting out violently to send the creature hurtling away from you.
The next series of events was a blur: the creature swung back on its hind legs, transforming as it did into what you could only assume was meant to be your worst fear, your father Bruce, expression cold as he stared down at you, his voice a low sneer as he spoke, "Why should I let you stay in my house, you ungrateful, useless sack of shit? Why can't you be more like your siblings, huh?" Your throat tightened with something painful as you stared at this dark version of Bruce. He couldn't be real; you prayed he wasn't.
The creature wearing your father's face continued, grin widening as it saw the way its words were affecting you, "This is why I spend more time with them, why I will always choose them over you, you... You, what do you contribute? You-" Its head was suddenly engulfed in flames, and your mouth opened in a silent scream. Its decapitated body slumps over to reveal a man in a beige trench coat, casually smoking a cigarette.
That's how you met John Constantine.
You piqued John's interest. Upon seeing your magic throw the tulpa away from you, he assumed you were a somewhat experienced spellcaster, but as the encounter dragged on, he soon realised that you weren't even a novice; hell, you were probably unaware of your abilities altogether. Of course, being the reluctant good Samaritan that he is, he stepped in to help you.
It's not every day he comes across a Gothamite with a magical signature as vast yet repressed as yours, and truth be told, you reminded him of himself when he was young in your rag-tag alt fashion, guitar case still in hand as your eyeliner runs with your tears, still shaking from that creature. He knew leaving you now would result in another version of himself, searching for answers to questions in all the wrong places; you'd end up bitter, alone, with more regrets than packs of cigarettes he'd ever smoked. So he extended his hand to you, introduced himself and gave you his card.
Your becoming his apprentice was not something he had planned for, but he'll be damned if you weren't somewhat useful; your magical output was insane, incongruent even to your lack of training. You had mastered the teleportation spell within two weeks of him teaching it to you; it took him three years, and he still can't use it as regularly as you do.
There's a mystery about you he'd like to solve, but that's not the only reason he keeps you around; you're a good kid with your head screwed on right more than most kids of your generation, and you're kind in ways he can't force himself to be. He doesn't want you to lose that. John doesn't get many chances to redeem himself, but he'd like to think he's done right by you.
For the last two years, John had taken you under his wing, honed your magic and taught you how to deal with supernatural threats, guiding your hands to form binding salt circles and instructing you in banishing all sorts of ghouls, ghosts, and demons. You were eighteen now, harnessing more power than he could have imagined at your age. With each new case where you managed to surprise him in some way, even saving his ass sometimes, he feels like a father with his hand on his kid's bicycle seat; he's not sure when he's supposed to let go, if he even should, because there's a chance you could fall. He can't let you fall; you're the one thing he's managed not to fuck up.
He wonders sometimes how you're able to get away with all the sneaking out, sometimes for days at a time, to solve these cases with him. Usually, the thought comes to him when you're both recovering from a particularly gruelling case in a nearby motel, watching Red Dwarf or a Star Trek show on the shitty TV together (he wasn't aware kids your age even watched those shows anymore). He knows you haven't told your family about your abilities, but any decent family surely should have noticed their kid missing from their room for nights in a row by now.
He doesn't ask about it; he knows first-hand what a family that doesn't notice is like. He'll keep an extra eye out for you. Always. Of course, he'd never outright say it because he's not that much of a sap, but he knows you know- especially when you catch him watching you and you just give him that small knowing smile back.
You've got a smile on your face now as you sneak him into your place after a tough demon case in Gotham, insisting he stay at yours as your family is away and you don't want him sleeping in some shitty motel. He's gobsmacked as you lead him to some fancy gothic mansion, white pillars and all; he didn't realise you were some rich kid.
So that's where you are now, giggling as you clamber into Wayne Manor from the west wing checkroom window, Constantine not far behind you.
What you don't expect is your family to be waiting for you- when had they gotten back, and since when had they ever used this room? They must've been waiting for you. Your wide eyes flicker to Alfred, and you catch his slightly guilty glance before it steels back into its usual impassive expression. Of course, it was him, the only one who attempted to keep some track of you. Tim also seems to have the security layout pulled up on his computer feed. Great, they've also found your escape route.
"Uh, hi?" You smile awkwardly at Bruce, who has his arms crossed, face set in disappointment, Damian smug beside him- the little shit loves it when you get in trouble.
You try to subtly push Constantine out the window before he can climb all the way in, but it's too late. Bruce's, as well as Dick and Jason's, eyes catch the figure of the older man behind you, and you see their faces contort with fury. Okay, you can see how this would look bad. Eighteen-year-old you, having been god knows where and now caught sneaking in an older man into the manor, it's easy to assume the worst. Stephanie even gasps when she catches a glimpse of John behind you, and Cass subtly shifts into a fighting stance. Why was the entire bloody family here to witness your embarrassment?
"Uh, kiddo?- Oh." John straightens up, blanching at being faced with a family of furious expressions, "It's not what it- Bruce?"
Bruce's answers in a cold tone, "John."
"Wait," You look between them, confusion mounting, "You know each other?"
John scoffs, stamping out his cigarette at the intense glare the butler is giving him, "Do I? Kiddo, you didn't tell me your daddy was Batman." He waves at your siblings casually, "And that the rest of your siblings are also Gotham's protectors. Grand, they look like they're all gonna kick my ass."
Your jaw drops, brows furrowing in disbelief, "I- what? He's not, they're not-"
Bruce glances away, fists clenching like they do when something hasn't gone his way, and that's how you know it's true. Dick gives you a guilty look, "Hey, we were gonna tell you eventually-"
Jason interrupts, glare focused on John, "Forget about that. Why the hell are you hanging around Constantine?"
Your jaw snaps shut, and your eyes flicker about the room. You can't exactly be mad about them not telling you about being vigilantes (all the missed events, little time spent with you, and absentmindedness finally makes sense now) when you have your own secrets. You might as well rip the band-aid off, "I've been his apprentice for two years."
Your father finally looks at you again, a look of shock, even concern for you, rather than just anger on his face. Your siblings have all stopped; you were supposed to be the civilian, the one they kept safe from the darkness, and now they've come to learn you haven't actually been kept blissfully ignorant- in fact, you've actively seen the worst of it, running around with John Constantine of all people for two years. Even Tim falters; he who knows every variable and outcome has not once calculated for his baby sibling to be the apprentice of one of the most infamous magicians of this day and age.
Damian brandishes his sword, "What is this nonsense? How could you possibly be this scoundrel's-" John's nose scrunches at that description, "Apprentice? You aren't capable of any combat."
You roll your eyes and flick your fingers in an upward motion with a silent incantation; his sword disarms itself from his grip, and he stares at it, bewildered, before looking back at you, his usual cocky little expression nowhere to be found.
You give some jazz hands, "Surprise, I have magic- and before you say anything!" You can see your siblings already gearing up to interrogate you, somewhat betrayed looks on their faces, "None of you told me you were vigilantes. I don't wanna hear it."
Bruce sighs, partly frustrated, partly aching for you- for all the times he had assumed you were safe in your room and in actuality, he had no idea where you were- what had Constantine put you up to? "I wanted to keep you from all this; it almost killed you the first time around."
Your head tilts in confusion at the latter statement. John places his hand on your shoulder, "Sorry to say it, mate. Magic doesn't work like that. Ignorance wouldn't have saved 'em; it would've been a death sentence." His usual mocking, sarcastic tone is absent, his expression hard as he stares down Bruce. "You would've figured that out if you asked any other magic-user about it."
"I didn't know- I didn't want to-" Bruce starts and looks at you. It occurs to you in that moment that this is probably the longest you've ever held this man's attention, the longest he's probably ever talked to you in years. "I just, I wanted a normal childhood for you. I wanted you to be safe."
You reach forward, patting his arm, "There, there. It's okay." You give a wry grin. "I'm perfectly safe, all my fingers and my toes accounted for. Promise. John kept me safe."
There you go with that kindness, John has no idea where you get it from, it's not him. You should be angry with Bruce, should be cussing a storm from here to hell about how he failed, how your entire family has failed, how their weak attempts to keep you safe resulted in nothing but forcing you into that dingy alley at sixteen, facing down that tulpa alone.
John just watches you hug Bruce; you look small in that man's burly embrace. "You tried. It's okay. We can't change what's happened, nor would I want to- John has taught me a lot; I'm glad I met him." His chest feels warm with pride; you're too much of a sap. "You can just change how we go on from here, yeah? Transparency, on both ends."
Bruce holds your face, like he's just now realising how much of a good kid you are, how great your capacity for kindness and forgiveness is, everything amazing about you that John realised two years ago, simply having met you. Bruce's eyes flicker to John, like he's trying to figure out if he's the reason you've come out like this, because it certainly wasn't Bruce, but John just shakes his head.
He doesn't understand how you can forgive your father for all that he hasn't done for you, but he takes it as a sign that you've come out better than him; you really are the one thing he hasn't managed to fuck up.
Jason just wants to go to bed, but instead he has to deal with a spider. [I am a casual DC enjoyer, I'm not following any canon and if I accidentally mischaracterise characters- please shoot me]
CW: implied sexual content
Tag list: @jasontood3904000 @loserinadress @e1ectraaheart
You'd finally taken up on that clubbing invitation after a couple more run-ins with Jason and his friends- at some point, they'd crash at his place, drunk out of their minds, and before anyone could check on Wally, he had absconded through the door and knocked on your door; you'd responded bleary-eyed at the late hour and found the drunken redhead at your doorstep.
"Heyyy, cutiee," He had slurred with a smile wide on his face, to which you'd responded with a partly amused but mostly annoyed brow furrow. "Whatchaa doin'?"
"Trying to sleep? It's two am, Wally." It took both Roy and Dick to get the plastered redhead back into Jason's apartment; the completely embarrassed and frustrated look on Jason's face almost made up for being woken up at an ungodly hour.
"God, I'm sorry about him," Jason grumbled, a blush on his cheeks, from alcohol or shame, you couldn't discern. "He's got a stupid crush on you."
You shook your head, chuckling tiredly. "He's only met me like three times."
"Yeah, well, he's an idiot. We established that, right?"
"Yeah." You nod, biting back a small smile. "Good night, then?"
Jason shook his head; you could tell he was at the very least tipsy. "Yeah- yeah... Good night, love you." He promptly turned to enter his own apartment.
You blinked and called after him, "Love you too?" Yeah, he was probably a little more than just tipsy.
The next morning, he had apologised again, up early to catch you before your shift, despite the evident hangover wracking through his flesh and fumbled his way through an invitation to go out with him and his friends the following weekend.
Which leads you to now, you had taken some time off work- a break from both your day and night job would do you some good- and had accepted Jason's invitation to go clubbing. You'd even manage to score a good fake ID from one of your more shady colleagues at work, you had felt like a rebellious teenager during that whole debacle, despite being the ripe age of twenty-four. Between super hero-ing and making rent, you had little time to act like the young, hot twenty-something you were. No good deed goes unpunished after all, but no matter, you'd make up for lost time tonight.
That is, if you ever leave the building.
"This is pitiful," Stephanie states astutely, "There's nothing sexy in here at all." Stephanie, who was Jason's sister... You think. He had too many friends and family for you to keep up- you were slightly envious, actually.
Nonetheless, she'd offered to help you get ready after hearing of your lack of clubbing experience while the others pregamed. You'd been apprehensive at first; your apartment was pretty sparse, your wardrobe even more so, but Stephanie's funny, albeit in a sarcastic way that reminded you of MJ, and bright nature managed to quell any shame you might have felt about your living conditions. Not the conditions of your clothes, though.
"Well, I don't get out much," You admit with an ashamed little smile and shrug.
She groans, "Why? You're so hot, it's a war crime that you don't grace others with what your mother gave you." While you choke on your spit from her blunt compliment, she rummages through your closet some more before gasping, "Aha! Finally, something good."
When you see the piece she's holding up, you almost choke again, "T-that? I thrifted that ages ago, but it doesn't fit properly."
"I'll be the judge of that." She tosses it at you as well as some pants and your sturdy black boots, "I have some eyeliner in my purse somewhere, we'll make a hot piece of ass out of you yet!"
_______________________________________________
Jason's mouth went a little dry when he saw you beside Stephanie, who looked positively impish with her handiwork. It had to be her work because the only things he'd seen you in were either your work clothes or sweats and a baggy hoodie. The tight, tiny shirt (a dark red colour too, his favourite colour) you were in now, and the dark jeans that hung low on your hips, didn't seem like your style. God, it was a travesty that it wasn't.
His eyes follow the toned muscle of your arms, the abs outlined beneath fabric, since when the hell were you so fit? Your eyes, made sharp and stunning with dark eyeliner, turned away, cheeks pink at the notice of the people in the room. "So, uh, I don't look like a mess, right?"
"You're kidding, right?" Dick was the first to speak, gathering his wits faster than the others. "That's what I said!" Stephanie laughed, casually reaching over and pushing Wally's hanging jaw closed.
Dick walks over and pats you firmly on the back, "You look great. Hell, I think your biceps might even be bigger than mine." The last statement was lilted with both surprise and a little envy- it was rare that anyone outside their crime-fighting circle could compare physically to him.
You chuckled and flexed your bicep beside his, to which Dick immediately pushed your arm down playfully, "Okay! Let's go back to hiding those guns. You're making me feel inferior. C'mon, let's get going before the drinks kick in." The view of your sculpted back and ass isn't helping Jason any. He hadn't even been able to say anything as you turned to follow Dick and Stephanie out, Wally trailing behind like a puppy.
"You know... if you're not gonna play, you should pass the ball," Roy grinned beside him, to which Jason responded by shoving his shoulder. "I'm kidding!"
_______________________________________________
You were glad you followed Stephanie's advice about not bringing a jacket; the club was positively stifling. Bodies pressed up close, slick with sweat and perfumes, glitter and something else sticky on the floor, and the bass thrumming right through your body- your enhanced senses are going haywire, practically buzzing.
You hadn't bothered with drinks, too expensive, and your enhanced metabolism meant you would have to drink double what someone your weight would normally consume to even feel anything- it was easier to just claim you wanted to stay sober. So while the others were at the bar, you made yourself comfortable on the dance floor. It was easy to get a rhythm going with the actual good music playing- 2000 to 2010s era hits; you recognise most of the songs.
Snapping your hips side to side as you spun and swayed to the fast beat, arms up with the other nameless dancing forms beside you. You danced like you were trying to fill a void in your life or maybe trying to shorten the distance between you and the other inhabitants of this universe, filling the gap with music and adrenaline.
Your hair whipped about you, a grin unabashed on your face as you sing along to the words with the girls beside you, like the louder you sing, maybe it'll block out all the other thoughts, the faces of everyone you've lost, everyone you've let down. Was it sweat or tears making your eyeliner run? You didn't care; you just closed your eyes, becoming one with the shifting bodies controlled by the rhythm.
_______________________________________________
Jason's eyes hadn't left your form since you'd escaped to the dance floor, gaze following the circle your hips were making, and everyone else had noticed.
"C'mon, Little Wing, go ask to dance," Dick urged as he downed another tequila shot, kissing his teeth at the sting. "Before someone else does." Jason glances over to who his brother is gesturing at: Wally, that damn idiot, looked hypnotised by you. He couldn't blame the redhead; he probably looked the same.
There was probably a million reasons as to why this was a bad idea, why you were a bad idea, less so because of anything being wrong with you and more so, everything wrong with him. He liked you, sure, who wouldn't? You were a damn hard worker; it was obvious in the determined but tired look you had every morning when you set off to work. You were kind and friendly, always willing to lend him something- even if it was bullshit- he had just chickened out of asking you out and instead ended up asking if you could lend him some flour. Lastly, well, you were hot as hell. You had so much to offer, and what the hell could he offer you? A bad temper, an irregular schedule, little time-
"I can practically see the longing and self-loathing, bud." Steph tuts, finishing her drink and slipping off the stool, straightening the skirt of her dress.
Roy sipped his Coke and rum, amused, "You're seriously scared, aren't you? Ain't that a first."
"I'm not." He knows what they're trying to do, goad him into going over there and dancing with you. It's working anyway, damn it. He stands and shoots them a glare when they cheer for him.
Jason finishes a shot before making his way to you. Steph follows shortly after, before disappearing into the crowd, leaving him to approach you alone. He can see you're oblivious to the eyes on you, the hands of strangers that would love to settle somewhere on that body of yours, but Jason's presence is enough of a deterrent for anyone wanting to try their luck.
Your arm bumps into his chest, and your eyes open, "Sorry- oh, hey, Jason!" You're glowing under the neon lights with a slight sheen of sweat, and he finds his hands moving before he can stop them, fingers carefully cleaning up the smudged edge of your eyeliner. He's unaware that your enhanced hearing can pick up on his racing heartbeat and the slight tensing as he reevaluates his movement, whether it was proper, whether he's weirded you out.
You go for the casual response, not wanting to psych him out, "Thanks! Man, I must look crazy. It's so hot in here."
"Yeah? Were you going to leave?" His brows furrow and only straighten when you shake your head.
"Nah, I like the music here! I wanna dance some more-" You glance up when the next track starts, gasping, "Oh my god! I love this song!"
Jason doesn't recognise the song, the heavy bass and ragged guitar line is pretty decent, the lyrics though... he doesn't know what to do when you begin singing along, especially when he hears the chorus, "She don't play nice, she makes me beg! She drops that dress around her legs!" He regains some motor control when you take his hands in your own, forcing them up to dance back to back with him.
You're torturing him, you have to be, why else are your hands running down his sides as you sing, "And I'm sitting right by the stage for this porn star dancing!" Jesus, why has one person reduced him to some weak-kneed mess? He's Red Hood for Christ's sake.
He finally takes some initiative, spinning you back around to his chest with the next lines. He delights in the small stutter in your breath you let out before you're back to singing this damned song. "Your body's lighting up the room. I want a naughty girl like you!" You playfully point at him at the last line, nose scrunching with laughter.
He lets his hands trail down to your hips, fingertips brushing against the skin exposed by the low cut of your pants as he guides you to the rhythm. It startles you enough to finally get you to stop singing, you smile shyly, arms wrapping around his neck.
Yeah, it's definitely not a surprise to any of the others when you two leave the club early, and its defintely not a surprise to either of you when he wakes up in your bed the next morning. "Breakfast?" You ask, and he watches you stretch, bare skin against sheets.
"Sure." It's probably one of the few times in his romantic life that he hasn't felt compelled to sneak out before the other person wakes (though there wouldn't be much of a place to run to, seeing as he lives next door), and he doesn't mind staying for breakfast. Especially not when you press another quick, almost shy kiss to his cheek before escaping to the bathroom.
Jason just wants to go to bed, but instead he has to deal with a spider. (GN!reader)
[I am a casual DC enjoyer, I'm not following any canon and if I accidentally mischaracterise characters- please shoot me]
Also tag list: @jasontood3904000 I never done a tag list before so you're my first one dude, I heart you
Before you knew it, two years had passed by like a flash. You were far from the scared young adult you were when you first arrived in Gotham- confused, hurt and forced to abandon your previous universe to restore the balance of order- thanks, Doctor Strange. Your only solace was the spell that erased all memory of you and your identity from the people of that world; it was easier to make a new place for yourself here, knowing that no one was waiting for you back home.
Your years had been filled with working a multitude of different shitty cash-in-hand jobs, the only kind you could get with minimal questions- you didn't have a national insurance number, proof of citizenship, or hell, a high school diploma. It had all been left behind, and so you were forced to work from the ground up. It took a couple of months before you could even afford a half-decent place to rent, and it took too many sugar-sweet smiles and fake laughter at the sleazy old patrons of the clubs you worked at. Serving and bartending, not stripping. You wouldn't demean yourself to that... not yet anyway, when your super strength and stamina gave you enough skill to work construction for mostly consistent wages.
On the bright side, you still had your suit, even if it nearly broke you to deactivate and remove Karen, even your suit's A.I. hadn't been spared from Doctor Stranger's spell- she wouldn't allow you access to the suit, not recognising you. The absence of her calming voice was the final nail in the coffin. You were never going home; everyone you had known was either dead- Mr Stark, your aunt and uncle- or living lives better off without you. Happy, Ned, MJ... God, you needed to stop thinking about all of them. New beginnings meant leaving all that behind, 'it's only when we lose everything that were free to do anything'- or however the quote goes.
Between being Gotham's 'Spider' and work, your life was pretty full. It definitely got even more full after you discovered the other vigilantes of Gotham- there was a whole family of them?? Like the Avengers but... more edgy. Having at least a decade of experience in vigilantism served you well in evading them at every turn, especially the one you'd run into the most- Red Hood. Your patrol areas must intersect because you find yourself at the receiving end of his batons one too many times for comfort.
"Y'know, we really gotta stop meeting like this, Little Red Riding Hood." You grin under your mask, turning to look at his shadowed figure that you'd sensed pursuing you ten minutes ago. "I'm starting to think you're like- stalking me or something, you like me that much?"
"Do you ever shut up?" With his gruff voice-modulated reply, he promptly attempts to get the jump on you, diving to tackle you before you manage to slip away from his fingers again.
Your back hits the floor of the rooftop, two hundred pounds of muscled man on top of you, pinning you down, "Oof!- Hey, there, big boy." You laugh like he's not the fear-inducing reformed gang leader turned vigilante he is, and wrap your legs around his waist- your thighs strong with corded muscle- and flip him onto his back like it's nothing.
"I think I like this position more," You tease, the lenses of your mask narrowing with the cheeky smile under your mask. Red Hood's mask remains impassive, but his arms twitch under your hold, unable to break free from your enhanced strength. "Get. Off."
"Why? Feeling shy now?" You tighten your legs around his waist when he tries to buck you off. "And anyway! You tackled me first, I was just strolling around!"
Red Hood grunts in frustration, caught like a mouse in a trap- a very big mouse, but whatever, "Don't play dumb, you know you're not supposed to be playing vigilante on our turf."
"As if you can make that call, we're both illegally performing vigilantism, you bats just happened to be here first-" You scoff.
"-And Gotham continues to stand because of us. You're not needed, Meta." He spits back.
"Tell that to all criminals I've apprehended, kittens I've saved from trees, the old ladies I help cross the street every day-"
"-leave the old ladies out of this-"
"Is this a fight or something else, Little Wing?" A terribly amused and entertained voice speaks up from behind you two, and you glance back to see Nightwing in all his tight Kevlar-wearing glory- oh, that suit does not have to be that tight. Well, yours isn't any better, actually, but you can blame Mr Stark for that, though. As if sensing where your thoughts had wandered to at Nightwing's appearance, Red Hood manages to shove you off him with your grip being loose- leave it to Dick to distract the enemy with his shiny glutes.
You stand, hands raised, "What is this an ambush? You fellas tag-teaming me?"
"Don't call it that," Red Hood groans. Nightwing laughs, ooh, dimples.
"I gotta say, Off-Brand Deadpool, I think I like this one better, no offence" You wave at Nightwing, who is unsheathing his escrima sticks as Red Hood readjusts his gauntlets, "But unfortunately, I can't stick around. Parting is such a sweet sorrow, cutie in the blue." You give a dramatic bow before taking two steps back and free-falling from the rooftop ledge.
"You're not getting away!" You hear Red Hood's disgruntled voice as he and Nightwing make to pursue you. You decide to fuck around with them, leading them round and round in circles like headless chickens for half an hour before finally absconding into the night. You pay for those shenanigans with the exhaustion you feel in the morning, rolling out of bed for work.
_______________________________________________
Later that week, you're returning home after a particularly gruelling twelve-hour shift at the construction site. Hands calloused, eyes stinging with fatigue and pants scuffed with dust and concrete, you're holding your jacket draped over your shoulder and opening your door with your free hand when a commotion stops you.
Your neighbour's door slams open and a couple of dolled-up figures exit the place, voices excited and echoing questions about 'what club?' and 'whose driving?'. Your cheeks flush a little red at being found in your dirty work clothes, and especially when your eyes catch Jason's.
Damn, he looks amazing. It's a physical effort not to meow or something else ridiculous, "Looking good, handsome." You nod casually in greeting, an easy but tired smile on your face.
There's a playful gasp, and the redhead you'd met briefly before, Wally, drapes his arm over your shoulders, "It's the total babe with the baking skills, how you doing?"
"Doing just fine," You smile, indulging him. "Are you all going out? Stay safe out there, guys."
"Yes, we will!" Dick, Jason's older brother, whom you had actually run into once or twice more during his visits to his brother, salutes as he tugs on his jacket. "You should join us, actually. What do you think about that, Jay?" He asks slyly, and you glance at Jason; his eyes seem to snap up from where Wally's holding around your shoulders.
"Uh, sure- that'd be great, but uh, you've been at work all day, right? You're probably exhausted," Jason fumbles slightly, brows furrowing as he shoots Dick a look that only people as close as they are can discern the silent message of.
"Yeah, I am pretty beat," You scratch your cheek, not just that- they'd have to wait up on you while you showered and changed, and that was just a whole hassle you didn't wanna subject them to. Not to mention, you don't exactly own any cute club-worthy outfits, and drinks at clubs were expensive- you were perpetually broke between paying rent, utilities, and trying to save so you have something to fall back on, just in case. It'd just be so embarrassing to air all that- and give away the fact you were a loser chud with no friends, the mysterious charming neighbour act had been going good for you. "Sorry, maybe another time?"
Jason's shoulders slump slightly. Disappointment? Relief? His friend Wally groans in dramatic mourning, "Damn. What a shame, next time definitely."
"Sure thing." You nod and wave them goodbye as they leave. The smile slips from your face when they turn the corner of the corridor, their voices of elation and banter fading with them, and you push open the door to your quiet, lonely apartment.
There's the familiar pit forming in your stomach, which you know only a patrol will distract you from. A therapist would probably have a field day with you if you ever managed to afford to go, but for now, you'll stave off your aching loneliness and grief by fighting criminals. Gotham has plenty for you to choose from.
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Jason just wants to go to bed, but instead he has to deal with a spider. GN!Reader
[I am a casual DC enjoyer, I'm not following any canon and if I accidentally mischaracterise characters- please shoot me]
Jason didn't want to be having this stupid get-together; his apartment was a dump on the best of days, but his brother's had practically highjacked the place- something about not wanting Bruce around to kill the vibe of their shenanigans, and when Jason rightfully questioned why Dick didn't just use his own apartment, he was met with playful roughhousing and not an answer- tricky bastards.
So he was here, sitting on his ratty couch, sipping a beer and chatting shit with Roy as his brothers and their other friends/acquaintances milled around his somewhat spruced-up apartment, decent music playing in the background (Stephanie had commandeered the function playlist). There was a half-decent snack table, and Dick wasn't being entirely too insufferable yet- Jason and Tim had hidden the karaoke machine that he brought. Jason could see Wally and Dick hunting for it from his peripheral vision; he snickered to himself.
They'd never find it- he had tossed it into the dumpster below from his fourth-story apartment balcony. The best-case scenario is that it was broken beyond repair; the others would thank him and Tim for sparing them from the no-hit wonder duo. Moving to get himself and Roy another beer from the fridge, Jason's attention is arrested by a knock at the door. Just how many people did his idiot brothers invite?
You look up when your new neighbour's door opens to reveal a total hunk of a guy, tall and muscled, scarred and handsome- isolated strands of white hair at his temple that kissed the rest of his black hair. 'Well, hello, sailor', is all your brain manages to put together as you blink at the man.
"Hello, do I know you?" He asks, raising an eyebrow.
"Oh- uh, no," You startle back to attention, smiling guiltily for blatantly oggling your neighbour two seconds into meeting him, "I just moved in next door, I haven't managed to catch you to say hi, but uh, I heard the music and figured you'd be in. I brought cookies." You hold up the bowl of homemade chocolate chip cookies.
The man blinks, green eyes flicking from the cookies to your face to the cookies again in a manner that reminds you all too much of a distrustful stray puppy, "You're not from around here, are you?"
"Uh- how did you figure?" You chuckle awkwardly.
The man crosses his very well-built, beautifully biceped awooga awooga arms, casually leaning on his door frame as he looks down at you. "Well, one, that accent ain't exactly common for a Gothamite and two, no one's this nice around here. It's more trouble than it's worth to be."
"Observant and handsome, but I promise I haven't poisoned the cookies or anything," You manage a playful wink. Internally, you're already picking apart your words and screaming at yourself- was that too forward? You're weirding your pretty neighbour out, god damn it, he's going to figure out you're a loser- you totally wanted to appear to be the cool but sweet neighbour, mysterious and charming.
Jason lets out a small huff of amusement, but before he can say anything else, two sets of chins settle on his shoulders. "Who's at the door?" He hears from Wally at his right shoulder, and from his left, he hears Dick whistle lowly, already putting on that irritatingly charming smile of his, "Jay, you didn't say you were inviting a date?-"
"Not a date, dumbass." He shoves the two off with an irritated huff. Wally promptly takes the opportunity to snatch a cookie and take a bite before anyone else can. His eyes widen, and he moans at the taste, "Oh my god- these are amazing, well if you're not Jason's date, how'd you like to be mine?" Wally grins at you like a complete dork.
You blink before laughing at the playful flirtation, "Oh, well, hello to you too."
Jason feels slightly irked at Wally's forwardness. You're his neighbour, the one seemingly decent -albeit potentially a little naive- one he's had in a long time- why is this redheaded idiot already trying to make a pass at you? "Don't listen to him, he's certifiably mentally impaired."
"Hey, that's not true!-" Wally protests, muffled by the cookie in his mouth.
"-I don't know about that, he might be onto something," Dick teases Wally and yelps when the redhead tackles him back further into the apartment. Jason can hear Artemis' disgruntled yells at being barged into and M'Gann's laughter.
You're still standing there, luckily for Jason. You're not completely freaked out by his idiotic friends; in fact, you smile somewhat longingly, "Lively bunch."
"Yeah, lively enough to wake the dead. Sorry for the noise," Jason finally accepts your sweet gift, the bowl looking smaller in his larger hands, "Hope you don't work early tomorrow, they probably won't leave till later."
"Oh, no, it's fine," You wave off graciously- definitely not a Gothamite- too nice and friendly, "Jason, right?" You ask with a playful questioning furrow of your brow.
He nods, and when you give your name, he mutters it back, "Thanks for the cookies."
"No problem, neighbour, I hope to see you around more." Little did either of you know, you would be seeing more of each other, way more, under the cover of leather and spandex and without knowing just who exactly the other was, but you would.
Mammon is going to be a hero. Why wouldn't he be? Immeasurable fame and all the money he could ever want, to buy what ever the hell he wants, it's a pretty sweet deal. His first heroic act? Scoring so abysmally that the teachers are forced to lower 1-As grade boundaries. No, don't thank him. He didn't do it on purpose. (BNHA x Obey Me!)
English
"That way isa the... extraordinary female toiletu?" Mammon drawls confusedly, he's attempting to translate a Japanese sentence into English and failing, eyes squinting at the front board behind his orange-lens glasses.
Present Mic shakes his head, laughing slightly, and corrects the young boy with a smile, "Ah, ah, listener. 'Temporary' not 'extraordinary' unless you're promising some ladies the best bathroom experience of their lives. You're also adding too many vowel sounds: 'is' and 'toilet'- but don't worry, that's a common mistake everyone makes."
"Please direct me to the extraordinary toilets," At the teasing of his desk neighbour, Denki, Mammon flushes pink and huffs, crossing his arms defiantly. "Like you can talk! You literally jus' told sir that ya' wanted to order 'one prebubescent fried chicken'."
"You're both idiots, shut up!" Bakugo snaps back at you two, and Present Mic is forced to get the class back under control.
Maths
Ectoplasm made his way through the class, handing out the students' tests that he had marked since their last lesson. When he reaches the white-haired male, he stops and utters a grave, "Mammon... Please see me after class."
Mammon gulps and nods, daring to peek at the mark 'eighteen per cent' and immediately wincing. Yeah... Lucifer was going to hang him on the chandelier after seeing this result. But to be fair, it wasn't his fault! He had been way too busy with his new, entirely legitimate project to make money. Sure, he was currently in debt because of it, but stocks, bro! He'd get his money back... Eventually. Probably. Hopefully.
"Dude- how did you do worse than me? I only got twenty per cent," Kaminari bemoaned, snatching Mammon's paper before the other has any time to react. What he finds is a bunch of suspiciously fallic-shaped doodles and nonsensical answers, "How did you get the 'Hero Reformation Act of 2296', bro?? This is a maths test."
"Just shuddap'." Mammon groaned, hiding his face. "I was tired."
Literature and Language
"Soft, what light through uh-" Mammon glances back down at the paper, "Yonder window breaks? It is the east, an' Juliet is the sun. Arise, fair sun an' kill the envious moon who is- alrigh' I can't do this if he's gonna look at me like that!"
Todoroki blinked, the blank look on his face unchanging, "What look?"
"That look! All gaumless and- I dunno- Smile or somethin' you're supposed to be a pretty girl."
Todoroki's lips twitched into something more akin to a grimace than a smile, his eyes seemingly conveying insurmountable inner turmoil. Mammon covered his face with his copy of Romeo and Juliet, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. The rest of the students collectively sweat dropped at the expression.
"What the hell is that, dude?" Kirishima's brows furrowed, his smile faltering in concern. "I think he's shitting himself," Sero supplied as his head tilted.
"That's a really strange look, Todo-babe." Ashido tried to say as kindly as she could, wanting to help her classmate from looking so bizarre; Uraraka nodded in worried agreement.
"Can we please continue with the reading?" Cementoss sighed, before acknowledging the student's strange smile himself, "Perhaps you shouldn't make that face."
"Oh." Todoroki let his face fall to its usual impassive look.
UGHHH I keep having thoughts about a multiverse fic with multiple different versions of Batman (one from a universe where he's happy w a wife and kids, old man Batman, murderer Batman, zombie apocalypse survivor Batman, experiencer of the war and horrors Batman) and the batman of the universe they spawn to is just like 😐 "I cba with this"
Meanwhile the batfam are just thoroughly entertained with the alternate versions of their papa
[You're just the average student, perhaps even a little above average. You did get into U.A after all.]
Bakugo is already waiting at the plaza gates when you arrive. He gives the evilest stink eye to Midoriya, and strangely, you can't help but feel like a third wheel. The teachers probably paired them up to sort out this bitter feud or at least manage to find a way to fight without letting personal relationships cloud their judgement- you were here to make sure they didn't kill each other.
"Ready? Go!" The voice over the speaker's call, the gates opening and now, the practical exam had started. You three enter in tense silence. Midoriya looks like a panicked bunny under Bakugo's glare. You slip down your visor, yeah, this was going to be a shit show.
"C'mon, general trash," Bakugo growls, walking ahead- well, more like stomping ahead-, and you follow along.
"I know you're probably not gonna listen, but if you seriously want to pass, I'd suggest we just try to escape." You glance at Midoriya, who nods in agreement. He speeds up to walk next to you two, "Combat with All Might is out of the question-"
"Stop following me." Bakugo cuts him off, "We're not escaping, shitty extra, just fight like you said you would."
"If we keep going straight, we're going to play right into All Might's hands. He'll be expecting us!" Midoriya protests.
"And? It'd be better if we beat the crap out of him." Your head turns between them like you're watching an especially enthralling tennis match. For such a smart guy, Bakugo was acting so stupid right now. Arrogant and short-sighted, you're just glad you're not the focus of his hatred right now.
"This is ridiculous, there's no way we'd win-" You speak up only to get shouted over by Bakugo. "We're going to toy with him until the time almost runs out, and then I'll blast him to hell and back!"
You give Midoriya a look that says 'who the hell does this guy think he is?' and Midoriya voices that, "Who do you think All Might is? Even with the handicap, you can't win against him-" you don't see the swing, only Midoriya falling to the floor with a yell.
Your eyes widen, and you shove Bakugo instinctively, "What the hell is wrong with you? You don't like him, fine. What the fuck are you assaulting him for? We're being recorded and graded, idiot!"
"Don't say another word," Bakugo's eyes widen to a maniacal degree, and he seethes as he looks back at Midoriya, "Just because things have been going better for you doesn't mean you should talk. It's pissing me off." This guy actually had a fucking screw loose. Exorcism needed, pronto.
"I'm saying this so we can pass this test!" Midoriya shouts, finally fighting back against Bakugo.
"I told you- your power isn't needed to pass this-" Bakugo raises his voice and in return, Midoriya screams back, "Stop yelling! That's why we can never have a real conversation!"
Suddenly comes rushing a huge gust of wind which sweeps the three of you off your feet. You charge your mana and summon a disc (you opted not to use your wings for this test; they drained too much energy, and you needed as much as you could save). You push forward against the hurricane-speed winds, clutching to your disc. Managing to stay upright, when the wind clears, you realise you've lost the other two idiots. Grand.
"Who gives a damn about damaging the city?" You hear distantly, and your eyes widen; a length the entire fucking diameter of the sphere has been blown to bits. This is All Might's handicapped strength?! "If you think of this as an exam, you'll be sorry. I am a villain, heroes. Come at me with everything you've got."
Even though you're not being directly challenged like Bakugo and Midoriya, the absolute intimidation is enough to make you consider just using your disc and bolting for the escape.
"Don't think I've forgotten about you." Your eyes widen, and hurtling through the air comes a piece of debris that pins you to the wall of a building. Of course, making sure you can't zip away to the escape would be his first course of action- it seems Midoriya figures that out too, but it's too late now.
"Ah!-" You didn't even get time enough to erect a shield; he's just so fast. You're forced to watch as Bakugo launches an attack at All Might, his blasts doing little to hurt the number one hero. The hero, now a villain, just slams Bakugo to the ground.
Midoriya tries to escape, but in the blink of an eye, All Might is looming behind him like a vengeful God. With the lack of communication between Midoriya, who's trying to evade, and Bakugo, who's trying to attack, they collide in mid-air, knocking each other down. Fucking idiots.
Okay, think. Think! What can you do? What are All Might's weaknesses? He's human like everyone, so if you can target weak points of the human body, maybe you can hurt him enough to stop him. Hopefully, Recover Girl will heal him.
While All Might is distracted with Bakugo and Midoriya both still bickering even when being faced head-on by him, you summon daggers of your mana. You concentrate on sending them zipping out, focused on All Might's ankles, slicing through his yellow boots to his Achilles tendons. "Argh!-" All Might lets out a yell of pain, immediately unable to stand on his toes or push up his feet.
Bakugo and Midoriya pause, the surprise halting their fighting, and you yell, "NOW! Attack now!" They both take the opening you've created, launching forward with twin fists- Bakugo sets off an explosion while Midoriya uses his super strength. The hero is sent flying backwards without the strength of his calves to keep himself steady.
You pant, pushing back the debris pinning you with a shield and stumble on to the street where the other two are. It can't be that easy, can it? "That was very clever, hero! But it'll take more than that to keep me down."
All Might hurtles down through the air, pinning Midoriya to the ground with a broken piece of railing and launches forward to punch Bakugo in the stomach, forcing the young boy to spew his lunch at the strength of it. All Might's fighting through the pain of severed tendons, and the concurrent moves almost leave you dizzy trying to keep up. You erect a shield, just in time as All Might's fist slams into it- he's notably moving slower with the injuries, but he's still leagues ahead in brute strength.
Your shield shatters, and before you can summon anything to either get away or block, All Might grabs you by the arm, tossing you like a ragdoll into Bakugo. You both crash to the ground in a heap- "Fuck!-" your arm is dislocated! It hangs limp next to you, useless. Bakugo shoves you off as he struggles to get to his feet.
All Might limps over to you two, continuing to monologue like a super villain, "I know why you're so angry, it's because of Midoriya's sudden improvement, but it's much easier to improve your rankings if you're a novice. You're wasting your potential, can't you see that?"
"If I have to work with that scum, I'd rather lose!"
Is he trying to lecture Bakugo in the middle of an exam? No matter, you summon a disc under you to evade, just as Midoriya creates an opening for you to escape by punching All Might. "Don't say that you'd rather lose, idiot!"
You grab Bakugo with your good arm, zipping away on your platform and following where Midoriya hops too. Finally, escaping the absolute onslaught that is All Might for now.
"Put me down, bastard!" Bakugo struggles against you, and you try to hold out, but when he punches at your dislocated arm, your concentration shatters, as does your disc. The three of you stop in an alleyway.
"Asshole! What the hell is wrong with you?!" You choke out through pained tears; you clutch at your arm.
Midoriya is helping you up, and before you can say anything, he's setting your arm back into place- "FUCK! Midoriya!-" You slump back against the wall, growing exhausted more and more as the pain throbs.
Yeah, you're gonna be done soon. You probably have strength for one or two last constructs and nothing too sizeable. You're half out of it with the pain as the two begin arguing again, Bakugo even setting off an explosion near Midoriya's head.
"Huh?" You're pulled back into the present to discover they've managed to figure out a plan, both of them looking at your shaky, pale figure, "Right- right. You two, go ahead with that plan. I'll just- follow. I don't have much energy left."
"Clearly," Bakugo grits his teeth, annoyed to hell and back that he has to cooperate with Midoriya, but you're looking worse for wear at this point. The two launch a sneak attack on All Might, Bakugo attacking first, and Midoriya follows, wearing and detonating one of Bakugo's gauntlets. The three of you make a break for the gate. You clutch onto your disc, flying beside Midoriya and Bakugo.
Midoriya sends a glance back to where All Might was, "He's not following us, don't tell me that attack KO'd him-"
"Of course not! You're the one always saying that it's impossible to beat him. He'll catch up with us, and when he does, it's my turn to blast him with a gauntlet!"
"Oh yes, and then what will you do?" All Might laughs from where he's casually caught up to your three. Two punches and he's broken both the gauntlets that Midoriya and Bakugo were wearing. He sends Bakugo flying with a kick to the stomach and wrenches Midoriya back and forth like a ragdoll by his arm.
The combination of the weights on his wrists and ankles, the snapped Achilles tendons too, however, makes All Might a second slow enough for you to get an attack in. You create the last construct you can with the minimum energy you've got left, a dagger, and plunge it straight through his thigh, right where the femoral artery should be.
"Damn it- you just love cheap shots, don't you? Not very heroic." All Might grits his teeth; he finds himself suddenly unable to move even more. He's forced to stop, Bakugo pinned under his foot and Midoriya held dangling in his right hand. Your vision is going spotty, and your disc evaporates. Still, you've gotta keep awake enough to maintain that dagger.
"Move, and I'll release the dagger; you'll bleed out in less than a minute." You force yourself to your feet, legs trembling, breathing short and barely making it to your lungs. "The femoral artery, the blood is under such high pressure, I don't know if the medbots can get to you in time if I release it. So please. Don't move."
All Might gives pause; it's a real threat, a plea even, and he can see how much it's taking out of you to keep the dagger in place. Both boys look at your trembling figure with wide eyes. You've managed to get them an advantage. "Let them go, villain. You're in no position to fight."
"Damn it, hero. You've got me." He releases them, even in the context of the exam, a villain more often than not would choose self-preservation. You stay to maintain the dagger as the other two run for the escape. Only once the medbots and Recovery Girl are on scene, do you finally release your mana. You slump down, unconscious on the debris-littered floor.
_______________________________________________
"You could have gone a little easier on them, All Might. Look at the damage that you've done!" Are the first words you hear when you wake up later. Recovery Girl is scolding All Might, who sits in his own recovery bed. "Any more and it would have caused permanent damage."
"They weren't exactly holding back on me either," All Might coughs, massaging his sore ankles.
"Sorry, All Might," you croak, sitting up only to be immediately pushed back down by Recovery Girl. You're aching in so many different places, it's like your entire body is throbbing- your ribs sting every time you breathe from where you got pinned by debris, your arm that was dislocated is now in a cast, and your palms are burning with the overuse of your quirk.
"Now, now, don't get up. Just stay and rest here, okay?" She advises in a stern tone, and you simply nod, too tired to argue. You turn your head slightly and find Midoriya and Bakugo also on beds, both of them healing from some kind of injury. "Wait, we passed right?" You can't quite remember with the hullabaloo of the medical staff.
"Yes, we did, thanks to you..." Midoriya smiles, exhausted. Bakugo kisses his teeth, nose scrunched up in anger like he wants to disagree but can't.
"No, no- you guys gave me the openings to even get any attacks in, and you were the ones to actually escape. I was so beat by the end of it," You sigh, eyes starting to sting as you try to keep them open.
"Either way, it seems like teamwork was what finally helped you guys pass the exam. That and the threat of blood loss." All Might gives you a side eye.
"Sorry, All Might." You repeat and yawn, finally resting your eyes.
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[You're just the average student, perhaps even a little above average. You did get into U.A after all.]
Oh, you were so screwed for the final exams. It's true that while you excel at the humanities subjects- history, philosophy, literature and language- gaining some of the highest marks in the class, much to your surprise, secret pride and also embarrassment.
Whenever your essays or answers were chosen to be marked live to the class or handed out as an example, you felt a hot flush take over your face. It was especially funny when, despite not getting the audience quite right for your recast in the midterms, Present Mic had liked your creative writing enough to still give you full marks: 25/25, the only one in the class. You tried not to meet Bakugo's intense glare.
However, you weren't quite as naturally gifted with the STEM subjects. Biology was easy enough to understand, that you could keep up with, but chemistry and physics were the bane of your existence- and don't even get you started on maths. You were barely scraping by with Bs in chemistry and mathematics, Cs in physics. The advanced curriculum of U.A. was kicking your ass, and as someone who placed their entire worth on their academics, you were starting to feel perpetually nauseous whenever you thought of exams and grades.
You've always been placed in the highest classes since middle school, but you were painfully aware that you were the dumbest of the smart kids. It was a strange feeling of both inferiority and superiority; you can't help the feelings of hot shame and jealousy whenever you see some of the other students of 1-As debating complex mathematical equations that you can barely access, and physics was completely lost on you. It was just so... Boring. Thus, it was your worst subject.
It also didn't help that your parents seemed to think you were gifted beyond your actual capabilities; you weren't a genius by any means, just slightly above average. It was just so much pressure. On top of academics, you were also expected to keep up with physical training outside of school. God, how were these kids doing it? How were they finding the motivation, the concentration?
You sigh, rubbing the soft, slightly bruised coloured skin of your eye bags. Classes were adjourned for the day, and now you had the weekend to cram for your exams that were starting next week. The time had flown by so fast, summer was looming over you as well as the promise of a training summer camp. You're packing your things away when suddenly your attention is captured by someone calling your name.
It's Yoayorozu Momo, deputy class representative, who's looking very amped up in an adorable way. She smiles at you, "Sorry we haven't been formally introduced, I'm Yoayorozu Momo, and I hope this isn't too familiar, but would you be willing to attend a study session with some of our peers at my residence? Your help with the literature and language aspects would be highly appreciated!"
You blink before smiling a little. She really is quite a sweetheart, "Oh- oh! Sure, well, I'll have to ask my parents first. I'll let you know by tonight."
"Ah, thank you! This is going to be so fun!" She squeaks in excitement.
That's how you end up outside the fanciest estate you've ever seen. You, alongside your classmates: Ashido, Kaminari, Sero, Ojiro and Kyoka Jiro, stand with jaws open and eyes wide at the sheer scale of the place. "I wasn't expecting such a fancy place," Kaminari voices your collective thoughts before pressing the buzzer.
Yoayorozu's voice comes crackling through, excitedly, "Ah, welcome, guys, I've been waiting for you!" The gates then open on their own. "Please, come in!" Good lord, this girl was wealthy.
Suddenly, you don't feel too bad about not measuring up to standard anymore when some of your classmates literally come from the most privileged and wealthiest backgrounds; you simply lucked out with your quirk and half-decent brain, and while your parents tried to support you the best they can. Public school and once a week after-school tuition can only do so much.
Still, you're a U.A. student now, training amongst the best and brightest with the best facilities and teachers, you've gotta stop blaming your circumstances for your shortcomings and start strapping up to take responsibility for your future. You can't help but admire the tenacity of some of your classmates, Bakugo especially, whom you've come to learn is not only a beast in combat but in academics too. You seriously needed to try harder- even if you don't want to be a hero, the university you want to attend will only accept the best grades.
Pushing down the familiar feelings of nausea, you enter the beautiful manor. You're glad to not be the only one who feels out of place in the lavish grand hall, revision materials spread out on the great oak table. You smile when Yoayorozu enters with a cart of tea and cakes; she looks so happy to have her classmates over. What a sweetheart.
You help your classmates as much as you can with the structures for literature and language essays, advising them on how to pick out techniques from quotes and how to implement context into their arguments; you also aid Yoayorozu with the history and philosophy topics as best as you can. In return, she helps you with some of the things you're struggling with but there's only so much she can do.
You're not dumb, you understand the topics when they're taught to you, it's just the effort of memorising them and redoing questions over and over where you fall short. Your father's words of 'coasting by' and 'not applying yourself' echo in your mind and you feel guilty. Why can't you just like studying? Sigh, you needed to Pavlov Dog yourself into liking revising or something.
The written exams finally roll around and you find yourself doing... Alright. You think. Usually when you think you've done good, you've done bad and when you think you've done bad, you've done good. So you can't say much until you get your results back, which you hope aren't too bad.
You didn't wanna face your parents again with another mediocre report card of As in the subjects that don't matter and Bs and Cs in the subjects that do. They want you to go into the sciences after all... They just want you to do better than they did, being working class as you are, they want you to have it better than they did.
It's understandable, reasonable even but you just feel... So lost, directionless even. You don't mind the sciences, but humanities is where your strengths lie, even then, your passions lie in the arts. It's just too much. Too much. One day at a time, come on, you've got this.
Soon, the practical exam comes.
Practical Exam Area - Centre Plaza
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Waiting for your class are about seven teachers, much to your classmates' confusion; many of them had expected the exam to be like the entrance exam, with robot enemies to face. However, it seems like this isn't the case, as explained by Principal Nezu himself, who was hiding in Aizawa's scarf- very odd behaviour for a man of at least fifty. The class would be split into groups of three and made to face a teacher in a combat fight.
Oh, good lord. The groups soon form as follows:
You, Midoriya and Bakugo vs. All Might.
Kaminari, Todoroki and Yaoyorozu vs. Aizawa.
Ashido, Uraraka and Aoyama vs. Thirteen
Jiro, Tokoyami and Tsuyu Asui vs. Ectoplasm.
Koji Koda, Kirishima and Rikido Sato vs. Cementoss
Sero, Mineta, and Mezo Shoji vs. Ms Midnight.
Toru Hagakure, Iida and Ojiro vs. Snipe.
No way... they were taking the piss with this one. You were fighting All Might?! With Bakugo and Midoriya of all people?! Those two could barely be in the same vicinity for five seconds. Bakugo can at least talk to you long enough to challenge and compete with you, but he couldn't stand Midoriya enough to exchange more than a few words of cussing, usually.
From what you can tell he completely fucking hates Midoriya and why, you don't know. Midoriya seems like an alright guy, a little awkward but sweet and determined; he looks especially worried now when seeing Bakugo's growing anger at the matchups. You're stuck in between them. You look once at Bakugo, then at Midoriya, and just turn your head up to pray.
Tokoyami offers you a pat on the back in condolences, you whine and hang your head on his shoulder, "Dude. I'm going to fail. Look who I've got on my team, man!" It's almost funny, but it's definitely not at the same time. You were going to get your asses handed to you!
"What the hell are you crying about already?! You better not be underestimating us!" Bakugo snaps at you, dragging you upright and away from Tokoyami to go plan a strategy. Great, seeing as he's refusing to work with Midoriya, he's focusing on you. You give Midoriya a worried glance to which the green-haired boy responds with a knowing nod.
When they made these groups, did they design this group specifically for you to play middleman? You know you've got pretty good reasoning skills and rationale, but Bakugo's definitely not rational when it comes to Midoriya. You doubt anything you'd say would have the blonde idiot see reason. "Christ, quit dragging me already. We can talk here."
You stop near the plaza walls, stretching your muscles in preparation as Bakugo grits his teeth, "Alright, listen, extra. You're gonna use your shitty quirk to trap All Might, and I'm gonna blow him to bits. Got it?"
"And what about Midoriya?"
"What about that stupid Deku?" He snarls in your face, and you startle back. Good lord.
"I'm just saying, All Might is strong as hell, I don't think I'll be able to keep him trapped." Your thumb and forefinger hold your chin as you think. "When I faced that villain with Hawks, his quirk let him get stronger the more he was excited. He was able to punch through my mana. Undoubtedly, All Might will be able to."
"So you're useless," Bakugo scoffs.
You groan in frustration, this boy. "I didn't say that. I'm saying that the most I can do is slow him down for a couple of seconds. I can catch him by surprise: yank his ankles from underneath him with a whip, or surround him with daggers, or make a double layer sphere, something. If I can do that, then both you and Midoriya might find an opening to strike."
"I can face him on my own. I don't need that shitty Deku, just do that shit you said, and I'll hit him with everything I've got." Bakugo's temper quells slightly with your reasonable plan of action; still, you need to account for the speed and power of All Might; he is truly one of the best after all.
You sigh and let Bakugo stew in his anger, going to find Midoriya to strategise the other half of this plan. Playing middleman indeed. You find him in the observation room with Uraraka just as the first match finishes with all three students unconscious, yikes.
"Midoriya, let's talk about what we're going to do. Bakugo suggested that I find a way to distract All Might with a construct, long enough to give you both an opening to strike." You see his eyebrows raise and correct yourself. "Well, technically just himself. He's dead set on fighting this without you. It's stupid. He's usually so smart."
Midoriya rubs the nape of his neck, "Ah, y-yeah. That's Kaachan. We don't exactly get on."
"That's an understatement," Uraraka mutters, and you can't help but agree.
"Well, he may not want to work with you but I do. C'mon, you've got a smart brain in there," You tap his forehead, "Tell me what you want to do. I'll see if I can sway Bakugo to it if I propose it, rather than you."
Midoriya gives a determined nod before launching into his analysis of All Might, his strength, dexterity, speed, reaction time- they're all S tier, even with the weights the teachers are being forced to wear. With Bakugo most certainly not opting for the escape option, you're left to theorise what to do to cuff him. Your plan of distracting All Might, even if for a fraction of a second, may work and give both him and Bakugo enough time to launch an attack- it's a good opening move, but you've got to be able to adapt.
"Your wings, form them straight after and get out of there if we're unable to apprehend him. Then atleast we can regroup and try launch another offensive." Midoriya mutters, brows furrowed in concentration and you nod, "Sounds reasonable. This is going to hurt a lot, isn't it?"
"Probably." Midoriya sighs.
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Watching the fights continue, you can't help but feel your nausea hitting even worse.
The tactics your classmates employ to win (Yoayorozu was just so goddamn smart, Asui and Mineta too) and the brutality of the way some of them fail, you're feeling vastly out of your depth. A few others had joined in watching the matches in the observation room as you stewed internally.
Why the hell are you even in this class? You can't do this, you're here because of a fluke, a mistake- you want to be a lawyer with perhaps a speciality in science patent law- a combination of both your language strengths and science that your parents want. Fighting proheroes had nothing to do with that.
"Are you okay?" Iida, as the good class representative that he is, asks. You hadn't realised you'd been outwardly panicking, your foot tapping incessantly and your fingers mindlessly picking at your lips, or rubbing at your jaw in an attempt at self-soothing.
The others in the room turn to you, and you look away, embarrassed, consciously stilling your fidgeting, "Yeah. Just... A little worried. God- I just, I shouldn't even be in this class." It spills out before you can stop it. Your eyes turn back to the screens, refusing to look at your classmates. "You guys are all just so smart and strong and I... I'm not- I don't-"
"You beat me at the sports festival, did you not?" You feel a hand on your shoulder, and you look up at Iida. You shrug helplessly, breathing a little shaky, "Yeah, I guess, but that was just... I guess, it was common sense more than anything."
"Using my speed against me so effectively? Well, your common sense makes you very adept at adapting to your opponent's quirk." He reassures you stiffly; you appreciate him trying to calm you down.
"Versatile-" Yoayorozu speaks up, "Is such a good hero name, and it suits you so much. You will do well." What a sweetheart. You look away from them, tears stinging your eyes, god, you're so lame.
"There, there, dear," Recovery Girl pats your arm, "You're going to do alright." You force yourself to take deep breaths. Way to go, exposing your crippling low self-esteem to everyone.
"Thanks, everyone, I'm just," You chuckle anxiously, "I don't know. My head's all-" You make a vague gesture around your head.
Midoriya nods understandingly, "I get what you mean, but we're going to give it our all, alright? I'm grateful you're on my team." Right, you needed to do your best not only for yourself but for him, you'd hate it if you cost him the exam.
You set your shoulders back, nodding determinedly as you push your hair away from your face and out of the way as you pull on your helmet, "Okay... Okay. We've got this. We're gonna kick ass. Maybe get our asses kicked, but we've got this. We've got this!" You suck in a breath, a grin spreading on your face.
You face the others now with your eyes displaying a look of nervousness, sure, but excitement too. "Let's go, Midoriya, our match is next."
Happy that you've managed to get your head on straight, Midoriya gives a sound of agreement, and both of you rush off to the plaza to the sounds of your peers' encouragement and wishes of good luck.
[You're just the average student, perhaps even a little above average. You did get into U.A after all.]
"SERIOUSLY, BAKUGO?" "HAHA!" You look up at the classroom door, confused at the commotion and immediately break into laughter at Bakugo's side part.
"My hair's gotten used to this, it won't go back even after I wash it..." Bakugo seethes, voice shaking indignantly, and you endeavour to quell your giggles. "Stop laughing... I'll kill you."
"I'd like to see you try, side-part boy!" Sero Hanta guffaws.
"What did you say!?" and poof, Bakugo's hair is a spiky mane once more.
It's back to business as usual at U.A, even though only a week has passed, it feels like you've been away for a year. At least that's what it felt like when you returned home to your teary mother and worried father; suffice it to say, they were not amused by the whole villain business that you ended up involved in despite your numerous attempts to placate their worries that you hadn't actually gotten hurt. Your classmates had been very interested to learn about Tokoyami and your time with Hawks; it had been televised after all, due to the scale of it.
Dark shadow nudges at your cheek as the other start to inquire Iida, Todoroki and Midoriya about their experience facing The Hero Killer: Stain. Evidently, the shadow is upset that you're no longer snuggle buddies, and you chuckle while Tokoyami sighs, "Dark Shadow barely let me sleep last night, so rowdy. You've spoiled him."
"Oopsies," You grin, pressing your cheek against Dark Shadow's, "But how can you say no to this adorable face?"
"Exactly. I'm adorable, do what I say, mortal." Dark Shadow snickers, an evil grin spreading on his half-corporeal face. Tokoyami shakes his head disapprovingly.
The first class of the day is Heroics (oh, goodie, physical activities- ever since you'd been bribed into joining this course, your muscles haven't stopped being vaguely sore), basic hero training, with All Might and his pearly white dashing smile. You join the rest of your class now clad in your hero suit. Kaminari gives you a thumbs-up when he sees you. "Dude, dig the costume, it's awesome."
You give a lazy curtsy, "Why, thank you. It's mostly thanks to the support course, though."
"Whatever they did," Kirishima Eijiro cuts in, "It's totally manly."
Your attention is arrested by All Might's presence, "Alright, I am here! Long time no see, boys and girls! For this time's basic hero training, since you've just got back from internships, we'll have some fun with a rescue training race!"
A hand shoots up, "If we are doing rescue training, then shouldn't we do it at USJ?" Iida implores impassioned, the guy's been in a strangely determined mood ever since his internship and the hero killer incident.
"That place is for disasters." Man, how many goddamn facilities did this school have? "Do you remember what I said? That's right, I said 'race'!" He gestures to the massive field of industrial pipes and structures ahead of your class, and explains how the class will break up into seven groups of three, and respond to a distress signal from All Might somewhere inside the city. It's a race to see who will rescue him first- you definitely don't imagine holding All Might like a damsel in distress while he gushes about how fast and strong you are.
"Of course, you'll have to keep damage to buildings to a minimum," All Might reminds, staring right at Bakugo.
"Don't point at me." The boy grits his teeth, all too aware that his teacher is probably right for the pointed reminder.
There's some discussion from the class about who is going to be in what group, and just as you lock eyes with Tokoyami and make a move to ask him to group with you, a heavy hand clasps your shoulder. You turn slowly, feeling like you're in a horror movie and the killer you're hiding from has just found you.
The hand belongs to Bakugo, who has an intense look on his face as he states, "You. You're going to be in my group." Oh dear.
You manage to get out a sarcastic reply, "Wow, not even a please-" "This isn't a request, I'm telling you." "-Or a how's your week been, or what's up?" "I'm going to beat you."
"Right, right," You sigh in relief when Tokoyami approaches, "Hey, man! Wanna be in our group?"
"Sure," He crosses his arms coolly as Dark Shadow gives you a happy thumbs up.
Bakugo drawls competitively, "I'll beat you too, Happy Birds."
"We'll see about that." Tokoyami's eyes narrow.
_______________________________________________
The first few groups are called up by All Might, most notably Midoriya, who seems to have gotten an incredible handle on his quirk in the week away, because he's not blowing his bones to bits with every usage. Every gasp and utterance of admiration seems to be adding to Bakugo's growing anger, and you edge away from him, feeling the heat building up as he grits his teeth hard enough to break a tooth. Good Lord.
Your group is finally called on, and Bakugo all but stomps into position on the outskirts of the field. You likewise ready yourself, manifesting your mana into the wings you'd practised with Hawks- after all, this was an opportunity to show what you had learned while away. The sound of a horn indicates the start of the race, and with a strong flap of wings, you're up.
You can hear explosions growing steadily louder as you fly forward, under the amalgamations of steel pipes and over the high-reaching jagged iron pieces. Tokoyami, too, would be taking to the skies as you are, but unlike you, he isn't able to move at will- having to order Dark Shadow verbally, you have a couple of seconds of advantage due to your mental control over your wings. Bakugo, on the other hand, can only move forward in one direction and to a partially controlled magnitude, so he probably isn't able to easily skirt around big obstacles.
Still, they're both very adept physically, and you can already feel your fatigue coming on- you should get this over with soon unless you want to repeat what happened with that sky scraper. Spreading your wings and pulling them in harsher, you speed up towards where All Might's distress signal is coming from. Just as you see the hero's blonde tuffs of hair, Bakugo's frame comes into view opposite you.
Tokoyami seems to have fallen short; you can hear him distantly having trouble with Dark Shadow, "Please, we have to move." "Nah, don't wanna." "Fine! We'll get coffee jelly after this, only if you move!" "Yippie!"
Unfortunately for your bird-headed friend, you and Bakugo have already arrived at All Might's location. You draw in your wings, leaping onto the big-muscled hero to claim him first. Bakugo, at the same moment, had the same idea, and thus, All Might is sent crashing to the floor, surprised, under the unexpected weight of both his students.
"I got here first, extra!" He tugs All Might towards him territorially, and you tug the man back in response (dammit, this guy is totally ruining your fantasy of getting to hold All Might like a damsel in distress), "No way, I clearly did! Tell him, Tokoyami!"
"I regreatably did not see it," Tokoyami mutters bitterly as he steps down at the location, giving Dark Shadow the stink eye, who whistles innocently.
"Students, students!" All Might laughs, pulling his arms away from yours and Bakugo's hands, "You both managed to save me at the same time, it's a tie."
Bakugo growls as All Might wrestles both you and him into the 'Thank You For Saving Me' sash. You try to break free from the explosive teen who has his whole hand in your face, trying to push you away, "Dude, get off me-" "Get the hell away, extra! Review the footage, All Might, I did not tie with general trash!"
"Fuck you, dude!" You push his face away in equal measure, yelping when he nips at your fingers. "All Might, he just bit me!"
"Now, now!" All Might quickly backtracks, smile faltering as he helps free both of you from the sash before you end up killing each other.
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Hey! sorry for the late chapter! Next Tuesday I'm gonna be finally done with exams, woo!! So more time for writing!!
