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la-patrona-magdalena · 8 hours ago

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Synopsis:

You always wanted your family to look at you, even just once. At least with a bit of the affection they gave to the portraits of your mother. Too bad that when they finally did, you were looking at the pages of a comic that showed the cruel future.

Inspired by the manhwa: no place for the Fake Princess

Warnings: English is not my first language, so I used a translator. Yandere content, neglect, abandonment, angst (?), allusions to death, original character (not the reader), allusions to torture. I try to keep the gender neutral,but in part there are mostly feminine pronouns. I think this would also count as slow burn. If any warnings are missing here, please let me know.

Disclaimer: This fanfic is for personal reading only. The use of this text for AI model training, data mining, commercial purposes, or any automated reproduction is strictly prohibited without the explicit consent of the author. Translation or reposting to other platforms is also strictly prohibited without the author's permission

Unlike the other chapters, this one has not been reviewed or edited (neither in Spanish nor in its English version), although it probably does not have spelling errors, it may have errors in the narration or structure. It is also possible that in the next few weeks I will edit it, not to change facts but to change some of the way in which some things are written.

Thank you.

You can read the fanfic in its original language (Spanish) on my AO3

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Masterlist

Chapter Five - Reflected Gaze

Could it be said that Tim’s apartment was less luxurious? Yes, it was smaller than the manor, but apart from the cartoons you sometimes watched, you didn’t know what a home looked like outside Wayne Manor.

Tim gave you a brief tour of the apartment to show you around, explaining which door led to the bathroom, his room and Bernard’s, the study, and your room.

He told you it was the guest room—again, it was the first time you’d been anywhere other than the manor, so you had no frame of reference for whether a guest room should look like someone had always lived there.

He placed your few suitcases in the room and helped you arrange everything on the shelves and in the closet. Except for the wool bag hiding the comics, you’d told him it contained your underwear and you were embarrassed, which wasn’t a lie; not all your underwear was in there, but enough to make the story believable.

Not much time had passed, only half a week since you left. Tim said he’d tutor you and ensure your health improved. You’d suggested your teachers come to his apartment so he wouldn’t have to go out of his way… and you could keep the distance you needed… But he refused, and even seemed… offended.

Truth be told, after all the chaos of last week, you found these days almost boring. You hadn’t done much with the comics while you adjusted to the new surroundings; you repaired the plush toy you’d shredded with your nails last time, watched a few cartoons, and read the occasional book with Tim glancing at you furtively… Was it a bother? Yes. But after the suffocating week before, you wouldn’t complain again. Handling one vigilante is easier than three.

You were in the bathroom, following your usual bedtime routine: styling your hair, brushing your teeth, grabbing the pill bottle, and tossing one down the toilet to make it look like you were still taking them...the usual

You watched the pill sink slowly in the water, remembering how, before Alfred left, after leaving them both in the apartment he’d warned you not to forget to take one of those before bed, like always.

Never mind, you’ve already lost three days, you need to get back to your plan of gathering information from the comics, preferably by taking notes again in your wool notebook…

Finding a way to do it wasn’t easy. If you did it out in the open, Tim would discover you; if you stayed too long in the bathroom he’d worry. The only time he left was at night to do his vigilante work. You still didn’t know if he’d told the rest of the family that you knew about him; you also didn’t know if he’d deduced that you knew about the others. You didn’t know, and you didn’t care.

You could stay awake until he left for work, if it weren't for the fact that he wouldn't leave until you actually fell asleep, really fell asleep. He knew when you were pretending. It was useless trying to fool him.

Over these days you thought a lot about what you could do, so you concluded that the best approach would be to read a few pages in the bathroom and jot down notes in stages. The time it takes to read a handful of pages is relatively short; you’d be out before Tim realized. And today you’d put that plan into action.

Starting with the first of the three comics—where Serelith made her first appearance.

You pulled out the wool-class notebook you’d hidden under your pajama top, and began writing on its back in sequence, timing how long it had been since you’d started your nighttime routine.

First, you and Serelith were born in Gotham, but neither of your maternal families is from here. She was found in England on a trip by Batman and Nightwing. And apparently your real father was from there, too.

Dick noticed the obvious resemblance between her and Avery, and had her take DNA tests, uncovering the truth… Later they put you both through other examinations…

You had the initial key events down—very good—too bad in your condition you couldn’t go to England soon to bring Serelith back and end this.

It was easy to extract the early turning points. Maybe you’d keep at it for a while, recapping important moments… after that… what would you do?

Sure, you said you wanted a scholarship and to change your last name, but you had no idea how to go about any of that. Your life boiled down to studying, asking for material favors but never emotional ones, watching a movie when they let you, and you don’t recall ever having any class about what the future holds.

Well… maybe you could leverage your stay at Tim’s apartment? He said he could tutor you, so it wouldn’t hurt to ask discreetly.

Also, by spending time with him, could you perhaps learn something about investigation? It would be very useful to get the most out of the comics.

Even if you want to distance yourself from everyone to stop taking someone else’s place, for now it’s best to make use of your options.

You hid the comics again under your underwear inside the wool bag, placing them back in their spot. Once more you tucked your wool-class notebook under your pajama top and stepped out of the bathroom, hugging yourself. Tim was probably starting to change into his suit in his room, so you dashed to your bedroom, crawled into bed, and only after you’d ensured the blanket covered your entire body did you pull out your notebook and slip it under your pillow as discreetly as you could, hoping the sheet wouldn’t reveal your hand.

You wouldn’t go to such lengths to hide it if, on the very day you arrived, you hadn’t had a nightmare that sent you tumbling out of bed.

It wasn’t a hard fall—it only left a bruise on your arm—but somehow, Tim found out what happened. You don’t know how—you never told him, and every night he goes out on patrol—so how did he learn?

That’s precisely why you now have to be so careful with the comics and your notebook. Better safe than sorry.

It would be stressful, of course, but nothing would compare to what you went through with the others.

You waited, lying down, now with everything secured, for Tim to walk through the door as he had started doing since you moved in recently

As expected, he didn’t take long to open your bedroom door, wearing his Red Robin suit without the mask… It was strange how this pre‑sleep routine mirrored the night everything changed.

As on the previous nights, he left a glass of water and a communicator device on your bedside table, straightened your sheet for you, and finally looked at you for a few seconds before sitting down beside you, giving you space.

— I’m heading out. You know the drill: if anything happens—even a nightmare—don’t hesitate to use the communicator.

You listened attentively, even if it was the same thing since you arrived here, you nodded, even if you clearly refused to call him, it's not your right to call him... And, as always, he hesitated, wondering if he should stay a bit longer, say something more.

But this time, unlike the other nights, you spoke first.

— Tim, could you start giving me lessons tomorrow? At least a few… — You watched him, fatigue settling in.

Even if you didn’t notice, Tim was excited on the inside—you talked to him, said his name, asked him to teach you. Not one of your teachers, two of which (in his opinion) weren’t great options anyway. You asked him.

— Of course. Yeah, your condition’s a bit better, we can start tomorrow, at whatever time you want, with whatever subject you prefer, okay? — obviously he’d say yes. He’d spent the whole week thinking about different study plans for you. You’d do way better with him than with any teacher.

— Yes, that’s fine. — One less worry. If you could choose, you’d start with something useful for the future. Maybe you’d ask about scholarships or something.

Tim wanted to say more—he had to seize the moment—but he couldn’t. The communicator on his suit buzzed first, and reluctantly he rose from the bed.

— I’m off, sleep well. — He said goodbye, leaving the room, though you knew better than anyone that he wouldn’t go until you were asleep. And that’s exactly what you did.

Dick remembers clearly the day you were born—how could he not? It was the same week he was on a mission in Tamaran, the very week after Jason’s death. And the exact day Avery died.

Of course, he didn’t learn any of this until days later, he wasn’t there for anyone.

The revelation hit him like a bucket of cold water: his younger brother, whose Robin suit he’d given and spent nights training, and the woman who had supported him most when he distanced himself from Bruce—the woman who, since arriving in their lives, had given her all even though there was a wall between her and them.

He sat on the rooftop, gazing out over Gotham’s night skyline. In a few days he’d return to his own city. Shame he wouldn’t be here for you again—because by his own words, you didn’t want him around.

Even from a distance, he could sense Red Robin touching down on the same rooftop; he turned to look, smiling, despite the envy burning within him because the newcomer had been there with you, despite never having held you as a baby like he had, and despite having spent less time in the family—these past weeks Tim had felt more like family to you than him for you.

Tim settled beside him, as if nothing had happened—as if he didn’t have the privilege of being chosen by you.

— It’s alright, her mental health is improving. — Tim spoke before Dick could ask; he already knew what was coming, since the same question came up every night. He understood that someone in Dick’s position would worry about everyone, but hearing the same thing each evening was growing tiresome—it spoiled the comforting feeling of tucking her in. — If you still have doubts, go see her before you head out.

— Does she even want to see me? — Was it worth asking? He already knew the answer. The only person you said you wanted to call was Alfred—maybe a halfhearted greeting to Damian, but him? Nothing.

Tim didn’t answer; he only looked at Dick, unwilling to lie about what Dick truly wanted to hear.

He remembers hearing your laughter...laughing innocently when he finally held you in his arms, so small, so weak. You were born at the worst possible time, not only because of your mother, but also because of the pain Jason left behind.

It hurt even more when Bruce confirmed his worst fear. The words printed on those pages only worsened the tension.

— I honestly thought it was something else… her fainting— he murmured, looking down, his voice tired and defeated.

—And if that were the case? What would you have done? Were you thinking of blaming me? — Since these nightly meetings began, he himself had noticed how Dick sometimes seemed annoyed with him. It wasn't constant, just enough to be noticed, and they were overshadowed by the feeling of guilt.

— I didn’t mean to… you don’t know why—

— Exactly, I don’t know. But it seems every time someone tries to give affection to a the kid, someone steps in.

— It’s for her own good, Tim— Dick’s frustration rose as he looked up at the younger man. — It’s out of our hands.

— If it’s for her good, why don’t you tell me what’s going on? — Tim tried to calm himself; he didn’t want to fight with the one person in the family he seemed to have a stable relationship with—aside from Cass.

— …If I tell you, you’ll try to find out on your own, right? — Dick stifled a chuckle, easing his frustration. Telling him felt right—so many misunderstandings would be cleared up—but it hurt too much to speak it aloud.

— “Try” is an understatement; I’m going to find out. — Tim replied firmly, crossing his arms. — Your choice how I learn.

Dick just sighed, even though it hurt, telling the truth was the best option.

— Alright. Listen.

Surprisingly, this morning, Tim didn’t pull your hair while brushing it, that’s an improvement.

I hadn’t said anything yesterday about going out for a walk early this morning; he just mentioned it in passing while they were having breakfast. As far as you were concerned, the only times you’d gone out before were to shop—if you wanted fresh air, you’d head to the mansion’s garden, and somehow you often wound up at Damian’s farm with the pets. Getting some fresh air away from the new apartment would be nice.

So there you were, walking toward a small children’s park near the apartment. You didn’t feel the same anxiety you did when you left the mansion, but it was still unfamiliar. You’d have to get used to it if you wanted to go out on your own in a few years.

When you arrived, you looked around curiously at the playground — stuff you’d only seen on TV. You’d never seen kids who weren’t Damian. You wanted to go closer, but what would you even do? Your experience socializing was terribly limited.

— Come on — Tim guided you toward the swings, showing you how to sit. You held tightly to the chains hanging from it. He was about to push you, but stopped, staring at your wrists. — What’s that?

You followed his gaze, realizing what he meant.

— Ah, that was a gift from Damian. — You clarified without much enthusiasm. When you opened the box and saw a bracelet, you hadn’t wanted to wear it. But after one of the calls with Alfred, where he explained that green-eyes had made the bracelet by hand, with some kind of decorative mix between Arabic and Chinese styles, you decided to wear it.

You might not consider Damian a brother, but you knew weaving wasn’t an easy task — even less for someone just learning, and especially when it had custom decorative motifs. So you ended up wearing the bracelet mostly out of respect.

You could tell Tim looked irritated — the same annoyed face he made when you mentioned wanting to have classes with your regular teachers instead of him. But just as he was about to say something, his phone rang. Tim sighed, now even more frustrated by the interruption.

— Stay here, I’ll be right back.

You stayed put, obediently, swinging your feet in the air. You weren’t planning to move — your fear of inexperience was bigger than your curiosity to keep exploring. Still, you turned your eyes toward the other kids running around...

Some of them were with their parents. You thought you heard a few calling out to their siblings.

Will you ever have something like that?

— Ouch! — your knees hit the ground of the park, scraping a little. You looked back to see who had pushed you off the swing, finding two kids.

— Move! If you’re not gonna use the swings, then leave. — the smaller one yelled at you, annoyed. You got up from the ground calmly — at least this kid was yelling at you over the swings and not because of Avery’s death.

— You could’ve just told me, there was no need to push me — you said to them, looking at both with a bit of determination. You didn’t know how to socialize with other kids, but you did know how to deal with people who bothered you.

— No! This is more fun — one of the boys went around the swing and came closer to you, clearly not with good intentions. You were ready to defend yourself, just like Damian had once taught you. But the boy stopped, staring past you, terrified.

You turned to look, and found a blonde woman with a serious gaze, aimed straight at the boy. It gave you chills...

— …Leave — it was a dry, direct word, but intimidating enough that both boys ran off. Even the other kids still on the swings, who had nothing to do with it, also left. You were the only one who stayed, frozen, unsure of what to do. Until you gathered the courage and looked up.

— Thank you very much… miss… — you might not be a Wayne by blood, but being polite was already something ingrained in you.

— Maria — she finished the sentence, her tone softening a little for you. She looked around, noticing there was no one else. — Are you alone?

— No, ma’am — polite, yes, but you weren’t stupid either. You weren’t going to tell her you were alone. You looked back and saw Tim still on that call, but his eyes were fixed on the two of you. He looked away now and then, clearly still upset. — I came with… him.

— Is he your brother? — Maria asked. You fell silent. Saying yes would be safer, but ever since, thanks to Bruce, you finally got used to not calling them family, the words got stuck in your throat.

She noticed your silence, but didn’t say anything else — she just crouched down to your level, pulled a handkerchief from her pants pocket, and cleaned your scraped knees. You watched the fabric get stained a little with your blood...

Blood...

Your chest tightened — the image from the comic came back to your mind.

— Miss Maria… — you stammered, feeling the air slowly leaving you. She looked at you, noticing your frightened state. — Do you have something I can squeeze?

She looked at you, confused. She noticed how you seemed on the verge of a panic attack. She wasn’t an expert, but she had seen them a few times before. She did as you asked and tried to find something while the dirty cloth slipped from her hands. She tried to think of anything, but she didn’t have much on her.

— Umm… I don’t have anything… — she looked around, searching for something. Your breathing sped up more and more. You tried to calm it down — inhale, exhale, repeat. You looked at Maria — you wanted her to calm you down before Tim noticed.

You also tried to look for something. You watched Maria’s hands move, and on reflex, you grabbed them and squeezed.

Maria was surprised. She looked down at how your small hands were holding hers, gripping tightly while you practiced a breathing exercise she didn’t recognize. Slowly, her eyes moved up to yours.

Oh, your eyes…

You calmed down — you managed to calm down. The bloody cloth was out of your line of sight, and now that you were fully back in your senses, you felt embarrassed. You were holding the hands of a complete stranger.

— I’m really sorry. — You let go of her hands as quickly as you could, apologizing, flustered. Maria, however, was still looking into your eyes. — Yeah, of course… I…

— What's going on? — Tim suddenly appeared at her side, his phone still on call, ringing only

— Ah, Tim, this is Maria, she was helping me with– You tried to explain quickly. You didn’t want more trouble, but she stood up, picking up the dirty cloth from the ground before you could say more.

— Take care, kid — she said as a goodbye, without looking at Tim, leaving the two of you alone.

You went back to the swing. Tim didn’t even say goodbye to whoever he’d been on the phone with — he just hung up and came over to you, crouching to your level and checking if you were okay.

Was it just your imagination, or did Maria put the cloth into her pants pocket?

I almost didn't make it to upload this, folks, but surprisingly — for being the chapter I wrote in the biggest rush (to the point it’s not even well edited in its original language) — it’s the one I’m most satisfied with so far. Since chapter one, no other chapter had felt this satisfying to me.

For those who didn’t see the post: I had to delay this chapter’s release to today because the past few weeks have been rough. I'm praying the next ones will be easier. The idea of going on hiatus is still on my mind, but I feel like some things are clearer now, and that’s making me question whether I should go through with it.

I don’t know if it was noticeable, but from now on, the chapters will be a bit longer. Normally, my writing limit was five pages to keep the pacing between chapters steady, but starting from the last one, the rhythm has shifted to seven or eight pages — and it’ll probably stay that way.

Anyway, as always, your comments and hearts are truly appreciated! :D

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fromdove · 2 months ago

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HOW I THINK SOCIAL MEDIA IS LIKE IN ㅤㅤㅤㅤ GOTHAM CITY

tiktoks where people are like “day 54 of trying to get batman to notice me by looking helpless and holding a brick outside of wayne tower.” and then like. a day later they upload another one like “guys it worked. i threw the brick at a window and he SWOOPED DOWN AND YELLED AT ME. i think we’re engaged now.”

BATMAN FAN ACCOUNTS. “batm4nslut6969: yall i saw him last night and his thighs were THIGHING. i can’t.” “i want him to run me over with the batmobile. respectfully.” “what does it say about ME that i’m in love with a man who beats people up in alleys.” “he punched my cousin and now my cousin’s life is on track. king.”

you’ll see a tiktok like “get ready with me to testify against the penguin 😘” and they’re curling their lashes like “trial’s at 10 i’m wearing valentino. hope the DA is hot.”

facebook moms in gotham be like “hi!! anyone else’s toddler develop shadow powers after playing near the narrows??? normal or???”

“guys u wont believe what just happened i was literally just tryna get a tuna sandwich and then scarecrow gassed the 6 train again 💀” followed by: “ok but like did anyone else get lowkey productive on fear toxin bc same”

and like imagine those "what's in my bag" videos but it’s like “what’s in my gotham emergency kit” and they pull out like mace, an inhaler, one (1) batarang they found in an alley, a granola bar, and a tiny bottle of holy water just in case it’s some demon this time.

every batman chase has like. three angles. one guy from his apartment, one guy hiding in a dumpster, and one guy who just happened to be doing a GRWM video when batman crashed through the laundromat window behind him like a medieval poltergeist in kevlar.

there’s also that one tiktoker who’s like. always posting “day in the life as a gothamite 🥰” and it’s literally her dodging debris from a police chase while trying to get a matcha. like she’s got wireless earbuds in while the riddler is detonating something in the background. caption: “when i said i wanted chaos i meant eyeliner not explosives 😭😭😭😭”

people be going live from literal crime scenes. like “hey besties so i’m outside ACE chemicals rn and idk what’s going on but i just saw a clown sprint past. anyone know what’s happening???” and everyone’s commenting like “GIRL GO HOME” and “go inside nowwwwww” and “live laugh leave gotham.”

you'd see youtube videos like “i lived in gotham for 2 days and here’s why i left” and it’s just footage of a man watching fire rain from the sky while eating a pretzel in pure silence.

twitter’s a HELLHOLE. people tweeting like “batman knocked over my hotdog stand again. this is the third time. i’m filing a restraining order” and “why does bruce wayne look like he hasn’t slept since 2003” and “if the joker had a podcast i’d listen. just being honest.”

ALSO fancams of villains??? OF COURSE. edits of scarecrow like “your mental health isn’t scary but he is 😍🔥” and joker fan edits with lana del rey playing over it like “he slayed literally. like a bunch of ppl.”

there’s discourse about EVERYTHING. “does batman exploit underage sidekicks??” vs “no they CHOSE to be there 🙄”

imagine gotham love confession tiktoks like “i met him in an alley while harley quinn was robbing a jewelry store” and the comments are like “literally gotham's version of a meet cute 💘💘💘💘💘💘💘”

theres podcasts like “the ethics of vigilante justice” and then they go off topic and start debating if bruce wayne and batman have ever been in the same room and one of the hosts is like “they have different jawlines 🙄”

the gentrification discourse?? YEAH. “just moved to crime alley!! rent was SO cheap!! the vibes are kind of ✨✨ except for the screaming at night. also someone left a human tooth in my mailbox. i think that means i’m accepted into the neighborhood??”

and of course. OF COURSE. the joker thirst edits. like i wish i was kidding. i wish. but someone posts “what if he kidnapped me actually. like what if i let him.” and it’s a picture of him looking crazy with 15 different filters and a caption that says “he’s literally me (i need therapy).”

and GOTHAM INFLUENCERS. OH MY GOD. the way they would be the WORST. “hey guys today i’m doing a billionaire morning routine <3” cue 6 am ice bath in the wayne building gym someone does a house tour and people in the comments are like “i think that’s *insert famous rich socialites name's* old penthouse????”

homeless ppl getting filmed for fake charity clout. omg. “today we’re giving a makeover to this unhoused gotham citizen 🥺”

gotham meme culture is top tier. like they’re actually so funny. because they have to be. it’s trauma response meets terminal irony meets "oh the joker blew up a costco again time to live tweet." they have memes like: “you vs the guy she told you not to worry about” - it’s a pic of bruce wayne (or some rich socialite) in a suit and then batman looking like roadkill in a cape or something like “just got mugged by harley quinn and she said i have bad taste in shoes. kinda valid tbh.” or “why is scarecrow hot now. like when did that happen.” “penguin looked at me sideways in the club. should i press charges or kiss him idk.”

some of them are rich rich. and also literally host giveaways with captions like: “win a week in my tower penthouse if you repost and comment ur favourite crime i’ve survived 💋”

the drama is UNREAL. like gotham reddit?? a cesspool. like there’s this one post every week like : “AMA: i dated bruce wayne for 3 weeks in 2018 and he ghosted me after i found a batarang under his couch.” and then batman side of reddit is like “this guy tried to sell me fake kryptonite at a gas station AMA” and the replies are like “was it the guy in the trenchcoat outside the CVS?? i knew he was shady.” oh and you know there’s a gotham reddit thread called r/gothamCitizenSupport and it’s just “does anyone know how to get joker gas out of your vents” “batman smashed my windshield again how do i file an insurance claim” “my roommate joined a cult and now she glows in the dark?? normal or should i move out?”

you know the “hot takes” girlies?? yeah they’re deranged. “ok but like… what does batman really do for the economy.” or “i’m just saying gotham has more billionaires than public libraries and i feel like that’s not a coincidence???” or “why is no one talking about the gentrification of *xyz place name* just because ivy turned a building into a forest resort spa”

the comments are always fighting for their lives like: “he saved my life leave him alone??” or “girl i got evicted because catwoman turned my apartment into a goth club shut up”

ALSOOOO there are entire sides of gotham tiktok like:

“batman sighting alerts”

“gotham thrift hauls (featuring actual riddler merch)”

“bruce wayne conspiracy theory corner”

“citizen thirst traps featuring blurry robins”

“updates from people who work at arkham: the podcast”

and every time a villain escapes it’s like “uhhh guys. just saw mr. freeze at the bodega. he said he wants vengeance.

"guys...my parents just told me we're moving to gotham because its cheaper...help me what should i expect?"

OH AND BATMAN WOULD HATE IT. and there are so many compilations like “BATMAN GETTING FED UP WITH CITIZENS PART 7” where it’s just clips of him looking pissed af. dramatically because someone asked for a selfie mid-chase or tried to ask him to do fit check in their video.

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aturzz · 16 hours ago

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The poet and the birds.

Summary : ___, a.k.a the poet, was just out for some ideas. Somehow, they encounter something they'd call "a journey to remember."

Shapeshifter!Batfam x Poet!GN!Reader.

A series.

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Nights in this town are quiet.

In contrast to its normal bubbly days with sunlight all over and chatters around, the night is always silent. Not the awfully, menacingly dark way, but the peaceful way.

The streetlights faintly shine, accompanied by the softness of those rays from windows above. Though so, they’re still overpowered by the big ol’ beacon from afar, located at the boulder that’s barely connected to the town. Sometimes, people even wonder if it’s actually included as a part of the town. Together, the lights did make some of the grey clouds easier to see. But just slightly - they’re too far away. Waves were crashing onto the sand, leaving hollow shells behind. It’s almost like a lullaby, really, considering how soothing it is compared to the songs your mom would sing you to sleep when you were younger. Usually, it’d strike some ideas in your mind. But for now, it’s going on a delay. Sunshine of the night - or the moonlight - dawn down on you. Wind ruffles your hair, carrying a little salty breeze over before running away. Your tongue feels dry as if you haven’t taken a sip from your coffee since you started thinking about writing a new book. The wood of the balcony feels rough under your soft arms, with some tiny threads threatening to stab into.

It all blends in, making a chilling orchestra. Until it doesn’t anymore. You squint when a dark thing falls straight in your direction, so fast you can’t quite make sense of what it is. It dangerously tears the air to come to you, and you’re sure as hell you can see a faint strike of sparkles in its way. It takes you too long to realize you have to move. It takes you too long to step aside before that thing crashes onto your balcony. “Dang,” you murmur, “gracefully landed, ain’t it?”

The thing looks like it passed out, barely moving. When you move closer to it with your flashlight on, it draws a frown on your face. A bird. Bluejay, to be specific. First, what kind of bluejay would appear here? Second, what happened to it? But it was bleeding out, so you brought it into your little apartment. You literally waddle around to look for, at least, a first aid kit. And when you do, you scramble to lift its little wing up to wrap a bandage around. You swear it whines when you rub alcohol onto its wing, and when it flinches after you put another bandage around? Nope, you’re outta this. Is this a new kind of guilt trip? Damn, it's the tiny “chip” out of pain that makes your eyes burn. Maybe it’s your heart that hurts, not the poor bluejay itself. “There, little guy,” you coo, your teeth gritting so hard the pressure from that can break a rock. “Done. You hungry? I can give you something to eat.” Goddamit. Its eyes. The way that creature stares at you makes your poetic mind melt. How pathetic that thing is. How that thing is at your mercy. You can’t do this anymore- You stood up. The chair you were sitting on almost tipped over, while you stumbled out of the room, leaving the bird alone. The door behind you slammed, and your footsteps just hurried away. Puff. What was a little wounded bluejay is now a man, still keeping the bandages, though. He sits at your table, blue eyes gazing at your door. His black curls hug his face and neck perfectly, with the moonlight making them shine like it made yours shine earlier. His hands grip the edge of the table harshly. “Yeah,” he sighs, “that land wasn’t as graceful as I expected.” Taglist : open!

#batfam x reader #batboys x reader #batgirls x reader #damian wayne x reader #tim drake x reader #jason todd x reader #dick grayson x reader #duke thomas x reader #stephanie brown x reader #cassandra cain x reader #barbara gordon x reader #bruce wayne x reader #aturc works

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kitkatscabinet · 2 months ago

Text

YOUR WHAT?!

pairing(s): dick grayson, jason todd, tim drake, stephanie brown, cassandra cain, kyle rayner, wally west, hal jordan x fem! reader.

summary: their reactions to the "current partner" trend.

a/n: mute Cass you are canon in my heart <3

DICK GRAYSON

[You step backwards from the camera, showing off the outfit you'd coordinated with Dick, trying to prevent yourself from bursting into a fit of giggles as you anticipate his reaction.]

"He wanted us to match, isn't my current boyfriend so cute!" You smile as you watch his reaction through the phone screen.

[The camera zooms in on your boyfriend, who immediately stumbles mid-step like you punched him, as his smile drops into a horrified stare.]

"Current???" He gasps, a hand clutching his heart dramatically. "I’ve met your family. I fold your laundry. I shared my dessert with you last night, willingly!"

You brace your hands on your knees, hunched over as you burst into laughter. You go to speak, but Dick's on a roll.

"No. No, no, no. I’m not some temporary man. I’m not a placeholder! I’m..." He sputters, trying to articulate his point as he waves an acussing finger at you "I'm an endgame boyfriend. The endgame boyfriend!"

He huffs, crossing his arms over his chest and turning his back to sulk.

"Aw, is the endgame boyfriend gonna cry?" You hug him from behind, resting your cheek against him.

"Maybe."

[The camera cuts to a sulking Dick, drinking poutily from a mug you bought him earlier that says "#1 Boyfriend." Just managing to pick up his mumbled words.]

"Current boyfriend… ridiculous… I’m soulmate material"

JASON TODD

[You prop your phone up, resting it against your mug to show off your still groggy boyfriend who is currently mid-sip of coffee]

"Breakfast with my current boyfriend."

This instantly catches Jason's attention, making him cough a little as he lowers the mug. "…The current what now?"

"Boyfriend." You beam, as if nothing in the world is wrong.

He squints as you, his coffee long forgotten. "See that's what I thought I heard, current boyfriend, but I must be wrong. What happened to 'ride or die'? What happened to you’re it for me, Jay'? Did I hallucinate all of that?"

"Hon, relax."

But he cuts you off, "No, no, no. See, now I’m wondering if I need to get my duffle bag and my helmet and hit the road. Am I getting replaced? Are you conducting auditions behind my back?"

"Oh, here we go." You mutter under your breath as Jason stands and begins pacing.

"I’m tall, I give the best hugs, I'm rich." He pauses and just when you think he's done he spins to face you. "I read! I literally read books. That's like a dreamboat hobby. What more do you want from me?"

"Babe. It’s a tiktok trend. It’s literally a joke." You giggle.

[You pick up the camera, zooming in on his squinting face as he freezes]

"…I better be the final boyfriend. I swear to God." He grumbles and your heart melts a little.

"You are, honey. You're the last one." You stand, leaning in to kiss him softly.

"Damn right I am. Put that in the caption. Tattoo it on your forehead. I will not be dethroned by some stupid trend." He huffs, but doesn't hesitate to recieve your affection.

TIM DRAKE

[You're leaning against the headboard, Tim resting his face against your stomach, his arms wrapped around your waist as you hold your phone out to the side.]

"Y'all wanted him in more content, so here he is, the current boyfriend."

It takes a few second for your words to register, but when they do he lifts his head to stare at you so quickly he nearly snaps his neck.

"A, wha? ah!" He sputters, his mouth taking even longer to catch on.

"Ah, wha? Lipstick in my Valentino white bag?" You mocked and the glare he threw you was mutinous.

"You're such a bitch."

You raise a brow, "Oh, so we're updating that status to ex-boyfriend?"

"You wouldn't." When you simply stare at him, his face drops a little. tone turning more uncertain, "...would you?"

You let the charade continue for a few more seconds before his deadly puppy eyes do you in and you drop a kiss to his forehead.

"No, baby. Never."

With your confirmation that no, you weren't breaking up with him, the brattiness abruptly returns.

"Ha, knew you didn't have the balls to leave me." He crows, and you roll your eyes, shoving him off you and consequently the bed when he tries to snuggle back into you.

STEPHANIE BROWN

[The video starts selfie style, with you standing behind Steph, still dressed in her fuzzy hello kitty pyjamas, as she pours herself a bowl of cereal.]

"So, here she is, the current girlfriend."

[Stephanie freezes mid-bite, turning to look at the camera in sheer disbelief]

"…Current?" You try not to laugh at her reaction but a few giggles slip out and Steph launches into a tirade.

"CURRENT?! Like I’m a seasonal limited-time offer?! Babe, what is this, a McRib romance?!"

"Would you prefer ‘temporary live-in menace with nice legs’?" you tease.

"Okay first of all, accurate. Second of all, current?! Babe, I’ve already picked our wedding colors. I’ve named our hypothetical cats! I have a whole pinterest board dedicated to our future life together!"

"Steph—"

"CURRENT?!? I'll kick you in the fucking head!" She grouses, forgetting her cereal as she storms off in a dramatic huff.

CASSANDRA CAIN

[You and Cass are cuddled together on the couch surrounded by fluffy pillows and blankets. She smiles softly and leans into your side when she notices the camera.]

"Date night with with my current girlfriend."

You feel the way she stiffens against you and instantly regret your words. The TikTok long forgotten, as you turn your full attention to your girlfriend.

"Hey, love, I didn’t mean it like that. It's a stupid TikTok trend. You’re not just some current flavour of the month, you’re my person. Always."

[Cass blinks, the tiniest smile breaking through her usually serious expression. She reaches out and squeezes your hands softly, before pulling back to sign an "I love you"]

You beam, leaning your forehead against hers, you're stomach erupting into butterflies as you thought about the ring you had hidden inside your pillow.

KYLE RAYNER

[Kyle sits across from you, paintbrush in his hand as he focuses intently on the canvas in front of him.]

"Painting the cats with my current boyfriend, look at him go!" You laughed as he looked up at you with a dopily in love grin, before he registers what you've just said.

"Wait. Current Boyfriend?" His brow furrowed as he put down his brush. "Current boyfriend cause we're gonna get married and then I'll be your husband right? Right?"

He looks like a kicked puppy and you stand, moving around to slide into his lap.

[The phone's discarded on the table but it still records the conversation]

"Yeah, baby, we'll get married." You hum, hokking your arms around his neck.

"Oh, that's good, should I go and get the ring I bought a few months ago then?"

"Kyle?!"

HAL JORDAN

[You’re walking through your apartment, filming, Hal is in the kitchen wearing sweats and an obnoxious tank top that says 'welcome to the gun show.' He's making pancakes while humming something off-key.]

"Fit check with my current boyfriend!"

Hal smirks, turning to face the camera. "Damn right. Look at this—pilot, sexy, short stack master... wait." He squinted, analysing your previous sentence. "Hold on. Back up. Current?"

[You try to keep the camera steady as he turns around fully, eyes squinting like you just told him Batman’s funnier than he is.]

"Current boyfriend?? Excuse me?? I—I live with you. We have two cats together, is that what you're telling our sons I am?"

You practically howl with laughter at his meltdown, "It’s just a trend!"

But it's like he doesn't even hear you, too busy on his warpath. "I fixed the leaky faucet. That’s not ‘current boyfriend’ behavior, that’s husband energy."

[He points dramatically at the pancakes sizzling in the pan.]

"That right there? That’s commitment. That’s ‘I’ll be there in your 80s cutting your meds into quarters’ energy."

[The camera cuts to show you sitting with your face resting against your palm as Hal continues to pace in the background, widly gesticualting.]

"Just a current boyfriend... The betrayal..."

WALLY WEST

[You're sitting on the couch, flipping the camera to show off an unsupecting Wally sitting cross legged on the carpet as he works on constructing the $1000 Lego Millenium Falcon you'd gifted him.]

"Y'all look what a nerd my current boyfriend is."

[Wally pauses. His head turns slowly like a confused golden retriever.]

"...Current?...Current?! Babe. Babe. What do you mean current? Did I miss a breakup?! Are you firing me?! I just bought us matching toothbrushes!”

"Well, technically you are the current one." You tease.

"That makes it sound like there could be a next one! You think you can upgrade from this?" He runs a hand down his body. "Limited edition! No returns!"

"You're right. Nobody wants to take the model back anyway." You snort.

[He clutches his chest like he's been shot, fake-sobbing as he collapses against the carpet.]

"We made a spreadsheet for potential baby names just for fun! What about Wallace junior huh?"

"No child of mine will be named Wallace." You deadpan, humour momentarily forgotten until he suddenly crawls toward you, making it impossible not to laugh.

[He buries his face into your lap, and you burst out laughing, pulling him into a hug while he dramatically clings to you like dead weight.]

#x reader #dc x reader #jason todd x reader #dick grayson x reader #tim drake x reader #dc #hal jordan x reader #kyle rayner x reader #stephanie brown x reader #cassandra cain x reader #wally west x reader #female reader

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thelilytothepond · 2 days ago

Text

Mischievious Little Fairy

Chapter 4 - The Woe That Is High School.

Batfam x Fairy! Reader

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Thirty minute date with Bart. (Status- Checked)

Wake up on time for school. (Status- Checked)

Become immediate best friends with Damian’s best friends. (Status-Checked)

Set Outfit for Fairy! Reader: Unfortunately, Gotham Prep has a uniform.

guys. im 16 nd gonna be a junior as of august 11 so like. take my very recent experience with sophomore year in consideration.

extra long chapter as a lil treat cus i didnt update last night. i had an argument with my bf nd needed to fix that.

With love, enjoy.

As soon as Damian walked away after (lightly) threatening you and Bart, you had taken the guy by the arm and ran. Booked it straight to your bedroom. Not to get up to shenanigans, but to have a little privacy for the sake of enjoying your date. Even though you were practically locked away in the tower like some kind of princess. Jason and Tim were full blown staring down at you and Bart- obviously assuming that the two of you would stay within their eyesight so they could supervise. They were dead wrong.

Bart was laughing as you ran, full on throwing his head back kind of laughing. He let you drag him away from the hallway, memorizing the exact route to your bedroom. He already knew that Tim probably won’t him go on an actual date with you in the near future.

Probably? More like definitely.

He'd have to memorize the route if he wanted to sneak into your room in the future. All to whisk you away in the middle of the night like a dashing knight. Another vivid image of you popped up in his mind- you, the caged princess protected by the fire breathing dragon (Tim), and Bart, the dashing knight ready to rescue you from your castle. He could figure out how exactly he'd get past Wayne Tech's impeccable surveillance system later.

As soon as you shut the door behind you and Bart, you made a point to (lightly) slam him against the wall and cover his mouth with one of your hands. Your chest was smushed against his own muscular chest, trapping him in so he wouldn't try to make another noise. You could genuinely feel his abs and pectorals even under the various levels of shirts he had on! A white long-sleeved undershirt over a plain green one did little to hide his physical prowess. You definitely should figure out how well built he was later.

You tried not to giggle when he licked the back of your hand.

“Hurry it up, Timmy. I heard your little friend giggling from this hallway.” Jason's heavy footsteps ran straight past your bedroom, intent on finding the two of you and spying on your date. His ultimate goal of tonight was to find you two and make it as awkward as possible.

“Nope. The tracker I have on the both of them says they’re down this hallway.” Tim stopped as soon as he was in front of your door. He was just about to open your door and find you and Bart in a very promiscuous position before Jason very loudly picked him up from the collar of his hoodie and ran away. Tim howled out complaint after complaint, but they faded the more that they left.

"So. Not that I don't enjoy you feeling me up! But shouldn't you give me a tour of your room? It's so crash." Your hand muffled most of his talking, but you could still figure out what he was saying. Kind of.

Now that you didn't have your full body weight on him anymore, you let him wander around your room. Wander was an understatement. He inspected your room from the color of your walls to the rug on the cold wooden floor. Then, he loudly gasped and zoomed over to your balcony, ripping the curtains open and walking out. He tossed his head to the side and beckoned you to follow him with an excited 'come hither' motion.

And you followed. After making sure to lock the door behind you. No way would you be bothered by anyone else else right now.

The rest of the night was spent with Bart pointing out certain constellations to you- after sitting down on the little bench with you right by his side. To honor Conner, Bart did the little yawning and extending your arm to wrap it around your partner move. He made sure that your head was resting comfortably on his shoulder, wrapping his arm around your body. He tapped his fingers against your shoulder for the entire while that the two of you admired the sky.

A red and yellow flash was visibly nearing your direction.

Bart loudly groaned, squeezing you even tighter around him. He didn’t want this to end. Your comforting presence did wonders to his brain. He felt like a whole new man around you. He eventually just full-on side hugged you to the best of his ability- just to memorize the feeling of holding you in his arms a little while longer.

“Let’s do this again. We can so crash the mode together, babe.” Bart chuckled out, one of his hands sliding from your shoulder to your face, cupping your cheek. He was so close. Close to what? Something that he should definitely wait to do but couldn’t stop himself (or even tried to) from imagining. A sweet little kiss. He wasn’t daydreaming. He knew that you were leaning in too. If only he was one second quicker. Maybe then he could have made one of his little daydreams true.

Wally ended up snatching up Bart by the collar of his shirt and dragged him away, after chatting up Dick and Koriand'r of course. Bart didn’t even get to peck your lips or anything. He could only wait for the next moment to come. Maybe he could sneak into your room tomorrow? He started plotting as soon as Wally started scolding him for being irresponsible with his time.

The next morning came in a flash. (pun)

One minute, you were snoring peacefully wrapped up in your silky bed sheets.

The next minute, Damian was already dressed in his uniform staring you down after ripping the bedsheets away from you.

"Good morning, Fairy. I gave you an extra thirty minutes to sleep. You have permission to be thankful." He already had his backpack on and everything. It was barely five in the morning, and he was already acting like a drill sergeant. Would he be any different around his friends? Maybe he’d relax and be more boyish. God, you could only hope.

When you finally shrugged on the uniform, Damian had already been sipping on a cup of tea, peacefully chatting with his two friends. Who were already here.

Jon was eating just about ten servings of pancakes. He perked up upon seeing you and gave you a chipper good morning greeting, speaking with food still in his mouth and all. Billy didn't look up from his plate which was full to the brim with crispy bacon. He still said hi. Either to his bacon or you. Damian visibly tutted his head at his friends' choice of food, the vegetarian in him coming out in full force.

"Jon, Billy, this is my new roommate. Father entrusted her safety to us." Even though the two guys were obviously way more interested in their food, they took Damian's words to heart.

Safe to say you'd have at least one watchdog with you at all times.

The ride to school was something you didn't expect. All the while you and Damian were now best friends for life, officially, the two guys were so different from each other and their ways in interacting with you was a clear indication of that. Jon would blurt out every car he liked and asked you for your opinion on it. Billy would offer you every drink Damian's limo had and wouldn't let you deny him.

"Okay. Lemme see your schedule. Whip it out." Billy had immediately demanded as soon as you finished the strawberry flavored mineral water he gave you. You handed him the paper Tim had given you earlier in the morning with little dramatics.

"Perfect! All your periods are with us!" Jon gasped out when he finished analyzing your schedule. Apparently, your first two periods were both with Jon and Billy. The next two periods were with Damian. The last two periods were with all of them. Tim probably had something to do with this schedule from hell.

Your mouth gapes in horror even though the rest of the boy's cheer. They would quite literally always be with you.

Yeah. Your chance of getting a boyfriend at school decreased to 50%.

Damian made sure to have his pinky interlocked with your own so he could have your attention on him whenever you'd paid too much attention to either Jon or Billy. You thought it was funny until the horrific thought of him still wanting to interlock pinkies with you while in school festered into your mind.

Obviously, you were right.

Billy and Jon were walking in front of the two of you, chatting endlessly about how excited (Billy) was for their first period and how Jon considered skipping that period entirely. Damian ditched the very intimate action of interlocked pinkies for full blown, downright scandalous, hand holding. He claimed it was to make sure no one jumped out of a locker and attacked you. Every time you tried to sneakily get out of hand holding, he would scoff and hold your hand once more. As though it was an insult.

Yeah. You would not be getting a boyfriend at school anytime soon. That 50% chance of getting a boyfriend decreased immediately to 0%.

Damian walked you all the way to your first period class, pat you on the back, and walked away to his own first period. Jon grabbed you by your arm excitedly and sat you down between him and Billy- ready to finally have a chance to talk to you properly. Unsurprisingly all three of you were ungodly early to class.

"You're real lucky we have a substitute for the rest of the year! Ms. Eva got pregnant again so she's out till she pops out the baby. We’ll all be juniors by then!” Billy giggled out, immediately whipping out his phone (which Damian bought him for Christmas last year). He positioned his backpack on his desk to sneakily hide his phone from the currently sleeping substitute. Jon took out his notebook and a couple color pencils, obviously intent on drawing something. When he noticed that your attention was on him, he sheepishly smiled and let you have a glimpse inside, adjusting his glasses on his face.

"D's always been really good at art. I wanna surprise him for his birthday with a drawing of him!" Jon scooted his seat closer to you, showing you one of his sketches of Damian. It was a pretty good sketch until you got a peep of a tiny little doodle on the bottom. Jon groaned when he saw you giggle at it. As though the tiny little doodle was defamation of his character. Pure blasphemy.

"That was all me. Damian pissed me off, so I drew that of Damian and Jon. Obvs, Jon's the big strong alpha and Damian's the shy little omega." Billy cheekily giggled out, now paying full attention to the conversation. He put his phone down on the table, your noisy self obviously having to take a peek at what he was doing on that phone. He was so engrossed on it earlier! On Billy's phone, he had several messages.

my little omega

batson

send me a pic of her rn

i need to ensure her safety

batson

sybau

-image attached-

my little omega

tell jon to fix his collar he's showing 2 much collarbone

that sneaky little harlot wants all of y/n’s attention on him

can u guys be normal and actually do ur work

im not gonna spend my entire lunch break during ur stupid english homework.

batson

batson don't ignore me.

batson

sybau

And that's where the conversation ended. Billy had continued to show you little doodles he made of him and his friends in Jon’s sketchbook. Eventually, Jon just let Billy borrow the sketchbook again so he could make doodles of you too now. You guess that was his own quirky little way of saying that you were an official member of the friend group now. It felt like a compliment wrapped in a warm hug.

While Billy was having his fun, Jon decided to actually get some work done today. It was like he telepathically read Damian’s mind from across the school, taking out the workbook and three sheets of paper. He had explained to you that Ms. Eva grades their papers online, so they all needed to be done with their assigned work by the end of the day and send her a picture of it. Most students, now that they were trudging into the classroom, immediately got up to tomfoolery.

“Okay, question one. Pick out some evidence from the poem that contributes to the author’s theme.” Jon drummed his fingers against the wood of the desk for a good five minutes, blue eyes scanning over and over again at the poem. Eventually, he just groaned and held his head in his hands. You decided to try and help Jon like the brave heroine you are.

Not long after you mimicked Jon’s posing.

“Hehehe. D’s gonna break his back laughing.” Billy also began using colors. He had assigned every little character in the sketchbook as a certain color that he felt established their personality perfectly. He gave Damian green, Jon blue, himself red, and you pink. He considered giving Damian red but decided against it and gave him green instead. Was it because of his eye color?

Yes. Yes, it was.

And Billy wanted to make himself red.

First period was a hit in the ballpark. Billy had let you borrow his phone (after gawking at you for not having one even though he didn’t even know what a phone was until it was given to him as a gift), the substitute had to stop a student from trying (and almost being successful) at escaping from school through the window, and you even got to add your personal little sketch of yourself in Jon’s sketchbook!

Second period was the exact same thing. The teacher was gone- not because of pregnancy, but because they somehow were involved in a suspiciously familiar restaurant robbery which was stopped by Superboy and Impulse. Before you were able to realize that your second period teacher was the guy that tried to steal from you, Billy had called for your attention.

“Y/n. Go to the front office. Someone someone has a package for you or something.” Jon quirked an eyebrow at that, closing his workbook and getting ready to follow after you.

Due to there being a lack of a teacher in your class the three of you ventured through the halls and made it to the front office. They had a promise to keep for Damian, after all. Never let you out of their sight. So, when Jon held your hand in his in a slightly sweaty grip, he deemed it as necessary for the mission. His kryptonian heart did not skip a beat. Billy observed the constipated look on Jon’s face, stored it in his brain, and decided he’d poke fun at it later. There was no way that a possible love triangle was happening before his eyes. That was too good. For now, his eyes were on the road (hallway), wondering what kind of package you possibly had. Maybe lunch that Alfred forgot to give you?

Tim and Conner were patiently waiting for you. Patiently, as in Tim was pacing around the little office. Conner was standing to the side, counting down the seconds until he could see you again.

Yesterday, he had saved you from a robbery attempt. You didn’t know, however. All because Bart stole the spotlight and made a point about it. Oh well, he could flirt around with you a little bit the next time he saw you!

When Conner had noticed Tim driving like a maniac on the street, he just had to tag along to see what was up. Who would have known that Tim was going to be giving you a brand new phone? Obviously, Conner had put in his contact information into your brand new phone as soon as Tim had informed him of such.

Tim had already handled everything, per usual. He had made you a Twitter account with mandated tweets that would be run by his PR team before they were to be posted. Bruce did want to take you out on galas and public events, after all. It’d be incredibly important that you had some sort of social media presence to take off any kind of suspicion on you. Tim had barely come around to buying you a technological communication device and had to give it to you as soon as possible. Now that you were in the public eye, there was no doubt in his mind that there'd be some sort of target on your back because of your connection to the Wayne family. It was safe and practical for you to have a phone.

So, when Tim finally laid eyes on you after yearning endlessly for some kind of time spent together- he visibly perked up.

“Y/n! Here. I got you a phone. I already put everyones contact information in it and have made you a social media page. Oh, and… I got you a slice of cheesecake.” That… was incredibly random. He cleared his throat and began explaining away, completely unaware to how you zoned out to what he was saying. You took the phone from his hands, unlocking it immediately. Billy did the exact same thing and air dropped you a picture of Damian and Jon mid-brawl- the two of them fighting like their lives depended on it. That’s how you got Billy’s phone number.

“Jon. What are you doing out of class? Clark won’t like you skipping.” Queue Connor’s impression of a disappointed uncle/brother/whatever his familial connection is to Jon. Lex Luthor fucked up Conner tremendously. Jon scrambled to explain away the situation, waving his hands around as though he was using sign language.

“Hm. I’ll have to tell Clark that you’re throwing away your education for a girl, Jonathon Samuel Kent. How the mighty have fallen.” Conner tutted with a tone laced sharp with disappointment.

The bell rung in that exact moment. Connor had to drag away Tim, who was still trying to reach out to you to talk.

Jon and Billy dragged you away to your next period with Damian. Jon, who looked physically anxious over the scolding he would no doubt get at home. Billy, who was making sure to add you to their group chat and add you as a follower on twitter.

Damian was already standing by the classroom door, nodding at Billy and Jon who were able to stick to your side like glue for the past couple of hours. He followed after you into the classroom, subtly guiding you to where he usually sits with a hand on your shoulder. It was a conjoined desk right by the window, perfectly positioned so you could gaze outside whenever the lesson got too boring.

"Y/n," it was painfully obvious how foreign your actual name was on his tongue. He got pretty used to only calling you 'Fairy', after all. "You will be my chemistry partner for the rest of the semester." He stated as though you were joining a cult. He sank down on his seat, already pulling out all his materials to get to work. You mimicked his movements, pulling out your own materials. All which were bought by Tim, of course.

The rest of the class was spent by Damian letting you borrow his notes, guiding you smoothly through every equation with little insults thrown here and there. Little by little Damian invaded your side of the conjoined desk, making sure that he was stealthy with it. At first, his knee was lightly bumping into yours. By the end of the class his shoulder was bumping alongside yours whenever he had to lean over and help you out with a problem. The both of you didn't speak much, but the visible red flush to Damian's tan face spoke volumes.

The next period was not at all like the first. There was some kind of magical epidemic going around the academy- almost every class you'd go to there was not a teacher. Because of that, desks were thrown to the side so students could lay on the floors and play various card games. You and Damian sat a little far away in your own corner, Damian sketching something into his sketchbook and you learning how to text for the first time with Jon and Billy.

batson added y/n to the chat

batson named the chat 'my discord kittens'

JON!!!!

can we pretty pls skip to yalls class

teh teacher seperated me nd billy :((((

batson

erm

i dont think dami wants us to intrude on his priv time with y/n

we don't want his dark side to come out

batson sent an image

The rest of the conversation was Jon trying to convince Billy to skip with him. Obviously, if Jon was going to be grounded for skipping, he figured he might as well actually skip. Billy had none of that though. He enjoyed most of his classes. He liked knowing all of the answers (by Solomon's help) and enjoyed being one step ahead of everyone else as a result.

Now, it was finally time for lunch. You'd probably be awkwardly watching the three boys eat for the entire forty-five minutes that lunch was.

You sat by Damian's side, obviously, and Jon and Billy were sat in front of you. Jon devoured the three sandwiches that his mom prepared for him and Billy chewed on a pretzel stick he got from the cafeteria. Damian sipped from a high energy protein shake that Alfred made for him. Maybe you could try nibbling on something too? Just so it won't be too awkward? You rummaged around in your backpack before stumbling onto the box that Tim had given you- the cheesecake!

Silently praying to the elder fairies that the cheesecake wouldn't give you the worst stomachache ever, you took a slow bite from the cheesecake.

And were met by pure positivity. Like, the sweet taste of the cheesecake melted in your mouth with little difficulty.

"I thought part of your anatomy was that you couldn't feed on human food, Fairy." Damian was quick to calling you by his little nickname for you as soon as the four of you were away from prying eyes in the library. Jon had made sure to search all throughout the library to make sure that everyone could talk freely without worrying about keeping anything secret.

"I can only eat food if the person made it with good intentions and a positive energy. Said positive energy seeps into the food!" You gushed out, crumbs of the cheesecake stuck to the side of your lips. Damian arched a brow at your statement, nodding slowly as he registered your words. Jon had begun speaking to you about how he bakes cupcakes with his mom sometimes, asking if you could stomach them if he was grinning and giggling joyfully while at it.

Damian whipped his phone out and put a reminder on his phone for later tonight. 'Ask Pennyworth for advice on baking. Joyfully.'

The rest of the day was spent learning about human culture and customs with the three guys. Tons of world wars, apocalypses, and assassination attempts. You were admittedly dosing off, close to slamming your head down on your desk with how bored and sleepy you were. Billy would occasionally either shake you awake or pinch you awake. Damian and Jon were a seat ahead of the two of you, attentively taking notes on some parts or drawing.

It was now the end of the school day. You had snuck away from Damian, Jon and Billy after lying about needing to go to the restroom. You wanted to explore a little bit before having to spend the rest of the day locked in the manor until the next morning for school. You walked out of the school gates, humming happily to yourself about how sneaky you were. It was time to learn about this new, unfamiliar world you were in! Without some kind of guard dog watching over you like you were a lost, traumatized baby deer.

"Y/n! I thought that was you! Where's Damian? I coulda sworn he was supposed to be stuck to your side like glue."

Goddammit.

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arachnidseyes · 18 days ago

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Which Bat would give the best massages?

I'm sure they're all knowledgeable about the body and pressure points and whatever buuut...

My immediate thought is Damian, NOT just because he's my favourite but because:

- Dick would get too horny too fast. He'd barely get a few knots out before his comments are getting out of hand and his touch is straying from his intended purpose. Ig you're relieving some tension either way 🤷‍♀️

- Jason would be too worried about putting too much pressure on your sore areas and hurting you. You have to tell him "Harder, Jay." And that'll just make him more stressed. You make any sound and he's pulling back like he broke a bone😭😭 He'll only ease into it if you are very direct about what you like and where.

- I think Tim would just overthink it too much. He's asking you if you want Shiatsu, Swedish, hot stone, deep tissue, he's even throwing in medical terms and all you want is a damn break. He just wants to make you feel good in the most effective way possible.

- I think Duke would be a little worried about pressing too hard as well but he'd ease into it much better than Jason. Once he's got the hang of it he's on a roll, in fact maybe he gets a bit too into it. It's been an hour and you're ready to be done and he's like "wait wait, I haven't done the lower back." He's not a job half done kinda guy.

- Steph would also be too horny. You can NOT make any sound with her because she will be using it against you. She'd comment on every flex and release of your muscles and every prickle of skin. She's probably sitting on your ass as well even if she doesn't need to.

- Cas is the opposite and probably the second best option (in my opinion) She'd be near medical with it, sussing out exactly where the problem is and rubbing out that knot with precision. She's so good you might not even notice the noises you're making or how red her cheeks are 🤭

- Now, Damian would be so serious about it. His lover has a problem and they confided in him for help? He's cracking his knuckles and getting to work. I'm not sure you could even get him to do any funny business if you tried, he'd be all "Not until I'm certain you're in perfect health, beloved."

Thank you for reading my period pain induced delusions.

#im aware the real answer is alfred #back pain so sore im hallucinating scenarios girl help #dc x reader #jason todd x reader #damian wayne x reader #dick grayson x reader #stephanie brown x reader #duke thomas x reader #tim drake x reader #cassandra cain x reader

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shortnsweetsposts · 9 months ago

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Child!Damian: *Trying to hug Bat!reader*

Bat!reader: Leave alone, baby.

Child!Damian: *Looked up at Bat!reader with them big ol'eyes*

Bat!reader: ...

Bat!reader, starts ugly sobbing and hugged child!Damian back: YOU'RE MY BABY. YOU'RE MY BABY AND I LOVE YOU SO MUCH.

Batfam: Oh wow

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jellyfishsthings · 1 month ago

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Interrupted Dates

navigation , dc navigation

requests are open

dividers by @cafekitsune

Dick

The rooftop was aglow with fairy lights, strung haphazardly between a rusted chimney and a disused antenna. It gave the space a dreamy sort of charm—romantic if you squinted and ignored the faint smell of city smog.

You sat cross-legged on a blanket, sharing a plastic container of pasta salad with Dick. He was barefoot, shirt sleeves rolled up, hair ruffled by the breeze and the kind of smugly radiant that only came from retelling stories of childhood chaos.

“So then I yell, ‘Ta-da!’—naked, mind you—because I was four and thought I could fly,” Dick said, stabbing his fork into a piece of tomato like it had personally wronged him. “Bruce was mortified. Alfred just... nodded, like he’d seen worse.”

You snorted into your drink. “How are you not traumatized?”

“I am. But charmingly so.”

Meanwhile, twelve feet below, chaos brewed.

Behind a nearby billboard, a truly absurd stack of Batfamily members wobbled dangerously. Stephanie was on top, phone in hand and already live-streaming to a private group chat titled #OperationDickDates??!. Jason had the binoculars. Tim was beneath him, trying to triangulate audio with a dish he may or may not have stolen from the Batcave. Damian, at the bottom, bore the weight of them all with the bitter fury of a betrayed acrobat.

“This is a disgrace,” Damian hissed. “Grayson’s form is off. His landing on the blanket was a ten-degree deviation from optimal angle.”

“Is that what’s bothering you?” Tim whispered. “Not the fact that we’re spying on our grown brother having a date like we’re the Scooby-Doo gang on meth?”

Stephanie shushed them. “Shut up, I think she’s laughing. That’s like, third laugh. Fourth laugh is when I declare it true love.”

Jason adjusted the focus on his binoculars. “Is she feeding him? Bro. She just fed him a tomato. That’s a couple move. This is disgusting.”

“Why are you even here?” Damian growled.

“I was promised chaos and snacks. So far, I have neither.”

Above, Dick paused, brows knitting. “Do you… hear whispering?”

You tilted your head. “Maybe it’s wind?”

“No, that’s definitely someone whispering ‘move your elbow, I can’t see his dumb face.’” He squinted into the shadows. “Give me a sec.”

In one effortless flip, he vanished into the dark like some sort of spandex-clad raccoon. A loud yelp followed.

Moments later, Dick returned, dragging Jason Todd by the back of his leather jacket like a particularly mouthy duffel bag.

Jason looked entirely unrepentant. “Hi. Love what you’ve done with the vibe. Very ‘Pinterest meets crime alley.’”

You sighed. “Hi, guys.”

Stephanie popped up like an excited meerkat. “Hi! You’re really pretty, by the way.”

Tim climbed over next, holding what looked like a home-wired parabolic mic. “Please don’t hate us. I had nothing to do with this. Except the part where I helped rig the surveillance array.”

Damian dropped from the billboard last, landing in a perfect crouch. “This entire endeavor was idiotic. But I recorded Grayson’s subpar trapeze flip for future blackmail purposes.”

You blinked. “Wait—how long have you all been watching?”

Jason shrugged. “Since the pasta salad.”

Stephanie nodded. “She laughed four times. That’s how you know it’s real.”

Dick stared at all of them. “You built a totem pole. Behind a billboard. In a wind tunnel.”

Damian sniffed. “It was Tim’s idea.”

“Lies,” Tim said. “I organized it. There’s a difference.”

You glanced at Dick, who looked like he was oscillating between mild amusement and full-on big brother meltdown.

He sighed dramatically, then turned to you with a hand outstretched. “Would you care to join me in fleeing the scene of the crime?”

“With pleasure.”

As the two of you retreated—blanket in hand, pasta salad container tucked under your arm—you heard Stephanie whisper behind you:

“I’m giving this a nine out of ten. Docking one point for no kiss.”

Jason grunted. “Give it five minutes. They’re totally going to kiss on the next roof.”

“So…should we… follow?” Tim whispered.

“NO.”

Jason

You were tucked into the coziest corner of the bookstore café, the one with the overstuffed chair that made ominous creaking noises when you sat in it, but held firm like a trusted secret. The golden afternoon light pooled on the hardwood floor, catching the soft steam curling from your shared cappuccino. Jason sat beside you, strangely gentle today, his leather jacket shrugged off, sleeves rolled, as he thumbed through a battered paperback of Pablo Neruda.

He cleared his throat—gruff, a little self-conscious—and then looked at you like you were the only real thing in the world.

“‘I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees,’” he read, voice low and slightly husky. Not quite polished—more like poetry scraped over gravel. Honest.

You smiled, fingers brushing his under the table, and he blinked like maybe he couldn’t believe he was allowed to have this—this calm, this softness, this weird, wonderful stillness.

Then—

“Is he blushing?” came a stage whisper from the bookshelf display to your right. You both froze.

From behind a rotating rack of pastel-covered romance novels, Dick and Tim peeked out, both wearing oversized, obviously fake glasses and pretending to browse.

Jason closed the book slowly.

Dick leaned sideways with all the stealth of a golden retriever trying to sneak a sandwich. “Look at him go. He’s quoting Neruda. Neruda, Tim. My angry cactus of a brother has feelings.”

“Do we have this on video?” Tim hissed, digging in his coat like he might’ve bugged the café.

Jason squinted. “Are they... wearing mustaches?”

Sure enough, both of them had slapped on wonky adhesive mustaches. Tim’s was starting to peel. Dick’s had migrated halfway up his cheek.

“They think they’re subtle,” you whispered.

Jason reached for the sugar packets, calmly selected one, then flicked his wrist like a sniper on a sugar-fueled vendetta. The packet arced cleanly over the romance display and smacked Tim right between the eyes.

“Ow!”

Dick choked on his latte.

Tim ducked behind the display, rubbing his forehead. “Did he just bean me mid-sonnet?”

You turned to Jason, impressed. “Did you seriously just assault your brother with sweetener while reading poetry?”

He grinned. “He deserved it.”

“Fair.”

From behind the shelf came Dick’s voice, unbothered and very much still spying. “Hey, we’re just trying to witness emotional growth.”

“And possibly blackmail material.”

Jason raised an eyebrow and called over his shoulder, “Get out before I start reading Yeats in a threatening tone.”

“Threatening Yeats?” Dick said. “You are in love.”

Tim emerged, dramatically clutching his sugar-packet injury. “This is how I die. Not in battle. Not in a tragic lab explosion. Murdered by Splenda™.”

“Get out,” Jason said, standing halfway. “Or I swear to God, I’ll recite sonnets until you sob.”

Dick raised both hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, no need to traumatize the civilians.”

They backed out, knocking over a cardboard cutout of Jane Austen and leaving a half-eaten croissant on a poetry display. The barista glared. Someone in the back clapped.

When it was quiet again, Jason sat down with a long sigh and opened the book again. He didn’t look at you for a moment, just flipped a few pages like nothing had happened.

You leaned in, brushing his hair gently behind one ear. “You were blushing, by the way.”

He met your gaze, eyes warm and half-lidded, lips twitching. “Yeah, well... you’d blush too if you were reading love poems to someone you liked in front of two idiot brothers dressed like a community theater production of Sherlock Holmes.”

“True,” you admitted.

He found the page again, cleared his throat, and murmured, “‘I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where…’”

And for once, no one interrupted.

(Not even when Dick and Tim snuck back disguised as a couple on a painfully awkward first date. But that’s another story.

Tim

It was a clear night at Gotham’s old observatory—cold enough to see your breath, warm enough to be out without freezing, the kind of in-between that made you feel suspended in time. You were perched on a folding blanket with a thermos of hot chocolate between your knees, wrapped in one of Tim’s oversized hoodies, watching him fine-tune the telescope with all the reverence of someone handling a sacred artifact.

“This model’s based on the Cassegrain design,” he murmured, adjusting the focus ring, eyes narrowed in concentration. “The mirrors inside reflect the image back to a focal point—it’s more efficient for deep-sky observation. Which is perfect because Orion’s Nebula is peaking tonight, and you can see the whole trapezium cluster if—”

He stopped, mid-ramble.

“Too much?”

You grinned, sipping the hot chocolate. “Never. I like when you go full-nerd.”

Tim flushed just a little, half-hiding his face behind the telescope. “Right. Well. You’ll see it better if you look around there—” He gently guided your hands. “—past Rigel. That’s the blue supergiant. It’s—”

“—Eight-hundred sixty light years away,” you finished.

He looked at you like he might die a little from fondness. “I think I love you.”

A crunch echoed above you.

You froze. Tim’s shoulders tensed. Another crunch. Muffled whispering. Something—or someone—was shifting behind the dome’s inner wall.

Tim sighed, not even looking up. “They’re watching.”

You tilted your head. “Should we invite them down?”

He shook his head solemnly. “No. Let them suffer in their self-inflicted cringe.”

Inside the observatory’s mechanical guts, Damian muttered, “You’re breathing too loudly.”

Cass responded by flicking him on the head.

Steph hissed, “I told you to bring snacks. You said popcorn was ‘too loud,’ and now look where we are. Starving. Cold. Emotionally invested.”

“I am not emotionally invested,” Damian said with the conviction of someone absolutely emotionally invested.

A beat.

“They’re holding hands,” Steph whispered. “Look. Right there. Hand. On. Knee.”

Cass’s voice: “Aww.”

Damian gagged audibly.

Tim adjusted the telescope again. “Bruce is here too.”

You blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

Tim just nodded toward the corner of the dome where, sure enough, Bruce stood in a trench coat and fedora like a noir film detective, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Possibly proud. Possibly plotting. Definitely out of place.

You whispered, “Why is he in a trench coat?”

Tim didn’t look up. “He thinks it’s ‘subtle.’”

Another creak. A hushed “Shhh!”

Five minutes passed in silence. Tim showed you the Andromeda Galaxy, soft-spoken and a little breathless as he described the gravitational pull between it and the Milky Way.

Then—

CRASH.

The trapdoor on the upper level flung open. Damian Wayne fell through it like a cat yeeted off a counter.

He hit the floor in a roll, popped up in a dramatic stance, and declared—very loudly—“That was intentional.”

Cass landed beside him a second later in a perfect superhero crouch. “We tripped.”

Damian hissed. “You tripped. I performed a tactical descent.”

Tim didn’t even blink. “Welcome. There’s cocoa in the thermos. Please keep the stalking to a minimum.”

Steph peeked her head down the ladder, grinning and holding her phone up. “I’ve been filming this whole time, by the way.”

Bruce descended the stairs silently like a disappointed cryptid.

You looked around at the chaos, then at Tim, who was now sitting with his head in his hands.

You gently patted his back. “You okay?”

“I was trying to explain redshift,” he muttered into his palms. “Now my little brother has announced his ‘tactical descent’ like he’s a D-list Avenger.”

From the floor, Damian snapped, “I heard that.”

Tim looked at you. “Please kill me.”

You offered him the cocoa instead.

“Same thing,” he mumbled.

Steph flopped onto the blanket beside you. “So... on a scale from one to tragically adorable, how serious is this?”

Cass stated calmly “Eleven.”

Damian made a face that would make the sun turn green as he stated that everything was disgusting. Bruce tried to argue that the kids were simply bonding, which resulted in Damian making yet another disgusted face at them.

You looked at Tim, smiling. “Want to get back to the stars?”

He nodded quickly, tugging you gently back toward the telescope, his hand slipping into yours like it belonged there. “Yes. Away from the goblins.”

“You love the goblins.”

Tim’s smile twitched. “No, I tolerate them. With... grudging affection.”

Behind you, Cass whispered, “He’s so in love.”

Steph whispered loudly “Like... epic poem in love.”

“Please.”

Tim ignored them, realigned the telescope, and said softly, “Okay. Your turn. Let me show you something beautiful.”

And he did.

(The goblins mostly behaved. Until Damian tried to sabotage the cocoa supply. But that’s another story.)

Damian

It started with an invitation tucked beneath a hardcover book you’d left at the manor: On the Aesthetic History of Violence. Inside, in impossibly neat handwriting:

“You are cordially invited to a private tour of the Gotham Museum of Modern Art. After hours. Dress appropriately.”

Signed only: D.W.

You showed up in a black coat and clean boots. Damian arrived ten minutes early in a bespoke turtleneck and the kind of dark wool coat that whispered money and museum quiet. No cape, no scowl. Just a calm nod and a half smile when he saw you.

“You’re late,” he said, not unkindly.

“You’re early,” you countered.

His eyes softened like a secret.

The museum had shut its doors to the public at 6:00. By 7:15, it was yours alone. Echoing floors, tall ceilings, marble columns leading to hushed rooms, all flooded in warm golden light. Damian walked you through the Impressionists first. He spoke softly, almost reverently—about oil brushwork, the interplay of light and motion, how Manet weaponized color. There was something about hearing him—Damian Wayne, child of war and shadow—talk about atmospheric perspective like it was something holy.

“Look at the emotional architecture,” he murmured, pausing before a muted Chagall. “The structure of grief in the way the lines collapse toward the left. You can see the subject wants to leave the room, but the room will not let her.”

You turned toward him. “That one reminds me of you.”

He blinked. No quip. No snort. Just...stillness.

A breath. Then another.

You watched the silence settle into his shoulders, unsure if he was flattered or panicking. You were about to joke it off—when suddenly—

“HhhHKKk’CHHSHH!”

A violent sneeze echoed across the entire museum like a grenade in an empty cathedral.

You both turned slowly, as one.

From behind a marble bust in the Romanticism wing, a crackling voice came over the coms: “Sorry—allergies!”

“Stephanie,” Damian said in a voice usually reserved for supervillains and disappointed Shakespearean monologues. “This is why I don’t take them anywhere.”

You barely suppressed a laugh. “You knew they were here?”

Damian pinched the bridge of his nose. “I hoped I was wrong.”

Down the east corridor, two distinct silhouettes peeked out from behind a 9-foot sculpture of Artemis. Jason was wearing a museum security badge upside down and holding a clipboard he was clearly using as a tray for takeout. Stephanie—crouched beside him in a trench coat and baseball cap—was whispering into a walkie-talkie with the stealth of a small rhino.

“I told you the mic was too close to your face,” Jason muttered.

Steph hissed back, “Sorry, I sneezed. It’s dusty in here!”

Back in the Impressionist gallery, Damian rubbed his temple like this was all personally offensive.

“And why,” he asked the universe, “is Todd carrying egg rolls in a museum?”

“Because,” came a crisp British voice from the main atrium, “someone has to maintain standards.”

You turned to see Alfred Pennyworth—immaculate in a faux security guard uniform—holding a silver tray of hors d’oeuvres like it was wartime Versailles.

“Would you care for a prosciutto puff?” he asked you, deadpan.

Damian looked like he wanted to dissolve through the floor.

Alfred added, with a glance toward Steph and Jason: “Miss Brown tried to bribe the actual docent with a Crunchwrap Supreme. I had to intervene.”

You took a puff pastry and tried not to laugh.

A voice from the shadows: “Pfft. Amateur.”

From behind a false wall, a gloved hand polished a modern sculpture. You blinked. “Is that... Dick?”

“Richard has infiltrated as a janitorial subcontractor,” Damian muttered, sounding so tired. “He insisted it was ‘part of the immersive experience.’”

“I’m wearing coveralls and everything,” Dick’s voice called proudly from behind a giant steel cube. “Museum chic.”

Damian turned to you, exhausted. “Please believe me when I say, I wanted this to be romantic.”

You looped your arm through his and smiled. “It still is.”

He paused. “Despite the surveillance?”

“Because of it,” you teased. “It’s very us.”

Damian blinked. Then—slowly, reluctantly—smiled. A real one. The kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes, but was still a rare and quiet thing.

“I loathe you,” he murmured to the empty air.

“Love you too, baby bird,” came Jason’s voice over the coms.

“I have no siblings,” Damian muttered, guiding you toward a post-modernist piece shaped like an unraveling staircase.

From behind the bust, Steph whispered: “Did he just blush?”

Dick whispered back: “I’m so proud.”

Jason: “I’m gonna cry. That’s our boy.”

Steph: “Wait—can we do a slow clap?”

Alfred: “If you start clapping, I am tasering everyone and leaving.”

Back in the gallery, Damian took your hand and placed it over his heart. “Ignore the interlopers. This painting reminds me of you. Bold color. Sharp lines. Impossible to look away from.”

You smiled, a little breathless. “Now you’re being romantic.”

He tilted his head. “You started it.”

Behind you, Steph sneezed again.

Damian didn’t even flinch. “I will burn this museum to the ground.”

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rainedravens · 1 month ago

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me looking at my imaginary audience as i click on a fic about the same ship in a slightly different situation for the millionth time

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lacy-oh-lacy · 12 days ago

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Who fell first and who fell harder dc edition when? (asked with love)

Who fell first and who fell harder?

⤷DC Edition

She fell first, you fell harder:

Selina Kyle, Zatanna Zatara, Lois Lane

You fell first, she fell harder:

Talia Al Ghul, Rachel Roth, Dinah Lance, Kara Zor El, Cassandra Cain

You fell first and harder:

Diana Prince, Barbara Gordon, Artemis Grace, Yara Flor, Donna Troy, Helena Bertinelli, Alexis Kaye

She fell first and harder:

Harley Quinn, Pamela Isley, Koriand’r, Stephanie Brown, Cassie Sandsmark, Jessica Cruz

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yasminawayne · 3 months ago

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If I can't have you baby, no one else in this world can!

SYNOPSIS: The Batboys & Cass at their most unhinged, most protective, and most devoted. TAGS: FEMALE Reader! Fluff! Jealousy! Fake Marriage, Mild possessive behavior, Mild innuendo / suggestive banter, Mentions of weapons/violence + Older! Of-Age! Damian NOTE: Don’t take the content or characterizations too seriously! It’s literally just a goofy, for-fun fic :ppp AO3: yenwayne Ko-Fi: buy me a coffee!

જ⁀➴ RICHARD GRAYSON

“I hate these missions,” came Dick’s voice, petulant and immediate in your earpiece.

You didn’t pause. Instead, you stepped delicately around a marble column, your heels tapping rhythmically across the ballroom floor. Your dress shimmered with every movement, a slinky midnight blue number that hugged your form like it had been stitched by jealous gods. Your fingers grazed the low curve of your hip, pretending to adjust the fabric, when in reality you were activating the mic hidden beneath a faux diamond brooch.

“Nightwing,” you said calmly, smiling at a champagne server as they approached. You took a glass with a graceful nod, flipping your hair over your shoulder with casual elegance. “We’re at a gala. There are hors d'oeuvres and a string quartet. Try not to combust.”

“I am combusting,” he muttered, like he was personally being subjected to torture. “You’re pretending to be married to Barry Allen. That’s basically infidelity.”

“We fake-filed a fake tax return together like, five minutes ago,” you said dryly. “Relax.”

Dick huffed—huffed—and you could practically see him brooding on some rooftop, arms crossed like a bat-gargoyle. “I just think I, your actual husband, should be there.”

You let out a quiet sigh, walking toward the ornate staircase where Barry stood chatting up a senator. You could already see the knowing glint in his eye as he spotted you, lifting his glass like a man trying too hard to appear casual.

“Oh my god,” you muttered under your breath, smiling sweetly as you closed the distance. “You are literally in my ear. You’re more present than Barry is right now, and he's the one touching me.”

“What?!”

You glanced sideways at Barry. He shifted, his palm resting in the safe, polite territory of your lower back as he leaned in to whisper something to the senator. “Arm, Dick. It’s just an arm. We’re blending in. No need to send in the Batjet.”

“I swear to god if he tries the forehead kiss thing—”

You blinked. “What forehead kiss thing?”

“He does this thing,” Dick said, his voice a little breathless with outrage, “where he smiles all slow and soft and tilts his head, and he leans in like he’s gonna whisper something but instead he does this little forehead press like he’s in a rom-com. I hate it. That’s how he seduced Iris that one time!”

You bit the inside of your cheek to suppress a laugh, shifting your weight subtly as you allowed Barry to guide you toward the center of the room. The music shifted into a softer waltz.

“Pretty sure they were already dating when that happened.”

“Not the point. I should be the one fake-forehead-kissing you at fancy galas.”

You stepped past an older couple slow-dancing near the fountain centerpiece and turned, giving Barry a small apologetic smile as you pretended to be distracted by something in your clutch.

“Would that make you feel better?” you whispered.

“Immeasurably.”

You were about to respond when you caught the faintest flicker of movement overhead. The security camera nearest you pivoted. Just slightly. Just enough.

Your smile vanished.

“Did you just hijack the camera feed to watch me?”

Silence.

“Dick.”

“…No?”

“Dick.”

“Camera’s just doing its job.”

“You are the camera.”

There was a beat of long, silent guilt on the line.

“It’s a security sweep,” he finally muttered, defensive. “Totally standard.”

You turned and stared directly up at the rotating lens, narrowing your eyes. “You’re pouting, aren’t you?”

“No,” he said, full pout in his voice.

You glared at the camera, already knowing the exact pout he was pulling behind the cowl. Barry chuckled beside you, still in his gala-husband role. You looped your arm through his and leaned in with a soft smile, playing along for the watching donors. Wealth glittered across the ballroom. Pearls, tuxedos, and dresses worth more than a small country’s GDP.

And then Dick dropped the line.

“You just had to wear that gown, didn’t you?”

Your eyebrows twitched.

“It’s a dress.”

“It’s a crime scene, actually.”

You nearly snorted champagne up your nose. “Are you okay? Do you need to go punch a mugger and walk it off?”

“You don’t understand,” he hissed. “There are at least six guys pretending not to stare at you right now. One of them dropped a canapé. I watched it happen. I’m seconds from pulling the fire alarm.”

You hummed in amusement and tilted your head, letting the chandelier light catch the sheen of your lashes.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

You swirled the champagne in your glass, then took a slow, knowing sip, the bubbles tickling your lips as you smirked. “Are you gonna rappel in through the ceiling and punch Barry in the face mid-waltz?”

He didn’t answer immediately. And that was the worst part.

“…Maybe.”

You laughed under your breath, drawing curious eyes from across the floor. “You are the most dramatic man I’ve ever married.”

“I’m the only man you’ve ever married!”

“For now,” you teased.

Dead. Air.

You could feel it through the silence. The precise moment Dick’s jaw clenched, the way his hands probably curled into fists on some high-rise ledge. You almost felt sorry for the next criminal who looked at him funny.

“Sweetheart,” he said finally, voice dropping into that dangerous purr he only used when he was 70% teasing and 30% ready to commit felony assault. “If Barry so much as breathes too close to you, I’m driving over there and disguising myself as a waiter just to strangle him with a linen napkin.”

You giggled again, covering it with the rim of your glass and a quick flutter of lashes.

“Relax. You’re still my real husband.”

“I should hope so. I signed that marriage license in blood.”

“You pricked your finger opening the envelope.”

“It still counts.”

જ⁀➴ JASON TODD

The dim light of the bookstore warmed the space, the faint scent of old paper mixing with the musky air of Gotham’s streets. It was the perfect Saturday afternoon. You and Jason had been to this little corner bookstore a few times, tucked away near the flat you shared, where no one bothered you, just the way you liked it.

Today, the place had a sale. And you were taking full advantage. Because, books.

You bent slightly, pulling another book off the shelf. Your fingers lingered on the spine, the title catching your eye, but your gaze drifted briefly to Jason beside you.

He was holding a stack of books you'd already picked up, his strong arms braced beneath the weight. His other hand was occupied, casually flipping through the pages of a suspense novel. His worn-out motorcycle helmet hung off his elbow, the strap digging into his skin like it always did when he wasn’t too concerned about making a spectacle of himself.

The sight of him in his usual attire, tight compression shirt, cargo pants, and those damn ratty boots, was almost enough to make you forget why you were even here. You couldn’t help it. Your husband, who exuded that rough, untamed charm that always made your heart skip a beat, even after everything.

You coughed, quickly pulling your focus back to the shelf, cheeks flushed. You weren’t here to ogle at him. You were here to buy books, to stock up for the upcoming winter nights in your cozy little flat.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him glance over at you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he noticed the way you’d momentarily gotten lost in thought.

“You okay there, doll?” His voice was low, but that teasing drawl was there, practically sending your internal warning system into overload.

You snapped back to the shelf, cheeks now officially flushed. “Fine. Just… you know, checking out some new releases. That’s all.”

Jason took a step closer, his hand reaching out to adjust the stack of books he was holding, brushing against your side. You could feel his eyes on you, that damn teasing look in them. He knew.

"Uh-huh," he muttered, clearly amused.

You shot him a glare. “Stop being so obvious.” You grabbed a couple more books, pretending they were the most interesting thing in the store, while mentally trying to avoid imagining how good he looked in those pants.

The moment passed, and you made your way to the counter. But, of course, Jason insisted on carrying all the books for you, despite them weighing next to nothing. Which, really, wasn’t a huge shock. The man could bench press a car if he felt like it.

The cashier, a young guy in his twenties, greeted you with a friendly smile as he began scanning your newest babies.

“Oh, you read The Cruel Prince?” the cashier suddenly asked, lifting the book from your pile with excitement. “I’ve been dying to meet someone else who loves it.”

You couldn’t help but grin, excited to talk about one of your favorites. “Yes! It’s amazing. I love Jude as a character. She’s so strong, and the plot twists? Wild.”

The cashier, clearly eager to engage, leaned in slightly, his elbows resting casually on the counter. “I know, right? I just finished The Wicked King,” he said with a boyish laugh.

“I’m almost done with The Queen of Nothing now.” His eyes flicked up, lingering a moment too long on your face. “You into high fantasy like this, or was it just a one-time thing? ‘Cause if you’re looking for recs… I’ve got a few I think you’d really love.”

You smiled, delighted by the conversation. “Oh, I’m always open to fantasy suggestions. I love character-driven stuff with sharp worldbuilding.”

Completely absorbed, you missed the way the cashier’s eyes dipped briefly down your frame before flicking back up to meet yours. "Lucky for me, you stopped by today.”

Jason, who had been standing just behind you, tensed. Subtly, he stepped closer, the warmth of his body brushing your back as he shifted the weight of the books in his arms. His free hand settled on your waist, low and firm.

It was casual, at least outwardly, but there was nothing casual about the way his fingers flexed slightly against your coat.

The cashier, oblivious or ignoring the shift in energy, handed you the receipt, gaze still lingering. “Seriously, though. A doll like you geeking out over The Cruel Prince? That’s rare. Real rare. Kinda makes a guy believe in fate.”

Jason’s voice cut through the moment, cold enough to make the air around you drop a few degrees. “Yeah,” he said, eyes locked onto the cashier’s now, unreadable but intense. “She’s one of a kind.”

The cashier blinked, clearly feeling the shift, but tried to laugh it off. “Right, of course. I’ll, uh, finish ringing this up.”

Jason didn’t move, didn’t blink. “You do that.”

A moment later, the books were bagged, and the cashier’s enthusiasm had visibly dimmed. He offered a half-hearted smile, handing you the bag. “Enjoy your books.”

Jason took it before you could, his hand brushing against yours as he did. “We will.”

You followed Jason out of the store, blinking at the sudden rush of cold Gotham air. You were about to say something when you caught the tension in his jaw, the way his eyes stayed forward.

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Jealous?”

He scoffed, but didn’t deny it. “Nah. Just making sure it’s clear. You’re mine.”

You slipped your arm through his. “Always.”

જ⁀➴ TIM DRAKE

“Hi, Timmy Junior,” you crooned, crouching low to the penthouse floor with a dramatic sweep of your coat as it slipped from your shoulders. Your fingers found the cat’s chin, scritching gently beneath the plush fur.

The feline let out a noise of pure bliss, an undignified grrrrrr-rup purr as he leaned his entire ridiculous body weight into your hand.

“You’re so spoiled,” you whispered like a secret, ruffling his ears. “Where’s your dad, huh? Inventing new molecules? Hacking the Pentagon again?”

You padded deeper into the apartment, your heels left by the door, your coat sliding neatly onto the rack with one smooth toss. The air inside was warm and low-lit, cast in that signature honey-gold glow Tim always adjusted for you when you worked late at the hospital. Cozy, inviting. The kind of lighting that lured you toward rest like gravity.

Your gaze landed on him instantly. Folded up on the couch in a soft Gotham U hoodie and well-worn sweatpants, socked feet tucked beneath him, glowing laptop balanced on his knees.

The blue light framed his face like a crime scene photograph. His fingers flew across the keys, precise, fast, controlled. His brow furrowed, and his jaw clenched just slightly, like whatever he was typing deserved war.

You didn’t say a word.

Instead, you launched yourself forward like a sleepy jungle cat and collapsed into his lap, head-first, limbs folding as you burrowed in like you belonged there. Because you did.

Tim paused, but only for a second. Then one arm wrapped around your waist, locking you into place as his other hand resumed its furious typing like your sudden weight had simply activated some comforting subroutine. Like muscle memory. Like ritual.

“You’re late,” he murmured, finally meeting your eyes with that gentle, tired smile you’d always been weak for.

“Code blue,” you mumbled, curling tighter into his hoodie. “And two separate idiots who thought knife fights belonged in the ER lobby.”

He hummed low and familiar. “Gotham.”

You exhaled slowly, melting into him. The scent of him wrapped around you—green tea, clean soap, and ozone, like he hadn’t moved from this couch in hours. The safest smell in the world.

But something… tugged.

You felt it now. His body didn’t soften the way it usually did when you came home. His hold was there, but too controlled. The tension in his shoulders hadn’t gone away. He hadn’t kissed your forehead.

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, eyes narrowing. “What’s wrong?”

Tim’s lips parted like he wanted to deny it, but instead, he let out a breath that deflated his whole chest. “It’s nothing,” he said, almost too fast. “Just… internet drama. Dumb stuff.”

“About work?” you asked, brows raising.

“No,” he said after a beat, tone shifting. “About us.”

You stilled.

Tim blinked at you, then sighed. “You did an interview with Vicky Vale today?”

You blinked again, slower this time. “…Yesh,” you mumbled into his neck. “She was a nightmare in heels, but Bruce said something something ‘positive press,’ ‘curated coverage,’ PR speak, blah blah—”

“Right,” Tim cut in, nodding slowly. Too slowly. “And in that very public interview, broadcast to half of Gotham… you said Nightwing was your favorite vigilante.”

Silence.

You shifted.

“I stand by my words.”

He gasped in faux betrayal and grabbed your hand, holding it up like a piece of evidence. The diamond on your engagement ring caught the light dramatically.

“This is a literal rock,” he said, dead serious. “A shiny, cut-from-the-mountain, six-years-of-our-life-together rock. And that,” he gestured vaguely in the air, “is slander.”

You bit back a grin as he continued, spiraling.

“…Treason, even,” Tim added dramatically, eyes wide with mock hurt. “I should call Bruce. Or the League. Or Alfred. Someone’s has got to arrest you.”

You covered your mouth to stop the laugh threatening to bubble out. “You’re going to tattle on me to Alfred?”

“Damn right I am. He likes me best. He’ll understand.” He pointed a finger accusingly. “And you—you—are officially banned from Titans reruns, YouTube edits, and any content where Nightwing is in leather and doing that thing with his sticks.”

You tilted your head, feigning confusion. “What thing with his sticks?”

Tim looked personally wounded. “You know what thing. The twirly thing! The one with the hip pivot.”

You smirked, throwing your arms around him like a blanket. “Hm. But you're still my favorite fiancé.”

He scowled into your hair. “Not good enough. I want it in writing. Signed affidavit. Notarized.”

“Fine,” you deadpanned. “I, under oath, declare Timothy Jackson Drake to have the second-best butt in Gotham.”

Tim pulled back sharply. “Second?!”

“Best fiancé,” you corrected with a squeal, kicking as he launched a tickle assault. “Best fiancé! Tim! Stop! I swear to—!”

He kept going, merciless and grinning, until you both dissolved into laughter and flailing limbs on the couch. Tim finally flopped beside you, chest heaving, arms still tangled around you.

You were still breathless, clutching your stomach, when he murmured:

“…Still should’ve been first-best butt.”

You reached over and kissed his nose. “You’re number one in my heart.”

“And in Alfred’s rankings.”

“Exactly.”

જ⁀➴ DAMIAN WAYNE

The wind bit at your exposed skin, Gotham’s chill cutting through every crack in your suit, making you shiver despite your best efforts to hide it. You tried to pull the oversized cape tighter around your shoulders, Damian’s cape, and flicked it dramatically, hoping for a bit of extra warmth. It made you feel a little ridiculous, but god, it was warm.

You glanced sideways at Damian, the stone wall of a man beside you, not even acknowledging the cold as he stared down at the street below, his jaw set and his posture as rigid as a statue.

You raised an eyebrow. “You know, I’m freezing my ass off in your oversized cape, and you’re standing there like a stone wall, making me look like a damsel in distress.”

Damian flicked a glance at you, his lips barely twitching into a smirk. "You do look ridiculous."

You rolled your eyes, adjusting the cape again. It really did swallow you whole. You felt like an overgrown child in a giant’s cloak.

"Well, at least I’m warm," you muttered, "unlike some people."

“Tt. I’m fine, beloved,” he said, but there was a little something extra when he said beloved.

Something warm. Something intense. And despite the cold, your heart did a little leap.

Sexy stone statue, you grumbled to yourself. You were so not above it.

The night air crackled with tension for a moment before Damian broke the silence. “Something’s off. Stay close.”

You straightened, your body on high alert, instinctively leaning closer to him. You followed his gaze toward the flickering lights…A bank alarm.

The unmistakable shriek of Gotham’s most wanted sound—bank robbery.

“Trouble,” you said, giddy with the thrill.

“Indeed,” Damian replied, voice low and dangerous. Before you could respond, he vanished into the night, melting into the shadows.

“Show-off,” you muttered, launching a web and following him across the rooftops.

You landed beside him, crouched above a black van outside the bank. Thugs were unloading duffle bags—money and cologne, Gotham’s finest.

“Someone’s making a withdrawal,” you whispered.

“Then let’s make sure they don’t get too comfortable,” Damian muttered. With a single flick of his wrist, a Batarang flew out, slicing through the air and knocking one of the thieves out.

“Smooth,” you swooned, eyes wide with admiration. “Hey, this might be the best date night we’ve had all month.”

“Tch. I prefer less… crowded dates,” Damian shot back, already taking down another guy with a fluid motion that made it look effortless.

Fast. Precise. Unfairly hot.

You couldn’t help but grin, heart racing as you jumped into the action, doing a flip over one of the thieves to disarm him mid-air. You were all set to land on your feet, ready to keep up the momentum, when suddenly, a shadow slammed into you from nowhere.

The impact knocked the wind from your lungs, sending you crashing into the rooftop with a grunt.

Damian’s head snapped your way, eyes dark, hand flying to his blade. Ready to kill.

"Wait!" you said, breathless, as you pushed yourself up and caught sight of the person on top of you.

"Black Cat?" you breathed, disbelief flooding your chest.

She grinned down at you, that too-familiar cocky smile spreading across her face.

"Hey, Spider," she said, pressing a hand down on your shoulders, keeping you pinned, her fingers firm and possessive. "Long time no swing. You look… deliciously out of breath."

Your brain short-circuited. "Holy shit. What are you doing in Gotham?"

Before she could answer, a shadow dropped hard beside you. Damian. Radiating absolute fury in a tight, concentrated glare.

“Get. Off.”

Two words. Ice-cold.

Black Cat didn’t flinch. In fact, her grin widened.

"Ooooh," she said, drawing out the syllable like she’d just tasted something expensive. “You must be new. You gotta get in line, cutie. Spider’s got fans, you know.”

“I am not a fan,” Damian snapped. “I am her partner.”

You sat up. “Aw.”

Damian flushed.

“In combat,” he added stiffly.

You winced. “Less aw.”

Black Cat howled. “Oh, this is so much better than I hoped. You got yourself a territorial one, huh?” She leaned in close to Damian, eyes twinkling. “Tell me, do you bite?”

“I don’t bite,” Damian said coldly.

“Oh?” she said with a smirk. “Shame.”

“I maim.”

“Well, you’re no fun,” Black Cat tsked, her hips swaying as she walked forward with that signature, cat-like confidence. “Relax, Bird Boy. Just saying hi to my favorite Spider.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “Guys! Seriously? We are not doing this right now. We’re literally in the middle of a robbery!”

Black Cat flipped her hair over her shoulder, unfazed. “Handled it already, sweetheart. I snagged the bank’s security drive, webbed the goons to their getaway van, and took care of the heavy lifting before I jumped you. You’re welcome.”

“…You webbed—my web fluid?!” you gawked.

“Borrowed,” Black Cat said airily. “Don’t be stingy.”

“I made that with bio-polymers and blood, you kleptomaniac bat-licking menace—”

“Oh, please,” she rolled her eyes. “I'm sure you can make another one of your web knick-knacks.”

Damian’s eyes flashed. “Those cartridges are proprietary.”

“Pro‑pri‑e‑tar‑y!” you echoed, stabbing a finger at her. “He means off-limits, you thieving furball!”

Black Cat rolled her shoulders, utterly unbothered. “I’ll return them. Hm… rented at a fair rate, of course. Maybe half a million an ounce?”

Damian growled low in his throat. “You—I'll—”

“Okay, okay, enough. Look. I’ll put them back before breakfast tomorrow, deal?” Black Cat offered, waggling her fingers like this was a brunch invitation and not felony-level theft.

You opened your mouth to protest because you absolutely did not agree to that, but it was too late. With a mock curtsy and a wicked glint in her eye, she vanished into the shadows, her laughter echoing like a warning shot.

You turned back to Damian, who stood tense, blade still in hand, every muscle in his jaw working overtime.

“I should have let her fall off the building,” he muttered.

You snorted. “You would never.”

“I could have accidentally loosened her grip.” He sheathed his sword with more force than necessary. “No one touches you like that. No one pins you but me.”

Your brows shot up. “So you do want to pin me—”

“Strategically,” he snapped.

“Strategically?" you purred, arms wrapping round his shoulders. "That’s what we’re calling rooftop makeouts now?”

“I—Tt—focus.” But Damian's hands settled at your waist anyway, traitorously warm. “We need to debrief. Secure the scene. Call in the GCPD. Recheck the vault—”

“Oh, Dames…”

જ⁀➴ CASSANDRA CAIN

You were no better than a man.

You were definitely not supposed to be staring. Or, at least, that’s what you kept telling yourself as you tried to focus on the workout in front of you. But there was no way you could ignore Cassandra right now.

She was… perfect.

Her form was flawless as she moved through her calisthenics routine. Push-ups, pull-ups, even backflips! Nothing seemed to faze her. And here you were, struggling not to turn into a puddle of goo on the gym floor.

It wasn’t fair, honestly. How was one person allowed to be so hot? You were supposed to be stretching, but instead, you were completely fixated on your girlfriend, who was now hanging effortlessly from the pull-up bar.

She wasn’t even breaking a sweat. Meanwhile, you were sitting here pretending to stretch, but your eyes couldn’t stop following her every move. How could you not? She was making calisthenics look like some kind of sexy ballet, and you were feeling some type of way about it.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you barely heard the guy who suddenly sidled up to you. You looked up, confused, to see him standing a little too close.

"Hey, uh…" He cleared his throat, clearly trying to sound casual. "I noticed you were watching your friend there… I could totally show you how to lift weights, you know. Maybe even you."

You blinked at him, trying to suppress a laugh. Your brain was still stuck on your friend? Was that supposed to be his pick-up line?

“Uh… really?” you said, raising an eyebrow as you glanced back at Cassandra, still breezing through her workout like she was in some kind of fitness commercial. You could barely keep your mouth from hanging open.

"Yeah!" He puffed out his chest like he was some kind of Greek god. "I can handle lifting your body weight, no problem."

You blinked again. "Oh??"

"Yeah," he said with a cocky grin. "I can totally do it."

You crossed your arms, trying not to burst into laughter. “Okay, then. Show me.”

The guy dropped to his knees in front of you and looked up, ready to lift you. You tried to brace yourself, but honestly, you weren’t sure what was going to happen. This was either going to be impressive or a disaster, and you were pretty sure it was going to be the latter.

He grunted. Nothing.

You raised an eyebrow, watching as he struggled. His face was turning red, sweat starting to drip from his forehead, and—yeah, this was as bad as you expected. He couldn’t even get you an inch off the floor.

“Need help with that?” you asked, barely able to hold back the giggle bubbling up.

“No—no, I’ve got it!” he snapped, lifting harder, but the effort only made him wobble like a newborn giraffe.

"Maybe next time, huh?" you said with a sigh, holding back your amusement.

Then, just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, Cassandra appeared. You didn’t even see her coming. One second, the guy was still struggling with the whole “lifting you” thing, and the next, Cassandra was casually stepping between the two of you. She looked at him like he was a bug she couldn’t be bothered with, then lifted you effortlessly with one hand.

You froze.

One hand.

The guy’s face drained of color as Cassandra set you down like you were a stuffed animal she was tossing back on the shelf. She didn’t even glance at him as she flicked her hair back, returning to her workout like nothing happened.

Meanwhile, the guy? He was just standing there. Shocked. Maybe a little bit scared. His mouth was moving, but no words came out.

Could not have imagined a more embarrassing moment for him…

Turning to Cassandra, your grin only widened. “Baby… you just broke his soul.”

Cassandra didn’t even glance your way. She simply raised an eyebrow, then shot you a small smile as she signed, He should have known better.

As you were about to respond, the guy finally seemed to snap out of his daze. He stammered something about ‘his form’ and ‘next time’ before practically sprinting off, likely rethinking every choice he’d made that led him to this moment.

You chuckled under your breath, eyes flicking back to Cassandra. “Well, looks like you just ruined his chances of ever lifting a girl again.”

Cassandra shrugged, clearly unfazed, and went back to her pull-up bar. Not my problem.

As she started packing her things, she shot you a sly smirk. Let’s go home. I’ll give you a workout of your own.

You raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile pulling at your lips. “That… sounds promising.”

And just like that, the gym, the only thing on your mind now was what your workout would look like tonight.

Goopyness... This was very fun to write!

My requests are open! Please...Uwu

#batfamily x reader #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #redhood x reader #tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #robin x reader #cassandra cain #cassandra wayne #cassandra cain x reader #batfamily #batman

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pomegranatelifethis · 3 months ago

Text

The Invisible Girl

The hum of Gotham’s streets was a living thing, a pulse that never quite stopped. It was late—far past the hour when most respectable high school girls would be tucked away in bed, dreaming of prom or pop quizzes. But you? You were sixteen, a fleeting shadow in the city’s underbelly, your sneakers scuffing the asphalt as you leaned against the hood of a souped-up Mustang. The illegal car race was alive around you, engines roaring, neon lights flickering, and the crowd buzzing with adrenaline. You grinned, popping a piece of gum into your mouth, the sweet cherry flavor bursting against your tongue. This was your world. Not the stuffy manor you were supposed to call home.

You were the youngest Wayne, technically. A forgotten footnote in the sprawling saga of Bruce Wayne’s adopted brood. Older than you, Damian—your supposed “brother”—was the heir, the prodigy, the one who carried the weight of the Wayne legacy like it was a tailored suit. You? You were the accident. The kid they didn’t know what to do with. The one who came too late, after the family had already knit itself together in blood and trauma.

It wasn’t that they hated you. Hate would’ve required attention, and attention was the one thing the Batfamily didn’t spare. Bruce was a ghost in the manor, always buried in his mission. Dick was the golden boy, too busy charming the world. Jason was a storm, too volatile to notice anyone but himself. Tim was a machine, lost in his plans and contingencies. Cassandra saw everything but said nothing. And Damian? He barely acknowledged you existed, his sharp green eyes slicing through you like you were a smudge on his katana.

So, you drifted. School was a suggestion, not a rule. You slept through algebra, doodled in the margins of your textbooks, and skipped classes when the mood struck. The school couldn’t touch you—Wayne money made sure of that, and no one was picking up the phone when the principal called. You were free, in a way. Free to wander Gotham’s streets, to lose yourself in the chaos of the races, to be the girl no one expected anything from.

Tonight, the air was electric. Your car—a sleek, cherry-red beast you’d “borrowed” from one of Bruce’s many garages—sat waiting at the starting line. You adjusted your cap, tugging it low over your eyes, and slid into the driver’s seat. The leather was cool against your skin, the steering wheel familiar under your fingers. You weren’t here to win. You were here to feel alive.

“Hey, kid!” a voice called from the sidelines. It was Jax, one of the regulars, a lanky guy with a crooked grin and a penchant for bad bets. “You sure you’re up for this? Rico’s got a new rig, and he’s out for blood.”

You smirked, blowing a bubble with your gum. “Rico can kiss my exhaust.”

The crowd laughed, and you revved the engine, letting the sound drown out everything else. The race was a blur—tires screeching, lights streaking, your heart hammering as you weaved through the pack. You didn’t care about the finish line. You cared about the rush, the way it made you forget the empty manor, the cold silences, the family that didn’t see you.

When it was over, you pulled over, breathless, your cheeks flushed. You’d placed third—good enough to keep your rep, not so good it drew too much attention. You climbed out, high-fiving Jax and ignoring the way some of the older guys eyed you. You were a kid in their world, a cute anomaly, but you were theirs. The racers, the drifters, the nobodies—they were your family, not the caped crusaders back home.

You were halfway through a soda, laughing at one of Jax’s dumb jokes, when your phone buzzed. You glanced at it, expecting a text from one of your friends. Instead, it was a notification from the manor’s security system. *Front gate opened. 11:47 PM.*

Weird. Bruce was supposed to be on patrol, and the others were either out or holed up in their rooms. You shrugged it off, pocketing the phone. Probably Alfred letting the cat out or something.

You didn’t know it yet, but you’d just made a mistake. You weren’t as invisible as you thought.

☆☆☆☆

Back at Wayne Manor, the Batcave was a hum of activity. The massive screens glowed, casting sharp shadows across the cavernous space. Tim was hunched over the computer, his fingers flying across the keys. Dick leaned against the console, arms crossed, his usual easy smile replaced by a tight frown. Jason was cleaning a gun, his movements sharp and deliberate, while Cassandra watched from the shadows, her eyes unreadable. Damian stood apart, his arms stiff at his sides, his expression a mix of irritation and something darker.

Bruce stood at the center, his cowl pushed back, his face a mask of controlled fury.

“She’s not in her room,” Tim said, not looking up. “Tracker in her phone puts her at the docks. Again.”

“Illegal races,” Dick muttered, shaking his head. “She’s been sneaking out for months. How did we not notice?”

“Because she’s good,” Cassandra said softly, her voice cutting through the tension. “She doesn’t want to be seen.”

Jason snorted, slamming the gun down. “Or because we’re too busy playing hero to give a damn about the kid living under our roof.”

“Enough,” Bruce snapped, his voice low but commanding. “This ends tonight. She’s sixteen. She’s putting herself in danger, and we’ve let it go on too long.”

Damian’s lip curled. “She’s a liability. If she’s caught, it could expose us all.”

Dick shot him a look. “She’s your sister, Damian.”

“She’s nothing,” Damian retorted, but there was a flicker in his eyes—something that betrayed the lie.

Bruce didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the screen. It showed a grainy feed from a street camera, your figure unmistakable as you laughed with a group of racers. You looked happy, alive, in a way you never did at home. It twisted something in his chest, but he buried it. This wasn’t about feelings. This was about control.

“Tim, pull up her route. Dick, Jason, you’re with me. We bring her home. Now.”

Cassandra tilted her head, her voice barely above a whisper. “She’ll run.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened. “Then we make sure she has nowhere to go.”

☆☆☆☆

You were halfway through another race, the city a blur outside your window, when you noticed the shadow. It was subtle—a flicker in your rearview mirror, gone as soon as it appeared. But you knew better. Gotham wasn’t just a city; it was a predator, and you’d learned to sense its teeth.

You floored the gas, weaving through traffic, your heart pounding. The shadow moved with you, relentless, a black shape that could only belong to one thing. Or one family.

“Crap,” you muttered, your gum losing its flavor. You didn’t know how they’d found you, but you knew what it meant. The Batfamily didn’t chase unless they wanted something. And if they wanted you? That was bad news.

You took a sharp turn, tires screeching, and gunned it toward the old warehouse district. You knew the alleys, the shortcuts, the places where even Batman’s tech would struggle to follow. You were good at disappearing. It was what you did best.

But as you rounded a corner, a figure dropped from the rooftops, landing in the middle of the street. Nightwing. His escrima sticks glowed faintly, and his smile was gone, replaced by something hard, something that made your stomach twist.

You slammed on the brakes, your car fishtailing to a stop. Before you could react, another figure appeared—Red Hood, his guns holstered but his presence no less threatening. And then, from the shadows, Batman himself.

You were surrounded.

Your grip tightened on the wheel, your mind racing. You could run—crash through a barrier, lose them in the maze of Gotham’s slums. But something in Bruce’s eyes stopped you. It wasn’t anger, not exactly. It was something colder, something that made you feel like a mouse staring down a hawk.

“Get out of the car,” Bruce said, his voice cutting through the night.

You popped your gum, forcing a grin. “What’s up, Dad? Miss me?”

His eyes narrowed, and you knew you’d pushed too far. This wasn’t a game anymore. This was the beginning of something much darker, something you couldn’t outrun.

Not this time.

☆☆☆☆

Gotham’s night air was heavy and humid, as if the city itself was closing in on you. Inside the car, you still gripped the steering wheel tightly, your knuckles whitening against the leather. Bruce’s silhouette stood like a monolith in the middle of the street, motionless except for the faint ripple of his cape. Dick was on his right, Jason on his left, each positioned like a trap. There was no escape. At least, it seemed that way.

You popped your gum again, just to steady your nerves. “Alright,” you said, your voice trembling with forced cheer. “Family reunion, huh? Bit late for that, don’t you think, Dad?”

Bruce’s face was stone, but something flickered in his eyes—anger, guilt, or something else, you couldn’t tell. “The games are over,” he said, his voice sharp as a blade. “Get out of the car. Now.”

You considered opening the door, but instead sank deeper into the seat. “What if I don’t?” you said, raising your eyebrows. “What’re you gonna do? Run me over with the Batmobile?”

Jason took a step forward, a mocking growl rising from under his helmet. “Kid, you can’t win this game. It’ll be easier—for you and for us—if you get out now.”

Dick tilted his head, flashing that familiar big-brother smile, but this time his eyes weren’t warm. “Come on, sweetheart,” he said, his voice soft but laced with threat. “You don’t want to make this harder than it needs to be, do you?”

A shiver ran through you. You’d never heard Dick use that tone before—not with you. They’d always ignored you, hadn’t they? You were a ghost, drifting through the manor’s halls, your presence barely registering. So why were they here now? Why had they suddenly *noticed* you?

You didn’t want to know the answer.

But your options were running out. Your eyes scanned the surroundings—the narrow street, abandoned warehouses, the flickering light of a few streetlamps. You could run. Maybe. Your car was fast, but Batman’s tech was faster. And these three? They weren’t human, not in the way you understood it. They were hunters. And you were the prey.

You took a deep breath, reached for the door handle, and slowly pushed it open. The cold air rushed in, prickling your skin. You stood, shoving your hands into your jean pockets, feigning nonchalance. “Fine,” you said, shrugging. “What do you want? Did you watch my race? What’s my score?”

Bruce stepped closer, his shadow swallowing you. “This isn’t a game,” he said. “We know what you’ve been doing. Where you’ve been, who you’ve been with. You’re coming home tonight, and this… nonsense stops.”

Your eyes widened, and then you laughed. A real, uncontrollable laugh. “Nonsense? Wow, Bruce, you’ve shown me more attention in the last ten minutes than you have my entire life. What’s the deal? Run out of criminals in Gotham?”

Jason grunted, but Dick raised a hand to silence him. “Listen,” Dick said, his voice still carrying that false calm. “We know we haven’t been… around much. But that’s going to change. You’re our family. We need to protect you.”

“Protect me?” The word tasted like poison. “You’re here to protect me? Where were you for the last sixteen years, huh? When I was a baby? At my first race? When I got kicked out of school? Oh, wait, you were busy chasing bank robbers, right?”

The air grew heavy, the silence hitting like a fist. Bruce’s jaw clenched, Dick’s smile faded, and even Jason seemed uneasy behind his helmet. You’d struck a nerve. But the victory felt hollow.

“Not anymore,” Bruce said, his voice so low it was almost inaudible. “From now on, we’re watching you.”

In that moment, you felt something was wrong. This wasn’t just a family drama. This was a move to pull you back—to what? The manor? Their control? Or worse, their world?

“I’m going home,” you said, stepping back. “But not with you. I’ll find my own way.”

You turned toward your car, but Jason was faster. In an instant, he grabbed your arm, his grip like iron. “Wrong answer, kid,” he said, his voice mocking but dangerous. “You’re coming with us tonight.”

“Jason, let go!” you shouted, yanking at your arm, but he didn’t budge. Panic surged, your heart thrashing in your chest. Dick stepped toward you, hands raised as if to calm you, but you saw *that* look in his eyes—the look of a predator.

“Easy,” Dick said. “We’re not going to hurt you. We just… need to talk.”

Bruce remained silent, but his presence said everything. This wasn’t a negotiation. This was an order.

In that moment, you realized you’d made a mistake. Even if you tried to run, they’d find you. Gotham was their city. And no matter how fast you ran, you couldn’t outrun their shadows.

☆☆☆☆

The manor was cold and silent, as always. Alfred had greeted you at the door, his usual polite demeanor in place, but there was a flicker of concern in his eyes. He escorted you to your room, but you heard the click of the lock after he left. A lock. As if you were a prisoner.

Your room felt like it didn’t belong to you. No posters on the walls, no personal items on the shelves. It was like a hotel room—beautiful, but soulless. You sat on the bed, pulling your knees to your chest, your mind still racing.

What were they planning? Why now? After years of ignoring you, why did they suddenly *want* you? The answer scared you, because deep down, you knew—this wasn’t about love. It was about control. And once the Batfamily took control, they never let go.

A shadow moved outside your door. Your eyes snapped to it, your heart speeding up. Someone was watching you. Damian? Cassandra? Or maybe Tim, with one of his cameras already planted in your room? Were you paranoid, or were you right?

You reached for your phone, but the screen was dark. Dead. Or… disabled. Of course. Tim’s work, no doubt. They wanted to isolate you. Cut you off from the outside world.

You glanced at the window. Gotham’s lights glimmered outside, freedom so close yet so far. You could jump. You could run. But where to? They’d find you. They always would.

But giving up wasn’t your style. You were a racer. And racers, no matter how impossible it seemed, always found a way out.

☆☆☆☆

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crsssie · 9 months ago

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secret of us (deluxe) event

HAPPY SECRET OF US DELUXE DROP :333333333 to celebrate (bc that's so true ruined my life) we're doing a mini event!! Drop a character + song/number in the inbox and I'll write a little short smth based on the character n song!! Happy requesting <3

Track List

Felt Good About You - Tim Drake

Risk - Cass Cain

Blowing Smoke - Simon Riley

I Love You, I’m Sorry - Damian Wayne

us. - Carlos Oliveria

Let It Happen - Jason Todd

Tough Love - Ada Wong

I Knew It, I Know You - Tim Drake

Gave You I Gave You I - Hajime Hinata

Normal Thing - Konig

Good Luck Charlie - Dick Grayson

Free Now - Jason Todd

Close to You - Bruce Wayne

Cool - Dick Grayson

That’s So True - Jason Todd

I Told You Things - Leon Kennedy

Packing It Up - Saiki Kusuo

event has ended!! Ty for requesting <3

#the next time one of you freaks send me a request twice in 30 minutes while i'm knocked out im deleting both and blocking you #my reblog literally said 'if i wake up n none of you requested i will cry' WHEN I WAKE UP. that post was queued.#you can't complain abt writers not wanting to post anymore if that's how you're treating them #I don't take requests specifically for this reason. don't ruin this for everyone #tim drake x reader #damian wayne x reader #bruce wayne x reader #dick grayson x reader #cassandra cain x reader #hajime hinata x reader #☾.event #stephanie brown x reader #saiki k x reader #jason todd x reader #leon kennedy x reader #carlos oliveria x reader #simon riley x reader #konig x reader #this might be my last event in a while but shhh #im impatient sorry chat HAPPY REQUESTING

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yandere-daydreams · 3 months ago

Text

Title: The Flight Response.

Pairing: Yandere!BatFam x Reader (DC).

Word Count: 5.7k.

TW: Non/Con, Dub/Con, Fem!Reader, Kidnapping, Prolonged Imprisonment/Isolation, Mentions of Stalking, Age Gap (Reader is Mid-Twenties, Bruce is Late Forties), Obsessive Behavior, Suicidal Ideation, Non-Graphic Suicide Attempt, And Gratuitous Pseudo-Incest. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT.

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Finale]

You could hear them through the walls.

Jason’s voice was clear – crystal, even. You doubted you’d ever be able to forget the sound of it, the way it dipped at the edges as he moved between his family’s authoritarian barking and the last remaining traces of his downtown Gotham drawl, how it reverberated against your throat as he muttered some fractured version of your name. Dick took a little longer. You tried not to think of him when it wasn’t absolutely necessary, but it would’ve been hard not to recognize that confidence, that carelessness, that charm layered on so thickly, it was hard to believe he wasn’t choking on it. If you hadn’t already felt so sick, you might’ve gagged.

“It’s bad. Barbara’s keeping him occupied with surveillance footage, but that’ll only buy us another hour or so.” They were talking about the manor. Bruce must’ve gotten home, by now. “Where is she?”

“Things aren’t going so fucking great here either, man.” They were getting closer. “She’s in the bedroom. It felt the safest – fewest ways out.”

You balled a sheet in your fist, aware for the first time that you were, in fact, in a bedroom. It must’ve been Jason’s apartment, but you couldn’t remember how you’d gotten here. There’d been the fairgrounds, the backseat, but nothing else. You guessed it didn’t really matter what came that. Your life had already ended. The landscape of your purgatory was inconsequential.

Fighting against the soreness, you pulled yourself up. The space was sparsely decorated save for a few cardboard boxes and a corkboard dotted with grainy pictures, but there was a door near the foot of your bed and, more importantly, a window on the other side of the room, made accessible by a plastic, fold-out card table. It took a few steps to remember how to use your legs, but finding the latch was easier, the glass pane sliding upward with only a slight amount of resistance. The opening wasn’t huge, but you could fit your shoulders through, and it opened up into an utterly deserted, utterly desolate alleyway. Judging from the fire escape on the opposite wall, you were a few stories up – four, at least.

The frame bit into your stomach as you leaned out, palms planted on the exposed brick of the exterior wall. Your feet were on the card table, and then, they weren’t – your body hanging unsupported in the air, levitation before free fall. You shut your eyes, but you never quite reached the plummet. An arm was already around your waist, a chest already against your back. You were jerked out of the window and onto the floor unceremoniously, the fall broken only by Dick. Jason was still in the doorway, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. Dick, if nothing else, had the decency not to look so surprised.

“Was she trying to…?”

“She was trying to run,” Dick finished, and just like that, Jason’s expression lightened, relief taking the place of abject horror. They really were family, no matter what either of them might’ve said. A few words from his older brother, and what the younger knew to be true was rendered false, replaced with a more palatable reality.

“Can’t let you out of our sight for a second, can we?” He was talking to you now. Great. With an airy grunt, you were lifted off of the floor and deposited back onto Jason’s cot of a bed, your shoulder resting against the metal headboard. Dick knelt in front of you, smiling. That seemed to be his resting expression, as annoying as it was. “Your apartment’s not far from here, right? Don’t tell him I said anything, but B still pays the rent. I think he wants you to have somewhere safe to run off to if you ever decide to leave home.” He paused, laughed. “Not that you’d have a reason to. He’s just worried, like that. Fuck, he’s worried about you right now, even though you’re safe with us.”

Dread coiled in the pit of your stomach. You should’ve begged them to take you back to the mansion, back to Bruce, back to someone who could protect you. You should’ve made a run for the door – fight, kick, scream until you got out and caught a cab to somewhere far, far away. You had to go back, but you couldn’t go back. He could keep you safe, but he was going to kill you.

They were going to kill you.

Your gaze moved to Jason, silent and pleading. He didn’t notice, his own eyes locked on the floor. “Don’t expect much. I’ve been getting the silent treatment since—”

“Since you fucked her.”

Not the word you would’ve used, but you weren’t really in the mood to correct him. Jason set his jaw. “Yeah,” he said, after a beat. “Since that.”

Dick hummed. “Could you step out for a minute? I’m just going to do a quick check-over, make sure nothing’s damaged.”

Immediately, Jason bristled. “I’m not going fucking anywhere. Not if it means leaving you alone with her.”

For the first time that could remember, Dick’s smile faltered. He glanced over his shoulder, resting a hand on your knee in the same motion. “You called me, little wing. Do you want my help or not?”

You watched Jason intently, never once looking away. He played the role of a cornered creature well – shifting his weight from one foot to the other, crossing his arms only to let them fall to his sides a second later. When he did answer, though, it came a little too easily, a little too painlessly for the act to be believable. You couldn’t believe you’d ever fallen for it, before. “Do what you have to, but I’m staying.”

For a split second, something like hatred flashed across Dick’s expression. It cleared up quickly enough, though.

“Whatever you say.” He shrugged, pushing himself to his feet. “Just don’t move. You’ve already scared the poor thing half to death.”

You were wearing Jason’s jacket. Your shirt had been torn beyond use, and your bra was probably still on the floor of his car – in the same tangled heap as your panties, most likely. Dick eased the zipper down with care, letting the fabric slide off of your shoulders. Skin exposed to cool air, you moved to curl into yourself, but Dick caught you by the arms, holding you in place as his eyes raked over your collarbones, your chest, the string of dark, bruising marks trailing from the base of your throat to your navel. A few were from Bruce, a few from Jason. It was hard to remember which. Apparently, they liked the same spots.

Dick let out a low whistle. Your shorts were next, pulled low on your thighs, allowed to drop to your ankles only after Dick spared a glance in Jason’s direction. He fell onto the mattress next to you, arm wrapped loosely around your waist. His thumb dragged over the bruising, following the path down until he reached your—

“Don’t,” you muttered, hoarsely. “Please.”

“So she can speak,” he laughed, pressing a kiss into your temple. If he’d heard what you said, it was deemed too unimportant to acknowledge – his hand slipping between your thighs. You thought about screaming, but didn’t. You considered trying for the window again, but decided that if they were just going to stop you from toppling over the edge, it wasn’t worth the effort.

What Jason did to you hurt because you hadn’t expected it. It’d been dumb of you not to, sure, but you hadn’t. It hurt because you expected him to be better than that, expected him to care about you more, expected him to be different from the family he took such surface-level pains to distance himself from. When two of Dick’s fingers dragged over your slit, gathering the remnants of slick and cum Jason had left behind, it hurt differently – more of a cold ache than stabbing burn. You’d never liked Dick. Of all the things he could violate, your trust wasn’t on the list. This hurt because you’d known it was going to happen and tried to stop it. This hurt because it meant that you failed.

You didn’t realize you were still staring at Jason until Dick caught your chin, turning your head towards him. “It’s just you and me,” he murmured, circling your clit once, twice before forcing his digits inside of you. “Don’t pay any attention to him. He’s already gotten his time with you.”

You opened your mouth, but the only thing that escaped was some strangled, alien noise as Dick spread you open. There was another kiss, this one to the corner of your jaw. “You don’t have to say anything – you know I’ll always be here to look out for you, right? It doesn’t matter what kind of—” Calloused pads grinding against the walls of your pussy, his voice low and easy in your ear. “—messes the others make, you’ve got me. Since the first day B asked me to walk you to work. Tim just wants something to point his camera at, and Jason would love anything that smiled at him, but me – I’m here for you. I’m always gonna be here for you.”

Jason grunted. “You’re a dirty fucking liar.”

Dick didn’t seem to notice him, grinding the heel of his palm into your clit. You jerked away from him on reflex, but his free hand shot to the side of your head, drawing you into his side and forcing you to rest your head on his shoulder. Proximity seemed to be his main goal, your body pressed into his at every odd angle, his face buried in your neck and his hand tucked between your all-but shut legs. He reminded you of Bruce, like that – so convinced that everything would be alright if he could just pry open his ribcage and stuff you inside. Or, maybe, Dick was the opposite, desperate to burrow a hole in your flesh and live there. Either way, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.

He pulled out of you abruptly, leaving your abused cunt empty, throbbing and confused. Absentmindedly, you glanced towards him, and your mistake was swiftly punished by the feeling of teeth against lips, his mouth against yours as he took you by the waist and dragged you onto his lap. You shook your head with as much strength as you could manage, but again, Dick played oblivious, only groaning into your mouth as he rutted against your hips, grinding into your cunt through the denim of his jeans. Jason raised his voice, barking something unintelligible, but Dick was already fumbling with his fly, already—

The lights cut. There was the sound of shattering glass, a rush of cool air before they clicked on again, flooding the room with brightness.

The first thing you noticed was that Dick was standing – leaving you alone on the cot while he scrambled to his feet, a child dropping the toy he wasn’t supposed to play with. The next thing was Jason, suddenly rigid at the foot of the bed, the remaining color drained from his pale face.

Finally, you twisted towards the window, following both of their eyes. There was a spray of glass and wood on the floor where the pane had been broken away, the frame itself now filled by an amorphous, black shape – identifiable only by the aura of pure, unadulterated rage radiating off of it.

Ah.

You’d been wondering when Bruce would come for you.

The drive back to the manor was short, endless, and quiet. Dick and Jason promised to find their own way back, meaning you were alone with Bruce. That was fine. At least, this way, you’d have the mercy of a private death.

For the first leg, he didn’t talk to you at all. He kept spare clothes in one of a thousand bottomless compartments – sweatshirts, drawstring pants, loose-fitting articles that could be handed out to those who’d been forced out of their homes by fire and flood without the chance to dress themselves for Gotham’s bone-deep chill – and you shuffled into something thick and shapeless while he drove. It was only after he’d slipped out of the city and into one of the many darkened, lifeless tunnels that connected his estate to the city that he sighed, let autopilot take over, and turned to you.

“Are you hurt?”

“I think I’m dying.” And then, with a shallow exhale, “I should be fine.”

He pursed his lips, resting a hand on your thigh. Involuntarily, for the first time that you could remember, you flinched away from him, throwing your body against the passenger-side door. Suddenly, it seemed like too much to be trapped in a car, too much to be so close to another person, too much to be searching for a handle and not able to find one and—

“Breathe.” It wasn’t a suggestion; it was an order. You sucked in a few staggering breaths until the pulsing in your lungs was manageable and you could think about something other than throwing yourself out of a vehicle going well over ninety miles per hour. Bruce didn’t recoil, but his grip tightened around your thigh – any pretense of affection lost in the wake of his control. “How do you feel?”

“Jason, he—I didn’t want to, but—”

“I know what happened. How do you feel?”

“Bad.” You buried your face in your hands, shaking your head. “And stupid. And so— I knew this was going to happen. I just thought, because the others were so much worse, he wouldn’t be the first to crack. And, god, he practically called me his mom right before it happened. I don’t even think they have a word for that.” You weren’t crying, but you wiped at your eyes before resurfacing. “Are you going to do anything?”

Bruce didn’t respond, not immediately. He’d already taken off his cowl, but he was still wearing the rest of his pitch-black suit – still recognizable as the hero you loved, rather than the man you hated. The scales tilted a little further towards Bruce, though, as he leaned towards you – wrapping an arm around your shoulders and locking you against his chest. You felt him bury his face in your hair, inhaling your scent. As if there was any way you didn’t reek of someone else’s, by now.

“Jason was missing, and you were gone. For half the night, I had no way of knowing if you were alive or dead.” Warm air fanned over your scalp. “This can’t happen again.”

“Does that mean you’re going to…?”

“We’ll see.”

He held you for the rest of the drive, and you let him. It was only when you pulled into the open, underground chamber he shared with his vigilante hell-spawn that he reluctantly let you go and stepped out. Bracing yourself, you followed shortly after.

You’d only seen their hideout (hideout, because you weren’t going to call it the ‘Batcave’, no matter how many times you were asked to) once, the night Bruce first brought you to the manor. That day, it’d been empty, his kids still keeping a measured distance and Bruce still too wary to let anyone get that close to you. Tonight, though, Stephanie and Tim haunted the outskirts of the sparing ring while Barbara and Harper held court in front of the largest computer you’d ever seen – scrubbing through security camera footage from outside Jason’s apartment. Duke lingered nearby, and spared you an apologetic smile as you came into sight. You weren’t sure how much he knew, but it couldn’t be a lot. The poor kid probably thought you’d been kidnapped, or better yet – actually managed to get away.

Dick and Jason were already here. They kept their distance, tactfully positioned just behind Stephanie and Tim, but you still made sure to keep Bruce between you and them. As if that’d ever done you any good.

Bruce wasn’t so thankful for the space. Raising a hand, he gestured to Dick, already moving towards the elevator. “Nightwing. Upstairs. With me.”

You flinched into yourself. “Bruce, I really—”

“This will only take a few minutes.”

It might’ve been more reassuring if he’d stopped to smile, to squeeze your shoulder, to glance at you at all. Instead, you watched as he and Dick disappeared behind titanium elevator doors, neither of them ever looking back.

The cave suddenly felt a little smaller than it had, a few seconds ago. A little more crowded.

Unsure where to go or what to do, you stayed where you were – arms crossed anxiously over your chest. Your mind drifted back to the car you’d arrived in, to the tunnels that connected you so intimately with Gotham proper, but you weren’t left to your own devices for very long. Behind you, Steph mumbled something to Tim, nudging his side. He cleared his throat before saying something to Jason, nearly too muted to be heard. “So, do you know if we’re good to…?”

“To do what, Drake?”

“You know.” And then, after a beat of silence, “What you did.”

You weren’t facing them, but you didn’t have to be. You could feel the drop in the temperature, the tension in the air. You ducked your head half a second before Jason’s fist barreled into Tim’s check, knocking him to the floor. Jason was on him before he’d even hit the ground.

The others rushed past you – Stephanie’s shocked laugh, Barbara’s raised voice, Harper’s barked threats. You were rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable to hear beyond the beating of your own heart and the violent collision of skin against skin. You might’ve stayed there forever, until they killed each other, until someone was kind enough to kill you if it hadn’t been for a feather-light hand wrapping around your wrist, a gentle tug forward. You raised your head and found, surprisingly, Cassandra. Of course. You couldn’t blame yourself for not noticing her before – she tended to keep to the shadows, like that.

“Come on.” Again, she tugged at your wrist, as if it was only natural that you’d follow after her. When you failed to react, she grinned and without making a sound, pulled you into an effortless bridal carry. If you had any faith at all in the idea of safety in numbers, you might’ve screamed, thrashed, done anything to stop her. Right now, though, you just wanted to be alone, and being alone with Cas was about as close as you were going to get.

The elevator was empty by the time she reached it, Dick and Bruce having disappeared into some other part of the manor. You let her carry you to the bedroom you shared with Bruce and, rather unceremoniously, drop you onto the foot of your bed. Whatever she was looking for, it required a lot of touching to find – a palm pressed against your forehead, two fingers underneath your chin, checking your pulse. When she reached for your wrist, you waved her off, not bothering to hide your agitation, your discomfort. There wasn’t a point in playing nice, anymore.

Cassandra wasn’t so downcast. Light on her feet, she fell into a crouch, staring up at you from a little over a few feet away. “Bruce was scared you were hurt. Terrified.” Her smile never wavered. “Should be calming down, now. Jason’s safe – part of the family.”

You dragged your knees into your chest. “That’s what I thought, too.”

She started to shake her head, but didn’t get a chance to spit anything out. The bedroom door swung open and Stephanie barged inside, shutting it again after taking a discreet look down the hall. Her attention shifted to you, next – her smile nearly as bright as Cas’.

“Tim’s getting his ass handed to him.”

“Good. I hope he and Jason tear each other’s throats out.”

“Someone’s grumpy.” She fell onto the mattress next to you, arms crossed behind her head. “Is it just ’cause Jason lost his cool?”

Shrinking into yourself wasn’t enough. You were on your feet in a second, riffling through the contents of a writing desk in another. Cas turned her head, owl-like, and Stephanie rolled onto her side to watch you. “You can be honest with us. Who were you hoping for? Dick? Tim? Me?”

“A mouthful of broken glass.”

“That wasn’t one of your options, sweetheart.” You pulled open a drawer, finding little more than scraps of paper and a few abused pens. You left it open and moved onto a bedside table. “I would’ve gone with Tim. He’s the voyeur type – very hands off.”

Nothing in the bedside table, either. You grabbed the closest corner and pushed as hard as you could, but the damn solid oak only swayed once before falling back into place. Fucking rich people. You couldn’t even take your anger out on their furniture.

“Do you hate us?”

It was Cas, this time, her tone purely curious. You crossed the room to Bruce’s walk-in closet, populated dominantly by the designer suits he’d wear once or twice a month when his socialite reputation forced him to actually show his face in public. He would mention taking you to one of his events, every now and then, kiss your neck and have you try different colognes as he mused how much more bearable the night would be if he had you by his side. It would never actually happen, obviously. Bruce still had reservations about letting you walk through the garden on your own. A crowd of drunk socialites with wandering hands and ulterior motives was never really an option.

“She doesn’t.” Stephanie answered on your behalf. You shoved a hand into one of Bruce’s less frequently worn jackets, then patted down the one hanging behind it. “She’s just a little tense, that’s all. It took us all a little while to come around to family life.”

Jackpot. You felt something hollow and cylindrical through an interior pocket – a pill bottle, the contents untouched and the dosage strong. You could remember Bruce mentioning it months ago, something about staging a scandal to push a story about Batman out of the news cycle. You scanned over the label just thoroughly enough to catch the words ‘anti-anxiety’ and ‘sedative’ before pulling the container into your sleeve, letting it settle against your wrist. Whatever it was, you’d make it work.

You spun on your heels and immediately went still. There hadn’t been any footsteps, any voices, any shift in the lighting, and yet, when you turned around, Cassandra was looming above you, caging you against the wall. If she’d noticed the bottle, she didn’t seem to think anything of it. Her attention was on you – just you,dark eyes prying into the very core of your being. You spared a glance towards the doorway, now occupied by Stephanie. “Go on,” she encouraged, her gaze just as cutting. “Tell (Y/n) what you told me.”

“I’ve never had a mom, before.” She edged closer, and you moved away – your back pressing into the bar. “It’s fun.”

It was annoying. They were annoying –so fast, and so strong, and so willing to ignore your attempts to dart around her as she cupped your face and smashed her mouth into yours. Neither Bruce nor his sons had ever been the embodiment of gentleness, but Cassandra was uniquely rough around the edges, uniquely oblivious to how easily her lips bruised yours. You remembered someone mentioning that her first kiss was with one of the Supers, which made sense. She never seemed to consider that her partner may not be invincible.

Her attention span gave out before your panic-induced paralysis. You felt her teeth against the corner of your jaw, then your neck, her face eventually finding a home in the crook of your neck. Scarred hands drifted under the back of your jacket, pressing into the column of your spine, and then there were more – another pair on your shoulders, Stephanie’s voice in your ear. “I think I’ll have to wait a while longer. In-law rules – we laid them out while you were gone.” Cassandra bit into the base of your throat hard. You could feel her tongue moving over your skin as Stephanie went on. “You don’t mind if I hang around for this, though, right?”

Stephanie giggled, Cassandra’s teeth broke fresh skin, and then, you were on the floor, back slumped against the wall, staring up at Bruce as he held Cassandra by the shirt collar, having forcefully pulled her away from you. She could get away if she wanted to, lash out if she wanted to, but she didn’t seem angry, or surprised, just alert to the abrupt change in dynamic. Stephanie was crouched next to you, still smiling. After making sure you hadn’t blacked out, she pushed herself to her feet, patting Bruce’s shoulder. “Just keeping things warm for you, B.”

She made her exit hastily, despite her bravado. Bruce watched her leave before letting go of Cas. “Find the others.”

Blunt. Neat. Direct. Even that was more than she needed, really. Cassandra nodded once, then she was gone, leaving you and Bruce alone.

You wanted to yell at him. You wanted to scream. You wanted to run. You might’ve, too – raised your voice, scrambled to your feet, seen how far you could make it through the labyrinthine halls of his manor before you were caught by another set of groping hands and gnashing teeth, but all fantasies of such explicit5 resistance abandoned you the second you actually looked at him. He didn’t look cold, or irritated, or any of the awful, selfish things that would’ve made him an appropriate pincushion for the jagged needles of your anger. He looked tired.

And you were tired, too.

He held out a hand, trying to help you up. You stared at it for a second, then another, before finding your voice.

“Please don’t touch me.”

The weariness knit into his expression darkened. Sighing, he leaned forward and took you by the wrist, dragging you upright. As you stumbled onto your feet, your chest ached and the pill bottle burnt into your arm.

You walked ahead of him, back into the bedroom proper. He was still in-uniform, but the armor was slowly falling away – the gloves, the belt, then enough little, disparate parts to leave him more Bruce than Batman in front of you. Eventually, he closed what little distance there was between you. A hand on your hip, another cupping your cheek. He kissed you delicately, as if he suddenly felt the need to pretend you were made of glass. As if you couldn’t still feel the blood and saliva dripping down your chest.

Your borrowed clothes were discarded quickly enough, thrown into some shadowed corner where he wouldn’t have to think about them until morning. Your body was posed on the edge of the mattress, where he could kneel in front of you as he fucked his tongue into your cunt and sucked on your clit – a believer worshiping their idol to absolve themselves of sin. You considered telling him to stop, trying to relish that new freedom. Maybe you did. Like everything else you did, it didn’t seem to make much of a difference.

“I think they’re…” He trailed off, pushing a lingering kiss into the inside of your thigh. “I think they’re confused. Disoriented. Dick says he’s in love with you – has been since before I brought you home. Jason thinks you’ve shown some kind of preference for him.”

He usually liked to be on top, favored positions that let him fold your knees against your chest or force you to look into his eyes. Somehow, tonight, you found yourself in his lap, head resting against his chest and thighs straddling his as he guided your hips slowly, carefully. “They’re all so young. It’s not an excuse, but it can’t help.”

“Dick and I are only a year apart,” you muttered, absentmindedly. “We could’ve been in the same class.”

Bruce didn’t respond. There was another kiss, this one pressed into your forehead, and a soft groan as he rolled his hips against yours.

He came inside of you. He usually did, but still. Salt in the wound and all.

When it was over, you let him hold you, counting out the seconds. When you reached a number that felt appropriately innocuous, you squirmed and asked if you could use the bathroom.

Bruce sat up immediately. “I’ll run a bath. There’s a new bottle of vintage downstairs if you—”

“Later.” You smiled, going slack against him before picking yourself up. “Honestly, I think I just need to be alone for a minute. To put things together.”

He hesitated, but not for very long. You could feel his eyes following you as you flitted through the room, picking up a few odds and ends – a hairbrush, one of Bruce’s shirts, your discarded clothes – before slipping into the en-suite, locking the door, and dropping everything save for the little, orange pill bottle.

You got the shower running and stood in front of the sink, fiddling with the child-proof cap. In place of doubt, you felt resignation – pure, neutral awareness of what needed to be done and how to go about doing it. Any hesitation was only reflex, born of some base animal desire not to do harm to oneself. You didn’t like pain, but you’d had a win condition, a clear line between what you would tolerate and what you wouldn’t. You didn’t want to do this, but you didn’t want to find out what was on the other side of that line, either.

The pills tasted bitter. They left a layer of chalk on your tongue, a knot the size of your fist in your throat, but you did your best to wash it down. Tossing the now-empty bottle in the sink, you laid on the tiled floor, pulled your knees into your chest, and waited.

You woke up crying.

Not out loud, and not for any reason you could remember, but still – crying. Dried tears formed stiff tracks down your cheeks, saliva wetting the corners of your lips. The inside of your mouth tasted sour, acidic, like you’d thrown up recently. You weren’t sure whether or not you should’ve been surprised by that.

You weren’t in the manor. The ceiling was too low, too white, your surroundings distinctly unrecognizable despite the haze over your vision. You glanced down and found your own body in a similarly alien state. You were wearing a hospital gown, with a small collection of monitors and needles attached to your left arm. You bit down on the inside of your cheek, groaning internally. Somehow, you’d managed to screw up this, too.

You tried to sit up, but only succeeded in sinking further into the paper-thin mattress. Nothing hurt, but your body was beyond your control, still rebelling after your brain’s mutiny. With some effort, you managed to turn your head far enough to see a window, half-expecting to find the Wayne Manor courtyard outside. Instead, Gotham’s skyline stretched on as far as the eye could see – a collection of misshapen skyscrapers and sparkling city lights fighting against the early morning fog. That, if nothing else, caught you off-guard. You’d assumed that Bruce would rather watch you die than trust anyone else to take care of you.

Not that he’d ever let you out of his sight. You felt a weight settle onto the edge of your cot, heard someone let out a deep breath. You didn’t have to guess who it was.

“You took me to a hospital.”

“You didn’t leave us much of a choice.” Us. You wondered who got the privilege of carrying your body out to the ambulance, if there’d even been one. You wouldn’t put it past Bruce to rush into the emergency center, your limp form slung over his shoulder, playing the good Samaritan as he rattled off some story about finding you unconscious in an alleyway or unattended in the back of a club. Anything to keep his family’s public image under control. “You put yourself in danger.”

“You didn’t leave me much of a choice.”

His thin-lipped scowl deepened. “That’s not funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be.” This time, when you tried to sit up, Bruce was there to help you – one hand on your back and the other on your shoulder as he guided you into a more respectable position. You might’ve flashed him a smile by way of gratitude, if you’d been feeling more thankful. “You knew what I was afraid of, Bruce. You must’ve been able to guess what I’d do in a worst-case scenario.”

“You never came to me about this. You never told me the kids were—”

“I did.” Your voice was muted, strained, but he went quiet as soon as you opened your mouth. He wanted a martyr, not a fight. “Please, don’t pretend this is my fault.”

For once, he seemed to listen to you. Nodding, he drew in a long breath, his expression callousing over into something rational, something beyond emotion. “It would be short-sighted to leave you unattended. During your recovery, especially.” Recovery, like you’d broken a limb. You stifled a laugh as he went on. “As the manor would present too many unknown variables, I’ve found a safe house in the city. It should be ready by the time you’re released.

A penthouse in the city. Just like you’d always wanted. “What’s the catch?”

“There is no catch. This isn’t a game.” He drummed his fingers against the over-starched sheets, wrinkling them. “The others have been generous enough to divide their patrols. They’ll be able to monitor when I can’t be there.”

Your heart dropped. “Bruce.”

“They’re as concerned for your safety as I am.”

“Bruce.”

“That’s enough.”

“It’ll kill me. They’ll kill me.”

“They’re trying to make sure you don’t get yourself killed.” At least he had the decency to sound like he believed it. “They care about you.”

You felt something rise into the back of your throat – sick and acidic and gnashing. You opened your mouth to scream, to cry, to argue, but nothing came out, your desolation silent in its totality. Bruce only sighed, resting his hand on your thigh. A small smile came to rest across his lips – exhausted, but still terrible in its sincerity.

“You’re part of the family, love.”

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captaintightass · 7 days ago

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Cassandra Cain x Reader: Fluff Alphabet

What it would be like to date everyone's favourite batgirl, Cassandra:

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Cassandra is someone that expresses her love through physical touch, for her actions speak louder than words. So expect her to be cuddling up with you when you two are alone, or in public where she will hold your hand.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

You guys first met when she saved you from some thugs as Orphan. Since then she would meet up with you from time to time as her vigilante alter ego, quickly befriending the mysterious girl. Eventually she would reveal her identity, trusting you enough to keep it a secret. She doesn't talk much due to her lack of speech, but she is more than okay to just listen to you talk, occasionally responding with short answers. Very loyal and protective.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

At first she was a little uncomfortable with physical touch, only trusting Barbara, so the first time you two cuddled she felt awkward and didn't know what to do. But overtime she grew to love them and the idea of coming back home and being wrapped in your arms makes her happy during every patrol.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Cassandra wants nothing more than to settle down with you, but her vigilante duties make it very difficult. Also she is not a good cook, she can make some things like eggs, but other then that she would cook the food either undercooked or overcooked, so yeah your the chef in this relationship.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

It would be either because she doesn't believe she deserves you or she doesn't want to see you get hurt, she knows that if you get too close, people would start targeting you to get to her, including her mother. If you were in a near death situation she would blame herself and tell you that you and her don't belong together, she hates the idea of you getting hurt or worse.

F = Fiancé(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

The thought of proposing to you makes her feel anxious, worried that you would say no. But if you proposed she will most likely say yes. She wants to be yours and you hers. It would probably happen 2 or 3 years of dating.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

You know that Cassandra had a terrible childhood and didn't receive any affection from her parents, so you help her ease into this fairly new territory for her. Whenever Cass is with you, she gives you soft kisses on the cheek and just clings to your side in any way. She sometimes gets worried that she might be too clingy but you always reassure her that she isn't, and that is something she is grateful for. You provide the comfort she never got from her parents.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

In the beginning it was awkward and a little stiff since you were pretty much the second person she started to hug. But now she loves them, every time you meet you receive a firm, tight yet soft hug from her, whenever your busy in the kitchen she will sometimes just hug you from behind, she's like a little baby clinging onto their mother, which made her blush the first time you told her that comparison.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Pretty quickly, even when you guys began dating she pretty much knew that you were the one she wanted to be with. So she said it like a week into the relationship, and she said it so casually too. It happened one night when Cassandra was about to leave for her patrol, giving you a goodbye kiss with a sudden I love you, which was the first time you heard this. You pretty much stood there in shock while Cassandra left, not thinking too much about what she just said and the implications behind it.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Cassandra is not someone who outright expresses their jealousy, but when she sees a stranger trying to make a move on you, she appears out of nowhere, holding your hand or clinging onto your arm, subtly glaring daggers at the person who was trying to flirt with you. She may look cute but remember that she could easily kick your ass.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Just like her hugs, she was very awkward when it came to kissing you for the first time. The first time you two kissed she didn't know how to properly do it, which made her feel very embarrassed. She has gotten better though, she usually gives you a kiss on the cheek whenever she leaves. But kissing her on the lips always leaves her flustered and shy, its adorable.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

A part of her definitely wants to have kids with you, but she is so afraid that she will end up like her mother, which you tell her constantly is impossible by how caring she is. So when she does end up becoming a mother, she will do EVERYTHING she can to make sure their child has a normal childhood and is loved constantly. She would be an amazing mom.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Mornings with her are the best. Since she spends a lot of the night on sending criminals to either jail or in the hospital she gets to sleep in, which she didn't do very often before she met you, but now your her excuse to stay in bed a little longer, her arms wrapped around you as you both cuddle in bed until you both start your day either you having to go work or spending time together.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Unfortunately most nights she is too busy being Orphan, so your nights are usually spent by yourself, but sometimes she will text you about what's happening or how she's doing, sometimes she will even take a selfie of what she did, though very rarely since its basically evidence for a crime scene. Plus you will always get a text saying stuff like, ''goodnight love'' or ''Love you xoxo.'' If she is lucky and gets a night off you both make sure to do something, whether that's going out to eat, or for a walk or even just staying home and doing something relaxing like watching a movie and cuddling.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

When you were both first friends, she didn't reveal much about her past, not wanting you to be scared of her and thinking she was too dangerous. But the moment she did begin to open up about her upbringing and how her parents trained her to be a weapon you embraced her with a hug, saying that you support her and promise that you would never judge her. This was also the first time you saw her cry as she cried into your shoulder, Cassandra will always remember that special moment.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

You and Cassandra rarely fight so she doesn't usually get angry with you. But if you somehow manage to get in a fight with her, she will give you the silent treatment, she can be a little petty sometimes. But you both usually make up so its good.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

She can pretty much read you like an open book, and since your her partner, she will remember pretty much everything about. Your hobbies, likes, dislikes, your favourite foods, even some stuff you haven't told her yet. You question how she knows that but she says she's a good detective like the rest of the bat family, so you don't question it that much, its both sweet and a little creepy at the same time.

R = Remember (What is their favourite moment in your relationship?)

Besides her telling you her past, her other favourite was when you saw her scars for the first time. She was getting undressed from her suit at your house the one night and you saw the multiple scars that adorned parts of her skin. She covered them up, feeling ashamed by their appearance and how it links to her past, but you reassured her that she still looked beautiful and even badass. You proceeded to walk up behind her and pepper her scars with kisses, making her giggle from the affection you were giving her and playfully telling you to stop. Whenever she feels bad about how her scars make her look, you are always there to remind her that you still love her for who she is.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

You pretty much have an unstoppable ninja as your girlfriend, anybody that tries to harm you will get folded like an omelette. She will die for you she is that protective, she wants nothing more than to make sure you are safe. But she will get upset if you tried to protect her, thinking that she is too weak to do it, but will silently be grateful for the act and that you care that much for her.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

She's completely new to romance so she seeks advice from Barbara and Stephanie on what to do, so she is really trying. Usually you both go on casual dates like taking a stroll through the park or going out to a restaurant. She will always remember your anniversary and since she knows you so well she will sometimes get you a gift that you wanted for a long time. (with the help of Bruce's credit card of course.)

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

(I would be lying if I said I wasn't struggling to think of something, so Ill just say something random.) She eats KitKats without breaking them, just straight up bites through them.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

She doesn't care much about makeup or dressing fashionable, yet she always looks stunning, even in the mornings. Her aesthetic is casual yet surprisingly fashionable.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

You were one of the few people who taught her how to love and made her feel loved, she would be absolutely devastated if you were gone, she will eventually get better, but the hole in her heart would never truly heal. You are family to her, like the bats.

X = Xtra (A random head canon for them.)

If you didn't think she's the type of girlfriend to steal a piece of clothing from you, you are surely mistaken. During the one winter she took your scarf while on patrol, to obviously help with the cold but to mostly have something to keep her a little company and a reminder of you while she kicks ass.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Being an asshole and hurting people for no reason. She also wants someone to accept her for who she is and to see her as a person, not some weapon to be feared. So don't be a dick.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

Whenever she comes home from a long night of work, she just hopes into the shower, gets dressed in her pyjamas and snuggles into bed with you, wanting nothing more than the warmth and love that you provide. She's a fairly silent sleeper and she looks so cute while she's asleep.

(Thanks for reading, these short stories and alphabets are from my ao3 fanfic. If you want to maybe have a request or read more Cassandra Cain stories then make sure to check out, "Cassandra Cain x Reader Randomness on Ao3)

#cassandra cain x reader #cassandra cain #batgirl x reader #batfam #fluff #headcanon #dc x reader

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