#cassandra cain x reader

[corpsedogs]

Any love for our girl Cass 🥺

✿ Weightless things

cassandra cain x reader

cassandra cain comes home to you

Cassandra walks into the apartment like a shadow returning to its source.

The air is still, moonlight spills through the half-open curtains in ribbons, silvering the hardwood floor and painting everything in soft, forgiving light. The night outside is humming— city pulse, distant sirens, someone laughing too loudly down the block.

But in here, there is only silence.

She closes the door soundlessly and removes her boots, her suit is flecked with ash and dirt from a rooftop fight she didn’t want to be in. Her knuckles are sore. Her muscles ache with the kind of fatigue that only comes when the world’s noise has pushed too long against her quiet.

She breathes differently when she sees you.

Curled on the couch like something sacred, limbs tangled in a blanket too big for one person but not quite big enough for two. Your breathing is deep, your mouth slightly parted. One hand tucked beneath your cheek like it’s holding a dream in place.

Cass watches you.

She always watches you like this.. the way artists admire sculptures, or warriors admire stillness. Like a thing she never knew she needed until she was standing right in front of it. Until she could hear the soft, sleeping proof that something in her world remained untouched by violence.

You, a civilian.

You’d laughed when she called you that once . You teased her, said you weren’t that boring. She didn’t mean it like that. Cassandra doesn’t use words carelessly. To her, “civilian” meant not broken.

She crosses the room on bare feet, every step reverent.

Cass kneels beside the couch. Her gloved hand hesitates in the air, hovers over your shoulder, then lowers to gently brush a loose strand of hair away from your face. You stir only slightly, like a flower turning toward sun and then relax again.

Then, with care that doesn’t match the way she throws herself off rooftops for a living, she slips onto the couch behind you. It’s awkward at first— there’s not much space. But you make room even in your sleep, sighing contentedly as you shift just enough for her to tuck her body around yours like armor laid down.

Her arm drapes over your waist. Her forehead presses to the back of your neck. And she breathes.

This— this is what home feels like.

You smell like lavender and clean cotton. She lets herself melt into it, feel the rise and fall of your chest beneath her palm like a lullaby she’s still learning the words to.

Cassandra doesn’t dream often. Sleep comes in fits, rest is rare.

But in this moment, wrapped around you, she understands peace in a way the world never taught her. You murmur something half-coherent in your sleep, her name, she thinks, or something close to it— and your hand finds hers, fingers curling instinctively around her own.

She nearly breaks.

She nestles closer. Her nose presses to your shoulder blade. Her hand tightens around yours.

She doesn’t need words.

But if she did, she might say:

I’ve walked through storms to find you.

In the stillness of your shared quiet, Cassandra finally lets herself believe in weightless things— love, rest, the idea that she doesn’t have to fight everything to deserve something good.

You sigh again, deeper this time, and shift closer in sleep, as if even unconsciously, you know she’s there.

Cassandra closes her eyes.

[hattersrabbit]

INTO THE LIGHT

batfamily x clairvoyant reader | sfw

CW! gn reader, hurt comfort, religious themes (not in bad faith or to offend anyone), trying to write about exorcism and procedures, good parent bruce wayne supremacy, blood and injury, mental health illness, happy ending, supernatural elements, demons and evil spirits causing harm, possession, threats of violence

Summary! Although getting a moment of space with your family the journey to getting there was traumatizing for you, and them.

previous

✎ᝰ. Here's the sequel everyone asked for! Didn't expect the last to get so much love so thank you.

˖꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷˖

You're name was softly called. Warmth wrapped around your injured body. Awakening from a dream. A nice one.

With fluttering eyes it was Dick looking over you. A sweet smile on his face. "You and Bruce need to get up and eat breakfast."

A grumbling from beside you made you look at Bruce. His eyes were slightly open. The man was still in his slumber.

"Dad...?" You whimpered.

You missed how Dick utterly melted. His eyes forever looking over the many bandages covering your body.

You noted a black phantom hanging over him.

Instinctively you held onto your older brother.

"[ ], what's wrong?-"

"There's one above dad."

Dick immediately held onto you tightly. Following your eyes to where the phantom hung threateningly. He couldn't see it, but you could.

Clear as day.

"It wants you and Bruce to argue. For you to leave." You whispered to him. Eyes are always keeping an eye on the threat. Its eyes are on you and full of bloodlust.

Dick's breaths hitched. "They want us to fight?"

"Yes, since the very beginning. The same with Jason. With all of you." You clung to Dick more tightly. A low growl from Ace and Titus followed. The two had stayed there still. Protectively guarding the three of you.

Alfred the Cat came up near Bruce and rubbed against him. A hiss from him was directed at the unseen assailant.

It utterly killed Dick that he couldn't see what you saw. The animals saw it, and only them, and they couldn't talk to you like you needed.

Thankfully, it was then that Bruce awoke. "Chum? Sweetheart?" Rubbing his eyes and appearing confused when Alfred the Cat didn't move from his side. Still hissing but not at him.

Then surveying that familiar fear in your eyes. Then combined with Dick and you holding onto each other. His oldest son looked on with a disturbed look.

"It's right behind you."

The men shivered at your haunting statement. It won't leave, and it wants them to fight for God's who knows what reason.

"It wants us to fight," Dick whispered. Still in disbelief. All those times he got angry with Bruce, he wondered, especially in those early days when it was just him, were the reason why they fought. Were these ghosts and demons truly the reason why they were always hurting each other? "Why?"

"Go away!" You screamed. The two men jumped, and the dogs growled and barked louder. Alfred the Cat hissed louder and more threateningly. Already close to tears, you wanted to get out.

Your hands wrapped around your neck and pulled at the cross. The silver was digging into your hand, and you refused to let go.

There was the shuffling of feet. Your siblings, no doubt, and Alfred are coming to see what's going on.

Ace let out a bark.

A warning.

A threat no doubt if harm were to come to you, and you're brother and father.

The phantom seemed agitated. Hearing the attention to itself becoming bigger. It scowled at Bruce and pulled away. Gone, and all that was left was growls and hissing.

With tears already flowing down your cheeks, you flung yourself into your father's arms. Alfred the Cat made no noises and jumped out of the way.

There was a startled stare from Dick as he watched you cling to Bruce. Your own eyes were still glaring at where the phantom used to be. You wanted to keep your father and brother safe.

"Just leave us alone. Leave them alone." If push came to shove, you rather evil to take you, and only you. Not to subject your family to the very horrors you were forced to look at.

There was a slam, and then a glass vase was thrown.

In thin air.

No one was around and no grabbed the damn thing. It was thrown against the wall, and it shattered near the three of you and the animals. You screamed with a devastating sob. Dick joined the embrace when looking at the shards on the floor.

"Master Bruce!" Alfred was shaken when he saw the broken remnants of the vase. The sight of you between your brother and father, crying.

"Leave me alone..."

You sobbed loudly. Hiding yourself in Bruce's chest. The man himself looked at Alfred with eyes that felt reminiscent of when Jason died.

Utterly helpless.

His child was hurting, or dead, and they couldn't be brought back. That smile on you wouldn't return at this point. Not when you were being subjected to the horror brought by creatures not of this world.

"It moved by itself," Dick whispered to himself. Alfred heard it, and he could only look between you guys and the broken vase.

"Where is it?" He asked you. Bruce looked at you with deep concern. Your eyes reflected the glaze of tears, and you looked for the demon, or ghost, or whatever it was. It was certainly angry.

"It's gone." You shakily let out of breath. "For now." You sobbed again. Feel the bandages around your body. Feeling claustrophobic in your own skin.

"I'll clean it up. Head to the dining table." Alfred ordered as he made way to clean the mess. It was hard to notice the slight tremble of his shoulders. The man had to tell himself that the supernatural was real.

"Okay, c'mon baby. We gotta get up. Let's eat and we'll dress your wounds." Bruce held you in his arms. The animals and Dick following extra close. The oldest son was always looking over his shoulder now to see if they were being followed, or if a spirit would pop up out of nowhere.

In the dining table sat an anxious set of children. Looking at you, who was teary-eyed and fear-stricken. Even looking Dick who seemed just as spooked.

"What happened?" Duke asked quietly. His eyes never leaving you, as Bruce gently set you in the chair next to his.

"A demon." You whispered. A voice hoarse, which made Damian quickly slide you some water. The boy remains very close to you and looks at all your injuries. "It threw a vase because it was mad."

They all held their breaths at that. "No one was hurt." Bruce quickly comforted.

"Constantine and Zatanna should be here soon. It'll be okay." Your father comforted, or at least tried. There was no way what just happened could be gone from your mind.

"Dick? Are you okay?" Tim asked. Squinting his eyes as Cassandra raised a hand onto Dick's trembling hand.

"Scared." She quietly said. Her eyes seeing that Dick looked terribly shakened.

"You see things like that all the time, [ ]?" He asked nervously. His hand was holding Cassandra's with a terrifying grip. He feared what would be at the corner of the room, and he wouldn't be able to see it.

You hummed. "All the time. A lot of you have ghosts hanging over you. Sometimes I see your parents, at least I think they are. They don't really talk to me." Your oldest brother's eyes widened. Looking into your blank hues, which looked utterly tired.

"None of you really believed in the supernatural, so I kept it all to myself. How could I explain that the simplest touch from something like a knife from a crime scene led to visions of what happened?"

"Even grabbing your hands has led me to see things I didn't ask to see."

There was a gasp from elsewhere.

Eyes met with Jason, who looked on with horror and realization glazed over. "Even grabbing our hand can make you see...?" He didn't even want to ask from his expression.

"I know everything just by a single touch. My dreams are full of visions of the future. Predicted them before they've even happened, and then subtly led you guys in the right direction. It's all I could do, and this is a gift." You looked at your palm. An empty look that remained that way. Never bearing to look at your family.

"But so far it's only been pain for me."

The tears just came rushing down your face. Relief in your chest. Your shoulders feel lighter now that all this pain has been relieved from you.

Although the dark presence towered over you with its claws. Threatening to shed blood upon your skin once again as it did last night.

You wondered if you'd ever have a day of peace.

"So you can see the past and the future?" Stephanie asked as she grabbed food to place on her plate. It looked as if she wasn't hungry. She looked too pale in fear to even eat.

"Yes..." Hesitant, you raised teary eyes to meet Jason's horrified eyes. He got it immediately, and he was terrified. "You know what I did..."

Tim's face turned to recognition. "No no! You know all of that...?"

You hummed, "Sometimes I'll be in place of of someone, like...you Jason and I'll..act out the same actions you did in the vision. It helps in our cases, but it takes a lot out of me." Nervously you picked picked at the food Damian insisted he get for you.

A noise was made by Jason. Covering his mouth in horror.

"So, yes, I know everything. Every action and every emotion you felt. The same goes for Tim and everyone here. At some point, I've seen something of the past, or the occasional future." Eyes tightened. Not even able to look at your family. Finally, all of your secrets are coming to the surface. This burden of knowing everyone's secrets and the horrors they've gone through.

Already feeling Cassandra, Damian, and Bruce's eyes on you. Every hit, painful word, and the repression of emotion was taxing. Forced to know every family secret and not telling a soul.

"Baby don't tell me..?"

"Hm, yeah, B. Every little thing. Grandma and Grandpa were amazing people." A bittersweet smile formed. Cold hands feeling on your shoulders. Comforting touches from Martha and Thomas Wayne themselves.

The man called your father utterly collapsed in tears. Taking your fragile body into his arms and you let it happen. Clinks of glass and the wood screeching against the floor didn't bother you.

A group hug was held. Numerous words of sorry for not noticing your previous behavior. For every little memory that you were forced to see. Painful memories that were full of blood and angst.

Breakfast was nice, and maybe for the first time in a while, you genuinely smiled. Even if there was a monster in the corner watching.

And Jason felt horrible now. He and Tim are no longer able to look at you. You knew every little thing.

The 3rd oldest, forever burdened by his past actions. Having hurt Tim numerous times, and then his words and violent actions towards Bruce.

His father always had to feel the worst of it.

Knowing you had felt the death of Jason Todd was a tough pill to swallow. Every painful injury. The suffocation in that damn smoke, and stuck because of the one damn knot Bruce never taught then.

How Joker knew you'd never know.

Despite his reservations, you still cupped Jason's face with bandaged his hands. "It never made me love you any less." The man would deny he'd ever cried.

Poor thing you were. You're view shifted, but even so, you continued to love him nonetheless. Bruce couldn't be prouder.

"Wheres the kiddo?!" Constantine shouted from the doorway as Alfred opened the door. Zatana seemed just as frantic.

Kids and Bruce are already with you and greeting the couple. Zatanna was already gasping with tears in her eyes. "Oh, honey! How have you survived this long?"

Your family was alarmed at that statement.

"I think my grandparents were protecting me." You mumbled with a smile. Nonetheless, Zatanna didn't waste time checking you over completely.

"It injured you bad." She looked at Constantine, who looked on with a disturbed expression.

"Where do you want to do this? Honestly, this whole house is haunted, Bats." Constantine asked while removing his trench coat.

"My bedroom." You insisted. The two nodded and took you upstairs.

"You kids may want to leave."

They all refused Constantine's request. The man only huffed a laugh, "Should have figured that. Well, we'll probably need someone to hold [ ] down. We'll be doing an exorcism, and God knows that demon is very close to breaking them down. Plus the many that have attached themselves to [ ], as well."

The kids' horror wasn't mistaken.

Your father and Alfred were beside themselves.

Zatanna was already giving you something to wear around your neck. "Here, this will give you more protection." An obsidian necklace that was both blessed and charmed.

She kissed you're forehead gently, "You can do this, honey." Zatanna held hopeful eyes as she cast another spell for you.

Constantine set up all his stuff, "Alright, the strongest of all of you! Jason, Bruce, and Duke. Hold [ ] down."

To say everyone was disturbed would be an understatement.

"Is this really necessary?!" Bruce expressed to Zatanna with fearful eyes. Watching in horror at how Duke and Jason moved to be by your side.

Calmly, she faced her best friend with a solemn expression. "I cast a spell to keep [ ] to the bed, but sometimes it'll break, depending on what we're dealing with. I'd rather not use leather cuffs for anything like that, so please, I know it seems barbaric, but this needs to happen." Zatanna smiled softly, "Trust me?"

Bruce huffed tiredly. Looking at you and eyes sparkling in worry, "Yes, I trust you." Against his better judgment he joined you at the bed with Duke and Jason.

"Here, Kid. May help." A simple rock with dried blood splattered upon it. "You can see visions?" You're bare hands touched the thing. Everyone, including your siblings who weren't at your side stood still. Alfred in the doorway and holding back the animals who looked with worried eyes.

They refused to leave and let you suffer.

A gasp from your lips was expressed. Jason and Duke are already in your face and watching you lie there still.

Constantine and Zatanna are already reading from texts filled with Latin and such. The room felt colder than usual. So much darker as Zatanna and Constantine continued on with the exorcism.

"There it is." Zatanna commented darkly. No one could see what was there. You still laid there with eyes closed and still. Jason and Duke held both of your hands and refused to let go.

Bruce looked around and found nothing. The man never really believed in all this despite living somewhere like Gotham, or even the fact that many of his best friends (*cough* Zatanna) were able to use magic. And now his own child was able to see something he wasn't able to.

Now that it was his own child.

Bruce couldn't help but listen now.

And saw how it was affecting you. The scars and the bandages around your body. Bruce was reminded of what happened to Jason and later on, Damian. Crying over his son's bodies, and he feared the same for you.

"If I may ask, why have so many attached themselves to [ ]?" Tim asked. His eyes were fearful as he watched you're body still being.

"[ ] is a conduit, in other terms. Simple as that, and one that attracts bad energy, unfortunately. Someone like [ ] who attracts such things and can see it can attract something like a demon. They want to cause harm, and someone who can see something like that knows they can wear the conduit down a lot easier than the average person. That's what [ ] is to them, and they're all gonna fight tooth and nail to stay."

A grim atmosphere attacked everyone in the room. Jason and Duke were simply sinking blunt nails into your hands. Bruce looked on with a haunted expression.

His baby.

You were hurting and being attacked.

Exactly why he never wants to mess with magic and the supernatural.

Zatanna and Constantine started again with Latin. The magician herself began to cast spells, which led Constantine to lead the Latin alone.

The world was dark. A room with your family, and yet they couldn't see you. A body that belonged to you, but you were outside of it.

Eyes fixated on the demon in the corner. His bloody smile. A demon there wanted you dead.

"Go away!" You yelled at it. Everything you know and have studied because you did. You needed to protect yourself because this gift was utter horror. Mostly darkness and barely any light.

The demon lurched forward. A monstrous growl as it grabbed onto your body. Attacking your very soul and psyche.

"WHY CAN'T YOU MONSTERS LEAVE ME ALONE!"

Grabbing onto your throat. Speaking garbled Latin and prayers to get the damn thing off of you.

"The darkness has claimed you. And you are mine. Don't you know that?"

You refused the horror, and despite it all, it surged forward. Legs scrambling and crying as the demon took its place inside you and into your mind.

Numerous others laughed at you're expense. Hands grabbing at you're body and pulling and making you bleed.

And a body belonging to you was moving violently. Jason and Duke were holding on tightly to your arms, and Bruce, being the tank he was holding onto your legs. Despite any protests Dick came running over and took one of your legs.

Foaming at the mouth as your body shook and arched up unnaturally. The screams from your other siblings went unnoticed by you.

Damian was trying to go to you, but Cass held him tight to her. She wanted to go and help, but no, she couldn't. She needed to trust that Constantine and Zatanna could help you.

Marks of red formed. White bandages became blood red and seeping out. Ruining you're sheets. Arms and legs pulling, which made you're precious family members hold on to each other tightly.

"[ ]!" Duke called out helplessly as he held on. Tears in eyes when blood came flooding from you're eyes. "It's me, Duke! Fight!" Poor boy didn't know what to do. For all his years all he knew was those damn movies about demonic possession.

He needed to call out to you and to make it all stop. You needed to keep fighting, because otherwise, you'd be gone and only the dark would remain.

You only roared as Duke's words combined with the reversed language and Latin belonging to Constantine and Zatanna.

"God damnnit! What the fuck-" Jason cursed as you began to gain foam at the mouth. You're legs kicking Bruce and Dick in the stomach as you continued the writhe around.

"Shit- ecrofnE sgnidnib no meht ot eht deb!"

Zatanna cast with a wave of her hand to place the spell on you. Blue surrounded you're ankles and wrists.

"ekaM meht !regnorts"

The boys felt themselves become stronger and held you down.

Duke was crying out right now. He was pleading for you to stop. Even with Zatanna's magic, he was held over you're body. His head to your chest as you're entire body arched up.

"Duke! Be careful! [ ], c'mon fight them!" Dick was pleading. Disturbance in his eyes as he too held on too tightly. Zatanna's spell is working way too well on him. But as she said to Bruce, it needed to be done.

"You're hurting [ ]! Stop it!" Tim joined Cass to keep Damian away from you. They wanted to help. They all did. Even Alfred kept a hand on Stephanie's shoulder to keep her from jumping in. "Cain! Drake! Let me go!" Damian's voice was cracking. He wanted to get to you so bad and to help.

You were hurting.

Damian wanted it to stop right now.

Especially when the bandages around your limbs were starting to flood with crimson. Flooding like Nigara Falls. Skin breaking like glass, and rushing blood flowing through that once pristine white cloth.

Damian's cries for you went unnoticed by you, but to everyone else it was horrific.

"The demon is hurting [ ]! They need to do this!" Tim argued to the youngest. His limbs straining against Damian's figure. The boy fighting Cass and Tim's hold on him.

Stephanie couldn't look anymore. Turning her body into Alfred and hiding in his chest. The older man kept her in his firm embrace. Gifting her comfort while he remained uncomfortable.

"There you are you son of a bitch." Constantine was cruel. Laced with more venom that any of them could ever fathom. "Zee!"

The magician waved her hands and she spoke her spells and cast them. Darkness was evident in this room. Like cement it stayed until it was interrupted. Being torn apart by the likes of Constantine and Zatanna.

A demonic scream erupted from your throat. Body contorting in ways that shouldn't be possible. Blood flowing from your eyes, and noses, and then out of your mouth.

Duke and Dick's cries weren't to be mistakened. Blood splattered on them. Your blood on them because of you're flinging limbs.

"Please! Stop!" Duke screamed. His head flinging forward. His body going in trying to hold your wrist, and a arm around your waist. Desperate attempts to keep you on the bed and only there.

"Fight it! Fight that son of bitch!" Jason was beside himself. Confronted with the revelation that you knew what he's done to Tim. What happened with Bruce and such. That was hard, and now this.

You flailing like a fish out of water. Possessed by one, or in fact, many demoic spirits and demons that wanted you for whatever reason. You were dangerous to them somehow.

"elaM flesrouy !nwonk"

Zatanna's spell worked flawlessly. To everyone's horror a being. In fact numerous did but they were like shadows unlike the humongous thing with horns. A demon with numerous other spirits hanging onto it.

Mouth opening, and like the movies; out of your mouth was darkness. Tears mixed with blood as you arched your back. Bloody skin and bandages. Stained sheets and growls from the depths of hell.

"I banish you all back to hell!" A bright yellow light erupted from Constantine's hands. A demonic speech echoed. Still foaming at the mouth you kept flailing. Bruce and Jason no longer being able to keep it together. Screaming for these creatures to stop.

To get away from you, finally.

And they did.

"Let me go!" Outside your body you struggled. Screaming as the demons clung to you. The main demon being the most insufferable. "Fuck off!"

YOU'RE MINE. ONLY MINE. DEATH IS DESTINED TO-

A gasp came from your lips when you saw an apparition of Zatanna appearing. Her hands full of blue and purple. Tearing the spirits and demons away from your feeble body.

"Raeppasid nomed."

Cold and calculated. Full of complete venom and her power purged the demon. A demonic scream killed your ears.

Much to the horror of your family blood starting coming out of that exact area. Blood now covering your face. Poor father of yours was getting flashbacks.

"og ot lleh."

Zatanna's complete spirit warped in a way only she could. A woman who could do anything with her magic, and she took that forsaken demon back to hell. Constantine's eyes were on you. Those blue eyes glazed with fear over Zatanna and you still possibly being hurt.

Feeling the spirits and the demon lose hold on you. Warps of Zatanna's body like silk, and basically purifying the souls surrounded with evil.

" esicroxe [ ]."

There was a pull at your body. You let it do it's work and then...

You were back in your body.

A gasp escaping your mouth. A body that flung at the sudden relief of not being held down by the evil spirits of the world.

"[ ]!?" Duke's voice croaked. His body already, gently, embracing your ruined body. Blood getting all over him, but he could find it in himself to care. "You're okay!" Tears streaming down his face.

"Oh my god. Thank god!" Dick held his face tightly. Hands covered in red as well. From those bandages they just changed a few moments ago.

Bruce was over the moon.

"My baby. My poor baby. Your okay?!" He moved quickly. Jason and Duke giving him space to cup your bloody face with ease, yet shaking hands.

"Dad." You whimpered. Duke and Jason let go, and you were in embraced in Bruce's gentle embrace. His touch making everything sting but you didn't care.

For the nightmare was over.

"Thank goodness." Zatanna huffed. Tears in her eyes as she looked on at you with so much pain. Constantine took her hand as a way of comforting her.

With permission they removed you from that blood soaked bed. In your father's arms and gently down into the batcave.

Every bandage and stitch meticulously done on your skin. Alfred was gentle. More so than ever. That haunted look still there.

Damian not leaving your side. Cass too. All of them, and Bruce. Watching as the blood from your face was cleaned. Eyes still remain bloody.

"Sweetheart." Bruce said gently. Haunted eyes moreso than usual. Watching you go through that whole debacle. All of them. They watched you feel what you had always seen.

"I'm okay." You looked around and found Martha and Thomas. Both having smiles on they're faces. Determined with a promise. To protect you from the evil. "Grandpa and Grandma are here."

A soft sigh was made from Cass. Her body overlooking every bandage with a close eye. Damian ever so lightly pressing a cold water bottle to your skin.

Dick would watch your face. Seeing it blood truly started to fall again. Jason as well. That sight forever ingrained. Duke hugged you, and was gentle in his touch.

Steph did the same. Her hands cleaning the blood from under your nails.

"Are any of those evil spirits here? How can we keep them from coming back?" Tim asked. His question making everyone rather uncomfortable. He cringed seeing your rather pained expression.

Softly Zatanna gave back that crystal necklace. "Protection, and better this time. Come to me and Constantine if you need anything. We'll always be here for you, honey." She smiled with hope. Ever the magician to keep everyone happy.

"Get well kid." Constantine grinned. "It'll be hard, but you got a lotta good around you." The others; your siblings and father and grandparents smiled.

You didn't see any evil spirits or demons now.

In the light as you were. Despite the injuries you were okay now. Duke and Damian embracing you as the others followed Zatanna and Constantine commands of how to keep the mansion spiritually safe.

Protected is what you were. The evil spirits who wanted you would have a much harder time doing so.

You'd be able to conquer them, as long as you had them all.

˖꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷

@bluevenus19 @jealouscupcake

[lacy-oh-lacy]

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

[bluepandastarfish]

Big sad

crow choir: seven minutes

min. one - the egg (batfam x neglected!reader)

ms. 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08

the world’s become buttery and thick, only bits of your vision slipping through drooping eyes, the otherwise strong smell of wet cement and bad paint strangely muted, and somebody crying weakly near your legs. 

you hate this bathtub. been meaning to get it checked for weeks, there must be a crack or something, letting mold grow through the bits. but rent’s so hard already… and you guys don’t even use this for anything. the shower works just fine.

your side starts to hurt, it’s difficult to put a hand on it, the action taking too, too much effort. you want to say something, tell whoever’s crying to shut up, but your words die in your throat, coming out like a whimper. the person starts crying louder. gosh… what’s wrong with her?

on the dirty, tub base, your phone pings, the screen lighting up to a picture too bright for your eyes to register it. you stare at it, hoping it’ll dull out, let you catch a sneak of what’s showed up so suddenly. the girl near your legs hiccups, picking up your phone to check. you don’t feel uneasy. she’s done this before, you can tell. you wait patiently, for her to talk, talk for you and to you.

she stifled a sob, voice dry from crying. “it’s your brother,” she mewled, tapping on the message, “he’s sent a voice mail. do i play it?” you can’t say yes. and your eyes are so, so heavy. you wait for her to understand. so she understands, a long, painted nail tapping at the screen.

geez. this phone’s audio’s terrible. you can barely hear a thing through the buzzing. the guy’s voice is terrible too, airy but squeaky, long drawling words that he says too quick. or is that your ears?

“hey (name)! it’s tim,” it’s tim, “it’s been… a while, since we talked-” a while, “any of us talked, um, with you, actually,” with you, in particular, “me and the others were wondering, y’know, with dick coming to visit this weekend, do you want to-” the audio buzzes out for a second, and comes back quickly,

“-hang out?”

your mouth, that’s been a little open this whole time, for breathing, closes quietly. you can’t answer, to him, or the way the girl near your legs seems to let out a pitiful whine of a noise, seemingly sadder about this than you.

tim… your brother… brothers? want to hang out. you look at your hand, now motionless at your side, and try to flex fingers that won’t move. they’re kind of mean aren’t they? calling you to hang out the one time you can’t. you take a breath, a wheeze, a sorry attempt by your throat to push in mucky, no-good air. you should tell them that you can’t hang out, not this weekend. you look at the girl, the edges of her image blurred, difficult to look at. but they become sharp, and clear for a fraction of a second, and she’s looking back at you, eyes pink and puffy.

your voice, your throat, so difficult to use only a second before, is a little lighter. you can say something. something, but… you have to be fast. blink once, “you’ve got to leave,” you murmur, the girl’s head jutting up sharply, “turn the tap on when you go,” her lip wobbles, you feel bad for making her cry, “none of your stuff should be in this apartment.” she nods. you consider, raising a brow with some difficulty, the muscles in your face falling asleep.

“get rid of that old hag downstairs,” the girl gasps, you hiss at her to shut up, “he doesn’t get to know you were here.” everything will be fine. you’re just a little sad you couldn’t hang out with your family, only just a little, since they were so mean and you didn’t much like them. still. 

you look at your phone, the girl gets up and turns the tap on, water starts wetting your hair. you’d like to hang out, even if they were mean the whole time, just once. you thought you had more time, really, much more time. water starts pooling at your body, your back turning wet and cold. the girl, your friend, looks down at you, sad. she says something, sorry? i love you? i’ll miss you? you ruined my life? you don’t know. tim’s voice plays again in your head, as water blankets your body, still not too close to your head. 

why’d he ask to hang out, the one time you couldn’t? the water’s at your chin. so mean. water covers your face, kissing your head. you’re not scared of drowning. you’ve already stopped breathing. you wish you had one more minute. the blurry colours of the girl leave the bathroom in a rush, muted sounds of clattering and wailing coming from outside the bathroom door. one more minute.

the world goes dark.

people say gotham is a city of secrets, but that’s not true at all. people know, they gossip, they sneer and giggle behind their fingers. there are no secrets in gotham, only things left undiscovered. 

like that prickly pair of kids on the second floor of ms. jone’s place. people whisper that they only share the same last name, and their mother. bastard children looping their arms together and trying to make ends meet. but that’s all they know. everything else is undiscovered.

they don’t know about the older girl selling bad booze and messy powders for scrap money, using it on the little food they could afford, skipping over bills and all-that-nonsense. they don’t know how the younger kid’s almost eight, and still hasn’t started to talk, eerily quiet for most of the day, making troubled noises only in their sleep. they don’t know about (name)’s big sister wiping their tears and singing them terrible lullabies, after yelling herself hoarse and going into hysterics wild enough to call for a month at arkham. no one hears, no one discovers.

they only know that the lady living in that house got into bad trouble last year, went missing with not a single person reporting her absence. her kids didn’t have anyone come for them, but who cares? the eldest was of age, there are far more unfortunate children in gotham. they’ll manage. 

they discover you in november, small hands curled around limp, cold fingers poking out of the tub. the polluted waters of gotham did good for once, you couldn’t see her glassy eyes or swelling lips, her face submerged in water. the cops had picked up your sleeping body, only one of them shaken from discovering you. “odd smell” complaints were hardly issues for the GCPD, gotham smelt like muck. isn’t it so lucky that the one time they bother, there’s something to feel bad about? the smell of flesh? of bad water?

just like they were surprised when they discovered you, you were surprised to discover you weren’t at home anymore, your fingers curled around some stranger police officer’s sleeve. you’d let go of it sharply, eyeing her suspiciously. your sister said the cops weren’t good, that they’d taken her friends and would take her too. did you do something bad? is that why you’re here? you can’t help it; your chin wobbles.

you were left a secret, discovered, but not understood. the police couldn’t get you to talk, not with candy you’d refused or gentle voices unfit for their jobs. the foster homes you’d been put in- perhaps made you quieter, more bitter. you’d snatch away toys the other children tried to take from you, and got relocated quite a lot on complaints of “violent behaviour”. they tried, your caretakers, your “siblings”, the secretariats with their uneasy and frankly irritated smiles, really did try to get you to settle. but you never really did. a poet might’ve been kinder and called you a jumble of rogue waves, with a storm in you that never really seemed to calm. everyone else thought you were a freak.

you can only imagine the desk-lady’s surprise, when she told you your father, your real father, was coming to pick you up, and all those waves suddenly ebbed away. eery, she whispered to her colleagues later, i’d expected surprise, shock, happiness or even anger, but the kid went still! yeah, you must’ve been a freak.

bruce wayne did not come to pick you up, to nearly no one’s surprise. the man was so dreadfully busy, it’d be alot to expect him to come pick up his child! no, the butler came instead, letting you eye his graying hair and polished suit with some level of blunt distaste. but still, you said nothing. you said nothing the whole car-ride, nothing when you hesitantly took the man’s hand and waddled up to the manor in uneven, uneasy steps, nothing when you entered the large, large, empty house.

everything made your head spin. from the too-high ceilings, the too-long corridors, the too-strong scent of something, and bright lights that seemed to engulf you. this was a complete one-eighty from your previous living conditions, and probably sent you into more shock than finding our about your dad.

right, your dad. you’d asked you sister about him once, assuming she’d know. she always knew just about everything, she’d know your dad too, right? 

she didn’t. she’d pinched your cheeks and shoved a spoon of gray oats into your mouth, her voice a mocking sing-song; “my father doesn’t come get me because he can’t,” she’d said, “your father doesn’t get you because he doesn’t want you!” 

so why’d he want you now? maybe he didn’t- that’s why he didn’t pick you up, or show his face even after you’d sat in the living room for nearly two hours, waiting. the butler, his name was “alfred” as you learnt a little later, careened you to your room, leaving you to your few things and many questions left unasked. 

this was your life. would be- your life, for years to come. company served by a desk, a bed, a cupboard and a window in place of your father, your brothers, and your sister. you’re not sure what was so irredeemable, so different, so other about you, that you couldn’t ever manage to sit with them without stiffening in the tension.

they could accept assassins and circus boys, but maybe, you were just too ordinary to fit in with them. it was easier to stay in your room, easier to take up a dozen after-school responsibilities, than it was to stay at home and have to listen to conversations you weren’t privy to. this is just how it is, you’d gone without a fight, it’s just how it’s meant to be.

bruce did speak to you, quite a few times after you’d come to the manor. he’d asked how your mother was, initiating a long stare-off that ended with him nodding and leaving. the next conversations were just as awkward, miserable and weird. strained discussions about your old homes, stories about your mom you really didn’t care about, promises of events where you’d get to know your family, and maybe other children your age. you despised him, really, you did.

but this is how it’s meant to be. you assume, accept, this is your new life, this is punishment. for what? who knows. there are far more unfortunate children in gotham, you can’t complain, you accept this new life. this punishment; your brothers’ eyes turning away from your dark, gleaming ones, your sister pursing her lips and avoiding you quietly, all while you try to manage some behaviour of yours, some atmosphere around you that you don't know how to get rid of, barely even know exists. this is punishment, you have to accept it.

the first minute passes quietly.

˖ 𑣲 a/n: much has happened since i last uploaded anything on tumblr, my writing style too, definitely. i guess this marks the official discontinuation of the original crow choir series, which despite the love it got and the ideas i initially had for it, were really draining me, and going nowhere. thank you to everyone who's supported my writing, and for 600 followers ❤️ stay safe and well!

tag list: @lettucel0ver @marsmabe @alishii @1abi @c4xcocoa @bbmgirll @sirenetheblogger @privatebumblebee

[arachnidseyes]

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.

[thelilytothepond]

Mischievous Little Fairy

Chapter 3- You Have a What with a Who?!

Batfam x Fairy! Reader

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Even though Bruce isn't your father (he feels as though he is emotionally) he feels himself have a mini heart attack when he learns you have a date. After being on this Earth for about less than 24 hours.

Batboys ruin your date.

Shenanigans ensue.

Warnings: None!

Set Outfit for Fairy! Reader Fem Vers1 Fem Vers2

With love, enjoy.

It took you quite a while to realize how a steering wheel works. You just slammed your foot down on the gas pedal and prayed to the elder fairies that you wouldn't be in your first car crash. Luckily your ride back home was relatively peaceful once you figured out the rest of the controls. Like, a strange circular device could make such a loud noise? In the cutest noise ever, beep beep? You abused the mechanical device even though many, many drivers with road rage nearly crashed into your new convertible with the desire to shut you up.

Once you were confident that you wouldn't be a new decoration hung up for everyone to see on the concrete floor of the street, you began messing around with the radio of the car. A couple songs played, none of them really caught your attention. The music back in your dimension was the fancy jiggling of bells. You don't think that humans listened to that though.

Something finally caught your attention. A singer by the name of Britney Spears began playing. You weren't sure which song was playing but it made you giggle and laugh. The only lyrics you made out was something about a whip. Nonetheless you continued blasting her songs as you entered Crest Hill neighborhood- trying to remember which manor was Bruce Wayne's. Once again blissfully unaware to how humans almost snapped their neck to gawk and eye at you in all your glory. You made the correct guess of deciding that the biggest one was probably his. The car you impulsively bought was parked near the garage with little struggle, suprisingly! There was the tiniest worry that you'd accidentally run over some poor innocent flowers or shrubbery. You'd have to hunt down Alfred and ask him for the keys to the garage so your car could sit snugly inside there.

"You don't understand, Timbo! I met the love of my life!" A strangely familiar voice sighed out dreamily- voice vibrating off the walls.

"What I understand, Allen, is that you invited a random civilian on a date while on duty! In your- your uniform no less! What do you think they'll realize when they're promised a date with a superhero but are met with a civilian?!" That’s a voice you recognized wholeheartedly. Tim! You'd have to tell him about the new car you bought and the fact you left it out on the driveway because you had no idea where to store it. The double doors barely made a noise as you pushed them open. They weren't locked?

You moved on bravely (stupidly) and didn't question it. You did lock them after you though. "Tim! I need your help!" Was it lazy to not try to find him? Yes. Yes, it was.

Unsurprisingly you didn't wait long for Tim to rush to help you out. One moment, you were waiting for him. The next moment, he was towering over you staring you down. His eyes were wide and bloodshot, the faintest hint of a rosy blush on his pale skin as he ran his eyes over your new outfit. Tim only had the joy of seeing you in your traditional fairy attire, so seeing you in otherwise normal clothing must have been a treat. He held his hand out as though he already knew what you'd be asking.

Right! Damian had said that Tim would be checking what you bought. You didn't think he meant that literally. Or at all.

After Tim had brushed past you to park your car in the garage, you skipped past him with all your bags in tow ready to decorate your room.

Someone was just about to rush after Tim when they visibly froze upon seeing you. Big, brown hair. A slim, physical build. And green eyes! They weren't as violently green as Damians which made you smile. Just the tiniest bit.

That was enough to make the not-stranger's heart skip a beat.

He was just about to chat you up when you brushed past him.

Right. Bart Allen had impulsively asked you out on a date while on duty. In his superhero suit. You probably didn't recognize him!

Wait a minute.

You brushed past him as though you owned the place.

You called for Tim, and he immediately ran away to your side.

Did he just accidentally ask out Tim's sister?!

Wait. No. When you called out for Tim, Tim specifically and not anyone else, a blush fell over his face. As though he was flustered that you wanted him and not anyone else. He tousled around with his hair in some random mirror as though he was trying to make himself more physically attractive. Tim did that. Tim.

Bart let out a little dramatic gasp before his hands flew to his face, unable to stop himself from spiraling.

He just asked out Tim's crush on a date! And she accepted! Bart came to the (very) logical conclusion that Tim and you were not dating because Tim wasn't confident enough (yet) to rightfully assume that you'd consider him attractive no matter what he looked like, hence the pampering of his hair and smoothing out of his clothing before he rushed to your aid like a white knight. In conclusion, Tim had to have a crush on you. A vivid image of him and Tim fighting with swords for your hand in marriage popped into his mind, something that Bart would never do! Fighting with friends was an immediate no for Bart.

Bart was extremely loyal to his friends. That was a core trait of his. He knew exactly what to do in such a dire situation to make sure that he didn't damage one of his strongest friendships.

He'd be blunt and immediately ask what intentions Tim had with you and state his own intentions. Before the scheduled time for the date of course. Maybe they could come to some sort of agreement! Bart would ask Tim if they could both pine after you. See which one you have a better connection with! Or they could just share you. Yeah. As Bart zoomed away to find one of his best friends, he accidentally brushed past a very tall and built guy- who was just about to sneak into the manor to raid their pantry again. The guy was huge. His muscles were just about to break free from his black compression shirt.

They locked eyes, nodded at each other, and went their separate ways.

Jason Todd didn't have issues. It was perfectly normal to sneak into your adoptive dad's (who's a billionaire playboy by day and vigilante by night) manor to raid his pantry for food and snacks. He didn't like going in through the front door though. Or any front door for that matter. Entrances were best when they were surprises. He had strategically opened a window from the outside, crept in like a bug. Keeping to the shadows was a must.

"Tomorrow will be your first day at high school as a sophomore. I, Jon, and a mutual friend by the name of Billy Batson will be your main friend group. You are to stay by our sides no matter what. No one else's."

The bat brat was standing in the middle of the kitchen commanding a poor unfortunate girl to stay by his and his friend's side. Jason stopped creeping by the wall and considered his options. He could act like he was visiting and not trespassing (even though he was always welcome). Or he could jump out of the window like that one scene of Scott Pilgrim jumping out of the window to avoid Knives.

Decisions, decisions.

“No, you cannot have a boyfriend. Absolutely not.”

Jason mistakenly chuckled. Really? He knew that Damian was oddly possessive when he liked something but that was a new low for him. He must already be feeling protective over whoever was in the kitchen with him. Jason figured that his best bet was acting like he was visiting. He just needed one little snack and he’d be on his way, he promised himself. He wouldn’t stay over for dinner or for anything no matter how much Alfred insisted. He had a mind of steel.

He really should have jumped out of that window Scott Pilgrim style.

Apparently, while Jason was off with the Outlaws making sure that Roy didn’t destroy their air fryer, a magical fairy had been transported to the manor and was now their resident until some wizard allowed them back. Just another Sunday in Gotham. Jason couldn’t help but stare straight at the new resident from across the dinner table, wondering why they were the only one that wasn’t eating. All they had was a cup of honey chamomile tea.

Almost everyone was present. There was a crucial lack of Barbara, Stephanie, Cassandra and Duke. Something the magical fairy did ask why for but was given a vague answer to. All from there was smooth sailing until they opened their mouth.

“Brucie? I have something to tell you. Something absolutely jawbreaking.” Jason visibly perked up. This was it. There was no way the new resident didn’t have some kind of insane, traumatic background. Now was the time to figure out just how fucked up they were. There was no way they were seriously that pretty and didn’t have at least daddy issues.

“I have a date later tonight. But I’ll be back before 10! Or something. I don’t know. This is my first school night ever.”

Bruce’s heart visibly dropped all the way down to his ass. He dropped his fork on his plate, his eyes almost bulging out of his face. That was the look a father had when he learned that his daughter just scored their first boyfriend.

So, this new resident was a new adoptive sibling after all. Bruce was already feeling that protective fatherly spirit.

“All the while I may not be your father legally-“

Looks like Jason was dead wrong. He relaxed into his seat, ready to see what kind of speech Bruce would try this time to get some control. Jason’s vibrant green eyes swept over the dinner table, out of curiosity at first before his eyebrows rose in interest when he noticed how tight Tim was gripping his fork. His little replacement’s knuckles were turning whiter than he was! Unbeknownst to everyone, Tim had just connected two dots that he really didn’t want to connect. He knew he shouldn’t had blindly said ‘yes’ to whatever Bart was saying.

“It is incredibly dangerous for her to date. I already told her as such, Father. Her only male companions, aside from every resident of the manor, shall only be Billy and Jon. Maybe Conner if Drake can keep a tighter leash on him.”

Well said, bat brat.

Even though Jason had absolutely no interactions with the little fairy yet, he already knew exactly what kind of dangers could possibly befall on her. It’d be obvious that it’d be safer for everyone if she stayed in the manor and only left for school and such. Maybe become an academic prodigy. A real academic weapon. Timmy had dropped out a while ago after all. It's time for someone to keep up the slack and do something with their life that didn't involve wearing leather and spandex late at night.

Even though she was practically forbidden from dating, the fairy kept on smiling. And took a tranquil sip of her tea after dumping a horrifying amount of honey and sugar into it.

“Ah, did you guys think I was asking for permission? That's cute. I am going on that date. I just wanted to give you guys a heads up.”

Jason liked you. Definitely. He liked anyone that could make Bruce’s face scrunch up like that in nonharmful displeasure.

“That’s completely unnecessary. Bart said he’d be coming over instead.” The once obnoxiously tight grip on Tim’s forks loosened as he forced his posture straight now that your attention was on him. He cleared his throat and gave a very vague explanation as to how he contacted the guy that you were going to go on a date with while simultaneously texting Bart to get his ass over to the mansion quick because his date couldn’t leave the mansion. Bart had texted back a quick, 'may the best win!' with just about a hundred '💯🔥' emojis and a couple typos.

You perked up. Happily. Clapped your hands in delight and all. Completely oblivious to how Damian was currently plotting on taking down a speedster.

In the note he had written to you Damian had the exact same intentions. To have a friend. A close friend. He used to always write letters to his eldest siblings when he was younger, sometimes begging them to come home in red crayons whenever they’d leave for a mission and Damian's abandonment issues acted up. Eventually he stopped that habit after joining the Teen Titans. Too busy to sit down criss cross apple sauce style and write a heartfelt note in crayons.

He had a reason to write letters now though. So, when he snuck into your room while you were out and found the letter stashed away in your nightstand? As though it was priceless? He rightfully assumed you accepted his nonverbal request for friendship. He now felt a strong amount of protectiveness around you. Be it friendship or the desire for something more? Damian himself didn't know.

When Tim had confirmed that you’ll still be meeting up with that cutie from earlier, you stood up, and hugged Tim tight.

Just a small action to thank him for his heroics. It wasn’t that you were begging for a boyfriend or anything, you just wanted some romance in your life. That’s it. Maybe you’ll want something more permanent later down the line.

Releasing your wings from their fleshy prison, you flew away to your bedroom for the finishing touches on your appearance. A cute reapply of your brand-new makeup, putting on the cute new earrings you had bought earlier, and sprayed a small amount of perfume on yourself. You eyed yourself in your mirror and smiled, beyond happy with how everything is turning out so far.

Your bedroom was finally yours. Decorative and pretty! All yours.

A soft, rhythmic knocking at your door spooked you from your pondering. You didn't even hear anyone coming! You really were adjusting to this place. Becoming comfortable. “Master Y/n? Mister Allen is waiting for you downstairs." Alfred's voice softly told you. He didn't even have time to add anything else before you slammed your door open and paused. Right. You have to be cool and normal. You forced your wings back into your skin before clearing your throat and straightening up your posture.

Now that you were in the hallway Alfred was nowhere to be found. Genuinely. His sneakiness was at a level you hoped you could achieve someday.

"So, what are your intentions with her, Allen? Nothing romantic would be very much appreciated." Damian was as intimidating as a 16-year-old could be. But to Bart? Every threat was just a little joke. So, he'd laugh and move on to the next question from the next extremely threatening question.

"I wanna take her on a date."

"Access denied. Next question." Tim sighed out with the tiredness of a divorced 40-year-old dad. He figured that you all could just stay in and maybe watch a movie or something. That way he could obsessively watch over you and make sure that Bart didn't try that weird 'yawning and extending your arm so you could wrap it around your partner' move. Conner had taught that to Bart at one of their sleepovers thinking that it was the funniest thing in the world. The joke was on him in the end because Bart would make sure to do that to Conner instead.

SLAM

"Dick, maybe don't slam open the doors next time?"

"Kori, just ask me to tear my own heart out."

Jason very loudly groaned. The mini interrogation was just becoming interesting. Now here comes Hollywood's best couple to steal the spotlight.

Just as the fairy was descending down the stairs, Dick and his girlfriend Koriand'r come into the living room and sit down next to each other.

"Wowie. You're really pretty." The fairy wholeheartedly ignored Dick and flew straight over to Kori. Like, let her wings sprout from her back to fly on over to admire Kori up close. Threw aside all caution to admire the pretty, obviously alien lady.

Dick's eyes were comically wide as they saw how the wings sprouted from an otherwise normal teenage girl. He slowly turned to eye Jason, begging for an explanation, only to receive a halfhearted shrug.

Kori had an amused smile on her face.

The next hour spent was spent asking question after question about Koriand'rs origin and how she adapted to a whole new world. Koriand'r assumed that you were also in a whole new world and tried her best to throw a little guidance your way- such as how customs were different here and how mustard was not a drink so you shouldn't try that.

You were so immersed by her that you didn't notice how Dick got up and dragged everyone else out of the room to get some sort of explanation. The explanation was short, but it varied.

Jason had explained that you were a fairy that got spelled away to a whole other dimension from a cranky wizard.

Tim had explained that Bart had asked you out on a date while he was Impulse, but Bruce did not allow you to go out, so that was why there was only one speedster present. (Dick had called Wally immediately to come pick up Bart.)

Damian had explained that you would be fiercely protected by him, Jon, and Billy while you were at school.

And Bart had said that he was just happy to be here.

By the time that everyone had shuffled back in after a more thorough breakdown of everything that has happened in the span of a day, you were fluttering all over Koriand'r, explaining away the biology of your kind and how you came to be. All the while admiring her beautiful, curly pink hair. Seriously. You wanted to touch and play with it, but you were shy. Shy but rambling to her about how your dietary needs as though she was a priest and the two of you were in a confessional booth.

When Tim had called for your attention, you cheerfully said farewell to Koriand'r and fluttered away.

Dick walked up to Koriand'r and studied the observant look on her face, unsure what she was thinking. "I barely met her, and I already feel a connection. Bumgorf wise. She reminds me of a younger me." Koriand'r laughs out, taking Dick by his hand. Her observant look turned thoughtful.

A look Dick knew well.

"You're thinking about being her mentor, aren't you Kory?" Dick rightfully assumed, knowing his girlfriend well enough to know that she wouldn't want to leave you stumbling around like a lost baby deer. This was a whole new world for you. You probably didn't even know how to drive! You'd be needing someone to teach you every skill someone needed when they lived in Gotham.

"Fairy. I'll give you only thirty minutes to talk with Allen. I expect you to be tucked in and knocked out by 9:30pm. Tomorrow, you'll begin your academic journey by 4:30am."

That statement (command) by Damian to the manor's new resident made both Dick and Koriand'r laugh.

Highschool would probably eat you up and spit you right out, but you'd be fine.

Maybe.

[kitkatscabinet]

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.]

[fromdove]

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.

[shortnsweetsposts]

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

[yasminawayne]

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

[jellyfishsthings]

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.”

[rainedravens]

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

[yandere-daydreams]

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.”

[kamtheveil]

The boy/girl is mine wip part 2(Jason Todd and Cassandra Cain x fem catwoman reader separately)

I’ll get this one out soon as well along with making a playlist on here for both parts and link the Pinterest board where I got the photos and helped me come up with the vibe I’m going for.

[pomegranatelifethis]

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.

☆☆☆☆

[hanimanny]

WIKIHOW: HOW TO GET YOUR GIRLFRIEND BACK (FROM YOUR FAMILY)

a.k.a Tim needs his girlfriend back

tags: Tim drake x reader (established relationship), batfam x platonic!reader, crack, no mention of ‘y/n’

word count: 2.7k , likes + comments + reblogs appreciated

Tim loves that you're close to his family, he adores it. He couldn't have asked for anything better. To know that the love of their life so easily integrates themselves into their partner’s already slightly dysfunctional- adopted family. 

Tim loves it, because you love it. His family, I mean. But if you were to ask him how he feels about how close his girlfriend is to his brothers, sisters, pseudo-father?

He’d say he hates it.

The first few months were great! He would bring you over and you'd greet every member of the family you pass, awkwardly bowing (even to Damian who had the biggest ego trip known to man) as you scurry off, glued to Tim’s side. 

He misses those days. You were like a little bird, too shy to leave the nest, finding comfort in each other’s presence. He had you all to himself; and he would not call himself selfish in a way, but gods, does he want to take you and hide you from the world (his family).

Like all baby birds, they have to leave home eventually, and you did just that. 

It started off small. Girls night with Cassandra, Barbara and Stephanie, who'd want to drill as much gossip and secrets out of you about himself. Innocent at first, Tim trusted you, after all, and doubted you'd say anything incriminating about him to the girls. 

Then, the rubber duckies began to appear. He first assumed it was you and one of your weird pranks. Finding the yellow toys perched on his PC, bed stand, his closet, the usual places he would find you around. Then it got progressively stranger. The batcave, his utility belt, his secret stash of stalkerish pictures of you before you guys dated. No way would you find this stash, the only person sneaky enough to get past his secured hiding spaces was… Cassandra. 

That was when it all started. 

The ducks were okay. Eventually, you took a huge liking to them and told him to give them all to you and you would start a mini-army of rubber duckies, in his name of course. Though, he couldn't miss the devious glances the girls would send him, like he owed them something. 

What ticked Tim off was when you started to come over to the manor. Not that you weren't allowed to, he loves it when you spontaneously visit. But the reason you gave, irked him to no end. 

“Hey Duckie, sorry can't hang, Damian wanted to test those new katanas I’ve been working on.” You gave him a quick peck on the lips and a little hug before dashing towards the batcave, clunky bag full of prototypes jingling beside you. Before Tim could even ask to help carry your bag, you were gone. 

Okay, yeah, this is fine. You help his family come up with new innovative weapons, it's literally part of your job description. 

And then it happened several more times. 

Sometimes needing to cut well needed cuddle time short because “Damian wants to test out all your new gear for himself to deem it useful or not” or “Damian said he’d teach you how to paint after his training session”. 

And with demon spawn at that! his replacement! his arch nemesis. All your inventions were useful! And brilliant! That little demon spawn is just digging his claws into your soft kind back to drain you of all your brilliance. 

And He could teach you how to paint! If Bob Ross taught him anything, it's how to paint using what little skills he had. Though, the large canvas you painted of Tim, yourself and the large army of rubber duckies you gifted him was certainly… something (he had it framed and hung it above his bed). 

Whatever… you're still with him 80% of the time, and if not at the manor, then at Wayne Enterprises!

He thanked the gods that he ended up in an office romance type-thing, even though he is sorta kinda your boss and you work in the STEM department.  He would show up at your lab unannounced and the two of you would have spontaneous lunch breaks, talking about anything and everything. About the silly nerdy geeky stuff his family would horrendously bully him for, because you are as equally silly nerdy and geeky as he is. 

But something always had to ruin his fun. 

That something, being Bruce. 

The first time he showed up was during an actual lunch break. You and Tim sitting on one of the tables in your Lab, devouring a bat-burger you had begged him to order because, in your words: 

“It's literally your dad! No way you gotta pay.”

He had to pay. Not that he minded, never minds when it comes to you.

You were mid rant about some ship that kept breaking your heart, with a smudge of ketchup on your chin and your mouth disgustingly stuffed full of fries. 

“Like what do you mean you guys were just ‘best friends’, you literally faked your death, gave up the only career you ever knew and loved, just to get ride off in the sunset with him.” You scoff as you comically swallow your food. “Coming from a guy, that seems pretty platonic to me” Tim humoured as he sipped on his drink, amused with the way your face contorts with disbelief. 

“I can’t believe you had a boyfriend and still have the worst gaydar known to man.”

“Hey!”

“Bernard would totally get me.” You frown dramatically and Tim rolls his eyes at that, tossing a fry at you. 

“Why aren't you eating in the cafeteria?” A deep authoritative voice shatters your little world, pulling your attention away from him and onto the voice. 

Bruce stands at the doorway to your lab, signature scowl on his face. You lean to the side, to get a better view of him and wave with enthusiasm. 

“Food’s Trash today,” you boldly claim, chewing sideways on a fry. “Is that why you're in my lab? Because you want to have lunch with us?” you ask innocently. 

Which is how Bruce started attending both impromptu and promptu’ lunches. You obviously welcome him with your big loving heart, and definitely not because he’s your terrifyingly, stupidly scary boss and possible future father-in-law. 

To no one’s surprise, Tim is less than… let’s say excited… to have his pseudo father crash his work dates. Now lunch is filled with you explaining to his poorly out of date father the difference of “being cooked” and “cooking.”

and don’t get him started with his god forsaken, golden child of a brother, Dick Grayson, who unknowingly cockblocks. With his brotherly hugs and how he somehow always manages to incite family movie night. or game night. or whatever night. 

And even worse, you slowly grow the habit of inviting Dick to your hangouts. like some b-grade pavlovian experiment.

“Hey, wanna finish watching Lost?” innocent enough, and if Tim played the right cards, you’ll even decide to stay over (you’d still do it even if he played the wrong cards). 

“Sure! let me text Dick” and at first he’s confused, dick? Why? bros in bludhaven doing bludhaven activities. He has his own life, own job, own responsponsibilities, probably too busy to hang out with his younger brother and pretty birdie.

“he’d throw a fit if we continue without him” you absentmindedly add in, typing away on your phone. No one's worse than a brother dick grayson who looks like a sick kicked puppy once you tell him you continued the show you started together without him. 

After this incident, Tim slowly started to notice the lack of reality show binging time with you (at least without Dick) because somehow, Dick is always there once you start a new reality tv show. Even worse, he Pavlova’d himself, catching himself thinking of Dick when it came to reality tv. 

And Jason Todd who cockblocks purposely. The taste of freedom was so close, during the time of confusion where Jsson had no clue Tim was even in a relationship. How he'd eye the two of you skeptically, watching how you seamlessly integrated yourself into their family. His siblings, father, even Alfred, left unblinking at your interactions. 

But now that he knows, that fuckass zombie does everything in his power to ragebait. 

Tim seriously thought he grew accustomed to Jason Todd and his offhanded remarks about him, but now? now he really might dox someone (jason todd). 

TIm can tell he’s doing it on purpose, that smug (and stupid) look in his eyes when Jason asks you about old literature and introspective texts, and god knows how much you love to talk about things you’re interested in (which we all love). 

“I just think that he really captured girlhood, like I don't even understand how he did— I felt so connected with him” you drone on and on about a new book you were reading, something that Jaosn read back in his old robin days. While Tim loves to listen to you talk, literature is something Jason has him beat at (unfortunately…)

Tim just sits there, arm wrapped around you as you face Jason politely, chatting the room up. Jason occasionally sends Tim the knowing glance of smugness and in turn, Tim stares at Jason like he’s the blame for the economic state of the world. 

Tim zones out, plotting on the best opportunity to shit in Jason’s food. He smiles quietly to himself as he envisions his plans taking place, the reaction and satisfaction he’d feel, only snapping out when you suddenly gasp. 

“Oh shit, I totally forgot, I need to give him his meds” and the smile fades from his face instantly. You turn to him with a crazed look, your arm already in motion as you stick your hand in a hidden compartment under the couch. 

“Come on, Duckie, it’s nap time” you say almost ominously, despite your sweet smile and beautiful face, it does nothing to hide your menacing aura. “Yeah, nap time, Duckie” Jason taunts, and his pet name coming from Jason’s mouth tastes sour to Tim.

“Hold him down, will you, JT?” you ask sweetly, as you pop open the pill bottle.

In a swift motion, Tim snatches the bottle from your hand, “No need, i’ll take them willingly” Tim interjects, rather anything other than to give Jason Todd the satisfaction of holding him down. 

Worse of all, by the time Tim wakes up, you’re gone, and the aroma and food reaches his senses. 

He’d wake up, unceremoniously groggy, drool trailing down his face and the pillow within his arm he uses as a substitute for your flat to all extent. Tim feels like the start and end of the universe, all at the same time. He feels his hands tingle and theirs a blanket imprint stained on his forearms and face. Not to mention, what time is it? 

Unable to recollect his own dreary thoughts, Tim drags himself to the kitchen for his obligatory concoction of coffee and energy drink, ready to immediately shave off the 5 extra years off his life he gained from sleeping. 

TIm instinctively floats towards the sound of your giggle, along with the soothing scent of food that roams the air.

When he enters the kitchen, looking like he forgot his name and knows the entire history of you, you and Alfred don't even flinch at the site. 

“Hey Duckie! You slept longer this time, a whole 8 hours” you chirp as you pull out a tray of cookies, cooking the oven door closed. “Congrautlations, Master Tim, that's 5 more than last time” Aldred adds, stirring the pot of delicious smelling food. 

“Thanks…” Tim mumbles, still dazed. 

“I’ll be right with you, i just need ice the sugar cookies” You hum as you vigorously mix the icing while somehow simultaneously piping another batch in a bag. 

Tim can't help but smile gently out the domestic site, heart fluttering and not because of the residual caffeine that circulates through his veins. 

Just as Tim was about to sneak up behind you, and suggest he helps, Stephanie, Cassandra and Barbara burst in like they're about to rob a bank. 

“WE’RE HERE! BARBIE BAKER! Now the icing decorating competition can commence! Alfred, you're the judge” the girls push Tim aside, him knocking against the wall like a discarded ornament, ignoring him. 

“By the way, Tim, Bruce needs you” Barbara adds, as she wheels herself near the table as you carry the trays of cookies while Cassandra balances the various bags of icing. 

Tim stares blankly, his soul threatening to leave tired bones. 

Dear Lord, please give me patience. 

Tim’s at his wits end, he's barely seen you this week (aside from the fact you sleep in his bed every night tucked securely in his hold), stolen by one of his many family members.

Which brings him to now, calling a family meeting as if a world ending war is approaching. With all the family lounging on the couch, with the exception of Alfred who stands at the doorway and Jason who thinks he’s too cool to lounge with his loving family. 

“What do you want, Replacement? You know some of us have lives” Jason quips, leaning against the wall like 2000s grunge emo delinquent. 

“I am a full time CEO and hero who solves all your cases, you run a gang of D-list vigilantes and still come to me for help, we are not the same” Tim spits, the bags under his eyes seem much heavier, darker, like he hadn't slept for days (which might actually be true). At. his. Wits. End. Jason grumbles a retort, licking his teeth and sending Tim a glare that’s somehow more glare than his usual one. 

Then, Tim releases a forbidden command. 

“You’re all on Birdie Ban”

In that moment, the whole room bursts into cries, and an instant influx of complaining rips through the air. 

“WHAT? you have no right to ban us!”

“YOU CANNOT DICTATE WHO SHE CAN AND CANNOT SEE”

“Dick’s right! let Birdie see who she wants”

“You’re just a jealous loser”

“Dictator!”

“Worse than Joker”

“Woah, Steph, that’s a bit much”

“Nah, I was killed by him, Replacement is definitely worse”

“Now, let’s not make any rash decisions, Master Tim”

“I’m going to make a rash decision.”

“No innuendos, Cain. I'm going to gut Drake and use his insides as a scarf”

“Holy shit, Damian, Do we need to talk to a therapist again?”

“Yes, if that therapist is Birdie”

Tim stands there taking the brunt of the comments without flinching, his face passive as if he mastered the art of the Tibetan monks. 

And then: “If I catch you stealing Pretty Bird from me, I’m going to stop helping you with any of your cases…and ill dox you” 

“empty threats, Drake”

“says the guy lost a twitter war to a Brony”

Instantly, Damian shuts up, though his eyes burn with something akin to psychopathy. 

With one look, Tim scans the room seeing that everyone has fallen silent.

“By the way, no one tells her about this or I'll hack into all the tech in the house and block them off, out of spite”

With that, everyone reluctantly agrees and Tim can’t help but smile in satisfaction to himself. 

“Anyways, Pretty bird told me to let you guys know that she’s throwing a Gregory House theme party, everyone has to dress as a version of him” 

Tim may hate the fact that his family steals his girlfriend, but he’s more than grateful that his family loves you so much— enough to show up with a cane and stubble at least. 

epilogue

“Wait, why aren’t you dressed as House?” Dick, slack jawed, asks as he leans on his cane, dressed as convict season 8 house. 

“seems like you can’t even stick to your own girlfriends theme” Cassandra quips, in her rehab house attire, holding an ipod which blasts radiohead at a soft volume. 

“I'm Amber, a.k.a. female house— know your lore” Tim retorts, brushing his faux blonde hair to the side. 

Then you burst into the room, brown wig galore, and your certified doctors coat

“I, too, am at this party— omg bruce! i love cheerleader house, you look so authentic” 

The adventures of Pretty bird (shenanigans revolving you and Tim's family)