#Damian Wayne/ Robin X reader insert

[the-halloween-jack]

DC ✢ When he realised he loved you

Characters: Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian and Clark.

B R U C E⠀W A Y N E

The moment had been a quiet revelation, in a silence so profound it frightened him. The kind of silence that followed the first crack of thunder, one moment loud and undeniable, the next building with tension, waiting for it to strike again. 

You were sitting in the library of the manor, an arcane book resting open upon your lap, the fire crackling softly behind you. He had just returned from patrol — broken, bloodied, and defeated.

You looked up, eyes wide, alarmed at his state and asked, ‘Bruce?’ You had spoken as if he were not the Batman, not an emblem of vengeance and grit, but a man, just a man, whose hurt mattered.

Something in him gave out. Not in an ostentatious, cinematic collapse, but in the subtle yielding of defences too long held taut. His mind, a fortress of rationale and boundaries, fell silent.

She sees me, for all I am, it whispered. And yet she stays.

He had not believed in unconditional love since the alleyway. But in that moment, with the stench of blood from his suit and the leaden weight of the city upon his back, he saw love for what it was — not a sanctuary, but a quiet understanding, and a choosing. And she had chosen him.

It terrified him. Because now he had yet another thing to lose, to protect, something that was not abstract. It had a name. A voice. A laugh. It sat in his home and softened his world.

He had never been the same since.

D I C K⠀G R A Y S O N

It crept up on him — not a wave, but rather a tide. Quiet and constant and utterly irreversible.

You had fallen asleep in his bed, still holding a game controller, your brow furrowed even in your unconsciousness. He watched you in the blue glow of the screen and thought, God, I’d die for her.

And then came the laugh — low, bitter, surprised. Because of course he would. He was always ready to die for someone.

But this felt different. This was not a compulsion, a sense of duty. It was not about legacy or guilt. It was about you. And the way your presence grounded the part of him that had always been just suspended above the world, half-grieving, half-trying.

He remembered kissing your forehead before leaving for patrol that night. Slow. Lingering. The kind of kiss that was not about want, but reverence.

That was when he knew.

Love was not a thrill. It was a weight. And he had never wanted anything to anchor him, to tether him to this sphere, more than you.

The realisation made him smile. And then it made him ache.

J A S O N⠀T O D D

Jason felt it like the first rays of sun upon his back after a piercing winter, it flooded his system, warm and compelling. It struck him all of a sudden — new, unfamiliar, and… unwelcome. He did not want it. He had not asked for it.

You were brushing your teeth, half-asleep, wearing one of his old shirts, humming a song under your breath as though nothing was wrong in the world, as though it were not in a state of disrepair just beyond the window. And while watching you, he could believe it for a moment too.

Jason stood in the doorway, paralysed. Because he had seen too much tragedy, too much carnage. He could hardly believe that a quiet instant of peace, like this, could even exist, let alone in his reality.

His first instinct was to run. Not literally — he could never leave you. But to emotionally retreat, to steel himself for the moment this fleeting softness was stolen from him.

But you looked at him. Just looked — toothpaste foam and all — with a kind of amused concern, and asked, ‘You okay?’

After everything he had been through. He was not sure he had ever been less okay.

He loved you. He loved you with a passion that made him feel unworthy, as if he had tainted something holy.

A voice in him protested — said it was weakness. Said this would end in catastrophe. But he ignored it, just this once. He stepped forward and kissed your temple.

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Just tired.’ But he was not. This was a lie. His mind was reeling.

He did not sleep that night. He lay awake memorising your breathing.

T I M⠀D R A K E

It was a question you asked that did it. Something ordinary, like, ‘Did you eat today?’

Tim wanted to laugh because it was such a cliché, wasn’t it? But clichés exist because they are true. No one ever asked him that, not like you had, not like it genuinely mattered. 

Then you brought him a coffee, one of those orders so tailored it was essentially an identity. You did not need to ask what he wanted. You simply knew.

He blinked down at the cup, then at you, and suddenly the task he was completing meant nothing.

He felt the world tilt. Quietly. Like the axis of his orbit had shifted. And it had.

Love, to Tim, had always been a puzzle he did not have time to solve. A thing for normal people, with normal lives, for people who lacked the responsibility he had garnered.

But there it was — simple, unassuming and irreversible.

He did not tell you. Not for a long time.

But he began cataloguing what made you smile. The way your face changed after a laugh, crinkled and carefree. He noticed the way your eyes sparkled just a little brighter when you spoke of things that made you passionate, and how the corners of your lips turned up when you were lost in a quiet thought.

This love became his sustenance, it was the first time in years he feared forgetting something.

D A M I A N⠀W A Y N E (Aged up as Batman)

It had infuriated him. The sheer idiocy of it.

Love was chemical, juvenile, a distraction. Or so he had been taught. So he had believed.

And yet there he stood — across from you in the garden, where you were speaking to a stray dog as if it were royalty, and something in his chest pulled.

At first, he mistook it for contempt — annoyance at your softness in a moment where he was attempting to be serious. But then you looked up, grinned, and said, ‘I think she likes me.’

And the words caught in his throat. Not because he did not believe them, but because he liked you. Against every grain of his upbringing.

He wanted to scold you, retreat, build walls. But instead, he asked the dog’s name, eying the tag.

That was the beginning. The fracture.

He loved you. In an old, mythic sense. In the way poets spoke of their love — fierce, unyielding, as though it could bend the very fabric of time. 

And that it did, time slowed every time you entered his concentration.

He began to dream of futures — a concept once as foreign to him as mercy.

He has not told you. But he will. In his own time. For now, he will continue to relish in it, and continue in this alluring descent. 

C L A R K⠀K E N T

He did not realise. Not at first. Because what he felt for you was too immense, too intrinsic, to label with as small as a word as love.

It was not until you fell asleep in his arms, mumbling about a stressful day, completely unaware of the god you were held by, that it hit him.

You did not see him as Superman. You saw him as Clark Kent. You simply saw him. The man. His hope. His grief.

And he realised then — you are his tether.

He thought of Krypton. Of its loss. Of the gaping emptiness it had left as soon as he had learnt of it. And for the first time in years, he did not feel hollow. He felt… full. He realised, that the planet could never have been home to him like she was. 

You snored softly. He laughed. Then cried.

Love, he realised, was not loud. It was simply your hand over his heart. It was your laughter in the next room. It was your body next to his.

He had not fallen in love. He had found it, unexpected and irrevocable, and for all the power he had been bestowed, this force had left him helpless to resist.

And now he guards it with everything he is. Because you are not just his world.

You are his home.

If you're interested, I've since posted a follow-up called 'When he admitted he loved you' linked, here. Every comment and piece of advice is welcomed and appreciated <3

[spocks-husband]

Consider: One of the Batfam starts dating a civilian who happens to be a crime/mystery/horror/detective writer, eventually they know the vigilante identities of the family after things get serious, and yeah it's a lot to get used to but overall everything is pretty great!

Until at one point, y/n gives their partner a scene from a book they're working on for some feedback, and their partner is like "hmm. Yeah, it's pretty good, but your description of being stabbed isn't super accurate."

And then they go into this whole explanation of how it feels to be stabbed, which eventually is overhead by other Bats who are VERY offended because OBVIOUSLY all of that is wrong, and it starts this giant family debate over which adjectives best describe a stab to the kidney because all of them have experienced it at some point, Alfred comes in and adds his input because of course he's also been stabbed before, Damian and Jason have to be physically restrained from performing a demonstration-- and the entire time y/n is just sitting there like 😦

[marcyvamp1re-blog]

Pt.3 SILLLY LITTLE BAT.

pairings ⸺ Yandere! Platonic! Batfamily x Anti-hero! Fem!reader.

sinopsis ⸺ There are only memories, fragments of a past that, like shadows, will haunt you until your last breath, whispers of what was and will never be. Gotham cries out for a guardian, a soul to face the darkness, to challenge fate in its shadowy alleys.

But tell me, who will rise to protect you, traveler of scars and broken dreams? Who will watch over your light when the world swallows your hopes?

In the eternal night, amidst the echo of fear and longing, there is only one path: to confront the monsters and become the hero this city needs, even if the price is the forgetting of oneself.

warnings ⸺ Dark Themes, Dead, Religion, murdering,Disturbing Content, Unhealthy Obsession, Discrimination, Street Fights, Gaslight, Violence, Blood, LGBT Content, Child Abuse, Kidnapping, Implicit Sexual Content, Mental Illness, Addiction, Torture, Corruption, Isolation, Trauma, Phobias, Paranoia, Manipulation.

Chapter guide! Pt.1 Pt2. Pt.4

A/N — English is not my first language—Spanish is— Here is the continuation of the other parts. There will be a few more parts but you should know that we will soon reach the end, but there are still things to clarify and so on. I don't know if you would like me to do another Batfam yandere series in the future or similar. Send me your ideas if you want :3

They are upset because I left

Where they never included me.

The car moved slowly under the gray sky of Gotham, as if the universe itself understood the weight of the pain you carried in your small figure. Commissioner Gordon, with his firm hands on the wheel, cast furtive glances at the rearview mirror, where he saw you curled up in the back seat. Wrapped in an old blanket, the same one you had hugged for days, your face was hidden among the folds, but the silent tears that fell could not be disguised. There were no words that Gordon could offer to heal the recent wound of losing your mother, but his empathy, though silent, was there, wrapping around you like the coat that couldn't quite warm you.

In your lap, a small Batman doll rested, pressed against your chest, as if that fabric toy could protect you from the world that had just destroyed your innocence. Your eyes, still swollen and red, looked out the window without seeing, watching the city that seemed so distant, so foreign.

"You will be loved and cherished," Gordon whispered, breaking the silence that had weighed like fog in the car. "Bruce Wayne... he will take care of you, I promise."

But you didn't respond immediately. The name Wayne felt strange, distant, as if he spoke of someone living in a story, not in your reality. You looked up, your eyes meeting Gordon’s for a second in the rearview mirror.

"And if they don't want me...?" you murmured, insecurity clouding your childish voice. "I don't know them, Commissioner... and they don't know me. What if they leave me in an orphanage? Mama always told me those places aren't nice."

Gordon swallowed hard, understanding the depth of your fear. "You were just a child, but you had already learned that love was not a guarantee." The world had taught you that cruel lesson too soon.

"The Waynes..." he began, searching for the right words, "are good people. You might not understand it at first, but I assure you they have suffered too. Bruce..." he paused, recalling the losses that man had faced. "He understands what it is to lose someone. He will do everything he can to make you feel safe, to help you find a home again."

But you kept looking at the doll in your hands, your fingers squeezing it tightly, as if it were the only stable thing in a world crumbling around you.

The silence grew heavy, uncomfortable, as if the words wanted to come out but didn’t know how. Again, Gordon spoke, his voice low, almost afraid to break the stillness.

"And/y/n... what was your mom like?" he asked softly, not taking his eyes off the road, as if by doing so, he could give you space to be honest, to not feel pressured.

You fell silent for a long moment, your small fingers nervously playing with the edges of the blanket. The world outside the car seemed a reflection of what you felt inside: cloudy, cold, distant.

Finally, you exhaled, as if gathering the courage to speak. Your voice came out shaky at first, filled with a mix of sadness and a hard-to-accept truth.

"My mom..." you murmured, not taking your eyes off the window. "She wasn't a good person, but... she wasn't a villain either."

Gordon nodded slowly, without interrupting you. He knew things were rarely black or white, that life had that cruel ability to mix the two.

"She... told me she grew up in an orphanage. She never had anything that was really hers." You paused, your eyes glassy as you recalled details that now seemed more painful than ever. "Well, except for me."

"Gordon felt a knot form in his throat." He knew that loss was a terrible burden to bear, but there was something more in your words, something suggesting that, amidst it all, there had also been love. An imperfect love, but real.

"She always dreamed of having a little house..." you continued, and for the first time, a faint smile appeared on your face, though it was tinged with melancholy. "A house with a garden, lots of Barbie dolls, and a little dog. She didn't need more. She just wanted something that was hers."

You stopped for a moment, as if the simple act of recalling those dreams your mother had hurt you. You knew she would never have them. That the world had been cruel to her, denying her even the small things she wished for so fervently.

"But... she never got it. We were always moving around, fleeing, searching for something better. And now... she doesn’t even have that."

The car seemed to shrink, the air denser. Gordon felt a wave of compassion for that woman who, though perhaps not perfect, had dreamed of something so simple, so human, and yet had not achieved it.

"I'm so sorry, Y/n," he murmured.

"Commissioner, what if... what if I can't forget her?" you asked, almost in a whisper. "What if I can't stop thinking about Mom?"

The silence in the car became heavy, almost tangible. Gordon wanted to tell you that you didn't have to forget, that it was natural to carry that pain. But the words didn't come, and instead, only a long sigh escaped his lips.

"It's not about forgetting, Y/n," he finally said, his voice low but firm. "It's about moving forward, even though it hurts. Your mother would want you to find happiness again, even though it may not seem possible now. And I’m sure Bruce will do everything in his power to help you."

The car turned onto the long, dark road leading to Wayne Manor. The trees formed a tunnel of shadows, as if the road were wrapped in the same mourning you carried within. The mansion, with its imposing grandeur, appeared in the distance, its walls as high as the secrets it held. "You were so small in the face of the immensity of this new life that awaited you."

"We're almost there," Gordon said softly, as he slowed down. "The wind outside whispered through the trees, like an echo of everything you had lost."

You didn’t know it at that moment, but that house would be full of stories, some broken, others in the process of healing. And although you felt like a stranger in a strange land now, Gordon hoped that, one day, that place would become your refuge.

The car stopped in front of the enormous gates. Gordon looked at you one last time before getting out. In his eyes, you could see a mix of sadness and hope, an empathy that went beyond words.

"You are not alone, Y/n," he said, his voice now firmer. "You will never be alone again."

You remained silent, gazing at the mansion as you clung to the blanket and the Batman doll. The weight of the world still rested on your small shoulders, but for the first time, there might have been a glimmer of relief in knowing that someone, even if he was a strange and distant man, was waiting for you inside."

And in that moment, although you still felt the burning pain of your loss, a ray of hope began to break through the shadows of your heart.

Y/n was sitting in the BatCafé, that corner of the city where the tables wobbled and conversations were woven into murmurs, as if the place knew how to keep secrets that even you wouldn’t dare to share aloud. The walls, a mossy green, were filled with stories that no one had asked for. She looked at her lukewarm latte as one looks at a future that hasn’t quite arrived, a liquid mockery evaporating before it could warm her hands. It had barely been a month since she left her family home, but she already felt that independence was more of a myth than a fulfilled dream. At first, the heroism of having thrown herself into the world had filled her with pride, but now reality lurked like a treacherous chill seeping through the cracks, and the fact that she was waiting for her potential roommate didn’t help matters.

“Well, at least the rent will be cheaper,” she told herself, or rather to the coffee, as if the dark liquid could reply with something sensible.

Sharing an apartment was, for Y/n, the only way out. Her salary barely covered survival, but only if she fed on fresh air and broken dreams. And there she was, waiting for someone named Pamela Isley, who, according to the ad, didn’t even seem to be from this planet. "I hope she’s not one of those people with invisible cats," she thought. Of course, the alternatives weren’t very promising: people who collected Batman figurines or guys who made friends with cockroaches in the kitchen. She had seen it all; after all, her apartment was in one of the most dangerous areas of Gotham, and she knew it all too well.

You were born in that area. One could say the neighborhood chose you before you had a chance to choose it. You didn’t remember exactly which apartment; in that hive of broken windows and half-painted bricks, all the floors seemed like a blurry copy of the previous one, each with the same square footage and an air of silent resignation. In the end, it didn’t matter, because in a way, everything was the same. Dust in the corners, worn tiles, cracks in the walls that seemed to form a map of some invisible and secret city, a place that only you could decipher if you stopped to observe long enough.

It was an unpretentious place, where people rarely smiled, but neither did they let themselves be trampled. There was something in the air, a kind of poorly disguised pride, as if every neighbor, every stray dog, knew that surviving there wasn’t a matter of luck but of will. Heroes didn’t exist in that corner of the world, but villains didn’t dare impose their law without facing some gaze that, without saying anything, said it all. It was rough terrain, where kindness camouflaged behind growls and complaints, and malice grew tired before it could fully settle.

And yet, you loved it. It was absurd, but you loved it with that devotion reserved for things you don’t choose, for roots that sink into your chest without asking for permission. The place was filled with memories you didn’t ask for, stories you never wanted to hear but that seeped into your skin. Tales of people who vanished in alleyways, of broken promises around the corner, of loves that drowned in factory smoke. And yet, those same tales were like echoes that held you, reminding you that you were born there, in that half-hell where life was always a fight but never a complete defeat.

The clock in the BatCafé struck six ten when the door opened. What happened next was hard to explain, like when you dream and you don’t know if it’s the pillow or the universe holding you. Pamela Isley walked in, and it was as if the wind, that autumn wind that brings memories, had gently pushed her in. Y/n looked up, and the first thing she noticed was her hair, a red that was out of this world, more fire than pigment, more nature than dye. The roots tangled as if they were living branches, and for a moment, Y/n wondered if the sun had made a mistake and was shining only on her.

Pamela walked as if she had a pact with the earth. Her steps were slow but firm, as if her feet waited for the ground to respond before settling. She wore a jacket that was impossible to describe without sounding crazy: green vines and small buds peeking out, as if at any moment the plants would grow over her. "Where does this woman come from?" Y/n thought, feeling something beyond mere curiosity. There was something she couldn’t deny, an attraction that felt unsettling, like those waves that, without warning, sweep you away when you think you can still touch the bottom.

Pamela approached the table with a calculated calm, a calm only nature or time can sculpt. And then she smiled. In that smile, Y/n felt something familiar yet strange, as if she were facing a younger version of her mother, but instead of being terrifying, it was comforting. What was happening?

“Y/n L/n?” Pamela said, her voice reminiscent of the whisper of dry leaves underfoot.

“Yes, that’s me,” Y/n answered, trying to make her voice sound normal, even though everything inside her felt out of place.

Pamela sat down across from her, crossing her legs with an almost feline elegance. The BatCafé seemed to conspire around them; the air smelled of wet earth and freshly brewed coffee, a strange mix, like the combination of what was about to be born and what had already died.

“I didn’t expect you to be…” Y/n began, not knowing exactly how to finish the sentence. She wasn’t even sure what she was expecting.

“Strange?” Pamela completed, with a playful smile that left Y/n with a sense of defeat and fascination in equal parts.

“Something like that,” Y/n replied, looking at Pamela’s hands. Her long, slender fingers were covered in small green spots, as if she had just planted a forest with her own hands. There was something almost magical about her, as if every part of her being was connected to the earth in a way that Y/n couldn’t quite understand. And there, amid that confusion, was the fine thread of attraction.

Pamela let her gaze fall on her own latte, turning it between her hands as if it were about to reveal some hidden secret in the foam.

“So, what do you do? I mean… aside from, you know… looking like you walked out of a Tim Burton movie,” Y/n said, attempting a bit of humor to ease the tension she felt in her stomach.

Pamela glanced at her and laughed softly, a laugh that felt like an unexpected breeze on a hot day.

“I’m… a caretaker. Of plants.” She paused, gauging Y/n’s reaction. “And other things.”

“Other things?” Y/n asked, intrigued but also amused by the way Pamela toyed with the mystery.

“Yes, like people who don’t know how to water a plant without drowning it,” she replied, arching an eyebrow mischievously.

The response made Y/n laugh, a laugh she hadn’t expected, as if Pamela had found a way to touch something deep within her, something that hadn’t bloomed in a long time. And without being able to help it, she felt drawn, not just by the way Pamela moved, spoke, or even by the air of mystery surrounding her, but because there was something more, something familiar, something that reminded her of her mother, but without the shadows of authority and judgment. It was like a wild, free version of what had once been security.

“So… are you going to save my cactus or criticize it?” Y/n said, trying to sound casual while feeling that her heart had started playing a game of chess with her emotions.

Pamela smiled again, and this time it was a different smile, one that seemed to carry a promise.

“It depends. Would you let me stay to try?” Pamela said, with a playful seriousness that left Y/n unsure whether the question was about the cactus or something much larger.

Y/n blinked, trying to process the phrase, but deep down she knew that any answer would sound awkward. Pamela’s question hung in the air between them like a leaf falling slowly, right at the perfect point where it was neither entirely a joke nor completely serious. And there she was, caught in that space, wondering whether she should laugh or just blush.

“Well… you can try,” she finally said, trying to hide the warmth creeping up her face. “But I can’t promise the cactus will survive. I’m something like… a serial plant killer... When I was younger, I had time to care for them as they deserved, with help from… from my father. But now work consumes me a lot, and the truth is I’ve neglected them too much��� they must feel the same way I felt when… sorry, I talk too much about myself, don’t I?”

Pamela raised an eyebrow, with a smile that seemed to say more than either of them dared to voice at that moment.

“Oh, no, keep talking about yourself; I’m used to it. I have very… eccentric friends, to be honest.” She leaned a bit closer, as if about to share a secret. “Though I prefer not to work under threats, so don’t look at me like I’m going to be your next plant murder victim. But I doubt a little scared bat can kill even a fly.”

Y/n laughed nervously, surprised at how easy Pamela made everything. She, who had always been clumsy with conversations and glances, felt like the words flowed with Pamela in a way she didn’t quite understand but didn’t want to question either.

“...Little Bat?” Y/n asked, with a clumsy and blushing smile as her fingers nervously toyed with the edge of her cup.

Pamela let out a low giggle, that laugh that always seemed to carry the sound of dry leaves being trampled in autumn. With a gentle gesture, she pointed to her clothes.

“Is it that obvious?” she said with a half-smile, raising a playful eyebrow as she leaned a little forward.

She wore a dark fur coat, enormous, with a wide fall that, under the dim light of the BatCafé, seemed to have the precise shape of bat wings extending. The high, well-fitted black boots completed the image of a figure that seemed to have emerged from the very shadows. And for a moment, Y/n didn’t know whether to laugh or get lost in that air of mystery that Pamela seemed to wear like a second coat.

“Well…” Y/n diverted her gaze with a shy smile, “it’s not like you’re hiding it much.”

Pamela smiled with that touch of mischief that characterized her.

“Does it bother you? I’m sorry, it’s just… I’ve been fascinated by bats since I was little.” she asked, her voice low and slow, as if measuring every word, as if the world were a delicate plant that required to be touched with the tips of her fingers.

Y/n let out a small nervous laugh, feeling the heat rising to her cheeks again.

“No, not at all. I think it’s…” she hesitated for a second, searching for the right word, unsure how to avoid the obvious, “I think it suits you well.”

Pamela watched her for a moment, and then, with that look that always seemed to go beyond what words said, added:

“You’re turning red, you know?”

Y/n’s eyes widened a bit more, surprised by Pamela’s directness, but all she could do was laugh at herself.

“Well, it’s just that, I’m not really used to… this.”

“This?” Pamela repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Sharing coffee with someone or bats?”

“Both,” Y/n admitted, shrugging, which provoked another smile from Pamela. “I always wanted one as a pet… but I have a vegan little brother who’s very… spooky… so I’ve always been afraid he’d steal it from me or accuse me of having exotic pets.”

Pamela settled into the chair, not taking her eyes off Y/n.

“But you’ll get used to it,” she paused, letting her words float calmly.

Y/n felt a shiver run down her spine, a mix of nerves and a spark of something she couldn’t quite define. Pamela’s dark coat and relaxed smile were a disconcerting yet strangely familiar contrast, as if they had always been there, waiting for her. And suddenly, all she could do was wonder how soon that would happen… getting used to it.

“Although I can’t promise my apartment isn’t… a battlefield,” Y/n said, trying to sound confident, but noticing the slight tremor in her voice.

Pamela looked at her intently for a moment, with that mix of flirtation and something deeper, something that seemed impossible to decipher completely. Then she relaxed in the chair, as if the game had just begun.

“A battlefield, huh?” she said, playing with the spoon of her coffee. “Well, I like challenges. And chaotic places have their own charm if you know where to look.” Pamela let the phrase slide smoothly, like someone throwing a stone into a lake and waiting for the ripples.

Y/n couldn’t shake the feeling that every word Pamela spoke carried a double meaning, but far from making her feel uncomfortable, it sparked something akin to contained laughter, as if they were sharing a private joke that she was just beginning to access.

“Don’t you have plants at home?” Pamela suddenly asked, as if the question had sprung from the foam of her coffee.

“Well, there are a couple of cacti… and a fern that I think hates me,” Y/n replied. “But I always forget to water them. Or I overwater them. Seriously, it’s like plants come to me already doomed.”

Pamela smiled, one of those slow smiles that seem to grow little by little, like a sprout deciding when the perfect moment to emerge into the light is.

“It’s not just about water, Y/n,” she said, with that voice that seemed to carry the calm of the wind and the weight of centuries of nature. “Plants need attention. Patience. Sometimes they just want to know you’re there, even if you don’t say anything.” She paused, letting Y/n’s gaze get lost in her eyes. “Sometimes, like people.”

Y/n felt a little shiver. It wasn’t what Pamela was saying, but how she was saying it. There was something in her voice that disarmed her, as if every word had been calculated to penetrate a defense that Y/n hadn’t even realized she had up. And then, almost without thinking, she let slip a truth she rarely shared.

“I’m not very good with people.” The confession came out of her mouth before she could stop it. She said it without drama, almost as if she were talking about the weather. But something in Pamela changed, barely perceptible, like a leaf moving without the wind touching it.

“Really?” Pamela asked softly, but without an ounce of pity. Just curiosity.

Y/n looked down for a moment, fiddling with the edge of her cup, before daring to continue.

“I grew up in a huge house, but… empty. My father… well, he was busy with his things. Business, parties, the usual. Shrugging it off, wanting to downplay it, even though inside she knew it wasn’t something that could easily fade away. Alfred, the butler, raised me. And yes, he was amazing. But it was always just him and no one else. It’s not the same as having… friends.”

Pamela listened in silence, but not in that awkward way where people listen just to see how you respond afterward. No, there was something in her attention that enveloped Y/n, as if she were giving her space to bare herself without fear of being judged.

“You never had friends,” Pamela asserted more than asked.

Y/n shook her head.

“Until now,” Pamela said, with that same softness that seemed to have become her trademark, and something in Y/n’s chest stirred, as if she had just heard the most important thing in the world.

There was a moment of silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was a silence that somehow connected them. And then Pamela broke the spell, with a mischievous smile that lit everything up again.

“So… are you going to let me be your first friend, or would you rather keep killing plants?”

Y/n couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her lips, a sincere and liberating laugh, as if something inside her had broken an invisible chain. After all, it was clear that Pamela wasn’t just another person passing through her life. There was something different about her, something that made the air feel lighter, that made the future seem less uncertain.

“Well, if you can survive the cactus…” Y/n said, leaving the sentence unfinished, but knowing Pamela would understand.

And then, for the first time in a long time, Y/n felt that everything might be okay. That maybe, just maybe, Pamela Isley wasn’t just a roommate, but the first person in a long time with whom she could imagine a less lonely future. She was already caught in that web, and the worst, or perhaps the best part, was that she didn’t care at all.

Bruce Wayne was sitting in the mansion's garden on a gray afternoon that seemed to drag memories along like the wind drags fallen leaves. In his hands, a cup of black coffee, still steaming, its strong and bitter aroma mingling with the scent of damp earth after the rain. In front of him, on a small wrought-iron table, rested a piece of dark chocolate cake topped with melting strawberry ice cream, forming a pink puddle around it. But he found no pleasure in the view. It was more of a bitter symbol of a routine he once believed unbreakable.

In the garden, where the wilted flowers swayed gently, a little girl flitted about with contagious energy, as if the chill of the afternoon did not exist for her. Her laughter, so innocent and pure, filled the air, breaking the sepulchral silence that seemed to reign in that old home for a moment. She wore a pink dress with small white dots, an 80s style that would have been charming in another time but now seemed out of place with the scene. Her patent leather shoes shone as she ran back and forth, chasing her dolls.

In her small hands, she held action figures, one of the Batman her father portrayed and another of the Joker, his eternal rival. The girl, no older than six, organized her battles with adorable seriousness. In a high-pitched, mischievous voice, she brought the characters to life, staging an epic duel between hero and villain.

“You won’t defeat me this time, Batman!” she exclaimed, raising the Joker figure with a malevolent laugh.

“I will stop you! I always do...” she replied with her other hand, giving voice to Batman, but with a childlike touch that contrasted with the darkness of the character.

Bruce watched the scene with a mix of tenderness and pain. He knew she wasn’t really there, that this vision was nothing more than a distant echo of what never was. Y/n, his little Y/n, had vanished months ago. And he… he had never given her the love she deserved, always wrapped in his own shadows, in his endless struggle to protect a city that never rested.

The air felt thick, heavy with nostalgia and regret. The girl continued to play, laughing, talking to her dolls, oblivious to the weight of the years, to the loss. And Bruce, although he knew it was an illusion, couldn’t look away; he couldn’t stop imagining what it would have been like to give her what he never knew how to offer. What it would have been like to see her grow, to laugh more, to run through those gardens with the carefree spirit only childhood allows.

Suddenly, the sound of soft footsteps interrupted the daydream. Alfred appeared at the garden entrance, always elegant, always with that air of discretion and understanding that only he possessed. He approached slowly, placing a hand on Bruce’s shoulder as if he understood the pain that kept him trapped in that scene.

“Mr. Wayne” he said in a low voice, filled with compassion, “it’s time to come back.”

Bruce closed his eyes for a moment, letting Alfred’s words seep into his consciousness. He knew what they meant. He knew that girl, in her 80s dress and her dolls, was nothing but an idealized memory, a distorted reflection of what never was. Because Y/n wasn’t like that. She didn’t like those old dresses; she had always preferred the fashion of the 2000s, with its vibrant colors and comfortable clothes. And she never enjoyed the chocolate cake now sitting in front of him. She liked carrot cake, simple and sweet, but he had never paid attention to those details when he still could.

How did he know those little details about his daughter? Bruce often wondered. It wasn’t because he had learned them by being close, because proximity had been a luxury he never allowed himself. No, those small fragments of her life he had discovered in the album that Alfred kept with an almost reverential discretion. That album was more than just an object; it was a silent refuge where Alfred had archived what the big house, always filled with shadows and echoes of footsteps that never came, had refused to hold.

The day the children learned of the album’s existence marked the beginning of a chaos he still remembered with a mix of exasperation and a contained smile. They had decided, like little conspirators, that treasure belonged to them. A kind of all-out battle had ensued in the mansion, something that over time acquired the quality of family legends.

Bruce, standing in the study, could still see the sparkle in Damian’s eyes, the intensity, the almost playful fury with which he had taken that assault as a personal mission. Damian, with his perpetual impatience, had been the fiercest of all. He vividly remembered how his youngest son had burst into the room wielding two katanas, with the cold precision of a millennia-old warrior, even though his hands were still too small to fully grasp the handles.

“It’s mine!” Damian shouted, with that mix of stubbornness and vulnerability that only the youngest possess, as if he could cut not only the air but the very uncomfortable silence that always floated between them.

“It belongs to all of us, Damian” Bruce had tried to intervene, with that authoritative voice that, curiously, never managed to control his own children as he did with the chaos of the city.

But Damian wasn’t listening. For him, the album was not just an object; it was a relic, a bridge to something he felt but couldn’t name. His sister Y/n, so distant in daily life, was closer in those pages than in any superficial conversation they had ever had. She was his sister, but not enough. He wanted those photos, those notes that Alfred had kept, he wanted to understand what it was about her that slipped away from him daily.

Bruce watched from the threshold, not really intervening. He let the chaos unfold, as if it were necessary. The children fought, but it wasn’t just for the album. They fought for something deeper, a kind of silent reclamation of what they had never been able to have: time, connection, perhaps even love. Alfred, from a corner, merely smiled with that quiet wisdom, knowing that those battles of childish katanas, of shouts and disputes over photos and notes, were actually the way they tried to find each other in a house full of absences.

Bruce sighed, remembering. Alfred had always known more than he did, always understood those invisible things that Bruce, no matter how much he wanted to, could never quite grasp. And so it was that he himself, at the end of it all, also ended up snooping in that album, with a silent curiosity he would never admit. There, in those carefully tended pages, he found his daughter. Or at least, he found the idea of her, the pieces of a life he hadn’t shared but that, somehow, had always been present in those photos, in those little notes that Alfred, more of a father than he was, had kept with such love.

“She won’t come back, Alfred... I lost her... maybe forever... ” Bruce murmured, his voice barely audible, as if admitting it aloud would make her absence more real—“and I… I was never there for her as I should have been.”

The old butler sighed, his tired eyes filled with infinite patience.

“It’s never too late to remember, sir. It’s never too late to honor her memory in the right way.”

Bruce opened his eyes, looking again at the scene, but this time more clearly. The girl had disappeared.

The wind blew gently through the Wayne mansion's garden, carrying away the murmur of the dry leaves. Bruce remained motionless, as if the weight of the years, of the mistakes, had turned him into another statue in that landscape. The aroma of coffee had dissipated, and the cake before him remained untouched. Y/n’s figure still floated in his mind, her laughter like a distant echo that wouldn’t fade but also wouldn’t console him.

Alfred, with the patience only a father at heart could have, stood by his side, his firm hand on Bruce’s shoulder, as if in that gesture he could transmit strength to face the pain that gnawed at him.

“Mr. Wayne” Alfred began, his voice soft but laden with meaning, “the kids have gone looking for Y/n again.”

Bruce closed his eyes, allowing those words to sink into his consciousness. He knew all the Robins and Batgirls had been following leads, searching for answers in the darkest corners of Gotham, but the emptiness he felt remained overwhelming. They had failed so many times… what did another attempt matter? The city, always hungry for its heroes, seemed more a trap than a cause.

“It doesn’t matter anymore, Alfred” Bruce replied, his voice rough, worn down by years of struggle. “None of this will change what happened. Y/n… is gone.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Alfred interjected, this time with a firmer tone, “Y/n is still out there. And as long as there’s a single chance to find her, you cannot allow yourself to give up.”

Silence stretched between them. Bruce’s gaze remained fixed on some point in the garden, lost in thought. But Alfred, with his usual insight, knew he needed more than empty words to awaken him.

“There’s something else,” Alfred added, taking a breath, “a new figure appeared last night during a robbery in the East District. They call her Kerosene. The White Bat. She was seen taking out a group of assailants in seconds.”

Bruce didn’t react. Kerosene. The city had always generated figures willing to fill the void he had left every time he stepped away, every time Gotham lost the light of its vigilante. But this time, he didn’t feel the urgency to learn more. What did it matter? He repeated to himself. Gotham already had its heroes.

“I don’t care” he murmured, his voice empty, as cold as the air surrounding the garden—“Let others deal with Gotham. Kerosene, the Joker, or whoever… the city doesn’t need me anymore.”

Alfred tightened his grip on Bruce’s shoulder, almost like a father refusing to see his son give up. He stepped forward, and this time his voice was lower but more incisive.

“This isn’t about Gotham, sir,” he said with an intensity Bruce hadn’t expected—“It’s about Y/n.”

Bruce lifted his gaze, his eyes finally meeting Alfred’s, as if those words had ignited a spark within him.

“If you don’t want to protect this city, do it for her ” Alfred continued—“Because you will find her, sir. I’m sure of it. And when you do… how would you want her to find you? Destroyed? Defeated? No. You need to be ready, you need to be strong, for her. Wherever she is, Y/n is still waiting for her father.”

Bruce felt the pain in his chest intensify, a constant reminder of his failure, but Alfred was right. Y/n was somewhere out there. Alive or not, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that as long as he didn’t find her, he couldn’t give up.

“The kids have done everything they can to find her,” Alfred said, softening his tone—“They’re still at it. Every day they search for new leads, explore new corners of Gotham… but there’s only one man who can put everything in order. There’s only one father who can bring her back.”

The air tensed between them, and for the first time in a long time, Bruce felt a slight tremor inside. He remembered the moment he decided to become Batman, driven by the guilt and pain of losing his parents. Now, that same guilt, that same pain, called to him again, but this time, it wasn’t for Gotham. It was for Y/n. His daughter.

“Tell me, Alfred, who is this Kerosene?” Bruce murmured, finally reacting to the information Alfred had given him.

“Yes, sir. Her abilities are astonishing, according to reports. Agile, fast… but her true identity remains a mystery. Some say she’s just another vigilante trying to fill the void you left. But the important thing is that she is acting with lethal precision.”

Bruce stood slowly, leaving the cup of coffee on the table, already cold and forgotten. He looked at the empty garden, but this time, with a new determination blooming in his chest.

“If this Kerosene is connected… if there’s any link to Y/n, I will find out,” he said, his voice firmer, closer to the one Alfred had known for so many years—“And if not… then I’ll find her myself.”

Alfred nodded, a mix of relief and satisfaction reflected on his face. He had managed to awaken the man Gotham needed, but more than that, he had awakened the father Y/n deserved.

“ Very well, sir,he replied with a slight smile, always the unwavering servant—“The Batcave is ready for your return.”

Bruce turned toward the mansion, but not before glancing once more at the garden, where Y/n’s figure, so real in his mind, faded like morning mist.

Wherever you are, I will find you.

Richard “Dick” Grayson knocked forcefully on the old apartment door, the echo resonating in the narrow hallway of the building, where dust gathered in the corners like forgotten memories and the lights flickered as if trying to perform one last dance before going out. Beside him, Barbara Gordon, the commissioner's daughter, crossed her arms, staring at the door with an intensity that could have splintered the wood.

Jason Todd, restless to his left, kept his gaze fixed on the doorknob, his body tense, as if each passing second brought him one step closer to breaking through that wooden barrier. Above, on the roof, Red Robin, The Spoiler, and Batgirl waited, shadows in a world that seemed to ignore their pounding hearts, ready to act.

“I don’t know why we always have to deal with the worst specimens of humanity,” Barbara murmured, adjusting her coat as she shot a sidelong glance at Dick, who seemed to have a plan in mind.

“Because we’re lucky,” Jason replied, sarcasm lacing his words, a crooked smile on his lips that didn’t quite fit the situation. “And when I say ‘lucky,’ I mean we’re carrying someone else's karma because we… are screwed.”

Dick knocked on the door again, this time with more force. The echo reverberated through the hallways, a declaration of intent.

“We should break it down. You know it’s not going to open just from a gentle knock,” Jason said, stepping forward, his intention clear and palpable.

“Calm down, Jason. Not all problems are solved with violence,” Barbara retorted, though a part of her knew that idea faded every time they found themselves in a situation like this.

“Sure, as if we have another option. Do you want me to schedule a tea date instead of kicking down the door?” Jason frowned, the tension palpable.

Finally, a sound came from behind the door. Chains, the metallic echo of locks being unlatched with a maddening slowness, as if someone on the other side knew that every second of wait was boiling the blood of the three standing before the door. At last, the door opened just enough to reveal a face: the landlord. A short man with small eyes and a slimy smile that seemed to ooze like dirty oil through his yellowed teeth.

“What do you want?” he asked in a thick voice, looking at Dick with suspicion, but his gaze soon dropped to Barbara, lingering unpleasantly on her figure, and then to Jason, who had already tensed the muscles in his jaw.

“We’re looking for Y/n Wayne L/n,” Dick said, trying to maintain his composure, the heat of anger threatening to overflow. “We know she lives here. And we know you know where she is.”

The man let out a laugh under his breath, a rusty squeak that resonated like a heavy joke.

“Ah, the pretty girl… yeah, yeah. And who are you all, huh?” he asked, his slimy tone sending chills that seemed to crawl over Dick's skin.

“It’s none of your concern. We just want to know where she is,” Barbara said, her voice firm and resolute, although the tension in her body betrayed her impatience.

The landlord tilted his head, like a cat playing with its prey, and smiled with a disturbing mischief.

“Well, if you haven’t found her in five months, maybe you don’t want to know,” he said, letting the words drop like stones in a pond, creating ripples of discomfort.

“I warn you, this isn’t a game,” Jason interjected, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t make me remind you what can happen when a man plays with fire.”

The man shrugged, trying to appear unconcerned, although the glint in his eyes betrayed him.

Jason's hand rested near his belt, right where he kept his gun, and although he hadn’t drawn the weapon yet, the threat was clear.

The landlord noticed but instead of being scared, he wore a repugnant smile, like a predator that had just spotted a wounded prey. His gaze shifted back to Barbara, and then, without the slightest respect, murmured something that made Dick’s fists clench.

“Ah, Y/n... yeah, I remember her. She came around when she had just turned eighteen. Good material, if you catch my drift. She looked innocent, but... those are the most interesting ones, right?” The man's gaze darkened, scanning Barbara again, as if evaluating merchandise.

“Say that again,” Jason growled, drawing his gun in a motion so quick that the landlord barely had time to blink before feeling the cold barrel pressed against his forehead. “And I swear I’ll blow your brains out right here.”

The words hung in the air, sharp, loaded with contempt and a lust that twisted like a snake inside him.

The man let out a cynical chuckle, relishing the moment.

“The last time I saw pretty Y/n was a while back. I don’t know what she’s up to now, but I kept some pictures of her and her friend.” His tone was defiant, almost mocking.

Rage was bubbling in Jason. His fists were clenched, a deadly spark in his eyes.

“What did you say?” His voice trembled between anger and control, like a string about to snap.

The landlord, feeling invincible, continued. “I don’t know if they’re lesbians, but seeing them together was quite the spectacle. Both of them were hot, you know?”

Jason could no longer hold back. The anger erupted like a volcano.

“Shut up!” he shouted, and the sound echoed like a gunshot in the tense silence that had invaded the room.

Before the landlord could react, Jason pulled his gun, aiming with precision.

“I’m going to give you one chance. Tell me where Y/n is. Now.”

The man’s laughter faded, his eyes widening in shock. “Wait, wait, there’s no need to…”

“WHERE?!” Jason's voice thundered, firm and filled with rage, like a storm rumbling in the atmosphere.

The tension became palpable, the air thick with promises of violence.

“Alright, alright!” the landlord stammered, but Jason’s voice turned even colder.

“I’m not going to ask again.”

“She just left for work at night and that’s it…” he started to say, but Jason could no longer hear. The man had photos of Y/n. Compromising, crude, and that simple mention ignited hell in his chest.

In an instant, the sound of an explosion resonated in the hallway, and the man fell to the ground, his silly smile erased by the terror that had overtaken his face. Blood gushed forth in a dark torrent, staining the floor and nearby walls.

Barbara covered her mouth in shock, while Dick stood frozen, stunned.

“Jason!” she exclaimed, but the image of the landlord lying on the ground with his vacant stare was etched in her mind.

Jason holstered the weapon, his breath rapid and uncontrolled. He had crossed a line, and in that moment, he realized there was no turning back. Anger had found a way to break free, but at a terrible cost.

“I won’t let anyone hurt Y/n again,” he murmured, his eyes filled with determination. No one else would stand in his way to find her, no matter the price he had to pay.

The room was saturated with the echo of the gunshot, and the silence grew heavy, almost palpable. Barbara took a deep breath, the anger sparking in her eyes as she looked at Jason, who still seemed dazed by the act he had committed.

“What the hell were you thinking?” she said, her voice contained but sharp as a blade. “That’s why we didn’t bring Damian along, because he would have gone off just the same, but in a much more reckless way.” Her gaze fixed on the corpse, lying in a pool of blood, a scene that could have come from the mind of a disturbed artist.

Jason, with his chest heaving and jaw clenched, simply shrugged.

“I couldn’t just stand by. He knew something, and I wasn’t about to let it slip away.” The fervor in his voice didn’t hide the confusion that was beginning to seep in, like the cold of the night creeping through the windows.

Barbara didn’t respond, but the silence that filled the room grew even denser when the others entered, alarmed by the gunshot. Tim, Stephanie, and Cass arrived, their expressions filled with concern that quickly transformed into indignation.

“What happened here?” Tim asked, his eyes widening at the scene. Blood slid across the floor like a dark river, and the landlord’s body faded beneath the flickering light.

“Are you crazy, Jason?!” Steph exclaimed, disbelief palpable in her voice.

Cass crouched down, her expression grave as she looked at the fallen man. She didn’t need to speak to convey her disapproval; every glance said more than a thousand words.

“It doesn’t matter how we got here,” Dick intervened, his authoritative tone trying to restore order. “We need answers. Let’s investigate.”

With a determined movement, Barbara approached the body, while Jason still breathed irregularly, as if the weight of his actions began to settle on him. Barbara looked around; the apartment was a dusty and sad place, filled with shadows that seemed to whisper secrets.

As the others searched, Tim found a series of photos pinned to the walls, each one showing Y/n and other women from the area, frozen laughter in time, trapped between moments that should have been happy. However, there was something unsettling about the way they were arranged, a disorder that seemed a declaration of possession.

“Look at this,” Tim said, pointing to the images. There was Y/n, always smiling, but next to her was a figure that couldn’t be ignored. The silhouette of Pamela Isley, better known as Poison Ivy, stood beside her, her red hair like a fire that seemed to consume the sadness of the place.

“Pamela…” Cass murmured, her voice almost a whisper. “She’s been in Arkham for three months.”

Barbara moved closer, examining the photos more closely. “This is more complicated than we thought. Ivy has been involved, and that changes everything.”

Jason, still trying to comprehend the chaos he had unleashed, ran a hand through his hair. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll find Y/n. I don’t care what I have to do.”

Barbara looked at him, her expression one of challenge but also understanding. “We can’t do this recklessly. We have to be smart. Silent.”

The group nodded, realizing that the road ahead would be filled with dangers, but also promises of redemption. They were all willing to kill for Y/n, but they had to do it quietly, like shadows slipping through the streets at night.

“Listen, we’re going to find her,” Dick said, his voice resonating like a mantra. “No matter how many doors we have to break down, how many truths we have to drag into the light.”

And so, in the echo of the silence that followed the violence, the five united in a tacit pact, intertwining their destinies in the search for Y/n. Each lost in their thoughts, each remembering that shadows sometimes have the power to conceal not only secrets but also the light that clings to hope.

The shadows stretched as they moved away from the apartment, leaving behind the vestige of a dead man and the echo of trapped laughter. The search had begun, and Y/n’s fate hung in the balance, a thread of light in the darkness that promised to bloom amid the ruins of despair.

The city lights flickered in the distance, like lost stars in the asphalt.

The tears of Y/n fell onto the slippery ground, forming puddles that blended with the blood, a dark ruby staining every part of her thin body, as if sins were being tattooed onto her skin. The humidity of the place smelled of iron and fear, of broken promises and a destiny she had chosen but didn’t quite know how to accept.

“It doesn’t feel good, little one?” said the Doctor, his voice a bitter whisper echoing off the damp walls of the room. He, with his dirty blonde hair falling messily over his forehead, wore a white coat that looked more like a rag than a symbol of authority. A cynical smile spread across his lips, revealing teeth that seemed sharper than the fate he had designed for her. “Bathing in the blood of enemies, isn’t it an exquisite pleasure?”

Y/n, her gaze lost at a point on the floor, nodded slowly, as if each movement cost her an eternity. The blood, warm and sticky, slid between her fingers, a sensory experience that drowned her in contradictions. On one hand, there was a dark delight in the power that image conferred upon her, a power she had learned to wield. But on the other hand, there was an abyss of pain threatening to consume her.

“It’s…” she whispered, barely able to form words. Her voice trembled like a leaf in autumn, indecision etched in her features. Guilt suffocated her, and each tear that fell was a reminder of what she had lost, of what she had left behind.

“What is it?” asked the Doctor, leaning toward her, his eyes lit by a glow that was not exactly compassion, but rather a cruel satisfaction. His gaze seemed to pierce through the layers of her being, scrutinizing the dark corners of her soul. “Is it pleasure you feel, or is it fear?”

Y/n recoiled, feeling her skin burn under his gaze. The Doctor’s words tangled in her mind, forming a knot that seemed impossible to untie. Her voice, almost a cry for help, resonated in the air.

“I don’t know! I don’t know if it’s pleasure or pain.” The words shot out like arrows, but only managed to embed their tips in the empty air, finding no destination. She trembled, caught between repulsion and the desire to free herself from the invisible chains that kept her anchored in that place.

The Doctor let out a cold laugh, as if he were enjoying the spectacle unfolding before him. With a careless gesture, he threw another bucket of blood onto the floor, creating a small puddle that slid toward Y/n.

“That is the beauty of your situation, my dear. You have been chosen to cleanse Gotham of the scum, and along the way, you will discover that pain and pleasure are two sides of the same coin.”

“Chosen?” replied Y/n, her voice shaking with the fierce mix of disbelief and rage. “Chosen for what? To be your puppet?”

The Doctor stepped closer, letting the distance between them fade. His presence was oppressive, like a shadow that swallowed light.

“You are not a puppet, Kerosene” he said, pronouncing her name as if caressing it. “You are the spark that can ignite the revolution. The tears that fall now are the ashes of the old you, and it’s time you embrace what awaits you.”

Y/n felt the air grow dense, as if the Doctor’s words were trying to envelop her, to convince her. But there was a truth in his voice, an echo of what she had longed for deep within her being. Hadn’t she been searching for purpose, a place to belong?

“No… I don’t want to be what you’ve made me.” she said, though her voice sounded more hesitant than determined. It was as if reality slipped around her, like the slippery ground she stood on.

“Of course you do, Y/n.” He smiled, and there was something unsettling in that smile, something that made her feel she was on the brink of a revelation. “Your pain is the echo of the city, and you, little one, can be its savior.”

The Doctor’s words resonated in her mind, and Y/n felt herself teetering on the edge of the abyss, the possibility of becoming Kerosene, the force of vengeance and power. She fought against the idea, but there was a part of her that was beginning to awaken, to open like a flower in the desert.

“So, what do I have to do?” she asked, finally facing the reality that surrounded her. The tears, instead of being a sign of weakness, now seemed a recognition of her new identity.

The Doctor looked at her with a mix of satisfaction and complicity, like a teacher who sees the spark of greatness in his student.

“First, you must accept that the past does not define your future. The blood that surrounds you is only the first step toward freedom. Become what you have always been. Your destiny is to burn, and in doing so, illuminate others.”

Y/n felt the weight of her decision slowly fading away. By accepting her destiny, she had found a new way to free herself, a purpose that shone like fire.

“Then I will do it.” she said, her voice now firm and resonant, as if she were finally embracing the darkness that had always dwelled within her. “I will be Kerosene.”

The Doctor smiled, and in that smile lay a world of possibilities. Together, they could shake the foundations of Gotham.

“That’s right, my dear Kerosene.” He stepped back, allowing his figure to fade into the shadows..“And remember, every decision you make will be a step toward glory or toward downfall. The line is thin, and you are destined to cross it.”

“What about them?” Y/n asked, pointing to the shadows surrounding her, referring to the Waynes who remained silent in their luxurious prison of silence. “Where is Batman?”

The Doctor paused, his gaze turning serious and contemplative.

“Since your appearance, the Waynes have become shadows of what they once were. Batman has vanished, as if fear has locked him in his own game. They don’t want you to know the truth, and I wonder if, deep down, he fears what you are capable of.”

“Fears?” repeated Y/n, incredulity splattering her voice like a rain of dead stars. “Why?”

“Because the truth is that there is no longer space for the good in this city.” The Doctor stepped closer, his tone low but filled with fervor. “Soon you will go after the Court of Owls. We will expose those monsters in the streets, as they deserve, and they will have no one to defend them. Not even their beloved bat.”

A chill ran down Y/n's spine. The idea of stepping out into the night, of facing the villains who had ravaged her city, filled her with a strange power. She remembered Pamela, laughing amidst the shadows, her voice like an echo urging her to fight.

“I will not be their puppet. I do not want to be a pawn in a bigger game.” The words erupted from her with the force of an approaching storm, and the vision of Pamela dancing among the flowers filled her with a sudden sweetness.

“You will not be a pawn, Kerosene.” The Doctor smiled, and in his eyes was an air of admiration. “You are the queen in this game. Your vengeance will not only bring down those villains, but it will also seek the man behind the mask of Batman. We need to end him.”

“End him?” The question hung in the air like a trembling whisper. Her heart stopped for an instant, remembering the nights spent with Batman, the unspoken words, the caresses of an absent father.

“Yes. Because he, like them, has become a legend that needs to fall.”

Y/n felt the darkness looming over her, a shadow whispering promises of power and pain. But there was something more, a spark igniting within her, a fire burning with the strength of a new dawn.

“Then I will do it.” said Y/n, her voice resonating with a clarity that surprised her. “I will expose the Court of Owls and make my father see.”

The Doctor watched Y/n with palpable satisfaction, as if he had finally ignited a spark deep within her being. With a gesture of his hand, he made the invisible shackles that kept her trapped fade away. In that moment, a strange freedom slipped over her skin, a freedom laden with dark responsibility.

“Come, Kerosene.” he said, his voice now a hypnotic chant rising among the shadows. “There is something you need to see.”

He led her through a labyrinth of damp hallways, each step resonating like an echo of past decisions. The walls seemed to whisper forgotten secrets, tales of those who had fallen into the abyss before her. As they advanced, the light of day faded, and the gloom became an accomplice to their thoughts.

Finally, they reached the balcony of the building, a place where time had stopped its march. The Doctor gently pushed Y/n toward the railing, forcing her to look out over the vast expanse of Gotham that stretched before them. The city was a canvas of flickering lights and deep shadows, a portrait of intertwined chaos and order.

“Look, little one.” the Doctor whispered, his voice wrapping around her like a veil of mystery. “This is your city, a monster that feeds on the secrets you hold in your chest. The blood that stains your skin is a symbol of the struggle that lies ahead.”

Y/n leaned over the edge of the balcony, feeling the cold wind caress her bare skin. The city glimmered like a sea of dying stars, each light a story, each shadow a whisper of betrayal. The vision enveloped her, and for a moment, she felt like a spectator of her own destiny.

Her bare skin, still stained with blood, prickled at the chill of Gotham, a freezing breeze sneaking through the cracks of crumbling buildings, as if the city itself reminded her that she was alive, that darkness embraced her with its mantle of forgetfulness and despair. Each small contact of the air made her more aware of her vulnerability, and at the same time, of the power that blossomed from within her. It was a reminder that, amidst chaos, she was the spark of a new flame.

The puddles of blood that had stained her skin, silent witnesses to her transformation, shone like a dark ruby under the dim light of the moon. In that moment, each drop was an echo of past decisions, a symbol of the life she had left behind. And yet, in her mind, the Doctor's words echoed: “You are the spark that can ignite the revolution.” The irony of her state wrapped her in a sweet and bitter confusion; deep down, her nakedness felt like a release.

The city stretched before her, a vast ocean of twinkling lights and lurking shadows. Gotham, in its complexity, seemed to breathe, a living being pulsing with stories of pain and longing. The streetlights flickered as if about to go out, and Y/n felt that each flicker was a whisper calling her, a reminder that she was destined to be part of something much larger than herself.

As she gazed at the horizon, her mind filled with images: the faces of those she had lost, those she had loved, and those she had to confront. Her heart wrestled between the desire for vengeance and the longing for redemption.

“What do you see?” asked the Doctor, his eyes shining with an unsettling intensity.

“I see…” Y/n began, but the words slipped away like sand through her fingers. The city was a labyrinth of emotions, a stage where pain and pleasure intertwined in a macabre dance. It was a reflection of her own internal struggle, her desire for vengeance and her yearning for redemption.

“I see a sea of shadows, a stage where illusions collapse like houses of cards.” she finally replied, her voice echoing. “Each light, a hope; each shadow, a whisper of unhappiness.”

“Perfect.” The Doctor smiled, his face illuminated by an almost fraternal satisfaction. “Gotham is a mirror, and you are the light that can break the darkness. You must be able to see beyond what shines.”

The Doctor’s words resonated in her mind, tearing through the veil of confusion that enveloped her. In that instant, Y/n understood that every tear shed had fed the city, that every drop of blood on her hands was an echo of what she had lost. And yet, vengeance offered her a new purpose, a path into the unknown.

“The city cries for change, for a fire to purify it” she whispered, her voice gaining strength in the night breeze. “And I… I am that fire.”

“That’s right, dear.” The Doctor nodded, a mix of pride and malice in his expression. “The fire that will purify Gotham and, in its wake, consume everything that stands in your way.���

Y/n felt the air fill with electricity, a palpable current connecting her to the city, to its pain and desire. Deep within her, something began to change. She was no longer just a puppet; she was no longer merely the shadow of her past. She was Kerosene, the spark that would ignite the flame of change.

“But, Doctor, what about those who love the darkness?” she asked, her voice now an echo of what she had learned. “What if they cling to their shadow?”

The Doctor stepped closer to her, his penetrating gaze filled with complicity.

“Darkness is a possessive lover, but there is always a price to pay. The truth is that they cannot hold onto it forever. And when the fire burns, only those ready to be reborn will be saved.”

Y/n felt a mixture of anguish and determination. The city before her became a symbol of her internal struggle, a stage where light and shadow intertwined in an eternal game. Every street, every building, every corner whispered her name in a song of warning and challenge.

“And when the fire consumes everything in its path, will there be anything left of me?” she asked, her voice trembling with the fragility of a leaf in the wind.

The Doctor smiled, a smile that seemed to mock the questions still dancing in her mind.

“Perhaps, dear Kerosene, you will find yourself in the act of burning. Or maybe, you will fade into the ash. That is the enigma of transformation: in the fire, death is merely the prelude to a new beginning.”

As she gazed at the city, Y/n felt her identity fragment and fuse, in an endless cycle of creation and destruction. The image of Gotham before her became a metaphor for the human soul, a reflection of the struggles everyone faced in the darkness. The city, with its chaos and its heartbreaking beauty, enveloped her like a hug.

With one last look at the flickering lights and lurking shadows, Y/n stepped back, a firm decision rising within her.

“There’s no turning back now” she murmured, her voice an echo of her new reality. “I will be the fire that illuminates this eternal night.”

The Doctor, with a gesture of approval, retreated into the shadows, leaving her alone in her revelation. As the city spread before her, a mantle of mystery and power, Y/n knew that the true journey was just beginning. The line between fire and ash was thin, and in her chest burned the certainty that by crossing it, nothing would ever be the same.

“So be it, Kerosene” she said to herself as the wind enveloped her in secret whispers. “Let the fire speak in your name and let the night receive your lament.”

And looking at Gotham, she understood that, in the end, her destiny was not merely to be a spectator, but an unstoppable force, a storm that would unleash chaos. And so, with her heart beating to the rhythm of the city, she prepared to embrace her truth, her fire.

☆

A/N — Here is the long-awaited third part of this series. Thank you for all the support and love you have given me. I decided to make this part longer (at the cost of not being able to include the last image :( ) so that you can enjoy it more.

I was reading your comments where you were asking if Y/n and the Doctor would have a romance (which horrifies me a bit :d, but it gave me an idea) or if he performed a lobotomy on her. Well, that will be answered in the next part or in a headcanon, whatever you ask me.

By the way, in the tag list, there are some users I couldn't add, sorry about that 😔. I really appreciate your understanding and patience. Your enthusiasm keeps me motivated to keep creating and sharing these stories. I hope you find this installment engaging and that it brings you the excitement and emotions you’ve come to expect from the series. Enjoy!

Don't hesitate to ask me anything if you want.

take a bath!

Tag list! ◇ — @amber-content @toast-on-dandelioms @feral-childs-word @sweetconnoisseurgardener @victoria1676 @toasted-cat18 @nosyrobin @beeaskewwrites @yandere-enthusiast @telltaletoad @dhanyasri @vanessa-boo @m3vl0vesu @jellypotato66 @midnightgrimoire @cherryxxxxyoongi @imnotdumbimstupif @plsfckmedxddy @h0neysiba @mybones537 @erikasurfer @sheepintherain @pix-stuff @yan-rai @uniquecutie-puffs @arlandvery @theblonde777 @alishii

@maicenitas @ti-girl1226 @vanilliona @chickenwings435 @thedramabrotherss @bat1212 @imnotdumbimstupif @somebodyrandom-613 @aelxr @jsprien213 @sheepintherain @lovebug-apple @zenychwan @starsdotalk @holylonelyponyeatingmacaron @misdollface @clementinesyummy @bunbunboysworld @lunaluz432 @kiarst @meowmeeps @adeptusxia0 @mettatons-number-1fan @fairygardenprincesss @nervousalpacalady @mottysith

Inspiration: @acid-ixx with his Again & Again series, @gotham-daydreams ' work, @i-cant-sing's work and @klemen-tine's work, be sure to check them out!

[kimjun]

Damian: .. .----. -- / ... --- .-. .-. -.-- [translation: I’M SORRY]

Yn: What's that?

Damian: Remorse code.

Yn: I'm even angrier now.

[thewritingfairy]

↪ 06. Your first day at work!

Inspired by acid-xx, rizzanon, nikovraskol

PREV PART trigger warnings: medical + emotional + physical neglect, misgendering (reader isn't out to the bad family yet), filler chapter main m.list      series m.list

You hate feeling angry, you hate feeling so tired. But you would always feel like this, well as long as you are in this house at least. You hate feeling like your own pain was nothing but just a pinch of salt compared to your families suffering. But that’s why you got a job, and that’s why you are pulling yourself out of bed. That’s why you are holding yourself together besides the anger raging inside your body.

That anger is the reason you are taking care of yourself, that anger will keep you going for years to come. Even when it disappears. You’ll live on your own and your mind would be your own. Your resentment and anger will no longer keep you in your bed, hiding under your covers.

You are just going to do what you wish for, and today that’s making a breakfast for yourself and get to work.

So that’s what you are doing, ignoring how Tim stumbles in to make some coffee, only for him to sit at the table and scroll on his phone. “You look fancy,” he says, and you sigh. You didn’t want to talk, but of course the day that you dress up for your job Tim decides to have a conversation with you. “are you going anywhere?”

So that’s what you are doing, ignoring how Tim stumbles in to make some coffee, only for him to sit at the table and scroll on his phone. “You look fancy,” he says, and you sigh. You didn’t want to talk, but of course the day that you dress up for your job Tim decides to have a conversation with you. “are you going anywhere?”

“I’m subbing in for a friend at his work,” you lie, brushing some of your hair behind your ear. You just hope that this was the last of his comments.

“Nice of you to do,” Tim mumbles, he knows you’re lying but then again, does he have any right to call you out? “how late will you be home?”

“I don’t know,” you snap, smacking the pan you’re holding down on the counter. “Why do you care?”

Tim doesn’t flinch him, he doesn’t even look up from his phone as he spoke; “There are rumours that the Joker is out and about.”

“When isn’t he?” You mumble, shoving your food in your mouth. “I’m not scared of someone knock-off clown.”

Tim sighs; “Just be careful.”

You roll your eyes, at least you got breakfast and you took your medication. “I’ll be safer out there then here.”

You could see Tim wince, at least someone feels guilt in this household.

The restaurant was coming along nicely, the sign looks pretty and the building looks a lot cleaner then the first time you were here. You just have to find the employee entrance… “Over here!” you suddenly hear, your head snaps back and there was a young man. His eyes kinder and his posture’s relaxer then Bruce when he plays up the playboy Brucie persona, it makes you nervous. He’s too relaxed for someone working for Penguin... “Yes you, Mx. (last name)! I am your trainer~!”

You hum as you get closer. “You know my name,” you start as you hold out your hand. “but I don’t know yours.”

“Well,” he grins. “you can call me whatever you want, ignorance is bliss isn’t it, darling?”

NEXT PART Honestly, I had a health thing during the holidays, I am mentally checked out with my mom and I just wanted to write something light hearted and short. So here, hope you enjoyed it<3.

Taglist: @prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue, @bunniotomia, @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @princessbonnie-bell, @seemee3, @pix-stuff, @venomsvl, @amber-content, @stove-top96, @frank-vanderboom, @leeiasure, @1abi, @shadowytravelerlover, @chericia, @lithiumval, @lingxio, @cssammyyarts, @marsmabe, @foolishseven, @kore-of-the-underworld, @bunbunboysworld, @homeless-clown, @miashico, @alwaysholymilkshake, @1cxndy, @kittzu, @rtyuy1346, @exactlynumberonekryptonite, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @artistwithcreativeburnout, @alishii, @vanessa-boo, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @91-kya, @ryuushou, @jjsmeowthie, @justthere1956, @depressed--therapist, @xzmickeyzx, @cheappremingerfromdelululand, @plsfckmedxddy, @itsberrydreemurstuff, @trashlaternfish360, @leogf, @dirtydiavolo, @lilyalone, @welpthisisboring, @kenman00001, @nxdxsworld, @icefox8155, @ironsaladwitch, @holderoflostmemories

[darkstaria]

Yandere Batfam - Soulmate Soul Animal AU.

Chapter 4:

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 5.

This chapter is brought to you by myyyyyyy🎉birthday🎉 woohoo 🥳 I hath aged

It's a little bit shorter, but I mean come on it's a unique chapter soooo it's cool guys I swear

Lots more Batfam content this time, albeit Tim centric. I'll balance it out in the future I swear! Also it's still platonic, but you could probably get a romantic reading from this a lil bit if you try

Taglist: @moonchild-artemisdaughter @jjsmeowthie @madine11-blog @xxrougefangxx @hadesnewpersephone @neerathebrightstar @mel-star636 @jaythes1mp @rosecentury @lov3vivian @gaozorous-rex-blog @victoria1676 @vrsin @silverklaus @ryukyuin @kurai-hono-blog @thisisafish123 @isawyourbrowserhistory @ain-t-no-way-bsfr @realifezompire @lunaluz432 @nickey-diano @sukiiluvs @sara0055 @alleakimlala @kdidgg @paperhermits @lavender-moony @alishii @emmbny @sirenetheblogger @fantasy-angelo @andrasia @vinnvinnvintage @nyra-42 @armystaysatnct @beyond-your-stars @starsdotalk @adeptusxia0

----

A few days have passed since your encounter with Red Robin. He hasn't shown up since, but another thing has.

Your work had sent you an email. An invitation to Wayne Enterprises, to represent them. According to them, your location was the closest to Wayne Enterprises, and so you were selected. You lived 50 minutes away from Wayne Enterprises. Their home office was 30 minutes away. You weren't sure who was doing the math here, but they needed some more practice.

That being said, you could notice a pattern when there was one. This was Tim Drake's attempt to get you out of your home. And unfortunately, it was going to work. You needed your job. It was perfect, remote, didn't bother you as long as you got the work done. Jobs like that were rare, especially in Gotham.

Not for the first time, you kinda felt like crying.

If Red Robin, your soulmate, was indeed Tim Drake, then what was this? Did he have you figured out? Or was he continuing the investigation?

You didn't know...

Refusing to show up would get you fired. There was no way around that. But, what if you couldn't go?

What if you were too injured to go? There's no way you could fake something, the bats are quite literally master detectives. That and your soul animal form would likely reveal the uninjured truth.

Maybe if you injured yourself?

No, no no no. That was a bad route to go down. If this meeting is to check whether you are soulmates with him, a matching injury on your soul animal form would be like a criminal and a suspect having the same tattoo.

There wasn't really any option here. Which, really, is just typical for the vigilantes of Gotham.

"Ughhh." You groaned to yourself, cradling your hands with your head. You glared over at Red, who had been showing up much more frequently these past few days (which was saying something, since all your soul animals were already by you 23/7). Red gave a small chirp in reply, some sort of smugness in its tone.

Maybe it was time to invest in wind chimes or something. You heard they can scare off robins.

You felt like you were going to need it.

~ ~ ~ ~

Tim's developed something of a guilty habit.

It wasn't a bad thing, per se. Nothing B would particularly frown at. Dick might even agree.

He imagined you wouldn't quite feel the same, though.

You looked especially fragile, as you slept. During the day your face was haunted by false bravado, a paranoid edge to every smile. Sleep smoothed out the lines of your face, giving a softer touch to your slumbering form.

You frown when he reaches out to poke your cheek. It's cute. His hand twitches for his camera. You're always cute, whether it's a small little frown on your face or beaming joy.

He's developed a new favorite activity. Alongside solving cases, he's now watching you. He wants to observe it all. From little habits to obvious passions, he wants to know everything. Hobbies, skills, loves, DNA. He'd only just found you, the answer to the mystery that he's been in since birth. He's had a lot of time to build up this obsession.

He wants and wants and needs. He can wait to take.

You are a light sleeper, but he's a quiet stalker. You don't always drink milk before bed, but when you do, you'll get a little more tired than usual. Your groggy face is cute, too.

He reached out, stroking your hair with the slightest of a smile beginning on his face. It was soft. It reminded him of you, your soul animal form. It had flinched away from him earlier, as it always does whenever they were in uniform. Finding that you do the same as a human wasn't so surprising.

They had adapted to your soul form’s skittishness. They could do the same again. His mind briefly flashed through some ideas, an ankle bracelet, a watch, a collar? If it was on the ankle, you'd match.

He broke out of his musings at the shift of movement. A flutter of wings. B’s soul animal flew down perching on a piece of furniture nearby as a vantage point. He smirked. Looked like he wasn't the only one feeling a little possessive tonight.

He must've been thinking of you. Not surprising, given that your soul form was scheduled time with him today. They had to work out a schedule, else there would have been a lot more stabbings. Not that it didn't prevent sudden abductions occasionally, thanks Jason.

That was fine though. B could have you tonight, Damian could have you tomorrow, Dick the next. Because Tim had the real you, right here.

And he wasn't planning on letting go.

There's a room he's preparing inside Drake manor. He’d put your name on it, but that would be too obvious if anyone came around. Instead, it would be his little secret with you. He's only just met you, but he has plenty of ideas for it already.

He didn't feel guilty for this. Not at all.

You were his as much as he was yours after all. If there was a problem with these feelings, then why would fate itself tie you to him?

If anything, the only guilt he’d feel is not telling anyone else. He couldn't help it, he just wanted you to himself for a while. He caught you, so he was allowed to have you.

But was that really guilt? Or just annoyance at the idea of getting caught?

An alert on his communicator made him frown, taking him out of the trance he had felt into. There was more he had to do.

A shame, but it was fine. He got to spend some quality time with you, taken a few things for the future. He’d make more time. And you'll have all the time in the world for him. But first…

Tim withdrew a specialty camera from his utility belt, raising it to his face. He adjusted a few settings, then…

Snap!

~ ~ ~ ~

You fought the urge to yawn. You have been so sleepy lately. You had to wake up especially early for today. Lovely.

At least today was the moment of truth. You'd show Red Robin for once and for all that you were perfectly normal, and not at all his soulmate. He’d lose interest, and your life would return to its domesticity.

The one good thing going for today was that you're somehow accompanied by none of your soul animals. A truly rare occasion that is ruined by the fact that you're instead visiting a soulmate in the flesh. If any of your soul animals do show up, you have your old reliable bag to shove them into. So, you should be alright.

Wayne Enterprises was a terrifying image, but you steadied yourself with the fact that your whole life’s freedom was at stake here, which was much more terrifying. After that you could get through the door. Security just letting you through after giving your name almost had you running out the door though, you'd admit.

The elevator ride was long and solemn, giving you time to think about everything. Maybe you should think about moving, staying in Gotham was perhaps a ridiculous sentiment to begin with. It was a shame though, you were a Gothamite through and through, you didn't want to leave the country your parents lived and raised you in.

Still, perhaps it was time to leave. Things were getting too risky. Thinking about it, Wayne Enterprises? Honesty what even was your life.

The ding of the elevator door interrupts your musings, an assistant directing you to Tim Drake’s office.

As you walk over, you can't help but listen in to some shouting coming from the room.

A younger voice is yelling. “Give me them! You do not deser-” The voice gets cut off, as an older voice yells back. “It is my turn, you do not get to just steal them!”

The younger voice starts up again, but so does the older voice, alongside what you can only presume to be fighting noises.

You just kinda stare at the door. You are a working professional, representing your company to the prestigious Wayne Enterprises. You came here with lofty expectations and responsibilities to fulfill. And the CEO… is fighting someone in his office.

You have no idea what to do.

A minute passes.

You started to think about signaling an assistant to come help, but before you could do so the fighting seemed to end with a shouted “Fine! But B will hear about-” you can't hear the rest, as the shouting returns to a normal volume.

A door is opened and slammed, footsteps retreating away from the office. You take a moment to appreciate the fact that Tim Drake’s office has two doors that lead in different places, because it means you didn't have to meet whoever he was fighting.

A second or two later, the door in front of you swings open. Tim Drake is facing you, his hair a little askew, and his cheeks a little red. He smiles, an easy thing. It's as if the sight of you brought it to his face.

“Welcome!” He waves you in, somehow not acknowledging what you just heard in any form. The objects in his office are perfectly aligned. Nothing looks disturbed at all. How?

He waves you over to a chair, settling into one himself.

“Well.” He begins. “It's nice to see you again, Y/n."

You hope this goes by quickly.

[invincibledc]

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁#FAIR AMUSEMENT. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

⭑.ᐟPair: Damian Wayne x Roth! Male reader

ᯓ★Summary: The small Roth spending time with the small Wayne, the two boys start to have fun until Damian gets annoyed at seeing a boy acting a little too “friendly” with the raven he finds beautiful.

ᯓ★Note || Y/N is the little brother of Raven, hero name is Corvus. The Latin name for Raven.

ᯓ★WC: 613

a rewrite of this

"Roth," Damian says, glancing at the boy in front of him as he walks ahead with palpable excitement. "Huh? Sorry, Damian, what were you saying?" Y/N responds, noting the familiar frown on Damian's face. "Why are you so enthusiastic about...amusement?" he remarks, and Y/N pouts in response.

"Damian, I'm excited because I'm spending this time at the fair with you! I’ve never really had fun at a fair, or is it an amusement park? I honestly can’t tell the difference," Y/N admits with a light chuckle. Damian looks away, feeling warmth creep to his face as he clenches his jaw. "Hey! Niños, don’t wander too far!" Jaime calls out, noticing that the two boys have drifted away from the group. Garfield is already off, likely stirring up trouble or racking up tickets.

"Got it! C'mon, Damian, I heard there's a game where you shoot at fake ducks to win a huge stuffed animal!" Y/N exclaims. Damian maintains his stoic expression, attempting to conceal his intrigue, though his eyes betray him. Y/N’s focus shifts to the surrounding attractions—cotton candy, loud music—yet Damian knows the boy is eager for the shooting game, so he leads him on their "quest."

When they finally arrive at the game stand, the vibrant lights and colors ignite Y/N's enthusiasm. Time slows as Y/N turns to him, leaving Damian in a state of unexpected awe. Is this what those main characters in sappy romance movies experienced during slow-motion scenes? Yes, this is exactly how he feels. With excitement, Y/N points to a large penguin. "Look! They have a huge stuffed animal, just like I said!" Damian crosses his arms loosely. "I see it, Roth."

Without hesitation, Y/N eagerly grabs the shotgun. After handing over the money, Y/N begins, though struggles to hold the gun steady. The worker at the counter seems impatient. Damian shoots an icy glare at the man, making his annoyance dissipate. Just then, another boy, roughly their age, approaches, attempting to guide Y/N.

Damian's eyes narrow; he doesn't like the way the boy is looking at Y/N. Crossing his arms, he glares until the boy leans in to whisper something, prompting Y/N to chuckle. That’s it—Damian makes his move, stepping in and positioning himself behind Y/N. He places his hands on Y/N’s arms, ensuring they’re readied to aim at the ducks.

“Y/N, focus on the ducks. Shoot.” You comply instantly, and Damian can’t help but smirk at your success. As you win the penguin, he steps back, but not before indulging in a little pettiness of his own by trying the game himself. With perfect aim, he shoots and wins another penguin. Y/N's eyes widen in admiration while Damian notices the other boy scoffing and walking away. With a self-satisfied swagger, Damian wraps an arm around Y/N, who beams while hugging the two winning penguins.

“Best night ever!” Y/N declares as they climb back into the car with the team. Garfield is already snoozing, Jaime not far behind. Kory drives, with your sister in the passenger seat. Raven glances back, a smile creeping onto her face as she sees Y/N's joy. "Little crow, where did you get those?" she asks softly.

"I won one for myself with Damian's help. But he got me another one," you reply, grinning. As you lean against Damian, he initially stiffens but soon relaxes, a smile hidden by his hand. He stares out the window, captivated by his own reflection.

"That was generous of you, Damian. Thank you," Raven says, her tone warm. Damian simply hums in response, still lost in thought as he reflects on the happiness of the moment. And in that instant, he feels a sense of satisfaction too.

[brawberryz]

The servant of evil

Damian Wayne × Batsis! Reader

Note: English is not my first language, sorry if there is any translation error / based on the songs of vocaloid (the daughter of evil/ the servant of evil / M.list

Tw: murder, blood, violence, execution, death, poisoning, use of knife

You were his faithful servant

Ever since you could remember, your family told you that your only duty in this life was to protect Prince Damian

You had been trained since you were young to be able to fight, you had to protect him at all costs no matter what

And if that meant giving your life, you would do it

Besides, there was another reason for your devotion to Damian, he was your brother

Or well, twin brother

You were the only one who knew that, and it was a secret that you would take to the grave

Although sometimes you wondered how come people didn't notice the similarities between you two

But you still didn't care, you were his older sister and you were going to protect his innocent soul

Or maybe not so innocent, your brother was a sadistic person

Too sadistic

He didn't mind spilling a little blood if it meant that his whims would be fulfilled

Now You were used to killing people, if that meant being able to see your brother's smile you would do it with pleasure

You would do anything to preserve that smile on his face

_

"What did you think of the desserts, your majesty?"

You said calmly while collecting the dirty dishes from the table, it was normal for Damian to go outside the garden to enjoy a good snack

It was a routine that never changes and you were fine with it

"Yes, it was fine"

He spoke with that usual disinterested tone, you just let out a small laugh at his behavior

"I'm very glad, with your permission I'll leave"

When you were about to leave you heard his voice a little louder than normal

"WAIT! You... you can..."

He was hesitating whether to ask you this, you just tilted your head confused at his strange behavior

"Yes, your majesty?"

You... you can stay a little longer?"

That sounded more like a request than an order, you nodded with a sweet smile leaving the dirty plates to the side of the table

"As you command, your majesty"

You could still remember those peaceful days, where nothing mattered

Just you and him sitting in the middle of the garden chatting

You had always been by his side, and that was how it was always going to be

But sometimes fate has different plans

And the consequences of actions always come one way or another

_

It all started at those meetings where all the nations came together to celebrate something, you really didn't care much

Your only duty was to be by Damian's side, nothing else mattered

You could remember that that night had been his first crush and also his first heartbreak

As soon as Damian found out that the person he liked was engaged to Jon, the prince of the neighboring kingdom, he left the place angrily

You chased him trying to comfort him but your father stopped you as you were about to leave to catch up with Damian

"Leave him, he needs a moment alone"

Bruce looked at you with that cold look as he moved his hand away from your shoulder, you just nodded not very convinced

"Fine..."

You were afraid of what Damian could do, he was very impulsive and not good at managing his emotions

You just hoped he was okay

-

"Your majesty?"

You said worriedly entering Damian's room, you were surprised to see the mess in the room

Furniture and paintings broken and thrown on the floor

It was a mess, it would take you days to clean all this mess because for some reason Damian did not let another servant clean his room unless it was you

"(Name)"

He said seriously looking at the dark sky from the balcony

"Yes, your majesty?" You answered doubtfully as you went deeper into the destroyed room

"You would do anything for me, right?"

"Of course your majesty"

You answered quickly as soon as those words left Damian's mouth

"I want you to destroy the neighboring kingdom"

He said dryly, there was no hesitation or tremor in those words when he said them

You were surprised when he said that, starting a war was too risky and nothing could go right, plus the kingdom began to hate the royalty for their questionable actions

"Are you sure, my majesty? It's too dangerous and-"

Damian cut your words off before you could finish speaking

"It's an order, I didn't ask for your opinion"

He gave you that look he only gave to people he wanted to see dead

You just nodded as he walked out of the room leaving him alone

You knew this was going to end very badly

_

You could still feel the blood on your hands, the destruction of the neighboring kingdom had been a success, you just had to infiltrate and poison the entire family

Except Jon, Damian asked you to decapitate Jon and bring him his head

And so you did, you could still remember his scared look when you were about to kill him

You didn't understand why you felt so bad about yourself, you had done this a million times, but why do you feel so bad now?

Maybe it was because you loved him

You had met Jon when you went to the kingdom with your father, he was the first person who had been kind to you

His laughter made your cheeks turn red, the love between the two of you was mutual but neither of you were able to take the first step

And now he was dead, dead because of you

And there was nothing that could clean the dirt you had on your body

_

The castle was destroyed and the servants and family had fled, the only thing left were the two of you

Damian refused to leave the castle and you tried to make him see reason

And even if you convinced him it would be too late, he was the person they were looking for

They wanted to execute him for all the crimes committed by your family

And you knew that in a way he deserved it, he had been a horrible person during his lifetime

They would let you go free since they would only confuse you with one more servant of the bunch

And there he came that idea in your head

"Take my clothes, they will look great on you"

You said as you handed him your clothes, you were fully dressed like him you were even able to cut your hair

"What!? And what about you, you can't stay here!"

He said with tears in his eyes, you approached him and hugged him, the last goodbye

He wanted to convince you that everything would be okay but you knew it wasn't true

"Everything will be okay, you shouldn't cry anymore"

You separated from him and wiped the small tears that fell from his eyes

"Now go, it's getting late"

You said as you pushed him out of the castle, he looked at you doubtfully and you gave him a smile

"Everything will be okay, I promise"

You said for the last time before seeing Damian run through the halls of the castle

You approached the balcony releasing one of the pet birds that Damian had

You would do anything to keep that smile on his face

My dear prince

Don't cry anymore, everything will be okay

We are both similar, no one will notice the difference

I will take your place, I will be the tyrant

You felt a sword pointing at your neck, you turned around meeting Richard's gaze

You remembered him, he was one of the knights who works protecting the castle and now he had joined the revolution

"How rude!"

_

The bells rang a beautiful grind, among the crowd you were ready to accept your fate, they roughly grabbed your head to place it on the guillotine

Someone like you didn't deserve kindness or gentleness

You could feel the crowd's gaze even though your eyes were closed

A small smile formed on your lips

"Wow, looks like it's time for a snack!"

_

Damian watched in shock from the crowd as your head was cut off and fell into the basket

You were supposed to be okay, you promised!

And now he was watching you die in this pathetic way, you were supposed to stay by his side, why didn't you escape with him!?

You broke your promise

"Liar"

It was the only thing that Damian could say trying to keep the tears from falling from his eyes

....

But if you were sincere you wouldn't regret what you did

If reincarnation exists you would choose in all your lives to be Damian's twin, no matter how much time passes

I will always want to be by your side

My prince

_

"What a boring story"

Damian said disinterestedly as he leaned in his chair, you had found a new book in the bookstore

You thought it would be a good idea to read it since you liked the stories and this book is based on real events!, which made it even more interesting

"Don't say that, it's very entertaining!"

"Whatever you say"

Damian said in a sarcastic tone, you just laughed and then got up from your seat

"Anyway, Alfred made cookies, come!"

Damian just nodded as he followed you to the kitchen, your excited voice could be heard from the halls of the mansion as you explained to Damian extra facts you learned from the book

Damian just nodded, he was never going to say it out loud but he liked listening to you

But his ego was too big to admit it

...

Fate has many paths

But no matter how much time passes, I will always choose to reincarnate by your side, no matter the universe

I will always be your loyal servant

I'm pretty happy with this

I think this is great for making some kind of AU and expanding the story, but I'm too lazy to do it

So if anyone wants to do it this idea is completely free for any use!

[aftertheleaving]

Not A Threat

Pairing: Damian Wayne x Reader

Genre: Light humor, fluff, slow-burn setup(kinda), soft enemies to lovers(again kinda), workplace antics

Warnings: swearing, caffeine abuse, reader is unbothered and slightly feral, Damian is suffering (but not really), no plot just vibes

Notes: for @ur-mums-house, who is my sleepy muse and deserves a fic where Damian gets emotionally steamrolled by a tech intern. Anyway I totallyyyy didn't find this while scrolling through all my drafts that I never posted (this is like from forevrrrrr ago when i told myself i'd start posting but never did). 🙃

1, 2, 3

You’re halfway through your fourth energy drink and at least eight hours into the worst debugging sprint of your life when you crack into a corrupted server cluster and find a file labeled:

"batcave_logs_alpha / GraySon_Phase02 / CodedAssets_v3"

Your first thought is:

Oh my god, they named a prototype ‘Grayson’? What is this, an anime?

Your second:

Cool. More dumb WayneTech documentation. Maybe I can finally go home.

So you click it.

And twenty seconds later, after bypassing a laughably weak encryption key (seriously, who still uses birthday codes?), you’re staring at a directory full of what are clearly mission logs. From vigilantes. Who operate out of a cave. With bats.

You lean back, sip your drink, and sigh.

“Well. That explains so much about this company.”

You don’t tell anyone—not because you’re scared, but because you’re underpaid, overworked, and Jenkins is still crashing. You simply do not have time for Batman’s extracurriculars.

Which is why, when you return from lunch the next day and find Damian Wayne himself waiting at your desk like a final boss, you groan out loud.

“You accessed a restricted directory,” he says flatly.

You drop into your seat. “Congrats. Want a cookie?”

He stares. “That information is classified.”

“So is the state of your backend infrastructure,” you reply, pulling up your terminal. “Your firewalls are like, held together with duct tape and prayer. You’re lucky I didn’t accidentally trigger a missile.”

He’s silent for a beat. You look at him, smirk creeping across your face.

“Oh wait,” you say, “I’m supposed to act shocked, right?”

You cup your hand around your mouth and whisper dramatically, “You know who.”

Damian visibly restrains the urge to walk into traffic.

“I’m not gonna tell anyone,” you assure him, typing lazily. “I’m too busy fixing Jenkins and wondering if I can make rice in a coffee pot. I have bigger problems.”

“…What is Jenkins?” he mutters.

“A CI tool,” you say. “It breaks. Constantly. Like you, apparently.”

He mutters something in Arabic that you think is an insult, but you’re too caffeinated to care.

“Besides,” you say, grinning, “You’re kinda short for a terrifying vigilante.”

“I am five-foot-five.”

“Sure”

A few days later…

You see him again, lurking in R&D like a disgruntled gargoyle.

You walk right up to him. “I have an idea.”

He immediately sighs. “No.”

You grin and hand him a rolled-up blueprint. “It’s a modular shock baton with thermal sensing and EMP shielding. Built it on my break. While eating a sandwich.”

He unrolls it and—you see the exact second he realizes it’s actually… good. Really good.

“This is—” he starts, then stops. Glares at you. “You should not be this capable.”

“Aw,” you say, patting his shoulder, “is that your way of saying thank you?”

“I said no such thing.”

“You did in spirit.”

“…Why are you like this?”

You smile, eyes glinting. “You’re fun to mess with.”

I think I’m actually dying. I was working on a Tim fic, minding my business, and then I got a comment from ur-mums-house and genuinely tweaked. Like. Fully spiraled. So then I went rummaging through the massive (for some reason??) collection of fics I’ve written and never posted, searching for anything Damian-related for ur-mums-house—and now here we are. Okay. Gonna go back to working on my Tim fic now. Bye bye 👋 .

[shortnsweetsposts]

Damian: I can feel it here *placed a hand over his chest*

Dick: In your stomach?

Bat!reader: In his heart, Richard. Not everyone's stomach fills their whole chest.

[x-gabrielle-x]

Bruce: Has anybody seen Reader today? She hasn't answered any of my texts since last night.

Tim: She told me she had an important errand to run last time I saw her.

Cass: Wasn't that, like, yesterday during lunch?

Tim: ...Yeah

Bruce: So... she's missing?

*Batfam, panicking and preparing to go on a search*

Damian, watching the chaos unfold: She's hiding in the Batmobile eating ice-cream.

Batfam: ...

Bruce: On my leather seats?

Damian: ...

Damian: Don't tell her I told you.

[the-halloween-jack]

DC ✢ When he admitted he loved you

Characters: Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian and Clark. This is a companion piece to another headcanon called 'When he realised he loved you' linked here. Though, you can still read it independently.

B R U C E⠀W A Y N E

Bruce did not say it in a quiet moment — for such moments were rare. Though, when they did find him, he spent them with you in silence. Not with words but simply by being near, by existing in your presence.

No. It came during an argument. One of those arguments that shakes the very foundations of a relationship — not because of what was said, but because of what had never been, what was expected.

You had asked him — raw, wounded — what you meant to him. What all this was. Why he kept forming barriers between you, when all you had ever wanted to do was break through.

His answer had been frigid. Precise. Calculated and sharpened. A blade forged from old habits, Bruce wielded it with an unconscious mastery, a last-ditch defence mechanism perfected over decades.

You left. Not in fury, but in heartbreak, disappointment — the kind that does not cry, does not scream, but simply broods into silence. Your absence rang louder than a slammed door, louder than any yell you could have mustered.

Alfred did not speak. Just passed Bruce in the hallway with the kind of look that had once made him sit straighter as a boy. And now, it made him feel small once more, as though he were still a child.

Time passed and still, silence.

He found you in the garden, beneath a sky now thick with stars, the sun had still been gleaming when you had hurried away. You had not been crying. You were still. And in that stillness, he saw the damage he had inflicted upon you.

‘I can’t seem to protect what I love,’ he said, words fractured, conflicted. ‘Not my parents. Not Jason… Not you —’ 

You turned. Not startled by the confession, but by the break in his voice. You had never seen him like this before, never so fragile. 

‘But I do. I love you. I want… I need you to know that.’

It was not cinematic. No kiss. No arms thrown around shoulders. Just him, standing before you, hollowed by an atypical honesty, praying you would believe him — even if he was undeserving of that trust.

And you did. You believed him. Bruce could see it in the ease of your countenance, in the smile that now warmed your face. But even so, he apologised as though he had committed a most heinous crime.

You pulled yourself to your feet, still wordless. And enveloped him in your arms.

‘I love you too, Bruce.’

D I C K⠀G R A Y S O N

Dick meant to say it casually — with that charming nonchalance that usually came so naturally to him. He had rehearsed it, even. Smiled in the mirror once or twice. But it never felt right, never felt adequate. It was too simple a word to describe what he felt for you. 

But love, he discovered, should not wait for perfect timing.

It came unexpectedly late one evening, while a movie played in the background — some low-budget film neither of you had been truly watching. Your head was on his shoulder. His thumb was tracing invisible shapes into your side.

And then — suddenly breathless, it had grown too large to contain, he could not hold it any longer,

‘You know I love you, right?’

You blinked like someone newly roused from a dream, and looked at him as though he had spoken in a foreign language. Dick was not confident he had not. 

When you remained quiet, he chuckled, uneasy. And brought his hand to the back of his neck, in a nervous, boyish manner. 

‘I mean — I have. For a while. I just didn’t want to ruin it by...’ He trailed off, not quite sure what he was saying. 

You remained quiet for a few moments more, contemplating. The juncture of silence stretched taut, he held his breath. And then you smiled. 

As soft as the moonlight now shining through the curtains, you whispered, ‘I love you, too.’

He kissed you gently, as though he were trying to make up for all the times he had not said it sooner. In that moment, he was not Dick Grayson, he was not Nightwing or the Boy Wonder — he was simply someone lucky enough to be loved by you.

To this day, he cannot for the life of him remember the movie that had been playing. All he could remember was that smile — the way it had already lit up your eyes by the time it reached your mouth and the enthralling, glowing warmth that had flooded his system.

J A S O N⠀T O D D

You were stitching him up again — hands steady, breath shallow, a routine so familiar it hurt. Nothing fatal. Nothing new. His form was half-draped in shadow, skin cold under your touch. You sat cross-legged before him. 

‘You’ve got to stop doing this,’ you murmured, not for the first time and certainly not the last. 

He did not answer. Because what would he tell you? Not the truth, you would not want to hear it. Every stitched-up wound felt like proof that you cared; he could not resist the temptation. He did not believe you could love a man like him, but when he felt your gentle fingers work over his skin, he let himself consider it; he let himself yearn. 

‘I’d die for you, you know?’ he muttered. Off-handed. As though it were the most obvious thing, as though it were as easy as breathing.

A frown turned your face. ‘That’s not comforting, Jason.’

And then — something unspooled. A thread that had been pulled too tight for too long. Jason sighed.

‘What I was trying to say… What I meant was… I love you —’ He looked into your eyes, gaze piercing, willing you to see the truth of it. 

The words had flooded out like a barrage breaking open. ‘That’s all I’m trying to say. I’d die for you because… I can’t picture a world without you in it. I wouldn’t want to.’ He shivered at this, at the concept of a sphere you did not grace, the very notion made him ill. 

You stilled. Hands held suspended above him, pausing their work.

He was not looking for a response — only a release; he had needed this off his chest. But you gave him one anyway.

‘I love you, too.’ You had uttered it so softly, had Jason not already been watching your lips, he may have missed it. His breath caught — not in fear, but in awe — as though his lungs had momentarily forgotten their most natural function.

Your words felt like electricity brimming beneath his skin — like every nerve had been awoken at once. A new fullness bloomed within his chest, as though the ribs could no longer host his heart; as if it had suddenly grown too large to contain.

He spoke up again, softer this time,  ‘I’ll try to live for you too. That part’s harder. But believe me when I say I want it. More than anything.’ He gave you one of his rare smiles, and your heart jolted.

You silently placed the first aid materials to the side and leaned in, placing your head against his shoulder. After a short while you shifted, leaving scattered kisses across his fading scars, lingering on each for a moment, he felt that same electricity once more. 

Your hands ghosted over him like he were something precious, as though the ruin of him was worth loving, and that was the message you were trying to convey, what you were trying to have him understand.

Jason did not sleep that night. Not out of pain or panic, but because he was afraid it had been a dream. That peace, for someone like him, was more fragile, more fleeting than any reverie; and he could not stand the idea of waking up.

T I M⠀D R A K E

You both had been working late, each focused on your own tasks, yet relishing in the silent company of one another; the peace of it. Tim sat at his desk, while you lay across his bed, legs swinging behind you with a pen in hand.

Tim had asked you to stay at the manor for the night, but you had gently refused, reminding him you had work in the morning. You got up and walked over, placing both hands on either shoulder. You then pressed a kiss to his temple and whispered in his ear.

‘I better head off now.’ He leaned his head back into you, and his eyes met yours, smiling.

And then — too casually, too instinctively — he said, ‘Okay, love you.’

The words had flowed out like a torrent. A sudden, unexpected failure in his system.

Then a silence dropped like a stone in deep water — sudden, heavy, and irreversible; absolute.

He froze. His eyes were wide, as though the phrase had been spoken by an imposter, by someone else within his skin. He had known this fact for a long time, it had only been a matter of time.

‘I didn’t — I mean — that wasn’t—well, it was, but —’ He stopped. His words crashed over each other, panicked and sputtered.

You tilted your head. Shock the dominant expression on your face.

‘You love me?’

He nodded, slowly, it would be silly to deny it; to lie. Shame crept into the corners of his expression. What if he had said it too soon? What if the word drew you away?  Then suddenly you smiled, as though you had been waiting for this exact failure, this exact slip-up.

‘Well… that’s good,’ your whisper was tender. ‘Because I love you too.’

And just like that, his spiralling mind halted. His thoughts — so often a storm of what-ifs and whys — were suddenly still.

And in that stillness, something shifted.

The tension in his shoulders eased and melted away. He let out a breath he had not realised he had been holding — shaky, but smiling. It was not his usual tight-lipped smirk, nor the polite upward curve he would give strangers — this one was real. Quiet, disbelieving and full.

You leaned downward and rested your forehead against his, your hand moving to cradle his cheek. Tim leaned into it like he had been starved of its softness. You spoke through a grin.

‘Maybe I should stick around. Was that your plan all along?’

D A M I A N⠀W A Y N E⠀(Aged up as Batman)

Damian did not like the word love. Not at first. The word felt paltry. Trite. A flippant syllable never built to hold the sheer weight of what he carried for you.

You had just bested him in sparring. You always did, but only because he allowed it — Damian would sooner impale himself on his training blade than admit it, but it was not as though you were unaware. You had thought it cute, an adjective you would never dare utter to his face. 

Damian had no shortage of self-pride. The fact he was willing to sacrifice it, simply to please you, always left you breathless. 

You extended your hand to guide him up, but he simply stared at it from his place on the mat, his gaze shifting upward. You were standing over him, a barely contained smirk donning your features. 

‘You do not understand what you mean to me,’ he said, voice low and filled with a thousand ulterior meanings, though they bled through, his tone turning earnest.

You did not speak. You simply waited.

‘This feeling,’ he tried again, ‘it disrupts everything. My training. My thoughts. My plans. Everything. It… it…’ He trailed off, not sure how to finish what he was saying, not confident that the words capable of conveying these feelings were extant across any vernacular, it seemed too implausible. 

You smiled, faintly. ‘You mean love?’

He flinched like you had cursed. But then — after a moment — he nodded.

‘Yes. That.’ It was not enough, but he figured he would concede. ‘I feel it. Unwillingly. But truthfully.’

You laughed, it was warm and bell-like. It struck something tender in him, something still learning to hope.

‘I love you too, Damian.’

How was it, that word he had held with such contempt, such scrutiny and scepticism, was suddenly so weighted, so gorgeous uttered from your lips? How was it so impactful now it was directed towards him? 

He looked away, not from shame, but from overwhelm. He had fought assassins, atrocious criminals, and the weight of his father’s legacy — but never had he felt something as all-consuming as being wanted, as overwhelming as the thought of your love.

C L A R K⠀K E N T

He had told you on a rooftop. Not because it was histrionic, but because it was distant — far above the world’s inescapable noise, yet still beneath its stars. 

You were talking about something entirely ordinary. Rent, perhaps. The cost of your water bill.

But he was not listening, not truly. He watched as your lips moved and thought only of how he yearned to kiss them, to wake up to them each and every morning. 

And then he looked at you. Really looked. And the words came like wind through the ether — soft, inevitable.

‘I love you.’ He had cut you off, but it needed to be said. He could not have lived another moment without these words held suspended between you. 

You smiled, easy. ‘I know.’

But he shook his head. Shifting closer. There was an ache in his voice, a gravity to it.

‘No. I love you. Not in the way people say when they’re hanging up the phone. Or when they leave for work in the morning. I love you like… like…’ He paused, eyebrows furrowed, ‘I’m not sure I can put it into words —’ He places his hands on either side of your cheeks. 

You stopped breathing.

‘You’ve given me something no one else has,’ he said, his voice near breaking. ‘Not because you wanted a hero. But because you saw me — as nothing more than a man. The farmboy. The one who still forgets to fold his laundry, after you’ve already asked him five times…’

You let out a sudden laugh, but it was not for his joke, your joy at his admission could not be contained; it surged out. You kissed him.

‘I love you, too.’ You murmured, Clark could hear the smile within your voice. Then he thought of the stars glimmering upon them, they shone bright, yet still somehow paled in your comparison. 

I was thinking of expanding upon the Jason Todd section and turning it into its own one-shot, would anyone be interested in that? Every comment and piece of advice is welcomed and appreciated <3

[natsukicookies]

The sinful allure

A reverse harem batboys x succubus!reader

No proper beta read, we die like jason todd

Prologue < masterlist > chapter 2

Sun crept through your window, bright and annoying. You groaned, burying your face into your pillow, hoping to squeeze out just a few more minutes of sleep. But flashes of the previous night flickered in your mind—your newfound powers, the strange allure you’d suddenly developed, the rush of something dark and thrilling awakening inside you.

With a sigh, you peeled yourself out of your soft bed, half-convinced it had all been some bizarre dream. But a quick glance in the mirror, the faint shimmer of your eyes catching the light, reminded you otherwise.

You looked down at the pendant, letting it dangle from your fingers as you stepped out of your room. The familiar weight was comforting, yet now it felt heavier, almost like it held secrets you weren’t ready to understand. Your gaze drifted down the hall to your mom’s door, firmly shut. She’d come home super late, probably just before dawn. She was likely out cold by now, lost in whatever sleep she could scrape together.

You wanted to tell her about last night, about everything you’d discovered. She probably knew something, after all. She’d always insisted you wear this pendant, almost as if it was meant to protect you from something... or someone.

Your fingers traced the edges of the pendant as you took a hesitant step toward her room. You bit your lip, torn between the need to tell her and the fear of what she might say. Just as you raised your hand to knock on her door, a voice whispered in the back of your mind, warning you to stop. It was soft but certain, urging you to turn back, to keep this one thing to yourself.

With a sigh, you lowered your hand, stepping back from the door. Maybe telling her wasn’t the right move after all. Not yet.

You tucked the pendant back under your shirt and headed for the bathroom to get ready before taking your stuff and heading out the front as quietly as you could.

Did you want to go to college? No, you would much rather sleep in, since sleeping makes you not think about your problems. But do you have that luxury? Also no. Attending GSU means having an attendance above 85%.

So, off you went.

As you walked across campus, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. People kept staring at you—casual glances, lingering looks, the kind of attention that made you want to shrink back. You checked yourself quickly—did you have something weird on your clothes? Was there something in your hair?, it took a moment before it finally clicked.

You were drawing them in, your powers was pulling their attention without you even trying.

A few students casually glanced over their shoulders as they walked past you, their eyes lingering a little too long. You could feel the shift in the air, a subtle magnetism you couldn’t turn off.

Not good, you thought. The last thing you needed was to be a walking distraction.

You quickened your pace, hoping to avoid any further attention, but the feeling stuck with you. Your powers were already starting to affect your daily life, and you had no idea how to control them.

You practically sprinted to the nearest campus bathroom and locked yourself in one of the stalls, your breathing still a bit shaky. “Okay, get yourself together,” you muttered, pressing your palms to your cheeks. You gave yourself a light slap for good measure. “Don’t attract unwanted attention.”

You shook your head, gripping the pendant around your neck. "Not now," you murmured, your voice barely a whisper. "Please," you pleaded, hoping for some way to keep this strange new energy from leaking out.

For a moment, the pendant seemed to pulse, a faint glow that was almost too subtle to notice. You blinked, wondering if you’d imagined it, but there was no time to figure it out.

A glance at your phone made your heart skip—you had only a few minutes before your lecture started. With one last, steadying breath, you unlocked the stall and stepped out, trying to convince yourself that everything would be fine.

You slipped into the lecture as the teacher was preparing to start and found a seat in the back row.

You noticed a few people glancing your way, but you forced yourself to ignore it, focusing instead on the lecture—or at least pretending to. A few rows ahead sat Timothy Drake-Wayne. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy. He had it all: wealth, great grades despite being absent half the time, and, annoyingly, he looked good doing it.

You chewed on your bottom lip, still burning holes into the back of his head with your gaze. Timothy Drake, the ever-diligent student, sat there calm and collected like the top student he was.

Lost in thought, you didn’t notice when he shifted slightly, glancing back as if sensing your gaze. Your heart jumped into your throat, and you quickly looked away, pretending to be utterly engrossed in the lecture slides on your laptop.

You cursed softly under your breath, hunching over your notebook as You tried to look engrossed in the lecture, scribbling random notes as if they were the most important thing in the world. To anyone watching, you probably looked like a model student—if only that were actually true.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could feel Tim lingering for a second longer before turning back to his notes. You exhaled slowly, shaking your head.

Great job, you thought sarcastically. Staring at the guy like some creep definitely won’t raise any suspicion.

Somehow, you managed to avoid everyone by lunchtime. Unfortunately, that's where your luck decided to run out. 

Just as you were about to sit down with your tray of food, a hand landed on your shoulder from behind. Startled, you turned to see a tall girl with long raven-black hair and a dazzling smile. 

"Hi there! I'm Yumiko!" she said enthusiastically. 

"Uh... hi?" you replied awkwardly, blinking at her.

Before you could process much else, she practically pushed you into a seat and plopped down beside you, throwing an arm around your shoulders like you were old pals. You stiffened. Was this your powers at work? Did they affect women too?

Great. You sarcastically remarked inside your head.

"You’re in the computer science major, right?" she asked brightly. 

Instead of answering right away, you found yourself distracted, noting the expensive-looking way her hair was styled and the designer clothes she was wearing. One of the Richie Rich types on campus. 

"Yeah, I am," you finally replied, setting your tray on the table and introducing yourself. 

"Oh, I know who you are," she said with a grin. "I’ve seen you around a lot. Always alone much?" 

Her tone wasn’t mocking, exactly, but it still made you feel a bit exposed. You laughed awkwardly, hoping she’d leave it at that. She didn’t. 

To your dismay, Yumiko stayed glued to your side for the entire lunch, talking non-stop. She was a confident yapper and had no problem carrying the conversation entirely on her own. 

By the time lunch ended, it was clear she’d decided you were her new best friend. Was this how people made friends these days? Just walk up to someone and start yapping until they give up? 

It seems you just got adopted by an extrovert and It is yet to know if that's a good thing or a bad.

The rest of the day went by in a blur, and by the time your classes ended, the universe decided to throw in another curveball: rain. A sudden, heavy downpour. 

You stood under the overhang at the university's entrance, watching as people dashed out with backpacks over their heads or casually strolled under umbrellas. Unfortunately for you, your umbrella was sitting somewhere in your closet at home. In your defence, the rain had come out of nowhere. 

Letting out a sigh, you leaned against the wall, wondering how long you’d have to wait for it to stop. Just then, a tall guy caught your attention. His arms were stacked full of art supplies—sketchbooks, tubes of paint, and a container of brushes precariously balanced on top. 

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, eyebrows raised. Is he even able to see? How does he plan to get anywhere like that in this weather?

The thought had barely finished crossing your mind when, somehow, he pulled out an umbrella with one hand, expertly snapping it open without dropping a single item.

Well, if that isn't a skill, then you don't know what is.

Your admiration was short-lived, though, as you noticed a box of brushes tumble to the ground. Without thinking, you stepped forward. 

"Oh, let me help," you said, bending down to pick it up. His hands were full, and there was no way he could manage it on his own. 

You bent down and grabbed the box of brushes, carefully gathering the scattered ones that had fallen out. Straightening up, you turned to hand it back to him, the words already forming on your lips.

“Here you go—”

But then you froze.

Your gaze travelled up, taking in the neatly pressed blazer, the dark green eyes that seemed to hold a perpetual sharpness, and the ever-so-slight frown on his lips. You blinked, your brain catching up with your eyes.

It was Damian Wayne.

The Damian Wayne.

Your mind reeled. He wasn’t just some rich kid with impeccable manners -though he clearly was-. No, he was practically Gotham royalty, the youngest son of Bruce Wayne. You’d seen him before, of course—art major, quiet, always exuding a weird mix of arrogance and composure.

“Oh,” you said dumbly, still holding the box of brushes like you’d forgotten how hands worked.

He tilted his head slightly, his piercing gaze flicking to the box and then back to you. “Thank you,” he said, his tone polite but clipped, as though he were in a hurry.

You quickly snapped out of it and held the box out to him, feeling your cheeks heat up. “Uh, yeah. No problem.”

Damian reached for it, but his full hands made it a bit awkward. Before you could think better of it, you blurted out, “Do you need help carrying all that?”

He paused, eyes narrowing slightly as if assessing your motives. “I can manage,” he replied, though the strain in his arms told a different story.

“Seriously,” you pressed, “you’re one gust of wind away from dropping everything.”

Normally, you wouldn't have said that; you definitely would've just backed away, not offered to help or get involved with rich kids, but the whole day hasn't been normal.

And to your surprise, a small, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “If you insist,” he said, stepping slightly closer and shifting some of the weight your way.

He handed you a few of the items, ones that you could easily hold with one hand. You adjusted your grip, but as you looked up at him, you noticed he was still carrying the rest of the art supplies awkwardly in his arms.

You tilted your head slightly, then stretched out your other arm. “I can hold the umbrella too,” you offered, a little surprised at your boldness.

Damian raised an eyebrow at you, clearly considering your offer. For a moment, he didn’t respond, just watching you with those calculating green eyes. Finally, he gave a small shrug and passed you the umbrella.

You opened the umbrella and held it over the both of you. “Let’s go,” you said confidently, starting to walk.

But then you glanced up at the man next to you and had to bite your lip to hold back a laugh.

Damian’s expression was as composed as ever, but there was no denying the issue: you were too short. The angle of the umbrella was blocking his view, forcing him to tilt his head slightly just to see ahead.

“You’re... not very tall, are you?” he finally said, his tone dry but not unkind, though you could hear the faintest trace of amusement beneath it.

You bristled, your grip on the umbrella tightening as your cheeks warmed. “I-I’m average height,” you mumbled, trying to sound confident but failing miserably.

'It's you who built like a damn tree', you thought to yourself, biting your inner cheeks.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with your defence. “If you say so.”

You opened your mouth to respond but quickly snapped it shut, unsure of what to say. Instead, you focused on adjusting the umbrella, standing on your tiptoes to raise it higher.

“Better?” you asked, your voice small.

Damian stared at you for a good second before saying “Not really,” his tone wasn’t harsh. “You’re going to hurt yourself doing that.”

Your face heated up even more as you avoided his gaze. “I’m fine,” you muttered, though your arms were already starting to ache from the awkward angle.

With a small sigh, Damian reached out and gently adjusted the umbrella himself, tilting it slightly so it covered you both without blocking his view. “There. Now you don’t have to strain yourself.

“Thanks,” you murmured, feeling awkward but grateful. You focused on the ground as you walked, the sound of the rain filling the silence.

It was hard to tell if he found the situation funny or frustrating, but either way, you were too embarrassed to look up and find out.

The walk wasn’t too far, and as you approached the university gates, you noticed the sleek, black Lamborghini parked right outside. Your eyes widened slightly, though you quickly tried to play it cool, pretending like you weren’t totally awestruck. It wasn’t every day you saw a Lamborghini up close, let alone one waiting for someone you were walking with. 

The window rolled down, revealing an older man with a composed expression. A butler? His sharp eyes flicked to you briefly before returning to Damian. “Master Damian,” the man greeted, his voice formal but warm. Then his gaze shifted back to you. “A friend?” 

You quickly shook your head, the thought of being called Damian Wayne’s friend feeling almost laughable. 

“She’s helping,” Damian confirmed curtly, already moving to take the supplies out of your hands. He carefully loaded them into the car with practised ease, his movements quick and efficient. 

You stepped back, awkwardly holding the umbrella as he climbed into the passenger seat. “Um, the umbrella,” you said, fumbling to close it so you could hand it back to him. 

But before you could, he glanced at you and said, “Keep it,” in a tone that left no room for argument. 

With that, the car door shut, and you barely had time to process what just happened before the butler gave you a polite nod. “Thank you for assisting Master Damian,” he said with a faint smile before driving off, leaving you standing there in the rain with the umbrella still in your hand. 

You stared after the car, baffled. What just happened? You looked down at the umbrella in your hand, its sleek design and obvious quality making it clear it wasn’t some cheap, replaceable thing. 

“Keep it?” you murmured to yourself, still confused. Did rich people just give away expensive umbrellas like it was nothing...? 

It seems your 18th birthday just couldn’t get more unpredictable...or surreal.

It was no point lingering here any longer, and hence why you made your way home.

As soon as you opened the front door, you yelped in surprise at the loud pop that echoed through the apartment. "Happy birthday!"

Your eyes widened as you took in the sight of your mom standing there with a birthday blaster in her hand, confetti raining down around you both.

"Thank you..." you said, still in shock. She hadn’t done anything like this since you were 15, and the memory of those days made you feel both nostalgic and awkward.

You stepped inside, setting the umbrella by the door, and your gaze fell on the small cake sitting on the dining table. Your favourite flavour, So she still remembers.

Your mom smiled sheepishly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I know it’s not much, but... I didn’t want to let the day go by without doing something.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat and forced a smile. “It’s perfect.”

You and your mom enjoyed the cake together, talking about lighthearted things—you did your best to steer the conversation away from the weirdness that had been haunting you all day. 

It almost felt perfect, like it was before but that's when your delusional ass got kicked back into the reality as you saw your mom got up and put her coat on.

“Wait, are you going to work?” you asked, standing up quickly. 

She glanced at the time on her phone and gave you a sad smile. “Yes, dear. I have work.” 

You opened your mouth, a plea to stay stuck in your throat. Instead, you forced yourself to smile. “It’s fine.” 

It’s fine to leave your daughter alone on her birthday. 

She leaned in to kiss your forehead, but you instinctively stepped back. Her shoulders sagged slightly at the motion, but she didn’t press the issue. Instead, she sighed and gave a small nod. “Well, make sure to keep the pendant on,” she said, her gaze lingering on it for a moment too long. You hoped she didn’t notice anything strange about it. 

Biting your lip, you hesitated before speaking, your voice barely above a whisper. “Why do I have to keep wearing it?” 

Her expression tightened for a split second before softening. “Because I said so, and your mother knows best.” 

With that, she walked out, leaving you alone with more questions than answers.

The door closed with a soft click, and just like that, you were alone again in the small apartment. The emptiness pressed down on you, heavier than usual. 

You gathered the used plates and carried them to the sink, washing them on autopilot. As you stared at the faint reflection of yourself in one of the plates, an ache bloomed in your chest. 

Today felt more lonely than ever... You weren’t sure why. 

Your thoughts were interrupted by a faint glow from your pendant. The soft pink light pulsed, almost as if it were alive—calling for you to do something, urging you to take action. 

You raised it to eye level, your fingers tightening around it. The faint light danced in front of your eyes as if it were mocking you. 

"Why?" you whispered to yourself, your grip tightening further. Your mind is filled with all the times your mom has done this; she always does this.

With a burst of frustration, you ripped the pendant from around your neck. “Screw you, Mom,” you muttered under your breath. 

The moment the pendant left your neck, the world around you seemed to shift. A surge of energy coursed through your body, and when you glanced down, your reflection in the darkened kitchen window startled you. 

Your entire appearance had changed. 

You took a shaky breath, shoving the pendant deep into the pocket of your suit. It was clear that whatever this pendant was hiding, you weren’t going to ignore it any longer.

You went out through the balcony but made sure you closed it back; the last thing you want is to get smth stolen.

Flying up in the sky made you instantly feel better; the cold air was calming, though you do wish Gotham was a bit less polluted. Maybe you could see stars or maybe not.

You landed softly on the rooftop, your gaze drifting to the edge. For a moment, you imagined yourself sitting there, legs swinging freely over the city below, just like in the movies. But the thought of the dizzying drop made your stomach twist. Your feet stayed rooted in place. Instead, you turned to the railing, gripping its cool metal as you leaned against it, keeping a safe distance from the edge.

You let out a heavy sigh, still gazing down at the gloomy city below.

“You.” A deep male voice called out from behind you. Startled, you spun around, only to feel the cold, sharp edge of a katana hovering dangerously close to your neck. Instinctively, you stepped back—only to find the railing pressing against your spine.

You looked up at the owner of the katana, your eyes met their narrowed gaze behind a black domino mask. "Do not even think of escaping," he said, his tone as sharp as the weapon he wielded.

You gulped, your grip tightening on the railing as if it could anchor you away from the danger at your throat. “I’m not a shady person,” you tried your voice a mix of nervousness and forced confidence. Explaining was your best shot at avoiding whatever this guy had planned.

Robin. Another one of the bats. The rumours said he had no mercy, and it didn’t take long to believe them. Who else greets a stranger by shoving a katana in their face?

And those steps- silent as the grave. You hadn’t even heard him approach. There was no way you could fight him. Maybe... in bed-

You shook off the inappropriate thought, heat creeping up your neck, and faced the tall figure before you. “How about we put this away first?” you gestured at the katana, a sly smile tugging at your lips.

He didn’t move. If anything, the tilt of his head made him seem more intimidating, his expression unreadable under the mask. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?” His voice was calm, but there was an unmissable authority behind it, the kind that left no room for excuses.

Your smile faltered into a tight line. Okay, so this one wasn’t going to be as easy to fool as the last guy. “Can’t a girl just go out for some fresh air?” you replied, planting a hand on your hip in mock indignation.

Robin’s eyes narrowed further, the suspicion practically radiating from him. “Who are you with? Catwoman?”

“Huh? No!” you protested, your hands flailing in emphasis. “I’m-”

Before you could finish, a faint voice crackled through the earpiece he wore. His expression shifted slightly as he tilted his head, listening intently to whatever was being said.

After a moment, he replied curtly, “She is.”

You raised an eyebrow, your curiosity piqued. She is what? You wanted to ask, but the words didn’t make it past your lips.

To your relief, he finally lowered the katana, though his sharp gaze remained fixed on you. Letting out a sigh, you resisted the urge to slump against the railing in pure relief. At least you weren’t about to be beheaded- yet.

But before you could decide whether to thank him or try to bolt, another sound broke through the tension—metal clinking above, followed by heavy footsteps landing on the rooftop. You tensed instinctively, darting a glance over Robin’s shoulder.

Robin, seemed to know who it was as he slid his katana back into its sheath. That alone was enough for you to guess it was one of the other bats. You silently prayed it wasn’t Batman; you weren’t confident you could sneak away from the Dark Knight, yet.

The figure stepped into the dim light, revealing a man wearing a black domino mask that hid his eyes. Unlike Robin’s primarily grey ensemble, this one wore a striking red and black suit, with a belt strapped diagonally across his shoulders

You squinted, trying to piece together who this newcomer could be. Truth be told, you weren’t exactly up to date with the ever-growing roster of vigilantes. Guess it was time to add “study Gotham’s masked weirdos” to your to-do list- because, apparently, those guys couldn’t seem to leave you alone.

"Um, Red Hood?" you ventured, tilting your head slightly as you took a wild guess.

The man froze mid-step, then turned to you with a look that could peel paint off walls. “Red Hood?!” he repeated, his voice a mix of disbelief and offense. “Do I look like a giant, violent dog to you?!”

You bit back a laugh, but the smile still slipped through. “No,” you said, tapping your chin like you were pondering. “You look more like… a twink.”

"The guy’s shoulders tensed as if bracing for an explosion.

“A what?” the man barked, his voice pitching higher as his hands shot to his hips.

“A twink,” you repeated, your grin widening. “Wait, no. Maybe a twunk? Hard to say, really.”

The twitch in his eye was subtle, but it made you laugh quite a bit. Robin let out a quiet sigh, muttering something about “unprofessional” under his breath.

You wipe the tear off your eye as you calmed down from the laughter. Both the boys were whispering about something as you were quietly thinking about your escape plan.

You carefully take a look around you, noticing that their attention isn't fully on you as they seem to be too busy arguing with each other on smth.

Drawing a deep breath, you focused on your core, feeling a subtle warmth spread through your core to your whole body as your senses sharpen.

With a sudden, fluid motion, you stepped back toward the edge of the rooftop. The cool night air whipped around you as you balanced precariously on the ledge. The city lights below seemed to blur into a mosaic of possibilities.

"Hey!" Robin's voice cut through the night, alarm replacing suspicion as he realized your intent.

But before he or his companion could react, you let yourself fall backward, embracing the void. The sensation of freefall was both terrifying and liberating, a testament to your trust in your new found powers.

As you plummeted, you blew a playful kiss toward the rapidly shrinking figures above. However, just before you could activate your abilities to halt your descent, a sudden jerk halted your fall.

Glancing down, you saw a rope coiled tightly around your left leg, its other end leading upward. Your eyes followed the line to see the man beside Robin wielding a grapple gun, his expression determined.

"Is that a fucking grapple gun?!" you yelled, throwing your arms up in exasperation as you felt yourself being pulled back toward the rooftop.

“Hello again,” you greeted with a wry smile, though it held no warmth.

“Figures why Nightwing told us to be on high alert…” the shorter one muttered under his breath, his tone tinged with annoyance.

Your pout deepened as you realized that wonder boy from yesterday had snitched on you. Mentally cursing Nightwing, you shifted in place, your bindings reminding you just how little freedom you currently had.

“Can you two at least untie me?” you asked, feigning boredom. “I’ll have you know I’m not into this kink… yet.”

Robin rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed by your sass. His irritation radiated like a tangible force as he turned away, refusing to dignify your remark with a response.

The one they called Red Robin, however, crouched down to your level, studying you with a curious intensity. His eyes, though hidden behind his mask, felt like they were peeling back layers, trying to uncover the truth buried beneath your casual façade.

“And what exactly are you into?” he asked, his voice calm but tinged with dry humor, as though testing your reaction.

You tilted your head, your smile sharpening. “Wouldn’t you like to know?"

Suddenly a loud blast echoed from a nearby building, shaking the air and rattling the rooftop beneath you.

All three of you turned your heads toward the source of the explosion. Smoke billowed into the night sky, mingling with Gotham’s ever-present haze.

Robin’s sharp gaze immediately snapped back to you, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Was that your doing?” he demanded, his tone icy and accusatory.

You gasped dramatically, tugging at the ropes still binding you. “Excuse me? No! Do I look like I have the time—or the hands free—to plant explosives?”

Robin’s expression remained skeptical, but before he could retort, a crackle from their earpieces interrupted. Both vigilantes stiffened as a voice—likely Batman’s—relayed urgent information.

After a brief exchange, the two of them nodded in silent agreement. You looked between them, utterly bewildered. “What’s going on?” you asked, even though you weren’t expecting an answer.

To your surprise, Red Robin turned to you, his tone clipped but calm. “Someone’s planted multiple bombs in that building. We have to disarm them now.”

“Oh…” you muttered, the gravity of the situation sinking in. Then you wriggled slightly against the ropes. “So, uh, are you going to untie me before you leave?”

Robin’s glare made it clear he wasn’t about to do that. “Stay here until we get back,” he snapped.

“Wait—” you started to protest, but before you could say more, they were gone. Their grappling hooks hissed through the air as they launched themselves toward the chaos, leaving you alone.

You stared at the empty rooftop, slack-jawed. “Huh… HUH?!” you shouted, twisting against the ropes in frustration. “Did they really just leave me tied up here?! What if I get kidnapped? Or, I don’t know, fall off the roof and die?!”

Okay, maybe you were being a little dramatic. But still, leaving you like this? Super rude. 

With a resigned sigh, you shuffled to your feet—no easy feat with your hands bound behind your back. The ropes dug into your wrists as you tested their strength. They were sturdy, clearly designed to restrain someone a lot more dangerous than you. Breaking them wasn’t an option, not with brute strength alone. 

“Great,” you muttered under your breath. “Just fantastic.”

You leaned back against the rooftop’s edge, tilting your head toward the sky. A lone bat flitted across the moonlit expanse, its wings slicing effortlessly through the cool night air. 

“Must be nice to be a bat,” you murmured wistfully. “No ropes, no problems… Just flying wherever you want. Way less complicated.”

The words had barely left your lips when a strange sensation washed over you. The world around you shifted, twisting like a kaleidoscope. Your vision blurred, the rooftop spinning before your eyes. 

You blinked, once, twice, and when the dizziness faded, you looked down. 

Your hands—or rather, where your hands used to be—were gone. In their place were tiny claws, and your body was… smaller? 

“What the—?” you squeaked, but the sound that came out wasn’t your voice—it was a high-pitched chirp. 

Flapping your wings instinctively, you darted upward, and that’s when it hit you.

“I… I’m a bat?!” you yelled—or at least, you tried to. It came out more like a shrill squeak, echoing awkwardly in the night air. Glancing down, you noticed the ropes that had bound you lying uselessly on the ground. It seems that, your transformation has freed you. 

You flapped your tiny wings experimentally, marveling at how effortlessly you soared higher into the sky. Okay, this was… weird. Cool, but weird. 

Now you had two options. One: go home, curl up with some ice cream, and forget this entire bizarre night ever happened. Two: follow those Robin birds.

The logical choice was clear. Who in their right mind would willingly chase after the guys who tied them up and left them stranded on a rooftop? 

…You. 

Because apparently, rationality had taken a backseat tonight. Or maybe it was something else. Their scent lingered in the air, tantalizing in a way you couldn’t quite explain. It was rich and enticing, like the promise of a forbidden feast. 

Your stomach—or whatever bats or succubus have—grumbled. Was this hunger? It felt like it.

Or was this your powers messing with your head? Is this what HE meant by urges? You didn’t know, but the pull was irresistible. Without a second thought, you flapped your wings harder, cutting through the air toward the building they’d disappeared into. 

The closer you got, the stronger the scent became, making your thoughts fuzzy. You weren’t literally drooling, but it was a close call. What the hell was happening to you?

Fun fact i got this chapter done on my birthday but had to wait untill i got someone to beta read it :>

Please tell me if theres smth off about the chapter or the personality of the batboys. Since this is my first time writing ab them, im afraid they are gonna be very ooc.

Also how do ppl upload to ao3 i wanna try but its so confusing 😭

Lastly do yall got any hero name for the succubus reader?? Please help a girl out 😔🎀

-

Taglist: @xingyunny @4rachn3 @ferakillia

[venusscore]

Bruce Wayne finds out he has another biological child (reader), except they’re a teenager:

From the get-go, Bruce is nervous around you. He partially feels guilty for missing so much or your life, so he doesn’t know if he can really parent you

He does his best to discourage you from being a vigilante. He doesn’t need another kid to worry about

The first time you gave him some of that teenage attitude, he was shocked. You didn’t seem too sassy, but then he realized you were also a high school student. He had to expect this. He tried to be stern, but it was so difficult! He was so used to his other kids, whose forms of rebellion ranged from fighting villains twice their size without backup, to becoming full on criminals (cough Jason cough). He knew he needed to be stern with you, but how could he when your little sarcastic comments and dressing in clothes he didn’t approve of were the worst you do?

Dick has already had many siblings, and you’re not the first he’d met when they were a teenager. You are, however, the first to not be a vigilante. He wants to relate to you, he really does, but his childhood was a mix of acrobatics and then fighting criminals, so he’s resorted to just listening to you complain about classes and drama, throwing in the occasional “mhm” or comment to show he’s listening and he cares

Jason is NOT used to someone who cannot only take his comments, but fires back with twice the burn. As intelligent as Damian is, he usually results to threats, rather than matching Jason’s tone

So one day, when Jason and you are bickering, he tries to end it with “whatever floats your boat,” in a slightly condescending tone. Before he could walk off, however, you say “at least my boat can float.”

Tim gets along great with you! He’s also a teenager, and he feels somewhat normal when you and him chat about your days

You tell him all the drama and who you’re angry at that week. He loves it. Heck, he even knows some of the people you’re talking about! (Forever 17) With that, you also love to give him advice on his love life, regardless of whether you have or haven’t dated guys.

“Trust me, he was not weirded out when you kissed his cheek last night.” You assure him for the third time while doing your homework. “Are you sure?” He asks again, to which you nod and close your book.

Damian, depending on your age, might have different opinions on you.

If you’re closer to his age (14/15), I’d imagine he’d at first be competitive with you. He’d constantly look down on you and your lack of skills. However, since you’re both in similar (or even the same) classes, he eventually found companionship and asks you for advice. He also constantly listens to your gossiping and drama

If you’re older, though, I think he’d see you similar to how he does Tim. Think maybe the way Sheldon Cooper treats Howard Wolowitz. No, he doesn’t hate you. No, he doesn’t really like you as much as everyone else, but he does internally respect you. He just looks down on your lack of physical ability, compared to him

Stephanie loves you! She remembers being your age, and listening to your high school life is so awesome for her. I think she’d connect with you a bit better if you’re a girl, but you also would be in her favor anyway

Similar to last time, she wants you to be smart. She tries to do brain teasers with you and get you to challenge yourself, to which you humor her with, but there’s been moments you’ve had to just say you’re not in the mood

Duke also gets along great with you! (Depending on the comic, he might be in high school or college, which I’ll base it off of) He’s close in age, and honestly, he too sometimes feels a bit out of place in this huge family, and he’s probably had one of the more normal childhoods out of the group, so you both bond over finally having someone to relate to. He also LOVES when you give that teenage smartass attitude to the others. It makes his day

Cassandra is probably the least close to you. She’s sweet and all, but you both just… don’t relate. However, she one day catches you watching her while she’s training, and is caught off guard. After that, sometimes she’d teach you some basic martial arts moves, just to keep you safe in the danger-zone known as Gotham. You picked up quickly on her non-verbal cues, and now you two are good buds

Extras! (Again):

Barbara likes you a lot! She thought being a teenager was great, and she looooves taking you out to go shopping, chat about friends, or generally just hangout. You’re one of the few she knew as a regular person first, not a vigilante. She was never freakishly smart, and had to always study for good grades, so she happily helps you if you need it, since almost everyone else either didn’t go to school, or is naturally intelligent

Selina is always happy to talk to you. She at first tried to get along so you’d leave a good word to Bruce for her (she’s been pining for too long), but now she genuinely likes you! You tell her about school drama, and in turn, she complains about boring adult stuff and gives you gossip on your dad- it’s great!

Now whenever Bruce complains about women talking to him, or the new date he went on (you can take the man out of the playboy, but not the playboy out of the man), you always throw in something like “Well there’s always Selina” or “Selina would never.”

——————

Guess who has exams next week 😭😭

I already did one of these with toddler reader, but I actually was going to make the original post a teenager, but then I was like “I should do all stages of life!”

But I got burnt out after the first, so I decided to continue that here

thanks for the support on the last one! Y’all are so sweet! I plan on making more bcs this is really fun! Again, if I messed anything up, feel free to lmk

if anyone has any other ideas, I’d love to see them in comments/reposts/messages!

Have a good one!

(Also I love reading reposts/comments in general, so don’t be shy on opinions)

[kimjun]

On mission

Y/N: *taking out a knife* every room can become a panic room if you give me just a fucking minute...

Roy: I'm scared Jay... Jay?

Jason: I'm horny.

[thewritingfairy]

↪ 0.16 you are cursed

PREV PART GOOD ENDING 16 trigger warnings: (threatened) violence, (past, kinda) medical + physical + emotional neglect, DRUGGING SIDE EFFECTS, anger, yandere behaviour, delusional behaviour, swearing, tell me if I missed any!   main m.list      series m.list bad ending m.list

You are going to kill Jason and Dick, even if it’s the last thing you do. Seeing two of your friends rush into your work covered in blood enraged you, it made you push away all of your weird symptoms. You told the supervisor on sight to call an ambulance, to tell them to bill everything to the Wayne household. Anisha, a co-worker who was a doctor in another country, taking care of them, performing first aid to minimise Willow’s bleeding.

“What are you going to do?” Francis asks you, but he couldn’t stand up to stop you. Anisha pushing him down (gently) back on the ground every time he tried to stand up. “(Name), don’t do anything stupid!”

You turn back to him and smile at him. It was as if your world is spinning, even though you don’t know why. You can’t decide if it’s anger or something else, you hope it’s anger. You cannot handle a health crisis right now, not when you need to beat Jason’s and Dick’s ass. “I won’t, Duke will be there.”

But what you don’t know is how he glares at your friends when they come to close, how he puts on a face of innocence around you. Sure, Duke is way better then the rest of your family, but your friends cannot help but feel like something’s off. It will be alright, Francis knows this. He knows that Duke isn’t as bad as the others and never could be. But he follows them when they go out, at least that seems to scare of the Bats.

Francis doesn’t want to let you go, but he knows how you are. He knows what you do, so he’ll warn Duke at least. “Stay safe,” he whispers, clenching his shirt in his fist. “I’ll text you how Willow is alright?”

You nod and smile weakly. “Tell your parents if Bruce won’t pay for his kids mistakes, I will.”

“...Thank you.”

With that you grabbed your bag and called out for a cab. “Where to?” the cab driver asks.

“Wayne manor,” you say, anger radiating of your face.

He nods, clearly confused by your anger and he starts driving. The drive wasn’t good for you, in fact it made you angrier the longer you sat still. Tapping your feet anxiously and biting your nails as you think about what you say.

Biting the skin off your fingers as you become dizzier, but you need to ignore everything. You cannot show any weakness, you cannot show them that you need help. You cannot give them a reason to force their presence upon you. But here you are yet again, paying a cab driver way too much (but then again, he can just see it as a tip for what he might witness) and walking around with no balance. Hyper ventilating from pain and dizziness but your anger keeps you moving forward (truly, Bruce should know by now that you shouldn’t combine medication with sedatives. Don’t you know how wrong that could go?)

“Master (Name)?” Alfred asks as he sees you basically pulling yourself to the living room. By the Gods you look aweful. “Oh dear, you look terrible!”

You wince, he sounds a bit too relieved. He sounds as if he might know why your body is acting like this, but you will focus on that after you fuck Dick and Jason up. “Gee, thanks,” you spat out, rolling your eyes as you pass him. “I need to talk to Dick and Jason, where are they?”

“They are out right now,” Alfred coos, ignoring how you are acting. Helping you stand even when you try to refuse his help. “perhaps I can help you, dear.”

You shake your head, you don’t want his help. You want to know where your shit heads of brothers are purely to fuck them up. You want to shout at them, scratch their skin off. But something is going wrong inside of your body, something is off.

You swear you are cursed at this point, your health always acting up when it shouldn’t. Always making you weaker at the worse moments. And here you are, needing help to take steps. “Something’s off,” you say out loud, as if to warn Alfred for what’s about to happen. But before he could react you puke over his shoes and you can’t help but feel a bit of satisfaction from doing so.

Alfred notices so, but he’ll stay quiet for now. He’ll re-educate you once you are a bit more complicate, less of an angry little kitten. But that doesn’t matter, your state does. The more steps you take and the more you fight him off the weaker you get, and oh he cannot wait to take care of you. He cannot wait to tuck you in once more, to love you as he did before. Truly he cannot wait!

But it does seem that he needs to warn Bruce about the dose he has given you. It’s way too much for your body to handle!

Truly you would expect Batman to be a bit more careful, but then again Bruce had always been reckless, truly it gives Alfred quite the few heart attacks.

And when you suddenly collapsed you sure gave him a heart attack as well! He’s just glad you didn’t fall in your own puke.

NEXT PART also a bit short but this is also a test chapter lmfao

taglist (open!): @justsaii, @bbmgirll