#robin reader

[pomegranatelifethis]

New Robin

The Batcave smelled like motor oil, leather, and the faint tang of Alfred’s freshly baked cookies, which you were currently swiping from a plate on the workbench. You, the newest and youngest Robin, were sprawled across a chair, one leg dangling, a cookie in one hand and your phone in the other, giggling at the latest chapter of your very spicy Batman fanfiction. The working title? “Caped Crusader’s Forbidden Night.” Pure genius, if you did say so yourself.

“Shouldn’t you be training?” Dick Grayson, the first Robin and current Nightwing, leaned against the Batcomputer, arms crossed, giving you that annoying big-brother stare.

You grinned, popping the cookie in your mouth. “Training’s boring. Punch, kick, dodge, blah blah. I’d rather write my masterpiece.” You wiggled your phone at him, knowing it’d make him squirm.

Dick’s eyes narrowed. “Please tell me you’re not still writing that… stuff.”

“Oh, I am. And it’s steamy. Wanna read the part where Batman—”

“NO.” Dick’s voice cracked, and he threw his hands up. “I’m begging you to keep that away from me.”

You cackled, loving how easy it was to rile him up. Being the youngest Batfamily member had its perks: you could get away with murder (figuratively, of course). At sixteen, you were a whirlwind of chaos, a Robin who preferred pranks over protocol, jokes over jabs, and daydreaming over discipline. Bruce had taken you in after catching you hacking into the Gotham City traffic system to create a smiley face with the lights. He saw potential; you saw a playground.

“Focus, kid,” came a gruffer voice. Jason Todd, Red Hood himself, stomped into the cave, wiping blood off his knuckles. “You ditched sparring again. I was gonna go easy on you.”

“Easy? You threw me into a dumpster last time!” you protested, sitting up.

“That was an accident,” Jason said, smirking. “Mostly.”

You stuck out your tongue and went back to your phone, typing furiously. “Batman’s cape billowed as he pinned the mysterious stranger against the wall, his gravelly voice a low growl…”

“Yo, what’s she typing?” Tim Drake, the third Robin and resident caffeine addict, peeked over your shoulder, then immediately regretted it. “Oh, God, no. Why is Bruce in this? Why is there romance?”

“It’s art, Timmy!” you declared, clutching your phone to your chest. “You wouldn’t understand true creativity.”

“It’s a crime against humanity,” Tim muttered, rubbing his temples. “Bruce would have an aneurysm if he saw this.”

“Then don’t tell him,” you said sweetly, batting your lashes.

“Tell me what?” The deep, unmistakable voice of Bruce Wayne—Batman himself—echoed through the cave as he stepped out of the shadows, cowl off, looking like he’d just survived a board meeting and a gang war.

You froze, phone slipping from your fingers. “Uh… nothing! Just, um, writing my… mission report?”

Bruce raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “You’ve never written a mission report in your life.”

“Rude!” you gasped, hopping to your feet. “I’m a great Robin! I stopped that bank robbery last week!”

“You stopped it by rigging the sprinklers to blast ‘Baby Shark’ until the robbers surrendered,” Dick pointed out.

“And it worked!” you shot back, hands on your hips. “Admit it, I’m a genius.”

“You’re a menace,” Jason said, but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes.

Bruce sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re supposed to be training. Being Robin isn’t a game. It’s discipline, focus—”

“Blah blah, I know,” you interrupted, mimicking his gravelly tone. “‘I am the night, I am vengeance.’ Lighten up, B! I’ve got this.”

The cave went silent. Dick looked horrified. Tim looked impressed. Jason snorted, muttering, “She’s got guts, I’ll give her that.”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed, but before he could lecture, Damian Wayne—the current Robin and your reluctant partner—stormed in, katana in hand. “You skipped our patrol route planning again!” he snapped, glaring at you. “You’re an embarrassment to the mantle!”

“Oh, chill, Baby Bat,” you said, ruffling his hair, which he dodged with a scowl. “I was busy creating culture. Besides, I already memorized the routes. West End, Crime Alley, then the docks. Easy peasy.”

Damian sputtered. “You—how dare you call me—Father, she’s insufferable!”

“Join the club,” Tim muttered.

You grinned, undeterred, and tossed Damian a cookie. “Eat a snack, Dami. You’re cranky.”

He caught it but looked like he wanted to throw it back at you. Bruce, meanwhile, was still staring, clearly debating whether to ground you or just give up. “You’re on probation,” he said finally. “No patrols until you complete a full training session.”

“Probation?!” you whined, flopping dramatically onto the floor. “This is oppression! I’m being silenced!”

“You’re being disciplined,” Bruce corrected, turning to the Batcomputer. “And delete that fanfiction.”

“Never!” you shouted, scrambling to your feet and bolting for the stairs. “You’ll have to catch me first!”

Jason laughed outright as you sprinted out of the cave, Alfred’s voice calling after you, “Miss, your laundry is still unfolded!”

Hours later, hidden in the manor’s library, you were curled up with your phone, adding another chapter to your fic. “The mysterious stranger smirked, tugging at Batman’s utility belt…” You giggled, knowing full well you’d never delete it. Being the naughty, carefree Robin was too much fun—and the Batfamily, for all their grumbling, wouldn’t have you any other way.

[aspen78]

Masterlist: "How it all Byrnes"

This all began in an alleyway. By locals of this by-all-definitions “dark and gloomy” city, this alleyway was infamously dubbed “Crime Alley.” With a name like that, truly nothing good could be expected to come out of it. And, as it happens, we may be witnesses to a mugging at this exact moment.

You may think you know this story already, but I can guarantee you have yet to bear witness to it. As familiar as it may seem, it's quite jarring how a difference in classification can change a story. For this is not a story about a flying mammal [person], rather a story about a flying ave…[person].

chapter 1

chapter 2

chapter 3

chapter 4

chapter 5

chapter 6

chapter 7

chapter 8

chapter 9 (wip)

chapter 10 (wip)

--

also heres a link if you want to be added to a taglist :]

[kakuvibez]

HI!!! I JUST SAW AND READ YOUR ALNST POST AB TILL & SUA HAVING A S/O THAT IS LIKE FOCALORS DHSJSJ AND I LOVE HOW YOU WRITE IT, CAN I REQUEST TILL WITH A S/O THAT IS LIKE ROBIN FROM HSR:3?

One shot; ALNST

requested by ; anonymous/ @user / none,,

fandom(s) ; HSR, ALNST

fandom master list(s): master | specific

character(s); Robin, Till, Mizi

outline; "I don't know if I'ma see you again (see you again)"

warning(s) ; death,,

When Till first met you, he thought you were an alien. Your [c] wings on your head were weird, but that didn't stop, Mizi. Being Mizi's friend helps you become friends with him. Your e/c eyes spark, your h/c hair looks beautiful with you, and your voice is beautiful as you sing. "Titi, you look so pretty! " you smiled as he had a bow in his hair and bad makeup made by a teen.

You had to go against Luka. You guys were one point Luka won. As you dead you only could think of your brother and Till.

Till look over the the singer section to find you, but he didn't see you there. Its was fine. You probably a section farther, right? No he knew that you had lost... he saw Luka, your opponent in the screen flashing that Luka won.

A memory him and [N] singing together appear in his mind. "20/20, 20/20 vision" Till look to you looking and admiring your appearance "Cupid hit me, cupid hit me with precision, I-" You grab his hand and brought him close. "Wonder if you look both ways" He blushes as he look away from you turning side to side. "When you cross my mind, I said, I said" Till hold you close as your wings toch him. "I'm sick of, sick of, sick of, sick of chasing" "You're the one that's always running through my daydreams, I-" You blushed as Till look to you then turning away again. "I can only see your face when I close my eyes" He sneak peek to see your face, which was smiling like an angel.

"Can I get a kiss? (Can I get a kiss?)" You ask As you tip tor to over height him.

"And can you make it last forever? (Oh, forever)" You plant a kiss his cheek

I said I'm 'bout to go to War (go to war)" You grab his hand tightly and spin as you kiss between singing.

Till couldn't shake the memories of you, your beautiful [c] wings on your head, and the way your voice soared when you sang. He remembered how he’d first met you—how your uniqueness made him think you were from another world, an alien in the truest sense. But you weren’t just any stranger. You were someone he had come to cherish deeply, someone who, with Mizi’s help, became not only his friend but someone who brought him joy with every little thing you did.

Your eyes, your hair, everything about you made him feel a warmth he couldn’t explain. But now, as he sat in the single section, waiting for you to appear, a sinking feeling weighed down on him. You should’ve been there, somewhere in the crowd. But no. He knew. He’d seen the flashing screen. Luka had won...had won...had won. And in that moment, everything he knew seemed to crumble.

The memory of your voice as you sang "See You Again" together played in his mind—your words, so filled with emotion, now haunting him. You had made it through so much together, fought side by side, but now... it was all gone. You were gone.

Tears threatened to spill, but he held them back. He wasn’t sure what hurt more: the thought of losing you or the realization that he would never hear your voice again. Everything felt empty, and the future seemed like a distant dream he couldn’t touch anymore.

"I’ll see you again... right?" he whispered, the words barely escaping his lips, hoping for a sign, something. But there was nothing. Only the cold silence of the arena around him.

"I don't know if I'ma see you again (see you again)"

[hunterwritesstuff]

Platonic Alfred and robin reader? :3

FINALLY SOMEONE ASKS FOR BEST BUTLER HELL YEAH /pos

🍷 When Bruce introduces you to him, he's concerned. The past Robins haven't had the best results, but he trusts Bruce's judgement.

🍷 Alfred, of course, informs you of your duties as a Robin, but also(unlike times in the past, but now he's wary) informs you of what happened to past Robins so that you know to PLEASE BE CAREFUL.

🍷 You two are pretty chill, he sometimes tells you stories about when he was a spy, you tell him how your patrols went and if you saw anything cool while you were out with Bruce.

🍷 If you break any bones while out, Alfred gives you a lecture to be more careful.

🍷 If you're on the younger side, he lectures Bruce to not take you out on as many missions, just so you can still be a kid. If you're on the older side, he trusts you to make your own choices.

🍷 That being said, if Bruce takes you with him on a mission regarding the Joker and you go with him eagerly, you're BOTH getting a lecture from Alfred.

🍷 "Master bruce, I know you are an adult and can make your own choices, but I do not believe taking ROBIN with you to deal with THE JOKER is a wise decision."

🍷 "I will take away your car keys, Master Bruce."

🍷 He genuinely enjoys your company, as much as he lectures you.

🍷 He's just genuinely concerned about your wellfare as the survival rate of Robins is dubious at best.

🍷 If you're sick and try to go out on a mission, no you are not.

🍷 He isn't above locking you in your room until you're better.

🍷 Safe to say, he's very protective of you and sees you as(yet ANOTHER) a grandchild. :)

Hope ya enjoy! :D

[l0velysmut]

family: “why are you just sitting in ur room smiling at ur phone?”

me who’s been reading smut about fictional characters for the past 6 hours:

[bethsvrse]

me staring at my ceiling after y/n does the most FLABBERGASTING thing ever

[rainydaygotham]

Imagine “borrowing” the left glove of your man’s super suit for a bit while he’s napping and stitching a small band of embroidery thread around the ring finger. The thread is colored only slightly darker than the original color of the fabric. It was so inconspicuous that no one who wasn’t looking for it would notice. In fact, it takes your vigilante fiancé about a week to find it himself.

He has to do a little double take, momentarily forgetting what he was doing in favor of inspecting his hand. It’s not an accidental loose thread or anything, it’s an intentional alteration to his uniform, meant to be there. And it’s very clearly supposed to be a wedding ring, so he knows exactly how it got there. He just doesn’t know when. Oh, hopefully he hasn’t been oblivious to your handiwork for long. The thought of you thinking he knew about it and just didn’t care was agonizing. He cares, baby! He cares so much you wouldn’t believe.

It makes him giddy. You’ve marked him. What an adorable thing to do.

He was planning to get the ring tattooed onto his finger already, so he wouldn’t lose the real one out in his dangerous life of fighting crime. But even that would be under his gloves, invisible to anyone on the streets of the city. This, however, announced it loud and clear: sorry, but this vigilante is taken.

When he makes it back from the mission that night, he finds you lounging in your shared bedroom. You’re too engrossed in whatever you’re doing on your laptop to notice him creeping in yet, so he gets a moment to just admire you. To his delight, he recognizes the fabric that clings to your body as one of his shirts.

You finally realize he’s there, lookin’ like the cat who got the cream,

“Hey Babe, was it a good night?”

“You want to marry me~” he croons.

“We are literally engaged,” you shake your head in fake-exasperation.

“I found your little gift,” he gives you the clue to why he’s got hearts in his eyes.

“Oh,” your smile gets bigger, “that.. I take it you like it?”

He takes your head in his hands, thumbs gently brushing the tops of your cheeks, “it’s perfect,”

He presses a cute little kiss onto your nose. He laughs as you open your eyes and whine about having expected a real kiss. Well, he’ll just have to give you one of those too, then… or maybe a few…

[vinamari]

How it feels going to bed after reading some words

It was angst

[axstoria]

Bruce Wayne kisses like you're the last thread of sanity holding him to this world. He'll cradle your face in his hands, lips making long, languidly slow movements over your own. By the end of it, you're pushed against some kind of furniture and panting, while he's already leaving to pull on his cowl. It hurts to see him go, yet you know that he'll be home again to kiss you senseless until the world makes sense.

Richard Grayson kisses like he'll be dead tomorrow. Little pecks along your cheek, forehead, neck—anywhere he can get those plush lips on. He'll kiss you until you're both breathless, chests heaving and faces flushed. He'll love you until the day he dies, and he makes sure that you know that. Every day, he spends like it's his last, and every day, he makes sure to give you so many kisses, you're drowning in his love.

Jason Todd kisses like he doesn't know how. Sure, he's had a few hookups, especially during his early days as Red Hood, but he's never kissed a person like you. He loves you, it's as simple as that. With others, he is rough and fast, not knowing how to slow down and just enjoy the presence of the person beneath him. With you, all he can do is be gentle, because you're the only person who has stayed and loved him as the broken man he is.

Tim Drake kisses you like he's trying to study you. He'll nip at your neck and jaw just to see how you react, just to grin to himself as he observes the way you melt into him when his lips meet yours. He'll let his hands wander to see what makes you relax, what makes your lips stutter against his. He enjoys every interaction like you are his subject and he is the scientist. He needs to know everything. Knowledge calls for him in his blood, and you, his love, are the doorway to it.

AgedUp!Damian Wayne kisses expensively. He starts at your jaw, making soft motions towards your lips until he finally claims them with his own. His wide hands hold you in place by the waist and his dark hair tickles your skin. He'll take his time, loving on you the way you deserve. He knows just how to kiss you like he knows just how to kill a man. He kisses soft and slow, because why would he have to rush? He has his beloved in his arms, whispering his name against his lips; what more could he want?

[zenith1994]

When a multi chapter fanfic hasn't been updated in the past 2 years but the author is still active

[floredaqueen]

Wheel of Names made me draw Jason Todd 🫠😤👉🏽👈🏽💗

[aspen78]

Chapter 3: How it all Byrnes

<<prev chp>>

--

Sensory overload was one way you could describe everything going on.

Not a microsecond passed without the city streets trembling into rubble. Without blood curdling screams filling the smoke-dense air. Without downtown Chicago turning into an all-out recreation of a sci-fi war. 

Pockets of Chicago were shot open like a bullet wound, oozing out alien tanks, aggressive soldiers, and deadly beams of red.

When a team of brightly-colored--but capable--teens spawned in, it seemed like maybe--just maybe--things would take a turn for the better. 

But that was a big maybe.

Tears streamed down the face of a young mother and her toddler. She quivered with the tremors of the once-normal day gone to hell. She held on to her boy with all she had to shield him and protect him. She whispered shaky lies of “It’s okay” and “It’ll be over soon” just to keep herself from collapsing. She did her best.  

But the world doesn’t always reward best efforts. 

She saw the light grow darker around her. She didn’t have to turn around to know they had been found. 

A Flaxan soldier loomed over the two with a twisted smirk on its face and a charged weapon in its hands. It approached with a teasing slowness--like it knew they weren’t going anywhere. Like it had time.

She heard the quiet crackle of what would likely be their cause of death. So, she just pulled her boy tighter, hoping all those fairytales were true; that a mother’s love was the strongest thing. 

A high-frequency chirp cut through the static.

She froze.

Then--SCHWINGG.

The light around the mother and child returned like a cloud had made way for the sun. 

A rogue beam sped meters past them and ricocheted off a fallen corner of a building.

The mother gasped.

So did the Flaxan--its weapon now completely useless with half of it sliced to the ground.

The soldier barely turned to react before a blur of green and black moved faster than its reflexes. And before it knew it, it could no longer have another reaction… ever. 

A clean, fluid strike. One swing, no hesitation.

And two thuds.

The new player landed into the scene with a grace far too deliberate to be mistaken for chaos. Their sword rested casually in their hands as if they didn’t just up their kill count. Their winged cape shrouded over their body and curtained over the severed head as if it didn’t exist. 

The mother peeked her eye out, still guarding her child. 

Then the figure straightened.

Green light flared as a kinetic barrier flickered around the civilians, forming a low hum of protection. The sound of war dulled inside it. The toddler’s cries became muffled whimpers.

“Are you both alright?” A distorted and unreadable voice filled the barrier. 

Everything about them screamed don’t trust this. Masked. Hooded. Armed to the teeth. But somehow... the mother did trust them. Even when they crouched slightly and extended a small sweet for her boy. 

Because let’s be real… taken out of context? This shit was shady as hell. 

The toddler finally looked up with watery eyes and a shivering lip at the bird-masked person offering solace in front of him. He looked to his mother as if asking if this person was safe.

She gave a tiny nod, breathless and trembling. “Go ahead, baby.”

His little hand reached forward, and for a second, it was just quiet. A moment carved out of catastrophe.

The mask tilted as if to communicate a smile before they whispered, “I’m going to get you guys out of here now. Are you alright to stand, ma’am?”

The woman nodded numbly, her legs threatening to buckle the second she tried to push herself upright. Their savior extended a gloved hand, not rushing her, just waiting.

Once she was steady enough, the kinetic barrier widened, carving out their exit. 

The hood took the lead with their sword at ready as the woman picked up her boy, covering his eyes and ears. 

Another Flaxan spotted them from across the intersection and took aim. A flash of silver metal swiped to protect.

But there was no shot.

BOOM.

A compact explosion swallowed it in a flare of pink energy, hurling its body across the asphalt like a ragdoll. The shockwave rippled, trying to unbalance the trio. 

The mother gasped, shrinking back, but the figure at her side just steadied them and glanced upward.

Famed Atom Eve floated in next, her body framed in sharp pink light and her eyes narrowed at the caped bird. 

“Who are you?”

They didn’t answer right away. 

Just shifted ever so slightly--shoulders straightening, sword lowering, body still tensing to protect the mother and her son.

There was no malice in their stance. But no warmth either.

“Someone who saw a hole in your perimeter.”

A beat. That voice is calm—too calm for a war zone. Measured, synthetic. Echoing like a birdcall in a metal cage.

Eve hovered down a little closer, cautious but curious. She didn’t sense any hostility, but the air around this figure felt... dense. Like they knew too much.

The pink hero eyed the stranger--the winged cape, the blade, the silent control over the chaos.

“You’re not GDA.”

“No.”

Before Eve could press further, a blur of blue and metal crashed into the pavement beside them--Rex Splode, scuffed but smirking, flung two energy-charged disks into a Flaxan crowd.

The redhead only flicked her attention away for one second to stare at the intrusion, but it returned to an empty space in front of her. 

“What the-?”

Her eyes sweeped the area around her, but all three of them were gone. And she could only hope they were gone to safety.

A barrage of red stole her attention back as she immediately put up a surface of pink in front of her and sent bolts back to counter. 

Robot fought his way through his crowd of aliens, getting pushed into the center of the street with Eve. 

“I am not positive we can handle this,” the robotic voice she was familiar with spoke as they covered each other's backs.

Eve grunted in response when her shield broke and made way for another. 

The army kept advancing and bodies kept piling up, even as all four members of the team fought with all they had.

“Uh guys?!” Rex yelped, flinging his explosives at whatever target he could find. “I’m down to pocket change here!”

Versions Dupli-Kate joined in one after the other as lasers kept taking them out, “They’re killing me faster than I can keep up.”

“We gave people time to escape, that’s what matters,” Eve growled under her breath and extended her hands outward, focused on keeping her powers up to give them three seconds of breathing room. Maybe two.

“Uhhh, no,” Rex’s snark--still ever-present--responded, backing into a corner as Flaxans crowded him. “Me living is what matters.”

Robot offered no comfort as he watched a cannon emerge from the portal. “Then I have bad news.”

A flicker of silver zipped past their heads like a streak of lightning. 

The cannon the team was so worried about seconds before? Suddenly not an issue. A sword embedded itself deep into the weapon’s core, slicing straight through the control panel. Sparks erupted--then the entire thing imploded with metal parts flying everywhere like shrapnel from a bomb. The energy inside detonated too early, rupturing backward into the portal.

The Flaxans around it shrieked, blinded.

The team ducked instinctively.

Dodging quickly through the metal parts, a shadowy cape followed its owner as they retrieved their sword. Weapon now firmly back in their possession they stepped in front of the brighter heroes, hand raised slightly as a thin layer of green fractals shielded them from the worst of the blast.

Robot blinked his mechanical eyes, “…Recalibrating battlefield odds.”

There was a beat of processing silence.

Of course, Rex broke it, “Okay. That was hot. Scary. But hot.”

Eve exhaled. Her shoulders dropped slightly—relieved, but still wary. “You came back.”

The caped hood didn’t look at them--just tilted their head, the metal mask catching a glint of wreckage light. Their stance stayed in that unreadable in-between of “poised to fight” and “just too focused to waste the effort on panic.”

Finally, they answered, voice calm, distorted as ever.

“I wasn’t finished.”

The mask returned to observe the Flaxans. “But they are.”

And, as if on cue, all of the intruders began shriveling up? 

They were dropping like flies… old, wrinkly flies. The surviving ones ran back through the portal before that too disappeared.

The battlefield was… quiet.

Rex’s jaw dropped before snapping shut to shove off the few deteriorated grabbing onto him. “I don’t know what just happened, but I think I speak for everyone here when I say I never want it to happen ever again!” He punched one of the still-miraculously alive Flaxans to put a punctuation on his statement.

“Indeed.” Robot agreed and then stared at the person in front of them. “You are not in our databases. Yet you possess strategic intel, combat training, and unregistered tech.”

They remained still, sword in hand, but now loosely at their side. For a moment, it seemed like they wouldn’t respond, but…

“I’m in your database somewhere,” the modded voice replied to his. “You just can’t find it.”

Robot visibly processed that. Optical lenses narrowed.

Eve stepped closer now, her tone still steady, but a thread of curiosity weaving through it. “You said you’re not GDA… who are you?”

A mechanical sigh left the mask as they methodically sheathed their sword. “Some call me Vireo.”

“Vireo...” Robot repeated.

The way he repeated it wasn’t skeptical. It was analytical. Filing it away. Highlighting it. Cross-referencing it with hidden files, encrypted logs, unexplained blips.

Rex pointed a finger vaguely at them. “Okay, cool name and all, but are we gonna talk about how you showed up like a horror movie extra and saved our butts?”

They huffed, it sounded like amusement, but no one could be sure. 

Because, before another word could be spoken, a pulse flickered beneath their feet.

The team instinctively stepped back, but the green fractals swirled upward in a vertical line—like a hatch to somewhere else. In the blink of an eye, Vireo dropped into the light and vanished.

Gone.

No flash. No boom. Just… gone.

But not gone like a horror movie extra would be gone… aka dead. Rex was wrong about that one. Vireo was not an extra; they were more of a recurring character. They would come to realize that.

They would come to realize that when the caped bird reappeared at the next Flaxan invasion. 

From one giant shitshow to another.

--

This was déjà vu… if déjà vu came with more craters, more smoke, and somehow even more destruction.

Teen Team stood at the edge of a skyscraper with their new addition of Invincible, scanning the streets of Chicago as they yet again became the set of a battle. 

The Flaxans had returned.

This time, they came prepared—new armor, energy shields, heavier artillery. They’d learned. 

Robot took off with Kate and Rex on his tech, leaving behind the two flight-users.

“Ready for this?” Eve asked, noticing Mark’s apprehension.

“Yeah,” he breathed, but still unsure. “I think so.”

Yet, he still launched into the fight, flying down the ledge with Eve at his side. 

The team dropped into the chaos like a strike team.

Eve’s constructs intercepted tank fire while Mark charged into melee, slamming a Flaxan brute straight through a parking garage.

Rex and Dupli-Kate moved like second nature now—Kate duplicating mid-dash, Rex tossing glowing charges to soften up armor.

Still, it wasn’t enough. They were tougher this time.

One by one, the teens would be overpowered.

Dupli-Kate and Rex got caught in an explosion. Robot was electrocuted by the soldiers and their tech. Atom Eve had some sort of device strapped to her head. Invincible was stuck in some sort of sludge--super strong sludge. 

A Flaxan--the leader, it seemed--fixated on Eve, grabbing the back of her head and looking directly at Mark while bringing its gun to her face. 

“No, don’t!” Mark cried out, thrashing harder to get out of his restraints. “Don’t. Don’t--NO!”

But why would it listen?

The Flaxan cocked its weapon with a deep, mechanical hiss.

A trigger was pulled at that moment. Not a physical one, but a trigger was pulled. 

“I SAID NO!”

In an instant, the playing field shifted. 

A force stronger than anticipated knocked those around not just off their feet--but away. They were blown away like simple leaves in a particularly strong gust. 

And, their leader? It was the unlucky leaf that got tackled by Invincible.

His collision tore through a building. Glass and metal shrieked. The Flaxan slammed onto the pavement before Mark followed with a sickening crunch.

His fists didn’t stop. He didn’t let them stop.

He struck the alien over and over and over… and over.

Until he heard Eve gasp for air from behind him.

Mark whipped around, eyes darting around from the adrenaline, before they locked onto a familiar shadow hunched over Eve. 

The winged figure knelt with their back to him beside the pink hero. The piece of tech that was previously latched onto her face was dismantled in their gloved hands.

Vireo stared at it, almost curiously memorizing its circuits. The device sparked, then hissed, dead in the ash-covered street.

They faced the redhead again. Didn’t speak. Just handed Eve a small oxygen patch, motioning silently for her to press it to her nose.

She coughed, dazed--burnt at the edges, eyes unfocused--but she recognized the mask. The silhouette. The calm that followed chaos.

Mark stumbled closer, fists still trembling, rage still boiling under his skin.

“You-,” he choked. “You came back.”

Vireo didn’t answer immediately. Just slowly stood to their full height and turned, half-shadowed by smoke and red haze. They observed him the same way they observed the fizzling circuit—curious, methodical.

“You lost control.”

His mouth opened--whether to argue, defend himself, or say thank you, even he didn’t know. Nothing came out.

His fists were still curled. His breath still ragged. The crunch of alien armor under his knuckles still echoed in his bones.

“I had to,” he finally forced out, like it was a confession. “I didn’t mean to go that far, but I had to--he was going to--he was-”

He looked past Vireo at Eve, who was still catching her breath, pressing the oxygen patch shakily to her face.

“I know.”

The answer came quick. Not accusing. Not forgiving. Just… stated. Like a field report.

His attention returned to their avian mask, but they were also looking past him. 

Black, beady lenses were trained on the alien he had just beat down. It had got up at this point, but it still seemed to panic. It looked down at its wrist; at the damaged wristband.

In simultaneous robotic voices, Vireo and Robot spouted, “The wristbands protect them from our timestream.” 

They looked at each other; an eyebrow raised under one of their masks. 

Robot continued, getting back up, “Destroy their wristbands.”

The Flaxan scrambled backwards, cradling its smoking wrist as if protecting what was left of its broken device. Mark looked from it to Vireo and then to Robot, his brain struggling to catch up.

One of the monotone voices explained further to the now-gathered team, “They're tethered to a different temporal frequency. Without the stabilizers, their bodies can’t handle ours.”

Mark whispered under his breath, “They’ll age out.”

Vireo continued, flatly, “They’ll die.”

The sharp sound of Vireo’s blade cutting through air preceded the clean separation of another wristband from its owner. The alien staggered, cracked, and shriveled into a raisin.

With that, everyone had the new objective: wristbands.

While everyone else took off, Vireo snatched up the severed hand and neared Robot. 

They handed him the still-working wristband almost like a peace offering.

Unblinking eyes met each other, one pair green and the other black. 

“Unknown agent. Unknown allegiance. Still not confirmed as ally.”

Vireo tilted their head slightly, bird-like as always. Their voice, modulated and unreadable, remained calm. “Don’t mistake lack of paperwork for lack of purpose.”

Robot didn’t blink, but the weight of his silence said enough. He reached forward and accepted the wristband, analyzing it even before it hit his palm.

“This will help. But I’ll still be monitoring you.”

“I’d be disappointed if you weren’t.” Their voice had that same half-amused edge again, like every word was measured for maximum deflection. Then--without another word--they turned back toward the fray.

The team was scattered, weaving between explosions, stray fire, and collapsing infrastructure.

Kate was spawning more and more of herself to incapacitate the never-ending army. Eve was flying again, using her vantage point to take out more soldiers with her energy beams. Rex was off wreaking havoc on the opposition but now with Robot’s permission. Mark flew out from a dog pile of Flaxans, breathing hard, but generally okay.

From the corner of all their eyes, they watched as Vireo leapt from the wreckage and into the fight like a shadow come to life. Not just hacking at the Flaxans, but surgically slicing tech off arms, ripping devices from belts, even marking units for Robot’s targeting drones.

They were efficient. Too efficient for someone who didn’t have training.

Mark mumbled into the comms, absentmindedly, as he took out another squadron, “Anyone else think they’re ex-GDA?”

In between duplicates, Kate responded, “Or black ops. Or freelance. Or all of the above.”

Rex chimed into their selective conversation, “Or just super creepy. Don’t forget creepy.”

Back down on street level, Vireo slid under a laser blast, then drove a boot into the Flaxan’s knee. Their sword followed--fast, brutal, and clean.

Another wristband clattered to the concrete.

They didn’t even watch the soldier age. Just moved on.

Eve spoke to herself, but everyone heard, “How the hell do they move like that?”

“They’re more robot than Robot is,” Rex almost laughed into the system.

Robot had to ignore that comment. He was scanning the wristband Vireo had handed him. Internal processors hummed. Code bloomed in his vision like a storm of data. “49,000 kilohertz.”

He looked up--just in time to see a Flaxan sneaking up on his blind side.

A loud clang interrupted.

Vireo’s blade intercepted the hit. Without a word, without even slowing, they blocked for Robot and pivoted the creature’s weight into the pavement with an unnatural grace.

“…Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” they grunted as they continued blocking hit after hit meant for the android. “Now would be a good time to execute that frequency hack.”

Without another word, a sharp pulse crackled from Robot’s chest. The signal broadcasted invisibly, but its effects were immediate.

And, just like before, Flaxans staggered. The wristbands still intact began to flicker--some sparking, some outright detonating. Others overloaded, and the soldiers wearing them screamed, aging in milliseconds, collapsing into husks of themselves.

Some Flaxans managed to scramble through the rapidly destabilizing portal--those who could still run.

The last one tried.

It didn’t get far.

A whistle went through the air. A single well-aimed dagger--clean, compact, glowing faintly green--embedded into the back of its wristband. A pop of light. A shriek. Another raisin.

Everyone turned to see Vireo lower their arm, calm as ever.

The moment their hand dropped, it was as if the city finally took a breath it had been holding for hours.

One by one, the team let the tension drain from their bodies.

Mark hovered a little above the street, still panting. He watched as Vireo adjusted their grip on the sword and gave one quick glance around--as if confirming: no more threats.

None of the other heroes did that. 

Robot turned to Vireo. “You have a tendency to arrive exactly when the mission is compromised.”

A moment passed. 

Robot spoke again, more pointed this time. “We still don’t have record of your identity. No registration, no organizational alignment, and your voice modulation masks any biometrics.”

Vireo finally turned toward him, ignoring his accusations. “They’ll be back. Stronger. Angrier. You know that now.”

And, Eve ignored their warning and stepped forward, more curious than confrontational. “You keep doing this--showing up, saving our asses, disappearing. What’s your angle?”

Rex scoffed, “Right? You some edgy altruist or just reaaaally committed to the murderbird theme?”

Vireo didn’t take the bait. “It’s necessary. No one else is coming.”

They turned then, smoke catching in their cape, sword slotted back into its sheath. They walked toward the ruined edge of the block, disappearing into a zap of green.

Gone again. Leaving them with questions again.

But this time, the team knew they weren’t just a one-off character.

When headlines broke out weeks later about the Guardians, they knew that even deeper in their minds.

And, when the third invasion came? 

When more-than-infinite Flaxans spilled into Chicago? 

When nuclear response seemed like the only solution? 

When the city was considered beyond saving?

They hoped the ave would come back.

--

Thud after thud echoed, even through the destructive commotion as the Flaxan leader--the same one that had faced him last time, now bulked, geared, armored to hell with a vengeance--had Invincible punched further and further into a crater. 

“Help,” Mark weakly groaned as he felt another amped up fist meet his face.

The creature cackled and seethed, “Die.” 

Another fist reeled back. Mechanical whirs built up tension.

Then, another mechanical whir joined it. Sharper. Higher-pitched.

A sudden, piercing force slammed into the commander’s shoulder, sending it reeling off balance. The impact didn’t come from Earth tech. It was one of theirs. 

It stumbled, glancing at the scorched edge of its armor, no longer smug. Confused. Alert.

Then it looked up.

Above, perched on the jagged, broken top of a half-demolished skyscraper, stood a shadow cloaked in smoke and falling ash. The winged cape. The bird mask. 

And a stolen Flaxan hand-cannon. 

A stolen Flaxan hand-cannon that was charging up for another blast.

Another shot thundered through the air. The recoil made the roof crumble slightly beneath their boots. The cannon’s beam slammed into the Flaxan leader’s leg this time, sending it sprawling.

It tried to get back up but something else grabbed onto it. 

A red billowing cape grazed its vision before the same shade of red covered it. Grasped onto its eye. Clutching its head in mid-air.

“You okay, Mark?” 

Mark’s eyes fluttered open under cracked lenses, looking up at the familiar image of his dad. Omni-Man.

He barely managed a nod, coughing blood.

Omni-Man turned back toward the Flaxan general--scrambling in mid-air like a mere insect--and reeled his arm back to slam it into the ground.

It screeched as it was sent across the asphalt almost back through the portal. Omni-Man immediately closed the distance again.

Mark wheezed as he tried to sit up, vision foggy. Then, Vireo was at his side, crouched low, arm sweeping across him with a sharp press of a patch to his chest. The patch hissed against Mark’s ribs, glowing green for a moment before settling. The pain didn’t leave, but it dulled--enough for him to breathe again. Kind of.

“You're… always… saving…”

“Stop needing saving.” Vireo didn’t look at him. Their gaze followed the distant shape of Omni-Man as he ripped another Flaxan in half like a sheet of paper.

Vireo bristled for once.

Invincible felt their hand stiffen as they continued to patch him up.

Their posture shifted--not fear. Not quite that. But something like... anticipation. Wariness. Like they weren’t sure if what they were doing was right anymore.

Omni-Man blurred past them again, a sonic boom cracking the sky as another squadron of Flaxans vanished under his fists. He moved like a monster--too fast to track, too powerful to match.

The Flaxans weren’t fighting anymore. They were fleeing.

And he was still killing.

Mark tried to sit up straighter. “H-he’s got it. We’re—we’re okay now…”

“No,” Vireo said, sharp and quiet. “We’re not.”

Another Flaxan ran for the portal--too slow. Omni-Man caught it by the throat and slammed it into the pavement hard enough to shatter the ground beneath it.

Then again.

And again.

And again.

Mark flinched. “Da-... Omni-Man--he’s just making sure they don’t come back. That’s all.”

Vireo finally looked at him, visor glinting with the reflection of carnage in the background. “Is that what you really think?”

He didn’t have an answer.

Not one he wanted to say out loud.

Vireo stood slowly, fingers twitching at their side. Not toward the sword. Toward the cannon still slung over their back. A stolen weapon. A foreign one. One calibrated for Flaxans—but easily recalibrated.

Mark caught the movement. “Hey. He’s… on our side.”

A long beat passed. Then Vireo finally said, coldly, “Not mine.”

--

<<next chp>>

im starting a taglist :] if you wanna be added -> form

<3 -> @jiyeons-closet

[iydiamartinx]

RED HANDED

Pairing: Damian Wayne x Reader

divider by: @cafekitsune word count: 1.2k synopsis: Damian sneaks you into the manor, only to get caught red handed.

Wayne Manor was supposed to be empty.

That’s what Damian had told you when he pulled you through the back gate, hand clasped tightly in yours, voice low and insistent as he muttered about stealth and nosy family members and “don’t touch that, it’s a pressure sensor.” He’d checked the security logs himself—Bruce was at a board meeting, Alfred out running errands, and the others all scattered across the city on patrol or “adult things,” as Damian called them with no small amount of disdain.

So he brought you home. Quietly. Secretly.

To his room.

The moment the door shut behind you, his shoulders dropped that ever-present tension. His fingers found your wrist, then your waist, tugging you gently toward the bed. No words, just that look he gave you—sharp eyes softening, mouth twitching at the corners in something dangerously close to a smile.

You were the only one who ever got that version of him.

Now the two of you were curled up beneath the covers, the storm outside tapping against the windows while his arm wrapped snug around your waist. Damian’s head rested near yours, nose brushing your temple every so often, breath slow and steady.

“I could get used to this,” you murmured, tracing lazy circles along his chest.

“You will,” he replied, voice quiet and certain. “Once I find a way to keep you here without the others ruining everything.”

You giggled, tipping your head up to meet the small, rare curve of his mouth—the almost-smile he only gave you.

And then the bedroom door slammed open.

“Dami, I need to borrow—OH MY GOD!”

Both of you shot upright like you’d been struck by lightning.

Dick Grayson stood frozen in the doorway, eyes wide as dinner plates, mouth agape in sheer, appalled disbelief. His finger jerked upward, trembling like it couldn’t decide whether to point at Damian, you, or the fact that you were clearly in his bed.

“What the hell, Grayson?!” Damian snapped, scrambling to hide your presence by throwing the blanket over you as you shrieked in surprise and ducked under it. But the damage had already been done.

“You have a GIRL in your BED?!” Dick shouted, scandalized.

Damian looked moments away from lunging across the room. “I swear to Ra, if you say one more word I will end your bloodline—”

But it was too late. The yelling had summoned the wolves.

Heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs.

“What the hell’s going on?” Jason’s voice barked from the hall, followed by a clatter of someone sprinting.

“Did someone die?” That was Tim, out of breath and still chewing toast as he skidded into view.

And then, like the final nail in the coffin, Bruce appeared.

He was dressed for work—pressed suit, tie knotted perfectly, not a single strand of hair out of place—but the look on his face was nothing short of bewildered. He stood in the hallway, staring into the room like he wasn’t quite sure what he’d walked in on, and very much wished he hadn’t.

There was a silence. A very loud, very awkward silence as everyone took in the scene.

“Damian has a girlfriend?” Tim whispered like he’d uncovered an ancient secret.

Jason blinked at you, then back at Damian. “Wait. She’s real?”

Another blink. Then a wild grin. “She’s real!” He turned and punched Dick in the arm. “You owe me twenty bucks.”

“I do not—!”

“You bet she was imaginary!”

“Because she was supposed to be imaginary! He’s fifteen!”

“Seventeen,” Damian growled, practically vibrating with fury under the blanket. “And if any of you take another step into this room, I swear on every god you hold dear, I will bring out my katana.”

But of course, the damage was done.

Slowly, cautiously, you peeked out from beneath the blanket. Your cheeks were burning, your hair a mess, and your heart pounding loud enough to echo in your ears.

Four sets of eyes landed on you.

Jason gave a slow, impressed nod. “Hey there. I’m the hot brother.”

“I swear to—”

Damian made a strangled sound of protest, but before he could lunge across the room, Tim raised a hand with a sheepish half-wave.

“I’m the smart one,” he offered helpfully. “Sorry about… all this.”

“And I,” Dick declared proudly, hands on his hips, “am the fun one. Also the reason you’re all about to get grounded. You’re welcome.”

“OUT!” Damian barked.

That’s when Bruce finally spoke up. “Enough,” he said, calm and quiet— almost immediately it made all three older brothers freeze.

Jason blinked. “We were just—”

“Out,” Bruce repeated, this time with the faintest arch of his brow. 

One by one, the boys started backing up like scolded dogs.

Jason grumbled something under his breath and turned.

Tim gave you a quick, apologetic smile and shuffled after him.

Dick lingered the longest, flashing you a grin and a salute. “Still think it’s adorable.”

“Out,” Bruce said again, firmer this time.

With that all three filed out with varying degrees of grumbling and smirking.

Bruce remained in the room for a moment longer. His eyes shifted from you—still half-curled beneath the blanket—to his son, who sat stiff-backed beside you, his jaw tight with embarrassment and defiance.

“I expect a proper introduction at dinner,” Bruce said coolly, turning on his heel. “Six sharp.”

Damian exhaled like it physically pained him. “Yes, Father.”

Bruce nodded once, then turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him.

Damian exhaled sharply through his nose, the breath full of fire and exasperation. He muttered a string of curses in Arabic—low, venom-laced, and fast enough to blur into one hissed syllable—as he collapsed back into the pillows with a dramatic thud. One arm flung over his eyes like he was shielding himself from the humiliation still clinging to the air.

You lay beside him, the warmth of his body still lingering beneath the tangled sheets, a laugh bubbling in your throat despite your best efforts to suppress it.

“Well,” you murmured, voice edged with amusement, “at least they didn’t bring a camera.”

He made a sound—something between a groan and a growl. “You underestimate them. There will be photos. There will be memes. Grayson will narrate the whole scene on the family group chat by noon. I am already doomed.”

You leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, the curve of your mouth brushing the flushed skin just beneath his eye. “Guess I better dress nice for dinner, then.”

Another groan, this one muffled by the pillow he dragged down over his face.

But then, without warning, his arm slid around your waist and pulled you in—close, possessive. Like he wasn’t ready to let you go, even if the rest of the world now knew you existed.

“Remind me to kill them later,” he muttered, voice gruff but reluctant.

You laughed and burrowed into the crook of his arm, cheek pressed to his collarbone. “I don’t know… I kind of liked seeing flustered Damian. Might be my favorite version yet.”

He peeked down at you then, dragging the pillow just far enough to reveal a glare that lacked its usual bite. “You’re lucky I like you.”

You tilted your head and gave him a grin, utterly unrepentant, before brushing another kiss to his cheek.

“Yeah,” you said, voice soft and smug. “I know.”

[kitkatscabinet]

SNUGGLE BUG

Summary: The boys try to get out of bed, their partner has other plans.

Pairing(s): Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, x reader

A/N: unedited

DICK GRAYSON

Dick's always been a physically affectionate person, far more so than the rest of his family. It's why he'd been so ecstatic when he'd found you, a partner that was just as, if not more affectionate than him.

On more than one occasion his siblings had been given front-row seats to the snuggle show when they broke into his apartment, served them right really.

What Dick hadn't accounted for, was just how difficult it was to peel himself from your arms in the morning. Torture would hurt less he's sure.

"Ten more minutes," you whined childishly, burrowing your face into Dick's bare shoulder, tightening your arms around his torso.

"We've already said that three times." Your partner laughed, wriggling out of your hold but with far less strength than you knew he was capable of.

Both of you were fully aware just how quickly he could extracate himself from your arms should the neccessity rise. Technically speaking he did have to go to work, but surely it couldn't hurt to be a little late?

Though a quick glance at the hello kitty alarm clock on the bedside table confirmed he was already late.

"Dickie, can't you just call in? I wanna cuddle."

Fuck. How could he say no to that?

It wasn't like he really needed the money anyway.

His boss's ire is worth it to feel the way you smile into the skin of his neck, your warm breaths and little laughs as you lay tangled together.

So worth it.

JASON TODD

"You planning on letting me go anytime soon?" Jason grunted, though you know him well enough to hear the smile he's attempting to hide.

"Never," you mumble into the skin between his broad shoulder blades, the mattress slouching beneath the combined weight of you and your boyfriend.

Jason, undeterred by your attempts to drag him down, stands with a grunt. A cracking noise you know to be his knees rings out, and though you feel a little bad, you're unwilling to back down in your quest to get him back into bed.

Unfortunately for you, your boyfriend is built like a brick shithouse and is just as stubborn as you. Slowly, he manouevers around your small apartment all the while you hang off his back like a drunken Koala.

"Babyyyy," you whine petulantly into his ear, arms tightening around his neck in an attempt to only slightly choke him into submission.

Sighing, Jason starts to wander back into the bedroom. Just when you think you've won, he spins around, falling backwards onto the mattress and crushing you beneath his bulk.

In the minutes you spend winded, recovering, from being squished like an ant, Jason makes his escape. When you finally manage to come back to yourself you notice something incredibly distressing.

"Clothes! Why are you wearing clothes!" you wailed, sliding off the mattress and onto the floor in a pathetic slump.

Despite himself, Jason smiles at the sight, bundling you up in his arms before hopping back into bed with you. "Ok, you big dramatic baby."

Hey may have sounded put out, but the both of you knew he wanted to cuddle just as much. Besides, nothing was as important to him as you.

TIM DRAKE

He’d tried to be quiet. Truly, with years of training in the art of stealth Tim had intended to simply slip out of the bed and leave you to the sleep you needed.

He’d almost made it, both feet on the floor and the mattress no longer bearing most of his weight when all of a sudden a hand darted out, grasping his wrist.

Tim froze, slowly turning to look down at you with wide, guilty eyes. You're glaring up at him, sleep-addled face far more adorable than threatening, not that he'd ever tell you that, for fear of getting his ass beat.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" your voice is hoarse and gravelly from sleep but the threat is evident.

Mouth suddenly dry, Tim awkwardly chuckles, "Oh, babe, you're awake."

"Thanks to you," you grumbled sleepily, guilt and fear in equal measurements settling heavily in his chest.

"M'sorry, tried not to wake you but I gotta get to work on this case."

"No." You grunted, wrapping your arms around Tim's waist with freakish speed, nuzzling your face into his side.

He can't help the way his heart skips several beats at your casual affection. Tim's always been starved for touch, for the soft loving touch that you've always provided as if its as natural as breathing.

He should be used to it but despite the years worth of love and affection you've poured into Tim in the time you've spent together he still hasn't acclimated.

Tim knows, that you know, just how weak to your touch he is. It still doesn't prevent his resolve from crumbling when you refuse to let him budge, tugging him back down into your warm embrace.

"Good boy," you murmur against the skin of his neck, wrapping around his back like an octopus and trapping him against the expanse of your chest.

His skin runs hot at your words, mind numb to anything that's not your touch as he's eventually lulled back to sleep to the soothing sounds of your breathing.

[bethsvrse]

“Their eyes locked from across the room”

[yannawayne]

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

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

જ⁀➴ RICHARD GRAYSON

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?!”

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

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

You blinked. “What forehead kiss thing?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Immeasurably.”

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

Your smile vanished.

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

Silence.

“Dick.”

“…No?”

“Dick.”

“Camera’s just doing its job.”

“You are the camera.”

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

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

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

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

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

And then Dick dropped the line.

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

Your eyebrows twitched.

“It’s a dress.”

“It’s a crime scene, actually.”

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

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

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

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

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

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

“…Maybe.”

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

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

“For now,” you teased.

Dead. Air.

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

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

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

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

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

“You pricked your finger opening the envelope.”

“It still counts.”

જ⁀➴ JASON TODD

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Jealous?”

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

You slipped your arm through his. “Always.”

જ⁀➴ TIM DRAKE

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

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

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

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

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

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

You didn’t say a word.

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

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

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

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

He hummed low and familiar. “Gotham.”

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

But something… tugged.

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

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

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

“About work?” you asked, brows raising.

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

You stilled.

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

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

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

Silence.

You shifted.

“I stand by my words.”

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

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

You bit back a grin as he continued, spiraling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tim pulled back sharply. “Second?!”

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

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

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

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

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

“And in Alfred’s rankings.”

“Exactly.”

જ⁀➴ DAMIAN WAYNE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fast. Precise. Unfairly hot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get. Off.”

Two words. Ice-cold.

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

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

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

You sat up. “Aw.”

Damian flushed.

“In combat,” he added stiffly.

You winced. “Less aw.”

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

“I don’t bite,” Damian said coldly.

“Oh?” she said with a smirk. “Shame.”

“I maim.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You snorted. “You would never.”

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

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

“Strategically,” he snapped.

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

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

“Oh, Dames…”

જ⁀➴ CASSANDRA CAIN

You were no better than a man.

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

She was… perfect.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blinked again. "Oh??"

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

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

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

He grunted. Nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

You froze.

One hand.

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

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

Could not have imagined a more embarrassing moment for him…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Goopyness... This was very fun to write!

My requests are open! Please...Uwu