#robin's requests

[somewherewithouttaxes]

Daydreams

requested from @hulkingharbor

note: I'm attaching this to the Bleeding Light lore because I love the character I made, and this scenario is eating me alive :))

this is a long one. Sorry not sorry

Summary: Kurt doubts his beauty and worth. Ready takes it upon themselves to prove how much he means to them. Angst and fluff (kinda spicy but also not). Gender-neutral reader.

The mansion roof was a lonely place, but good to relax one's mind. Good to let creativity flow without the judgment of coworkers and students. Good to drown out the never-ending plaguing thoughts with bird chirps and whistling wind.

But no better remedy to stress is a best friend.

You and Kurt stopped conversing on the roof a long time ago. All that was left was a stagnant, yet calm silence. You lay on the bare concrete, letting each spinal joint decompress and muscles settle. Kurt sat next to you, staring off into the horizon, which was turning into a marvelous spectacle of purples and oranges.

You turned on your side, facing him with your body and eyes. He didn't notice you, but this didn't phase you. All you needed was to see him.

"You're so beautiful."

The words barely escaped, the whisper sticking in your throat. Kurt's head whipped down to you. Those perfect golden eyes flashed with confusion. "Pardon?"

A soft smile graced your cheeks. Your eyes couldn't help but light. "I said you're beautiful."

Kurt's eyes fell from you. You watched his jaw clench and muscles agitate. Several moments passed before he spoke again, and the one-word response grated on your mind with his frustration.

"Why?"

"Why am I talking?" Your grin faltered.

"Why are you doing this?" His accent tainted his words thicker, his telltale sign of nerves. You pushed yourself up to level with his face. "Please stop lying."

"Love, I'm not lying-"

Kurt's nearest hand hit yours away as you tried to touch him. "I'm not in the mood. Stop."

"Kurt, I'm not lying!" You ducked around to peer under his insistently ducked head. "Why would I lie? Have I ever lied like that before?"

"Because... stop." He scooted away from your gaze. His tail flicked in agitation - he never used that with you. "I don't want to talk about this anymore."

Your lips settled in a horrified frown. "Why do you think I'm lying? Please talk to me."

Kurt did not talk to you. He disappeared without another word in a cloud of purple and black smoke.

You threw your hands up, head whipping around the perimeter of the roof. "What the fuck?" You shouted to the sky. No response. No Kurt. You shuffled together your papers and pens, throwing everything into a haphazard pile in your arms before booking it down the stairs.

Nothing tugged at your heart more than to find Kurt immediately, but you couldn't function with your supplies so loose in your arms. Shouting for him all the way, you threw open your bedroom door and let the papers and pens fall to the floor just inside. Only mere feet back down the hall, Rogue chased you down.

"Y/N! Are ya okay?" Her powerful hands landed on your shoulder, concern painted across her lovely face.

"Have you seen Kurt? He just ran away from me after we had an argument. I'm worried for him."

"Oh, nah, I'm sorry, sugah. Do ya want me to find 'im for ya?"

You huffed a strong sigh from your mouth, propping your hands on your hips. A dull lump was forming deep in your throat. "No. This is my problem."

Your next stop was his bedroom. It had to be. His only other safe place was the roof, which he would never hide on if he thought you could still be there.

Your breath quickened with every nearing step to his door. With the number of times you'd made this walk in happiness, in giddy readiness for a late-night movie or jam session to grade papers, the growing pit of fear in your stomach should not be so frightening. Never before could you fathom dreading his bedroom.

Your knuckles made a quick rhythm against the door, calling his name one more time. You hated to risk invading his privacy, but you were desperate just to see him; a fulfilling conversation aside.

Slowly the door creaked open, revealing his empty bedroom. After a quick sweep of the visible areas, you backed away to retreat before a soft sniffle hit your ears. Barely, just beyond the edge of the couch, a dark spade lay pathetically on the wooden floor. As quietly as possible you closed the door, tip-toeing to the side of the couch. The side of Kurt's body revealed itself by the side coffee table.

"Please go away."

"Not until you talk to me, Love." You crept closer. The air between you fizzled. He was contemplating leaving again. Your body lurched to the floor, landing one hand on his bicep. "Please! Don't leave me!"

Kurt tossed your hand to the side. His curls hid most of his face, which you could sacrifice a finger to see fully. Anything to see him. You sighed, crossing your legs before him. "Why do you think I'm lying?" You prompted again, your voice softer with a newfound patience. "I'm here for you. What will it take for you to talk to me?"

A hand freed itself from the safety of his lap to wipe the running nose beneath the tear-soaked cheeks. "Ich weiß nicht was ich tun soll." His shoulders heaved.

"Babe, I still don't understand," you muttered pathetically.

Kurt's tongue swiped over his bottom lip. Your mind flashed to inappropriate places. "I am not beautiful," he stated, his flawless curls shaking with his head.

Okay. The nub of the problem.

This scenario had run through your head a hundred times before, all in different ways. Different places. You or him being the first to initiate. But no amount of practice in your imagination could prepare you for the looming threat of destroying the best relationship in your life.

Anything for a chance to cheer him up. To see his gorgeous smile, his perfect eyes light up for only a few more minutes.

"Okay. I'm going to tell you this once and you just... need to believe me," you swallowed the bile - the fear that everything could go wrong. That you had ruined everything so perfect about your relationship with three simple words in a moment of adoration. "I do love you. You are my best friend. I cherish our friendship so much-"

"Stop..." Kurt tossed his head back. Given the context, you despised the way his Adam's apple bobbed and the way you wanted to study its perfection under a microscope.

"Just- let me get through this all. I cherish our friendship so much. You understand me better than anyone. I feel the safest around you. And I love the endless nights bonding over the silly nerd shit on the balcony with endless ice cream." This was it. No going back now. "But the amount of times I've gone to bed at night daydreaming about something as simple as going on a date with you... I mean, a proper date. And I imagine so many kisses, so many other things that friends don't do. Sometimes, I even get so desperate that I go through scenarios from that day, but I imagine I'm treating you the way I truly want to."

You couldn't look at him anymore. If so, you may see him staring back at you with such horror and disgust, that you would never be able to look at yourself in the mirror again. "And I do this just in the hope that the daydream will turn into a real dream, and I can sleep through those lovely imaginings and wake up... and... yeah. That is that."

Nothing from him. No words, no shift in position. All you could offer now was the closing line you rehearsed in your mind a hundred times since opening his door.

"I do think you're beautiful. You're the most beautiful person in this entire damn mansion. I'm not daydreaming about anyone else."

When the suspense was ready to rip your heart open, you finally peeked. Kurt was staring. Not with disgust, but with wonder. Hope.

"How do you think these things?" was all he could muster out.

"Pardon?"

His six fingers fidgeted with themselves. You wanted nothing more than to reach out, take them, and kiss each of them until all doubts were ridden from his pretty little head.

"I don't understand. The last person I gave my heart to was disgusted. Horrified by me. I don't understand how you... don't."

Impossible. The thought of him with someone else, no matter how long before you, dried your mouth and made you want to hurl right there. But even more so, the thought of anyone convincing him such horrible narratives could be true... it made your blood boil. Your skin crawl. Nothing was comprehensible to you of how anyone could think of him in such a way. Not Kurt; not the handsome, skilled, kind, and brave man in front of you.

He was too kind for the world. No matter what became of him, how the world treated him, he never faced it with hate. Never pure, genuine hate for the world. Only for himself.

Slowly, knees cracking and heart aching, you reached for him as you willed yourself to stand. Kurt watched you silently beg him for a moment before accepting the offer. You led him to the edge of his bed and simply sat. Held his hands harder when he allowed himself to settle and relax.

Apprehensively, you sucked in a deep breath and steeled your eyes with his. "Please hear me, Love. You are not horrifying, Kurt. You're not disgusting. You are not. I love you, whether or not you choose to believe it, I love you. Both as a friend and as... anything else. However you'll take me."

Your hands snaked up to his neck, cupping the lean muscles beneath your palms. Warm, soft, and true. "It's okay if you don't reciprocate. I just need you to know that someone sees you as beautiful. I would never lie to you."

As if time stopped and you were left fighting through molasses space, your lips touched his cheek. Lower to his chin. Lower to his neck.

"I think your skin is so lovely. It's my second favorite color; second only to yellow."

His throat rumbled under your lips. A firework of giddiness exploded within your stomach.

While your lips traveled onto his collarbone with delicate kisses, daring to taste the rich blue skin only twice, your hands traveled with a mind of their own to play with his three-fingered hands.

"People have three fingers all the time. I see this as no issue." You brought one of his hands to your face, planting more kisses on his palm and down each individual finger.

"I quite like your ears," you confess, dragging one finger along the edge to mess with the pointy tip. "You know folks dig the elves from Lord of the Rings. So how could this be any different?" You smile.

For the first time since you dared call him what he was, Kurt smiled back. He grinned enough to flash the brilliantly pointed canines, which evoked vivid images you would dare never tell your mother.

You were about to start the journey down his chest, something you'd been all too excited to see for months, when the other hand laid a delicate grip to your chin. Masterfully, Kurt steered your face to his, and within milliseconds your daydreams came true.

His lips were still salty from the onslaught of tears, but nothing could have tasted sweeter. Together your lips worked as one, moving and sucking as though life itself lay beyond. Your back hit the mattress, hands scattering to touch every inch of his lean torso.

And then his shirt was off.

While you admired him, finally unburdened and accepting of your words, his mischievous tail snaked to your torso. Butterflies fluttered deep into your abdomen when the strong tail wrapped partially around your waist and lifted you closer to Kurt's body. He smirked down at you, amused by your desperate squirm.

"Is this what you dream of, schatz?"

A sly giggle escaped you as one finger ran down his back, so near to the spine to send gentle shivers through his entire nervous system. "You have fur," you smiled, tilting your head curiously.

"Ja?"

"It's cute." You pulled his face down to you again. You allowed this kiss to be slower. To taste him more. When Kurt pulled back with a wider smile than ever before, there was room in his eyes for nothing more than joy and relief.

"Ich liebe dich."

You ran your lovesick fingers through that beautiful head of hair. You knew what that phrase meant.

[nightwingsgirlfriend]

the babies (dick grayson & bruce wayne) (please don't flop this took a stupid amount of time) (i used a different pen and im not a fan switch back to my bae 😒) (i looove dick grayson as robin)

[ashrayus]

more of them lets goo!!!!

[starspilli]

dc cowboy doodles & wips !

[gilverrwrites]

I love imaging Dick, Tim, and Damian sneaking around trying to meet Jasons new gf because they just wanna be involved in his life and they know if they they leave it to Jay they wont meet her u til they're married with kids 😭

AND ‘omg us meeting Jason’s siblings when’

AN: Ngl I love this idea too, its so shitty of them but they have the best of intentions.

Damian

A boy no older than 14 with eyes that pierce the soul was not what you'd expected to find on Jason's couch the very first time he'd left you alone there. Jason had to dip out unexpectedly early, and had promised you run of the place until he got back so you'd slept in as long as you could and were on your way to make breakfast when you're greeted by the hell-child.

Once your initial fright wears off you realise you recognize him from a photo Jay had showed you which makes you feel slightly more at ease.

“Good morning? Damian right?” You offer as you pass him, be-lining for the coffee machine, you're gonna need caffeine if you're meeting any member of Jay's family for the first time. “Can I get you anything?”

“Alfred says it's unbecoming to sleep past 9.” Besides the initial glare he'd graced you with as you emerged from the bedroom, he doesn't even look up at you, his eyes glued to the pages of a book. Like brother like brother, you guess.

“Oh, well. Good thing Alfreds not here then.” You add a small laugh, trying to inject some humour to the situation. Damian does not respond in kind. “Is that a no? I think there's some chocolate cereal around here somewhere.”

“What do you do for work that allows you to be in my brother's home in the middle of the day?”

Jeez this kid is no-nonsense. “Or I could make pancakes, I make really good pancakes.”

“And tell me what exactly are your intentions with my baby brother?” Baby?

“I think there's some chocolate chips around here somewhere. Jason says you like chocolate. Chocolate pancakes?”

“Do you always avoid questions?”

“Are you always so intense?”

He slams the book closed and you nearly jump on the spot. He finally looks at you, really looks at you and as you stare back his features begin to soften slightly.

“I’ll have a coffee.”

You're certain from the sly look on his face that he's probably not allowed coffee. He certainly doesn't need any. But screw it, he's not your kid and if it gets him to like a little, you'll take the risk.

So you pour two coffees and join him on the couch. His questions do not cease until Jason returns about an hour later. He couldn't care less about the coffee, but he does care about Damian breaking in to interrogate his partner and immediately kicks Damian out.

Dick

Dick finds out about your existence from one of Damian’s letters, and he's subtle but pushy about meeting you. Not that you're aware. He keeps ‘dropping by’ Jason's apartment ‘just to see his lil brother’, no other reason but is told to get lost or downright ignored anytime you're there, until he decides to cut out the middle man and turn up at your home instead.

“Let me tell you, you are a hard person to get a hold of.” He informs as he invites himself through your front door.

“Um, hello Dick?” As you stare at his lush hair and sculpted abs you wonder what Alfred feeds these boys.

“Yep! I can't stay so I’ve gotta make this quick.” he gestures for you to come closer, speaking in a playful, conspiratorial whisper. “Jay doesn't know I'm here.”

That would be why he can't stay, Jason is due at your door any minute now.

“But you two seem to be getting pretty serious and I think it's important that we all get to know each other. You following?”

You nod, and he gives you the perkiest, most genuine smile. That or he has that exact look practised to a T. From what Jay tells you, either is possible.

“So, Barbara and I, that's my wife” You nod once more, you're aware of Barbara also. “have booked a table at Casa Gotica for Thursday night. We need you to get Jason there without letting on that it's a double date.”

“I don’t know.” you finally give your nodding head a break. “Jay and I don’t lie to each other.”

“Right. I can't begrudge that. Very glad to hear he's picked an honest one.” He takes a moment to straighten his thoughts, but his moment is cut short but the echo of Jason’s combat boots approaching your door. Dick’s eyes rapidly scan the room for a secondary exit before he settles on an open window. “Don't think of it as lying, think of it as omitting the truth. Whatever you have to do just be there for 6.30. Oh, and it's great to meet you!”

“You too.”

“Thursday, 6.30!”

Before you can agree he’s gone, presumably scaling the side of your building as Jay steps inside.

Tim

Tim was actually the first to be aware of you and your relationship with his brother, however, the very real possibility of being gutted by Jason for snooping in his personal life was too high for him to make a move.

But you seeking him out is a different story; or rather, you being the first to say hi when you bump into each other in line at the grocery store is different. It would be rude not to respond to your attempts at initiating a conversation.

“Hello, hi, are you Tim? You don't know me but I’m Jasons partner. Its so great to meet you.”

“I know who you are.” He states rather ominously, eyes darting around behind you. “Is he here?”

“No, but he's picking me up after.” His shoulders visibly ease.

“Cool cool cool.” He’s suddenly much more personable. “So, I hear you're into…”

That chatting doesn't dry or lul at all as the queue dwindles and both buy your groceries. He waits with you until you get confirmation from Jay that he's on his way. He's easily the chillest sibling you've met thus far.

When Jason arrives he gets out of the car to open the boot and passenger door for you as always, but not before he thrusts his phone in your face. “Where is he?”

Displayed on the screen is a selfie of Tim with you in the background, you absolutely do not remember it being taken.

[yannawayne]

not a weapon but a person—capable of loving and being loved.

SYNOPSIS: You get kidnapped and Damian snaps. TAGS: Graphic Depictions Of Violence! Genderneutral! Blood, Hurt/Comfort, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Kidnapping, Childhood Trauma, My Mother is the Worst Woman Alive and I'm her Favorite Son, Damian is Eighteen.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ♱

A heavy thud. Ragged breaths. Then the sound of footsteps.

The same hands that had ruthlessly beat your kidnappers to a pulp—the ones that had pulverized flesh with blood splattered across his knuckles, the ones that had heard the crack of bones beneath his grip, the ones that bore the scars of countless cuts and stabs—now traced your cheek with a featherlight touch.

"Beloved."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ♱

YOUR PALMS WERE PRESSED tightly against your eyes, wrists raw and burning from the rope that had bound them just minutes ago. Sobs slipped from your lips, eyes bloodshot, and mouth parched dry.

The rotting smell of the warehouse was an assault on your senses—an acrid mix of trash, harsh chemicals, and the faint tang of gunfire that lingered in the air.

There was a hushing in your ear as you leaned against a cloaked figure—Batman. Bruce. 

His hand rubbed at your back, firm and steady, a grounding presence amid the chaos. His cape, dark and imposing, wrapped around you like a shield, blocking out the violence unfolding just in front of you.

Shadows danced erratically on the walls as Robin moved with lethal precision. Bodies fell unconscious, thudding heavily against the concrete floor. Blood splattered. Screams echoed. Each punch landed with a sickening crunch, bones breaking. Crates and debris were scattered haphazardly, wood and concrete slamming onto the floor. 

Damian couldn't see anything but red.

His vision was tunneled, focused solely on the next target, the next blow, the next scream. 

A swift roundhouse kick sent one assailant crashing into a stack of crates, the wood splintering under the impact. One punch connected with a jaw, the sickening crunch of bone breaking echoing through the air. Blood sprayed on his fist. Another one rushed toward him, brandishing a knife, but he disarmed the man with a swift twist of the wrist, jamming the blade into the attacker's palm. The man screamed, clutching his arm as red streaked his skin.

Damian's eyes flickered with a dark satisfaction as he watched the thug stumble backward, clutching at the wound.

One last man remained. One who had lunged at him from behind, grappling onto his back. Damian scowled and surged backward, driving both himself and his attacker into the wall with bone-crushing force. The man's grip loosened, a pained gasp escaping his lips as the air was knocked out of him.

"Fool," Damian spat, his voice dripping with venom. "Do you have any idea who you're dealing with?"

The thug whimpered, trying to scramble away, but Damian was relentless. He twisted sharply, dislodging the assailant and slamming an elbow into his ribs. The man crumpled against the wall, clutching his side, his eyes wide with fear and pain.

"You think you can touch those I care for and get away with it?" Damian growled. He didn't give the thug a moment to recover. He swung a powerful fist into the guy's face, the impact sending a spray of blood and teeth into the air. 

"F-Fuck you, man!" The man yanked a gun from his waistband, but before he could even line up a shot, Damian’s foot kicked out, sending the weapon flying through the air. The gun clattered against the concrete with a deafening clang. With a snarl, Damian lunged forward, grabbing the thug by the collar and slamming him into the ground.

"H-Hey! Mercy! Mercy! I'm a-already down!" the assailant wailed, his hands clawing at Robin's uniform in a desperate plea. "The Bat don’t kill! You—you ain't gonna kill me!"

Damian's expression hardened, his eyes narrowing as his voice dropped to a low, menacing growl.

"I'm not Batman," he spat, the tone amplified and darkened by the modulator. "Every breath you take is a mercy I choose to grant. By the time I'm finished, you'll be begging for death."

He raised his fist, the tension in his muscles coiling like a spring ready to snap. The thug’s eyes widened in terror, his pleas growing frantic as he braced for the blow. However, just as Damian’s fist was about to land, a hand clamped down on his shoulder, grabbing onto his hand with a vice-like grip. Before he could react, Batman—Bruce—had tackled him, pinning him firmly against his chest. 

“Robin,” Batman’s voice was firm, concern barely concealed. “That’s enough.”

Damian's struggle was fierce, his body thrashing under his father’s strength as he roared in fury.

“Let me go!” he screamed, his voice raw with anger. “I’m going to kill him for what he did to them!”

The anger engulfed Damian like a stormy ocean, dragging him beneath its violent waves. Visions of his mother’s face, his grandfather’s form, and accusing shadows surged from the depths, all condemning him. Damian’s cries erupted into a raw, guttural scream, gradually dissolving into ragged gasps as he battled the relentless tide.

Though Bruce had shaped him into a hero, a beacon of justice, and his family had offered him a fragile semblance of belonging, Damian was still his mother’s son.

The violence and anger roiling within him were like roots twisted deep within his soul. There was not a thing that could purge the primal rage and pain that had taken root before his first breath.

When he finally broke through the surface, baptized in blood and weighed down by sins that clung to him like chains, he sought you out with an urgent, almost desperate need.

A heavy thud. Ragged breaths. Then the sound of footsteps.

The same hands that had ruthlessly beat your kidnappers to a pulp—the ones that had pulverized flesh with blood splattered across his knuckles, the ones that had heard the crack of bones beneath his grip, the ones that bore the scars of countless cuts and stabs—now traced your cheek with a featherlight touch.

"Beloved."

Your hands were carefully peeled away from your eyes, and you met soft emerald eyes through a veil of tears. His hands moved to unlatch his cape, the soft fabric pooling around your form. His lips, speaking in his mother tongue, murmured a soothing litany of comfort, Arabic endearments flowing like silk. He pressed your head against his chest and you found refuge in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. 

Bruce watched the scene with a pensive look. His son's body had dwarfed you, broad shoulders and strong muscles enveloping your form like a shield. His head was tucked into your hair, his hands raking all over your tense and sweaty skin.

Damian had momentarily shed the hardened exterior he so often wore—a soldier with a heart that, despite its armor, occasionally revealed cracks. This was a side of him that often surprised people.

Because Damian Wayne was the farthest thing from soft.

He was all sharp edges. Poisonous, scalding words that could sear through the thickest armor of patience. Rough, nearly violent in his touch, like a blade pressed against skin. There was no gentleness in his movements, no softness in his gestures, only the relentless precision of a trained killer.

From the earliest moments he could walk, his life was an unending series of tests, each more grueling than the last. Each cut and bruise was a lesson. Failure was met with harsh punishment, success with silent approval. Affection and praise were as rare as mercy. 

The League’s doctrine was ingrained in him: emotions were vulnerabilities, attachments were liabilities, and loyalty was owed only to the mission and the League. His purpose in the League of Assassins was clear—to be the perfect instrument of their will, a living embodiment of their principles. 

Emotion was his enemy, a weakness to be purged.  He was taught to suppress his feelings, to turn them off like a switch. Pain was an illusion, fear a phantom to be banished. He learned to compartmentalize his thoughts, locking away his humanity in the deepest recesses of his mind. 

By the time he reached ten, he was a finely honed instrument of death.

A living weapon in a world that knew no peace.

It had taken Bruce eight grueling years to begin undoing the damage. And even then, he had barely scratched the surface.

Then there was you.

The trembling, warm-faced student Damian had introduced during his senior year—his partner for a science project, he said. 

At first, the interactions were subtle—a fleeting glance here, a hesitant smile there. But as time went on, it became impossible to ignore the way your presence began to soften the sharp edges of Damian's demeanor.

Bruce had seen you both fall for each other over the months. And he saw hope. 

You were the opposite of every lesson Damian has ever been taught.

To him, you were soft, in every sense. Soft movements, soft features, soft voice. Everything about you exuded comfort.

You made something he had always pushed down and shut away come to the surface.

You made him feel things—things he should not.

When you touched him with your soft hands, everything in him burned. The gentle brush of your fingers against his skin ignited a searing heat, a raw and unfamiliar longing that clawed violently at the walls he had worked so hard to maintain. Each touch chipped away at the concrete barriers of his training, breaking them down and leaving him exposed, aching for something he couldn’t quite name.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ♱

Mania. Drake had called it, a wild obsession of his that could consume and devour.

Damian's arms encircled you like a lifeline, holding you close as though he feared you might slip away. His lips brushed against your temple, warm and tender, while his biceps pressed firmly under your chest, anchoring you in his embrace. The air was thick with the mingled scents of sweat, blood, and the lingering residue of fear. 

And yet, amidst these odors, there was an underlying, almost imperceptible hint of Damian’s cologne—Arabian oudh. It was rich and smoky, with notes of aged wood, a faint earthy sweetness, and subtle undertones of leather and spice.

You buried your face into the crook of his neck, the fabric of his suit brushing against your cheek.

A Crush. Todd had chalked it up to puppy love, something that would eventually fade with time.

He lifted you effortlessly from the floor, his strength evident in his smooth, controlled movements. The way he adjusted his hold with such care to ensure your comfort spoke louder than any words could.

Warmth enveloped you—Damian had always run hotter, like a human furnace. On sweltering days, his clinginess (no matter how much he denied it) had been a nuisance, his heat making you feel as if your skin might melt off. But now, that same warmth was a comforting embrace, a welcome shield.

Infatuation. Grayson had suggested, thinking it was just a fleeting, intense passion. But there was something deeper in the way he looked at you, something that felt permanent and unshakeable.

“I am here. I am here, beloved," he spoke to you lowly. "It's alright now."

Love. His father called it.

In an instant, everything seemed to collapse around you. Tears welled up and streamed down your cheeks as you sobbed into his chest, each shudder of your body sending waves of anguish through him. Damian’s heart twisted painfully at the sight of you. 

He has seen suffering—he has inflicted suffering. But this was different. Your pain was a torment he was helpless to alleviate. 

Face twisted in guilt, he pulled you tighter against him, as though he could hold the world’s pain at bay if he just held you close enough.

A hand tapped at his shoulder, and he flinched, turning to see his father.

“The Batmobile is just by the docks. We can—”

“They're in shock,” Damian scowled. the fire back in his eyes. “Do you honestly believe they're in any state to be moved at this moment?”

Bruce’s gaze was firm. “Damian, we don’t have time to—”

“They need to be stabilized first,” Damian cut in sharply, his tone brooking no argument. He turned abruptly, striding towards the exit. “If you want them to survive this, we need to take care of them properly, not rush them into a car. I shall be outside.”

Without waiting for a response, Damian moved swiftly, the clatter of his boots echoing as he stepped into the cool night air with you. Once the warehouse door closed behind him, he turned his full attention back to you, his hand gently brushing your tear-streaked face. 

He moved to press his forehead gently against yours, the warmth of his skin meeting yours in a tender connection. He could offer no verbal comfort anymore; words seemed woefully inadequate. Your cries gradually subsided as you drew comfort from his presence.

Love.

He lifted his hand to the side of his face, pressing a button. As his mask retracted, his eyes met yours. Damian knew that more than anything else, you loved his eyes.

Time and again, you found yourself drawn to them, unable to tear your gaze away. They were hypnotic—an exquisite blend of emerald green, green as vibrant as the leather cover of his sketchbook, flecked with gold and streaked with brown paint.

His eyes were windows to his soul, offering the only genuine glimpse into the depths of his emotions. In them, you could see his anger burning like a stormy sea, joy dancing like sunlight on rippling water, embarrassment flitting like a shadow, and pain etched as deep as his scars.

At times, his eyes grew gentle, revealing something much softer—something that made your heart swell and your knees feel weak. A love so pure and unexpected that it could melt the coldest of hearts.

Damian Wayne was the farthest thing from soft.

But in these soft, fragile moments he shared with you, where his heart beat in sync with yours, Damian found an unexpected calm. It was in these rare interludes, away from the brutality and darkness that defined his world, that he could truly be himself.

Here, he was not a weapon but a person—capable of loving and being loved.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ♱

ao3: yenwayne

NOTE: I want to delve into the line I wrote: 'Damian is still his mother’s son.'

It's just to show his trauma, I despise Talia with all my guts.

Talia's control over Damian is a textbook example of manipulative conditioning at its most extreme. In psychological development, early experiences and parental influence are crucial in shaping one's self-concept. From his earliest days, Damian was deprived of a normal childhood. His personality, thoughts, and desires have all been sculpted by the League of Assassins from day one.

His anger, protectiveness, and sense of duty are manifestations of this—a child raised to be a killer, now struggling with the fragments of a humanity that was never fully allowed to blossom.

I'm not saying he hasn't changed!!! He has turned into so much more than the weapon they intended him to be. He is genuinely good. But the impact of such deep-seated trauma cannot be easily overlooked or resolved. It’s not something that can simply be swept under the rug or fixed overnight.

So, this was my attempt at capturing his character! I’m very open to constructive criticism since I’m new to the fandom. Please be kind and gentle with your feedback :)

[gender-premium-tm]

begging on my KNEES for you to draw damian. My precious bean. My little meow meow. My gorgeous murder baby.

Please I know that you have the skills to truly capture his adorable little gremlin energy 🫁

(I misclicked and pressed lungs on accident but I'm leaving them there. You can have some lungs <3 your probably need them)

ask and ye shall receive, anon!!

i need you know that this ask filled me with so much motivation it’s unreal. my stabby son boy!!! look at him go!!! :3

reblogs>>>likes

[kidovna]

it is that bad

[adddddiiii]

Damian Wayne Headcanons

You catch him talking to Alfred (the cat) about how much he loves you

He leaves you handwritten notes in the most elegant cursive because he thinks texts are impersonal

He cannot take compliments

"You're cute."

"No. I am intimidating."

"You're blushing."

Whenever he's on patrol or missions, he leaves Titus with you knowing you'll take good care of his beloved dog

He takes you to art museums and spends hours explaining the history of every piece he knows you'll love

You're the only one he'll let patch him up after a mission — he trusts you completely

If you try to sneak out of bed early, he'll sleepily grab your wrist

"Dami-"

"Stay. Jus' a little longer."

He practices smiling in the mirror because he wants to perfect it for you

He turns red when you kiss his cheek in front of his brothers

When you're upset because someone said something offensive to you, he'll awkwardly offer to hold you

"Do you want to cuddle?"

"Yes please."

"Okay," he wraps his arms around you, "Who do I have to talk to? Or punch?"

[snailkites]

depiction of the sopping nasty muddy robin i saw building a nest

American Robins line their nests with mud, and shape the nest with their bodies. which means it is a full body mudding experience. they also carry big gobs of mud in their bills.

[montic0]

CHEWING on ur art. what if u made dick ruffling robin tim’s hair? what then?

yeah what then?

[somewherewithouttaxes]

Kk folks I have an idea. Inspiration struck like a prophecy in the night.

I have an engagement plot (x reader) where you two have different native languages, and he spends months beforehand to learn and perfect the language enough to propose in your native tongue. I got this from a couple I saw on Reels, where he did that exact thing for her and it was CUTE

But I can't decide who to do it for. So... SOS

[jaythes1mp]

Shallow

Yandere Batfam x Merfolk Reader ♧romantic♣︎

Aquaman, Aqualad, Mera, and any other underwater hero’s and creatures don’t exist in this.

||-→ I tried to make each pov a different style of writing ||

There was something so captivatingly beautiful about observing the humans from below the surface, as they went about their daily lives, traversing the Metro-Narrows Bridge. The elders had always warned you to keep your distance from the world above, but you couldn't resist sneaking glances at the peculiar, moving metal boxes zooming across the streets, or the striking figures donning vibrant spandex who soared through the skies at night.

The bridge, illuminated by the soft glow of the moon, cast an ethereal light across the water of the river. This sight, enhanced by the night, would always catch your attention, especially when they appeared. Moving in and out of the shadows, darting around or simply standing on the railing, lost in their own worlds.

You had grown fond of observing them as they soared through the night sky, reminiscent of the graceful movements of swans. Their elegance was effortless, seemingly defying gravity as they traversed the air. It was in those moments, watching the sky people glide past, that you were struck by the rawness of their beauty.

You never dared to come too close to the surface during the day, the haunting tales from your pod serving as a constant reminder of the horrors that existed above the water. But the night was a different story; it’s when you were more willing to take risks. The darkness provided the perfect cover, shrouding you in obscurity as the humans slept.

Though you supposed that the real reason you continued to venture up to the surface was because it was the time that they emerged, gliding through the air and gracefully traversing the buildings. Their shadows, illuminated by the silvery light of the moon, seemed to dance in perfect harmony with the night. Always seeming to captivate your attention in a way that no underwater creatures could.

However, on this particular night, you noticed something out of the ordinary. One of the usually lively land creatures was sluggish and listless, moving with none of the fluid grace that you had come to admire. A deep crimson liquid seeped through the fabric of his suit, spattering across the spandex and staining it a dark, ominous hue.

You cautiously approached the surface, swimming closer than you had ever dared to before. Slowly, you emerged, peering just above the water's edge.

You couldn’t see the human clearly, obscured as he was by the sizable drop between the bridge and the water below, but the scent he carried was undeniable. There was something utterly alluring about his aroma. It was a stark contrast to the familiar scents of salt and oil you were used to underwater. You haven't come across anything even remotely similar to it before.

The land dweller was undeniably beautiful.

A loud crash shattered the silence, jolting your attention back to reality. Your gills flared out in alarm, and in your surprise, the soft bioluminescent glow of your tail dimmed down, a natural response to the potential threat.

You backed away, submerging yourself down into the safety that the depths of the water provided. Your gaze fixating on the figure in the distance, decorated in his familiarly vibrant red and yellow attire. This one hastily making his way to the blue-clad human's side, concern decorated across his face, his actions imbued with urgency. Mask torn from his face.

With a heavy sigh, you turned your back from the scene unfolding above, releasing a flurry of bubbles that rose to the surface. Your pods stern warnings echoing in your mind, a constant reminder of the dangers that lay in the world above.

You make it no more than fifteen feet before a thunderous splash shatters the silence, the seawaters ripples rolling across your skin and triggering an involuntary shiver, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Your tail instinctively sprung into action, propelling you back with a rapid, powerful flick.

With a sudden movement, your arms encircled the man's sinking frame, securing a firm grip on his sides. Your eyes widening in shock at the contact, your webbed fingers digging into his flesh, anchoring him in place.

For a moment, you paused, studying him. Your eyes absorbing every little detail. From the man's soft, almost spongy flesh under your touch, how soft and almost squishy his land dwelling arms were, how they seemed to just give way to the touch of your webbed fingers. Then to the way the baby blue suit of his that clung to him, was torn and tattered, ripping away underwater. Your gaze lingering on the deep red liquid seeping out of his torso, staining his skin and leaving a trail of ominous scarlet. And then, your gaze travelled to the two bizarre, elongated limbs extending from his waist. A stark contrast to the streamlined grace of your own tail.

His lips parted, releasing a stream of bubbles, each one ascending to the surface before vanishing from sight. You watched as his body suddenly went limp in your arms, reminding you of the dire situation you had inadvertently involved yourself in. With a powerful flick of your tail, you swiftly propelled yourself to the surface, bringing him up so that he could breathe. Your gills flared out, working overtime to filter oxygen from the water while you waited, your hearts hammering in your chest.

When the human made no attempt to improve, limp and unresponsive, you couldn't suppress the deep hiss that escaped from the back of your throat. Your grip tightening around his frame, your tail coiled tighter around his legs, an attempt to stabilise and bring some form of response from him. Your eyes grew large in desperation as you shook him back and forth, each movement growing more frantic with the passing seconds.

You directed your attention to the deep red liquid that was oozing out of his abdomen, its thick, almost oily consistency spreading out in little waves around you in the water. Coming out in shallow pulses. You tilted your head slightly, noting that the fluid's flow didn't seem natural. It felt wrong, a gut feeling of sorts. You hastily reached for the pouch tethered to your hip, pulling out a woven bundle of seaweed and a salve prepared by the elders of your pod.

You delicately began to layer the salve over the gaping wound, taking care to press the woven seaweed into the lesion. The salve, a rich green and purple, had a cooling effect as it made contact with the human's skin. A crucial aspect due to its high iodine content, which helps to close the large gash. As the ointment came into contact with the blood, it began to congeal and bind the tissue together, halting the bleeding.

However, you were acutely aware of the human, who remained unresponsive. His chest, which should've been rising and falling with each inhale, lay still. A sudden panic clutched at your hearts, threatening to overwhelm you. You weren't sure what the proper human anatomy was, but it was abundantly clear that he needed to breathe.

You placed a webbed hand on his chest, the flesh there surprisingly firm. You pushed down, then up again, attempting to mimic the breathing motions you had seen him and others do. Your heart pounded in your chest as you pleaded for him to respond, a silent mantra running through your head. With urgency, you placed a firm grip on the back of his neck, tilting his head back, the gills on your neck flaring out to pull in as much oxygen as they could. Your tail coiling tightly around his waist to keep him afloat.

Despite the pressure you exerted, there was no response from him. His chest remained still, no signs of life. Your breath hitched at the sight, a sense of desperate desperation washing over you. You were frantically trying to keep his head tilted back while the water was washing over his face, the cool liquid creating small ripples that mirrored the urgency of the moment. His body remained motionless, unresponsive to your frantic attempts. You could feel the pressure building in your own chest, your gills working overtime to extract oxygen.

In a final, desperate attempt, you lean in closer, positioning yourself to allow your webbed fingers to forcibly pry open his parted lips. You took in a deep breath and expelled it through the opening, pushing every ounce of air you could manage into his unresponsive lungs.

You repeated the action multiple times, exerting every ounce of effort to force air into his trachea. Each breath, heavy and laboured. You finally pulled back, allowing yourself a moment of respite. Your breaths came out ragged and sharp, a stark contrast to the steady, undisturbed water around you.

As he remains unresponsive, his body frighteningly limp, your body goes slack, a wave of disappointment washing over you. Reluctantly, you release your grip on him and let him go, his body now floating eerily close to yours. You close your eyes tight, trying to swallow the lump in your throat that was rapidly forming.

You flinch at the sudden and unexpected contact, your eyes fluttering open. An alarmed hiss escaped once again through your lips, more out of surprise than anything else. Just as you were about to submerge yourself underwater, a firm hand grasped your shoulder, its grip strong and unwavering.

"Y-you're...alive.", you stuttered out, a mixture of disbelief and awe laced in your raspy voice. The hand on your shoulder felt firm and real, a stark contrast to the nightmarish scenario you had just been a part of.

“Nightwing?” Red Robin's voice cuts through the quiet night, bouncing off the empty alleyways. Frustrated, he takes off his comms, readjusting them to try again for the sixth time in the last ten minutes.

"Dick, come in," he practically growls out, tapping on his device with a little more force than necessary.

“Where the hell are you?” he mutters, staring up at the tall buildings. Dick’s always late, but this was getting ridiculous. With a sigh, he leans back against the wall, crossing his arms as he waits.

A low, familiar voice crackles on the other end of the comms. “Stalker.”

Tim rolls his eyes, recognising the voice immediately. It was too late in the night to put up with him. “Jason.” he sighs, “What do you want. Have you heard from Dick?”

“Not a word.” The response is curt, and the annoyance in Jason’s voice is obvious. He rarely joined in their patrols, preferring to stick to his own methods of dealing with things.

Tim lets out a frustrated huff, tapping his fingers impatiently against his arm. Of course Dick would pick now to go radio silent.

He ran his fingers through his hair, closing his eyes for a moment to let out a frustrated groan. He was stressed enough as it is, none of this was helping.

“You’re patrolling the Narrows?” Jason’s voice breaks through Tim’s thoughts, pulling him back to reality. He looks around, taking in the surroundings with a frown. The Narrows was never a good place to be alone.

“Yeah.” he responds, not taking his eyes off of the shadows. “I’m sure you’ll be happy to know, Dick’s nowhere to be seen. In or out of uniform.”

There’s a pause on the other end, and Tim can practically hear the smirk in Jason’s voice.

“Need backup?” he offers, amusement clear in his tone. The elder boy mocking him.

Tim scowls, shaking his head even if he knew Jason couldn’t see him. “No.” he replies curtly. “I’m not a child, I can handle this myself.”

“Sure, kid.” Jason’s response is just as dismissive. “I’ll come check on you in a bit anyway. Make sure you haven’t gotten your ass kicked.”

Tim’s scowl deepens at Jason’s reply, not appreciating the offer of help — or the nickname. “I don’t need a babysitter.” he grumbles. “I’m going to find Dick, and I don’t need your help.”

There’s a pause, and Tim can practically hear the eye roll from Jason. “Whatever you say, Replacement. I’ll be there soon.”

“No—” Before Tim can protest, the comms go silent. Damn it, Jason.

He lets out a frustrated sigh, biting at the inside of his cheek. The last person he needed to see right now was Jason. The last time he’d come face to face with the man, things didn’t go so well.

Tim grits his teeth and pushes himself off of the wall. He had better things to do than get into a fight with his older brother. Like finding his other older brother.

With a huff, Tim starts walking, making his way through the narrow alleys of the Narrows. It’s quiet, eerily so, and his instincts are on high alert.

Everything feels off. The air is still, and he can’t shake the feeling of being watched. His breath stutters in his chest, but he pushes the feeling down. He had work to do.

“Dick?” he calls out, his headset’s blinking green light signalling the message going through. He glances around cautiously as he moves. “Nightwing, come in. Can you hear me?”

There’s no response, and Tim tries again. Nothing but static. His shoulders tense, the unease growing in the pit of his stomach. This wasn’t like Dick. The man was always on top of communication.

Tim continues forward, his footsteps quick and light. He keeps his eyes scanning the shadows around him, but the silence is deafening. Where the hell is he?

A muffled crunch breaks the silence, and the boy freezes, his breath hitching. It was faint, coming from somewhere off the alley in front of him. His heart rate quickens, and he carefully shifts on his feet, trying to pinpoint the source.

There was something across the street. Someone.

Tim squints, his eyes trying to make out what it was. It was too dark to tell. Damn it, why can’t Dick be here to deal with this..

He’s too used to working in a team, having the security of someone else there to watch his back. The someone’s in question usually being Batman or Nightwing.

He steels himself, slipping into a fighting stance and taking slow steps forward. He can’t let his guard down, not now.

As he moves, the shape across the street shifts. It’s still far away, but from the size and height, he could tell it was definitely a figure.

His comms device beeps, startling the boy and nearly causing him to stumble. He quickly scrabbles to check it, hoping for some sort of answer or communication.

“Red.” Jason’s voice comes through, static breaking up some of the message. The device was clearly reaching a limit. “Can you hear me? Dick’s in trouble.” The voice, as crackling as it was over the broken comms, sounded dishevelled and panted. Jason rarely called for help.

With a final glance at the figure across the street, Tim’s eyes flicker back down to the comms in his hand. Jason found him.

“Where are you?” he asks, not wasting a second as he sets off at a sprint. He didn’t care what kind of trouble Nightwing had gotten into, he just needed to get there.

“Don’t worry about me. Get to Metro-Narrows Bridge.”

The urgency in Jason’s voice has Tim’s heartbeat racing. He doesn’t question it, just continues sprinting. He knew the bridge, and knew it was far.

“...” he grits his teeth. “I’m on my way.”

Tim hits the wall with a pained gasp, eyes squeezed shut as he doubles over coughing at the impact. His vision swims. Shit.

He lets out a sharp gasp, the breath knocked out of him as he’s smashed against the hard bricks. The pain doesn’t have time to register, as his mind is sent into a panicked frenzy.

He sucks in a low breath, trying to clear his head and figure out what the hell just happened. There’s a shuffle of feet, and the distinct sound of metal being unsheathed.

The attack was too precise, too sudden. He grunts, trying to push himself back away from the wall, but a large hand keeps him pinned.

His head finally stops swirling, and he can focus on the large figure in front of him. Not good.

He’s a towering wall of a man, arms bigger than Tim’s head. He’s muscular, clearly built like a brawler. The metal that had unsheathed was a knife, the sharp, gleaming blade being held firmly in the man’s large hand.

“No more running.” the man growls, his other hand still keeping Tim pinned against the wall.

Tim glared up at him.

He’s been in situations similar to this before. He’s fought and won against opponents bigger than him, more experienced than him. He needed to stay calm, and assess the situation.

With a pained grunt, he pushes against the man’s arm, struggling to break free. The man just leans closer, his breath hot in Tim’s face.

The smell of smoke and old alcohol fills Tim’s nose, making him want to retch as the man sneers at him. “Struggle all you want, kid.” he drawls. “You’re coming with me one way or another..” Tim clenches his jaw.

He analyses the situation quickly. His equipment was in his belt, but pinned tight against the wall left him with very little mobility. He had to find a way to get away swiftly, before the man could do him any serious harm.

Tim’s mind races, trying to work out a way to get himself out of this. He’s too close quarters to the man, and any attempt to get away would lead to him getting a knife in his gut.

The man’s grip tightens, making him gasp as the knife is held closer to his skin. His eyes darted around, searching for anything useful. He would have to time this right. “Stop squirmin.’” The man’s gruff voice rang out.

Tim ignores him, grunting as he struggles against the hand pinning him. There had to be something he could use to—

A gleam of something metal catches his eye, and he glances down, spotting a metal pipe sticking out of an open garbage bin. It wasn’t much, but it might be enough.

Tim takes in a shallow breath, his mind racing for a second. “Why are you doing this?” he asks, trying to keep the man talking and distracted.

���Don’t try any shit, sidekick.” He tightened his hold on the boy, using his other hand to get out a walkie-talkie from the pouch on his chest.

Sidekick? Tim’s teeth gritted, a spark of anger flaring up in the back of his mind. He wasn’t just a sidekick.

Tim’s eyes glance down again at the pipe, trying to calculate his next move. He watched as the man brought the walkie-talkie up to his mouth, his heart rate increasing as he prepared to act.

“I got a bird out here,” the man grunted into the device, keeping his eyes fixed on Tim. “Found him in the-“

He barely had time to react before Tim acted. With a sudden burst of strength, he jerks forward, wrenching himself free from the man’s grip. He immediately drops down, grabbing the metal pipe and brandishing it like a weapon. Flinging it into the man’s hand that held the radio. The impact caused him to drop it, as he let out a cry of pain, stumbling back.

Tim didn’t hesitate. He quickly used the momentary opening of shock and pain to his advantage, striking the man hard in the stomach with the pipe. The man grunted, his hand instinctively going to where he’d been hit.

He wasn’t about to give the thug any time to recover. He brought up a leg and kicked out fast, nailing him hard in the knee. The man yelled out again, staggering back.

He raged, stumbling forward and landing one hard punch against Tim’s face.

The younger boy’s head snapped to the side from the hit, the force of it knocking his mask askew, cracking and splitting as he reeled back. His vision swims from the impact, but he can taste the distinct taste of blood in his mouth.

He stumbled back, bringing a hand up to his face and cursing, blood seeping down his face.

His head hurt. A lot. That one hit had left him dizzy, and his cheek stung like hell.

The pain is enough to clear his mind though, and he refocuses on the man in front of him. His lip is split, and his cheek feels like it’s on fire. His mask hangs half off of his face.

Tim grits his teeth, glaring at the man with a new found fire in his eyes. He wasn’t going to let some random thug take him out.

The perpetrator lets out a huff, spitting out a glob of blood onto the floor next to him. An ugly sneer plastered his face, and he stepped forward, reaching down for the knife that had been discarded on the ground. “You little shit.” he spat. “I’ll make you pay for that.”

His eyes flickered down to the knife held flimsily in his hand. He needed to get out of this. The man was bigger and definitely stronger, but obviously nowhere near as experienced as Tim was. He’s surprised that the thug had even managed to get in a decent hit to his face.

His mind is too preoccupied, caught up in the whirlwind of thoughts, and he fails to notice the man’s approach until the moment he's already upon him. The thug's fury makes him careless and ill-prepared, the sound of his stumbling footsteps betraying his presence due to the injury on his knee.

Tim quickly raises his arm instinctively, attempting to shield himself as the man’s towering frame comes charging at him. He’s tackled to the ground in a single swift move, the impact crushing his ribs against the concrete floor.

His back hits the ground, the air getting knocked out of him for the second time that night. The man’s weight pinned him to the ground, the air leaving his lungs in a loud gasp as he struggled.

The man had the knife clutched in his hand, the gleam of the blade reflecting the lights of the city as it was raised up, aimed to strike.

Drake nearly sneered at the sight. He’s an amateur. Over confident in himself and relying solely on force.

Tim’s eyes darkened, his glare locked on the man above him. He was not going to be defeated by some two-bit mugger.

He kicked out at the man, aiming for his still injured knee. The man grunted as he took the kick, shifting off balance for just a second.

It was enough of an opening for Tim to react. He pushed up on the man, using the momentum to roll them both over, switching their positions and taking the top. He wasted no time in smashing the man’s head against the ground, knocking him out stone cold. Blood pooling down against the pavement.

He paused, breathing heavily as he stared down at the man. His lip stung as blood still trickled down his face, the adrenaline in his system beginning to wear off.

Tim sat there for a moment, letting out a hiss of pain as he lifted a hand and gently touched his split lip. He gingerly moved his fingers through his hair, grimacing as he felt the beginnings of a bruise on the side of his face.

Dick was still in trouble. That was the thought at the front of his mind, the reason he was out here and why he had to get to that bridge.

With a wince, Tim pushed himself up, staggering for a moment as a wave of nausea passed over him. He was pretty sure he’d developed a minor concussion from being thrown into the wall.

Everything ached, and his body was screaming at him to just stay down. He ignored it. Nightwing was his priority.

He swayed for a moment, his vision going white around the edges as his head spun, before he managed to stay standing and start moving again.

He didn’t think, he just ran.

He’s still panting as his feet hit the concrete, his body protesting the movement. The nausea from his concussion was becoming very real, and he had to stop to take a deep breath to steady himself.

Fuck, he was going to throw up, wasn’t he?

Tim bit his tongue and started running again, forcing himself to push on and ignore the pain. He had to keep moving.

The cold, night air hurt his lungs, but he didn’t stop. Not even as the pain from the beating began to make itself known with each hard footstep against the concrete. He had to get to the bridge.

He kept going at a brutal pace, ignoring how his vision swam and how every breath he took just made him feel like he needed to puke.

He’s not sure how long he had ran, his mind focused entirely on just moving. One foot in front of the other, he just kept going.

As he rounded the corner, he noticed the bridge in the distance. His eyes widening, watching Dick stagger back against the railings edge.

Tim stumbled for a moment, but pushed himself back up, keeping himself moving forward. He could barely see straight, but nothing else mattered. Nightwing’s tall and dark silhouette was leant against the night light of the bridge. Even from a distance, he could see the blood on Dicks skin, staining the side of his face, his suit’s front ripped open, a large gash in his abdomen pooling out onto the ground.

Tim’s speed quickens, every muscle in his body crying in protest but he continues on. All he could focus on was the sight of Nightwing. In the low light, he could see Dick’s shoulders moving with each heavy breath, looking seconds away from collapsing.

In a desperate attempt to save his mentor, Tim lunges forward and grabs onto Dick's arm. However, the fabric of the torn and damaged suit simply tears further under the force, causing Dick to slip free from Tim's grasp and fall into the dark, ominous water below.

"NO—!" The cry escapes Tim's mouth in a choked rush, the sound filled with anguish and fear. With a desperate burst of energy, he lunges forward, his hand reaching out in a desperate attempt to cling to Dick's suit, to anything that would keep him from falling.

But it was too late. He was too late.

His heart hammers frantically against his chest as he gazes down into the dark depths below, his eyes wide and searching desperately for even a glimpse of Dick in the river's deep murky water.

His breath hitches, a silent sob wracking his frame as he slumps over the edge of the bridge, his hands shaking as he brings them up to his face. His blood-slick fingers thread through his hair, his eyes wide as they stay fixed on the dark water where Dick had fallen.

The sound of a vehicle approaching in the distance catches his ears, but he doesn't acknowledge it. He doesn't turn to see who it is or check to see if it's a threat. He just keeps staring down into the water, the sound of the river below the only thing he can hear over his panicked breathing.

Jason came to a crashing halt at the side of the bridge, the panicked urgency in his voice clear. He stumbled off his bike, nearly falling as he yelled out.

"Where is he--” His hollow eyes darted around at their surroundings. "WHERE IS HE?!"

Dick.

Tim's eyes widened as Nightwing's head broke the surface of the water, his body floating limp against the current. He's alive.

His shoulders tense as he quickly scrambles to his feet, his body protesting in pain with each movement.

The relief he feels is quickly drowned out, however, as he notices the large bioluminescent tail wrapped around his older brother's lower half, keeping him from crashing with the harsh currents. 

Jason quickly approached the bridges railing, his heavy boots thudding loudly against the concrete, his heart racing thunderously against his chest, deep sapphire eyes following Tim's wide gaze down into the water. As he saw the sight in front of him, his eyes widened in disbelief.

He gripped the rough stone ledge, leaning over to get a better look at his brother. "What the fuck is that?" The older boys voice cuts through the ringing in Drake's ears.

Tim couldn't respond, his eyes glued on the large tail, his jaw slack. He took in the sight of the long powerful appendage wrapped around his brother's waist. It was beautiful. The long black scales seemed to glow a soft purple even in the dim moon’s light, as if the creature attached was glowing itself. The bioluminescence was something that one could only describe as ethereal.

Tim's heart raced as he took a step closer to the edge of the bridge, his eyes darting around, trying to catch a glimpse of the creature. He couldn't believe his eyes. Neither of them could.

Tim's mind reeled, trying to comprehend what they were seeing. His heart was pounding, his breath coming in short gasps as he tried to process the situation. He knew that he should be scared. His mouth was dry, his tongue felt heavy and thick as he finally managed to speak, his voice low and shaky. "I..I don't know." He croaked. 

A ragged breath escaped his lips as the sea creature met his gaze.

He was frozen as he locked eyes with the creature. His mouth went dry, everything around him seemed to disappear into the background. The only thing he could focus on was the deep piercing eyes peering up from the darkness of the river.

Everything about the creature was attractive – its long shimmering scales, bioluminescent glow, and even the large dorsal fin along its spine.

The flutter of the creature's gills when its eyes met theirs didn’t go unnoticed by the brothers. Jason's lips parted into as much of a smirk as it could given the situation.

The Mer's features slowly disappeared under the surface, as it made a sudden exit. Both of the boys' eyes flicked towards the water, but the sudden gasping from their elder brother drew their attention away once more. 

Dick was struggling, coughing up water as he attempted to pull himself up and out of the water. His large hand was grasping desperately to the creature's shoulder, as he pulled himself up.

Tim's heart leapt into his throat as he watched Dick gasping for air, his body shivering as he struggled to grapple himself out of the water. He was so focused on his older brother's struggles that he almost missed the flicker of glowing purple as the creature’s tail disappeared beneath the surface of the water.

Tim moved forward to help Dick, but a hand on his arm stopped him. He turned to see Jason with a grimace on his face.

"What are we going to do?" Tim asked, his voice filled with worry.

Their conversation was cut short, however, as Dick's coughing subsided, replaced by a strangled gasp for air, his eyes wide and frantic. 

"I'm fine," he rasped, his hands trembling as he tried to pull himself up onto the bridge, his body shaking violently. His sharp ocean eyes focused on the crushed seaweed-looking salve used to treat his wounds.

Tim was about to respond when they heard a shuffling from the water, the faint sound of something scratching against the concrete. Tim's gaze snapped down to the water, his heart starting to pound against his chest.

Jason had already stepped back and drawn his weapon, his eyes fixed on a spot in the water a few feet below them. The sound of sloshing water echoed around them again, the dim light from the moon making it difficult to see anything except the faint bioluminescence.

And then, you were gone.

This is the result of the poll -> link.

Don’t judge my random fighting scene with Tim I was trying something out🦖🦖

All likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated and encouraged!

I rewrote everything, so I apologise that this took so long to come out💚

[inseobts]

Sunshine Lost

strawhat crew x fem ! strawhat ! reader (platonic)

you're the sunshine of the strawhats, until doubt shattered everything—and years later, when you return on the enemy’s side, your final act of love is a sacrifice they’ll never forget

words count: 2.4k

tags: platonic, d3ath/sacrifice, angst, hurt/comfort, accusation, misunderstanding, found family, marine involvement

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The sun shines high over the Thousand Sunny, and you’re dancing on the deck again.

"Yoo-hoo~! Sanji! Is lunch ready yet?" you sing, spinning in place as you wave your arms like a windmill "I’m starving!"

"Almost done, my sunshine angel!" Sanji calls from the kitchen window. He’s got that goofy heart-face again "Just a few more minutes, mon amour!"

You giggle "Okay! I’ll wait with my stomach screaming!"

"Don’t scream too loud," Zoro mutters from where he naps on the deck "Some of us are trying to sleep."

"Grumpy swordsman alert!" you tease, poking his leg as you skip past him.

He grunts. Doesn’t move. Classic Zoro.

Nami looks up from her map "You’ve got too much energy. You sure you didn’t sneak any cola from Franky’s stash?"

You gasp, hand to your chest "I would never! I’m innocent!"

Luffy laughs as he climbs up the mast "She just runs on sunshine!"

You beam at that. It’s true. You love them all so much. Being part of the Straw Hat crew is like a dream come true. You’re always ready to help, to smile, to cheer someone up, even when the seas are rough.

But today… today feels just a little strange.

At night, after dinner, Robin finds you sitting by yourself near the rail.

"You’re writing again?" she asks, soft voice blending with the wind.

You nod, hiding the paper quickly "Just a letter."

"To your cousin in the Marines?"

"Yeah," you say "But it’s not like I tell them anything important. I just wanna know if they’re okay."

Robin nods slowly "Be careful. Not everyone sees things like you do."

You blink "What do you mean?"

She just smiles, sad and mysterious "That sunshine of yours… don’t let anyone steal it."

You laugh "No one can steal the sun, Robin."

But you keep your letter hidden that night, folded under your pillow.

A week later, everything falls apart.

"How did they know?!" Nami slams her hands on the table "The Marines were waiting for us at the next island—again! That’s three times now!"

"We even changed our plans" Zoro growls "There’s no way they should’ve known."

Luffy’s quiet. Too quiet.

Franky crosses his arms "Somebody’s talking."

"What are you saying?" You ask, blinking “No one here would do that!”

Brook looks at you gently "Miss Y/N… it’s true someone might be giving them hints, even if they don’t mean to."

You feel the room tilt.

"I talk to someone in the Marines�� but I never tell them anything important! I swear!"

Sanji’s smoking. He doesn’t look at you.

"You write letters, don’t you?" Nami’s voice is sharp now "Maybe they read them. Maybe you say more than you think."

"No!" You stand up. Your hands shake "I would never hurt you guys. I love you!"

Robin’s voice is cool "We know how much you care. But the pattern is real. We can’t ignore it."

"You think it’s me." You look around the table "You all think it’s me."

No one answers.

Luffy’s still quiet.

That hurts the most.

You whisper, "Captain?"

He looks up "Just… give us some time, Y/N."

And with that, you’re dismissed.

Your chest feels like it’s caving in. Like someone reached in and squeezed the sun right out of you.

Later that night, you sit alone again. No dancing. No singing. Just silence.

You don’t write a letter. You don’t smile.

Just sit.

Because when your family doubts you… what’s left to shine for?

The ship is quiet tonight. Too quiet. Like it knows you’re leaving.

No stars in the sky, just heavy clouds. Wind brushing your skin like cold fingers. You shiver, but not from the breeze.

You stand in the dark hallway, holding a small bag. Just the basics. You don’t need much. You never did.

Inside the boys' room, you hear snoring. Zoro. Maybe Usopp too. Or even Luffy. In the kitchen, nothing but silence. Sanji must have gone to bed early. Robin’s reading in the library. She won’t hear you pass.

You pause for one second. Just one.

No. You can’t stop. If you say goodbye, you’ll cry. If you cry, you’ll stay. And you can’t stay.

They didn’t believe you.

They looked at you with those eyes. Like you were a traitor. A liar. A risk.

You thought this crew was your family. Your safe place. Your light. But now all you feel is cold.

And you’ve been through this before.

Back then, when people you loved turned their backs on you. Back then, when “trust” was just a word, not a promise.

You swore if it happened again, you wouldn’t wait around to feel it twice.

So you don’t.

You lower a small boat into the sea. No sound, just soft ripples. Your heart is beating loud though. It almost drowns everything else.

You don’t look back.

Not once.

When the sun rises, Luffy yawns and stretches.

“Morning!” he calls, walking toward the kitchen “Hey, Y/N! You awake?”

No answer.

“Probably sleeping in,” Usopp mumbles as he walks by “She always does after a storm.”

Robin glances around “She’s not in the girls’ room.”

Sanji checks the kitchen “She’s not here either…”

Jinbe frowns “Where’s her bag?”

Chopper runs around, checking corners “She’s not anywhere! She’s gone! She’s really gone!”

Nami’s eyes go wide “No note? No nothing?”

Silence.

And then Luffy steps outside. Looks out at the open sea.

He whispers, voice hoarse, “She left.”

No one knows what to say.

Because they all felt it.

They all doubted. And now… the sunshine is gone.

Three Years Later

Location: Pyros Island – North District, in flames

“Move in! We don’t let them escape again!”

The shout cuts through fire and gunpowder smoke.

The Strawhats are in the middle of chaos, racing down broken stone streets, dodging cannon fire, punching through enemy ranks. This was supposed to be a stealth job. Take down a weapons lab. Get out.

It isn’t... because you’re here.

You step out from the shadows, cloak whipping behind you, no longer in bright colors or sunny dresses. You're in black and crimson now... worn gear, face half-covered by a mask. Your eyes sharp.

Not the sunshine girl they remember.

"Stop!" Sanji shouts, eyes wide “That’s—!”

"Y/N...?” Nami says your name like it’s a memory slipping out by accident.

Zoro freezes “No way...”

Luffy stares at you from across the smoke-filled plaza, fists trembling at his sides.

But you don’t say a word.

Instead, you pull your blade.

Your team moves with you, mercenaries, ex-revolutionaries, no flag but fire. You're not with the Marines, never were. But you’re on the other side now. That much is clear.

Brook deflects a strike from one of your allies “Miss Y/N?! Is it truly you?”

You don’t answer.

Too fast. Too close. Luffy launches forward.

“Y/N, stop! Why are you—”

You clash.

Your blade hits his fist, sparks flying.

“Don’t talk to me like we’re friends” you snap. Your voice is colder. Steady. But underneath, your hands are shaking.

“You left us,” he says “Without a word!”

"You doubted me first, how could I stay?" you spit back, eyes flashing.

Robin tries to reach you “You were hurting. We didn’t see it then. But we do now. We—”

“Don’t.” you hiss, swinging at her, forcing her back “You don’t get to say that now.”

Everything’s burning. Everything’s loud. You see fire in every direction. Screams. Crashes.

You hear the crew shouting your name, over and over.

"Y/N!"

"Sunshine, please!"

"Don’t do this!"

You clutch your head suddenly.

They’re louder. But they’re not saying the right things.

Why now? Why not then?

You blink and the battlefield shifts.

Suddenly, they’re laughing. Mocking.

You see their faces, twisted... Zoro glaring, Nami whispering, Luffy turning away.

“You talk to Marines?”

“She’s a spy.”

“We can’t trust her.”

You hear your own voice screaming. No, no, no, that’s not what happened!

You stumble back, vision swimming.

Your chest aches. You can’t breathe.

“Shut up!” you scream, though no one is talking now “Get out of my head!”

Luffy runs toward you again “We didn’t mean it! We were wrong! I was wrong!”

You see the real Luffy this time, his eyes wide, real, full of pain.

But you still can't move.

Too many voices.

Too many memories.

Too many lies you told yourself just to survive.

You drop a smoke bomb and vanish in the clouds.

You hide deep in the ruins. Knees pulled to your chest, eyes wide, breathing heavy.

“…I thought I forgot” you whisper to no one.

But you didn’t.

You remember every laugh. Every dinner. Every hand on your shoulder.

And the way they looked at you that day.

Back on the battlefield, the Strawhats stand in silence, the fire dying down.

“She’s not our sunshine anymore...” Sanji mutters.

“No,” Luffy says, fists clenched “She is. We just broke her light.”

Luffy crashes into the ground, breath knocked out of him. His hat flies off.

“Damn it!” he groans, pushing himself up.

Zoro stands bloodied, blade shaking in his grip “There’s too many.”

Sanji is on one knee, coughing hard “They’re surrounding us.”

“They’re fighting harder because of her,” Nami says between clenched teeth, weather staff crackling with weak sparks “They think we broke her. Maybe we did.”

Brook’s coat is torn. Franky’s chest plate is dented. Chopper’s trying to hold everyone together, but his hands won’t stop shaking.

Robin is quiet. Her arms bloom around them like shields, trembling and breaking just as fast.

They’re losing.

They’ve never lost like this.

Not like this, where it feels like they deserve it.

You’re still in the ruins, clutching your head, listening to ghosts.

"She’s not one of us anymore." "She left." "You were the traitor." "We were wrong." "We were wrong."

"We were wrong."

You blink hard.

They're still fighting.

They're losing.

Because of you.

You rise.

You shouldn’t. You don’t owe them anything. You told yourself that over and over. Built a whole new life around it.

But seeing them bleed, fall, break apart, something inside you won’t let you stay still.

Even after everything.

Even after they didn’t.

You run through the burning alleys, pushing past fallen stone and crying civilians. Your blade is heavy in your hand, your body is slower than it used to be, but your heart is beating with something again.

You see Luffy hit the ground a second time.

You see a blade fly for Nami’s back while she tries to shield Chopper.

You don’t think.

You move.

Your sword blocks it. Sparks fly.

“Get away from her” you growl.

Everyone freezes.

"Y/N...?" Nami whispers, eyes wide.

You stand between them and the enemy, panting, blade up “I’m not here to fight you anymore.”

The enemy soldiers pause, confused.

You glance back at the crew “You guys still suck at watching each other’s backs.”

“…Sunshine?” Sanji breathes, like he’s scared the name will make you vanish again.

You smirk weakly, turning back toward the enemy “Don’t get used to it.”

Then you charge.

Luffy is the first to move after you “HEY! THAT’S OUR IDIOT!”

Zoro grins through blood “Still crazy, huh?”

Nami laughs, even as tears fill her eyes “She came back…”

“Let’s go get her back for real” Robin says, voice like steel.

"Now we’re talkin’, super-style!” Franky shouts, getting to his feet.

Chopper wipes his tears “You’re still our sunshine!”

They all surge forward again, stronger, together, because you’re there.

Because you're home.

After the last of the enemy falls, you collapse on your knees, breathing hard. Ash clings to your skin, and your arms are shaking.

Luffy walks up slowly, holding out a hand.

You look up at him.

"Still want me?" you ask quietly, voice breaking.

Luffy nods, smiling just a little, just enough.

“Always.”

You take his hand.

And this time, you stay. Or at least that's your plan.

The flames have died down. The enemy is running. The people are cheering.

But the war isn’t over.

Because the commander hasn’t fallen yet.

And he’s aiming right for Sanji.

He’s too slow this time. Too injured. Too distracted by you, by the way you laughed earlier, helped Nami, the way your eyes softened when you called him to help you when you got surrounded “Curlybrow!”

He looked at you like he wanted to say something.

He never got the chance.

“SANJI, LOOK OUT!”

You see the blade flash. You see him twist too late.

You move.

Faster than you thought possible. Faster than fear, faster than pain.

You throw yourself in front of him.

You feel the cold stab of steel through your side.

Then through your chest.

Everything stops.

"Y/N—!!!"

Your knees hit the ground. You smile, eyes wide with shock and tears “I'm still fast… huh?”

You fall.

Sanji catches you.

“No, no, no—” His voice breaks instantly, arms shaking as he lowers you down “No! What the hell did you do?!”

“…Guess I owed you guys something big.”

Zoro takes the enemy out for good.

“You idiot!” Sanji shouts at you “You absolute...! Why?!”

You laugh, a cough mixed in “You were the only one who didn’t look at me like a traitor after it happened… You never doubted me, did you? That helped me... So I figured, this time, I’d be the one to help you.”

Sanji’s breath hitches “Don’t say stuff like that. You don’t—you don’t get to do this! Not after you just came back!”

You look past him. Luffy is yelling your name. Nami is sobbing, gripping her staff like it’s all she has left.

Zoro clenches his jaw, his sword sheathed. He already knows.

Robin’s hand covers her mouth.

Even the others can’t move.

You smile at all of them.

You shine, even as your blood soaks the stone.

“I missed you guys… so much.”

Sanji holds you close, forehead against yours.

“We never stopped looking for you” he whispers, tears streaming down his face.

You smile faintly.

“I know. I was the one too scared to face you again.”

The sky is clear now.

No smoke.

No fire.

Just the warmth of the sun rising on the horizon.

Your fingers twitch toward it.

“I'm happy now…”

And then, you go still.

No one says a word.

The Strawhats stand together, for once not in victory, but in grief.

The battlefield is silent.

Because their sunshine is gone for real now.

But the light you left behind burns in all of them now.

[ahhrenata]

@xxfiction-is-my-realityxx here it is!!i love the idea! steve and robin are too cute 🧡

[cryingpariah]

More of these because they are unnaturally fun to make