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sophiethewitch1 · 3 months

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What We Want - Chpt. 4 - Nightmares Too

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

“You wanna get out from under there?”

What sort of question is that? Of course, you don’t. You’re going to live here now. You’re never leaving this tiny, cramped space till you rot away and die. The stained underside of some IKEA desk was your new home.

Well, since your actual home was seeming less and less like an option. Which kinda sucks, because you’re feeling surprisingly possessive of your stuff. You don’t want fancy dresses or bubbly champagne, you want your ratty couch and the neighbour’s cat that liked to visit in the middle of the night. Your mother was right, you were the type of person to never be happy no matter what. You could appreciate the food, though.

Shaking, trembling, knees clutched to your chest, you look up. Slowly, because you’ll probably piss yourself if you don’t.

Now that you weren’t holding his hand, the vigilante known as Red Hood was much, much scarier. He was sitting on the carpeted floor with you, but he still somehow looked incredibly menacing. You preferred his old look, honestly. The helmet had less ‘grim reaper’ vibes. The hood and metal face mask made him seem like a cyborg assassin, or something equally terrifying. He was terrifying.

Still, you could appreciate the insane sort of hilarity of this situation. The notorious crime fighter and crime committer was sitting here with you, crossed legs, twiddling his thumbs away. You press your face into your hands, laugh, and then scream. The sound is muffled, but he probably still hears the exciting new phase of your breakdown.

“Don’t…” your voice cuts off, you have to think before you can manage to speak again, “Don’t you have something better to be doing?”

His giant shoulders shrug.

“I’ve got time.”

Did he? You don’t know how long you’d been up here, how long you’d been sitting here either. You’d fallen asleep, despite your desperate fight not to, so it could be anywhere between 10 to the next day. Had you missed midnight? God, you hoped not.

That stupid little ritual is what convinces you to leave. Not common sense, not the Hood, not your desperate desire to get home and sleep. No, it’s the image of your mother’s tired smile, the city in the background as you wish her another happy birthday after a long day of work. It’s a memory you’re not willing to give up, even if you technically already made your wish.

You’d lived this awful day twice. You got to blow out your candles twice, too.

Slowly, surely, you climb out from under the desk. Red Hood is quiet, careful. He doesn’t move apart from a subtle shift in his hood, suggesting he’s watching you. He’s acting like you’re a wild animal or something, like he might scare you off, or might prompt you to attack.

If he tries anything, you will. It doesn’t matter that he could snap your neck like a twig. Maybe he’s right to act that way, you’re feeling pretty feral right now. Half giving him your back, you turn the monitor for the computer on. It’s Wayne property, so you think you technically have some right to it. It’s not like you’re going to hack it or anything, you just need it to-

11:48.

“Thank god,” you sigh, relieved. Still, you’re not out of the woods yet. You needed at least a lighter, hopefully, a candle and a desert of some kind too. There were lots of cakes downstairs, if you felt you could do it. Big ‘if’ there. The mental breakdown was still well underway. And not everyone could dodge a punch like Red Hood could. Knowing you, you’d probably get sued for millions if you accidentally snapped at some poor rando.

Let’s start small. You wrench open the office’s drawer and start rooting around. You find lots of things, a Wayne Enterprises-themed stress toy, a kid’s drawing of them and their parent holding hands, and a surprising amount of hand cream, but no lighter. You slam the drawer closed and move to the next one.

“Hey, what are you doing?” his voice rumbles out, and your head snaps around.

You look down. Right. This is probably illegal. You were rooting through someone else’s private property. Of course, it wasn’t the first time you’d done something like this, but it was definitely the first time you’d done it in plain view of a vigilante.

Crap. You hadn’t thought. That was your entire night, summarised.

“Uh, this is… Do you have a lighter?” you ask, wincing. You don’t really like the mask he’s wearing. Apart from being so intimidating, you’re shaking like a wet chihuahua, it’s also impossible to tell what he’s thinking through it. The domino mask, the metal face mask and the voice changer completely hid any emotion. Full coverage and all.

The helmet probably would’ve made that even harder. You’d still prefer it. This guy's creepy.

“You smoke?” he responds, slowly but surely getting to his feet. You back up quickly, pressing yourself to the wall of the cubicle. Red Hood pauses and then moves even slower. He’s careful not to frighten you any more than already.

This was all really strange. One of the strangest things that had ever happened to you. And you might’ve woken up this morning in an alternate dimension. Or something, you had zero clue what was going on. God, you really wished you’d paid more attention in science class. You’d thought Mr Gregory was crazy, but he’d gotten the last laugh.

“I don’t,” you clench your sweaty fists tight, “Maybe I should.”

“Don’t get started, it’s impossible to stop,” Red Hood says, digging into his pocket for something. You freeze, but relax again when he hands you a scuffed metal lighter.

Holding it close to your chest, you whisper a thank you to him. He nods his head in acknowledgement.

This was really weird. You couldn’t say it enough.

“I hate you,” you state because you sort of have to. Even when he’s being nice to you, helping you. It’s an obligation. You have to make sure that despite the show of good faith he was offering, you were certainly feeling no such thing.

“I figured,” he replies, which like- What the fuck? Does this make absolutely zero sense to anybody else? You’re not sure what about your panic-stricken tears and desperate hand-holding made you seem hateful, but you could work with it.

Maybe all the feelings you push down are starting to show. You ignore how worried that makes you because you’ve had enough for today. Today was more than e-fucking-nough.

You were going to find a cake and a candle, and you were going to make your wish. Again, because life sucks. You were going to finish this horrible day again because life sucks. And hopefully, you’d wake up tomorrow… tomorrow, not today.

You weren’t sure if you would. Life sucks, right?

You look the Red Hood in his creepy glowing red eyes and say, “I think I’m losing my fucking mind.”

“That’s not good.”

“No, I don’t think it is.”

There’s quiet between you two for a moment. You think he’s staring at you, trying to figure you out. He knows you hate him, but you’re… well, you’re too tired to be angry right now. You just want to go to sleep. You just want this damn day to end. Tomorrow you’d go back to hating all the vigilantes of Gotham with a fiery passion, but today…

Well, you wouldn’t call it peaceful, whatever this situation is. Maybe it’s understanding. He seems understanding, for some reason. You don’t really want to think about that.

You just wanted to hate him. It was easier that way. Then you didn’t have to hate yourself so much.

“I’m going to go find some cake and a candle. It’s my birthday and I haven’t made a wish.”

Red Hood nods, “I could eat.”

That wasn’t an invitation, but whatever. Guess you’re blowing out your candles for your twenty-first with… this guy. Better than yesterday, which was with nobody but yourself and your trashy TV. Or, well, the first today.

You really think you are losing your mind. Whatever, whatever, let’s worry about it later.

After one of the most awkward and uncomfortable elevator rides of your life, squished into a corner as Red Hood took up the lion’s share of space, you find yourself back on the first floor. It’s chaos. The gorgeously decorated gala is now in rubble, and people are rushing around with the sort of fear you’d expect after the fucking Joker showed up.

He wasn’t here, which was good. It was important to focus on the good.

First responders flit around the space, checking the people who seem worse for wear and the rich bastards who think they’re more important than the service workers who are cut or bruised. All the food tables have been knocked over, the waste of it making you upset. Of course the Joker wastes food, he’s gotta be the evilest man on earth or something. It’s not just the interior that’s been destroyed, either. The giant gothic windows have been shattered inward, and broken glass covers the entire floor space. Red and blue lights flash through the gaping holes, bits of glass still attached to the stone sending it cascading across the walls.

You look down. You’re missing your shoes.

“You can’t walk on that,” Big Red says, which like, duh.

“I know that,” you mutter, looking around for another way. Ah, good, there’s a staff entrance over there, which you think probably leads to the kitchen-

“I could carry you.”

You give him a disturbed look and he shrugs. Pointing to the ‘staff only’ door, you wish you had the strength to tell the guy to fuck off. He feels like a babysitter or something.

“I’m going in there.” ‘Please don’t follow me.’

He follows you, because of course, he does.

Lucky for you, the staff entrance leads straight to the kitchen. Even luckier, there’s absolutely nobody here to witness you lose your mind. There are also lots of dishes waiting to be served, already plated and perfect. This is a professional kitchen, but it was your birthday so you have to assume they’d have had candles or a cake prepared.

You walk through the giant kitchen, and Red Hood hangs back. He leans against the doorway, crossing his tree-tunk-esque arms and glowering. Nowhere can do a scary hero like Gotham can. He was really messing with your vibe, which wasn’t all that great in the first place.

Your eyes rove over the platters, head snapping back when you spot a tiny set of confectionaries at the back. Cupcakes, three in total. They don’t match the rest of the other high-quality foods, but you know they’re the ones you want anyway. You hope this didn’t belong to someone else, and promise to pay them back… somehow. You’d write a note or something, leave your number behind.

You were rich now. You’d have preferred the lottery instead of all this. What’s the saying, ‘beggars can’t be choosers?’ You’d certainly been begging.

It’s a struggle to reach the back of the counter without knocking any of the other food. You grab the plate, lift it up and over, and then set it back down on an empty stretch of countertop.

You look over the three cupcakes, trying to pick one. There’s one that’s a dark raspberry pink. A pink that’s a little too dark, actually. Almost… reddish. You glance over your shoulder at the devil lurking behind you, wince, and decide you’re going for the blue cupcake. You think this might’ve also been one of Sam’s favourite colours. It would’ve been at some point, at least.

Now, candles. This might be the hard part, but it’s the most important one. Again you start rooting through some stranger’s property, and Red Hood just watches silently. It’s weird. This whole situation is weird. You’re tired and confused and you’re half convinced you’re dreaming it all, but… but you’re definitely starting to think this might be real.

And that’s fucking scary. So, back to candle hunting. They had to have some, it was your birthday. Maybe, you were pretty sure. Somehow the worst day of the year had happened twice because God knows you had some shit luck. You’d really like some solid answers, instead of just ‘maybe!’. And for some reason, you really didn’t think you’d be getting them anytime soon.

Ah, shoot. You found your candle. It’s one of those giant ‘Happy Birthday’ cake toppers, all loopy and connected words. Your cupcake is way too small, and your candle is way too big. Well, you’re nothing if not resourceful. When you bend the candle, the wax snaps easily under your grip. You’re left with a capital ‘H’ and under that the ‘B’ and little ‘i’ and ‘r’ from the beginning of birthday. Good enough, you suppose.

You stick the crumbly, glittery monstrosity on top of the stolen cupcake, and swipe the lighter again. The letters sag to the side, and you nudge them back into balance.

You glance down at the ovens, reading the bright neon numbers. 11:57.

You wait, flicking the lighter open and closed. The metallic click, the rhythm of the movement, it settles you a bit.

“Why are you waiting?” Red Hood pipes up, breaking that comfortable silence. At least he doesn’t come any closer, still lingering half in the room, half not.

“It has to be midnight,” you answer, wishing him away. This is your thing. You didn’t want anybody here for it, didn’t want anybody else’s presence tainting this piece of your mother’s memory. You were greedy for it, not eager to share.

You were sharing today. There’s a part of you that wants to scream and rant at the man who for some unknown reason simply will not leave, but you imagine your mother’s frowning face, and you can’t do it. She’s the angel on your shoulder (nagging, nagging, nagging) compared to your usual devil-inclined self. She was always insisting you needed to be a better host, be nicer to people. Maybe make more friends. And after she’d gone, you’d tried, you really, really had.

But Red Hood was an altogether different matter. Everything they were, everything they represented, was an altogether different matter.

You were obsessed with the Waynes. And in a different, more bitter, spiteful, malicious way, you were obsessed with the Bats, too.

You weren’t going to be friends with Red Hood. You hated him, despised him. Mum always said you needed to get better at forgiving people. You disagreed, but just… maybe just for today, you wouldn’t make him leave.

You could glare at him, though. You felt that was fair enough. He ignores your narrowed eyes like a seasoned professional. Bet he’s had a lot of people hate him. Bet he deserves it.

“It’s 11:59,” he tells you, and you stop glaring at him to light the candle.

The light is weak, barely able to touch you. Still, it’s strong enough to get rid of those tiny glimpses of red and blue police lights, to keep away the darkness for just long enough. You sigh into the light, absorbing it into yourself. You’d always thought the world was too dark, and you hated winter when you’d lose the sun. So like you had to hate the dark, you had to love this light. This tiny little candle, burning away.

“What’re you gonna wish for?”

You stare at the flickering flame. It twitches back and forth. Casts light into the kitchen. Mesmerises you. It’s barely alive, and you’re about to put it out before it can even start. It could’ve been some great fire, some city-destroying blaze. And you’re going to kill it. Kill it before it can kill you, can kill everyone here. Kill it before it could have ever hoped to live, to thrive.

Just a baby. Just a little, little baby.

It doesn’t deserve it. That never seems to matter. It never mattered before.

“The Joker to die.”

You exhale, blowing the light out and sending the kitchen into darkness. When you manage to find the light switch and turn it on, the room is empty. It’s just you, your cake, and your tears. Your hands clench, and then you realise you’re still holding it.

You still have the Red Hood’s lighter. He left without it.

Well, finder’s keepers, right?

You’re shaking in the back of the ambulance, the blanket wrapped around your shoulders not enough to keep out the Gotham night’s chill. You don’t really remember how you got here, to be honest. Everything’s pretty goddamn blurry. You were talking to a vigilante, a red one. Not down here, staring up at the Wayne Tower. You remember his face in the shifting candlelight. Did you blow out your candles with him? That was a fucking crazy thought.

And now the Bruce Wayne has a hand on your shoulder. You don’t remember when he arrived. He’s talking with the paramedic, chatting over the top of your head. There words are going in one ear and out the other, it’s alien for as much as you can understand. You want to shake his hand off, you don’t want anyone touching you right now. Especially not a stranger.

Even if it was a guy you had owned a fan Twitter for. Those were the darkest days of your past. Even more so than the time you’d totally thought about jumping in front of the Gotham subway. You’d only not done it because you’d have felt bad for wasting other commuters' time. What were you doing? Ah, right.

In the end, you don’t shove him off, because you don’t know if you can move other than blink. Even that’s against your will. Your eyelashes are fluttering randomly, eyes flicking around the interior of the ambulance. You’re barely conscious. And you doubt you’ll remember any of this later, either. You can feel the memories slipping away, the drain at the back of your mind sucking up the fear and bad thoughts and leaving you blank and empty. Numb, safe, but numb.

The paramedic’s mouth moves. You don’t think she’s talking to you, which is good. You can’t hear her over the ringing in your ears. She does some final checks, and then she’s off to the next person.

The two of you are left to silence, to watch the rest of the world in its chaos. You feel like there’s a barrier, a pane of glass, between you and the other people here. Like your TV screen, really. The paramedic goes to a woman and her son. The woman seems fine, but the son has a long gash on his arm. She’s screaming, he’s crying, and the paramedic is handling it all with calm professionalism. You wanted to start screaming too.

You glance at a man in a suit yelling at another first responder, spittle flying into the air with his rage. You think he’s one of the ones you saw earlier in the ballroom. His suit is still perfect, and he doesn’t have a speck of blood on him. Even his hair is still perfectly brushed and coiled.

You looked like a drowned rat in comparison.

“…Are you alright?” The question breaks the silence, and you slowly turn to look up at Bruce.

Well, that’s the dumbest question you’ve ever heard. You thought Bruce Wayne was supposed to be brilliant. Maybe he’s just feeling bad because of the new trauma he’s gifted you tonight? It wasn’t his fault. As most of your mental health issues stemmed from, it was the Joker’s fault.

“No,” you answer, and he nods stiffly. Great chat.

He huffs out a sound of frustration, lifting the hand on your shoulder. Immediately, some of the tension in you seeps out. You hope he doesn’t notice. You think he probably does.

Someone calls out your name. Your head turns to the crowd. They call out your name again, this time closer, and you call back. You’re sort of surprised when a crying Jeanine pushes out of the throng of people. She’s a mess, her hair out of her pristine bun, her suit missing its jacket, and her glasses cracked. Seems she didn’t have a very nice time either.

You look down. She’s also missing her shoes. It’d be kind of gross, walking around on Gotham’s streets barefoot, if you could manage to give a shit. You’re still restarting, however, and all energy is going towards not crying again. You’re failing. Awfully bad, at that.

Whatever. Gotta try.

Panting, Jeanine places her hands on her knees, “I’m so, so sorry.”

It takes a moment for you to load the words through your Windows XP brain, but when you do, you’re more confused than you were a second ago.

“What? Why are you sorry?” you say, for a second imagining Jeanine as one of the people that attacked you.

“Because you wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t… hadn’t forced you to come…” Jeanine’s voice trails off, a look of horror on her face. Ah, she’s noticed Bruce. Apparently, she’s quite afraid of the man. You feel a sense of camaraderie towards the woman. God knows how many times you’d worn the exact same expression talking to one of your own bosses.

And then, well, then you usually got fired. It’s not looking good for her.

“Mister Wayne! I didn’t see you there, apologies!” she says, straightening her shoulders.

“Jeanine, it’s good to see you. Are you well, have you checked with the paramedics yet?”

“I have, Sir. Thank you for worrying about me,” Jeanine answers, with a healthy dose of hero-worship in her voice. You can’t judge, you’d be staring all starry-eyed at Bruce if you weren’t falling asleep where you sat. Apparently, traumatic experiences make you sleep. Who would’ve thought?

Like you hadn’t experienced this scenario a thousand times before. First time with fucking Bruce Wayne standing right next to you, though.

“Of course, I would. You’re one of my people,” he says, giving her a warm smile. Jeanine physically sags with relief at his words, because it sounds like she’s probably not getting fired tonight.

Bruce gets a notification on his phone, hums, and then slides it back into his pant pocket.

“Jeanine, we’re going back together to the manor tonight,” Bruce continues. Also, you were? Nobody mentioned that to you, and certainly nobody asked you about it. Well, fuck what you want, right? Who cares if you desperately want your cramped apartment in the Narrows, you’re getting shipped off to the fucking Wayne Manor of all places.

You just go along with it. Just go along with it. Wayne Manor probably has lots of nice, plush beds, and you’d kill for a pillow and some ambient rain sounds right now.

Bruce looks off to the side, where Tim is on the phone. They make eye contact, Bruce nods, and then turns back to the two of you.

“I’ll be right back. You two stay here, do not go anywhere,” he commands, king of the castle.

There’s quiet between the two of you. Jeanine squirms under your gaze, obviously guilty. You think back over her words, and then you groan.

“Jeanine. Jeanine, did I not have to go to this fucking party?”

Jeanine is quiet. She’s too fucking quiet.

“Jeanine?” your voice is shaky, and you have to bite the inside of your lip to force yourself not to tear up again. It was getting kind of embarrassing, honestly. You did not cry this much. Usually. This was not a usual day, of course. You’d been Ground Hog Day-ed into another reality… you think.

“No, Ma’am, you didn’t need to go. You’re… you used to be a Wayne, and even if you’ve parted from the name, you still have the power that comes with that. You did not have to come tonight,” she says, sounding remorseful and afraid. And maybe she should be.

If you had as much power as she said, you could probably fire her. You press your hands into your face.

“I thought you said you’d quit if I didn’t go,” you grind out, digging your fingers into your eyes, clawing into your already ruined makeup.

“I was lying, Ma’am. As I always do. I’m sorry,” she apologises. None of this makes any sense, and neither does she. Why would she lie? Why is this normal? What is the new normal, and how are you supposed to hide if you don’t know how to blend in?

You realise that you’re falling into old habits instinctively. That maybe you should say something about all this, or at least that you have some weird form of amnesia. You don’t, though. You’re scared, you’re far too scared.

“Well how- I thought you were serious this time!” you cry out, stuttering over your own lies, flinging your hands from your face. Jeanine winces at you. It’s probably the dried mascara running down your face in black rivulets, making you look like an odd mix between a raccoon and a banshee.

You’d seen your reflection in the ambulance’s side mirror. It had almost been as scary as the Joker’s goons. Almost.

“…Please, please don’t fire me,” she begs, her hands clasped tight in front of her.

You realise you probably should for an admittance like that. This was too complicated, this woman and her non-existent relationship with you was far too complicated. You also realise that whoever ran this stupid body before was very used to Jeanine’s baseless threats, and it wouldn’t be at all fair to her. And she seems quite desperate for this job. Which really doesn’t make much sense, because she seems quite important, and she’s working for you, someone else who seems quite important.

God if you fucking knew. You were quickly discovering you didn’t know shit.

“I won’t, just… just don’t say anything about this to anyone, okay? I’m…” you sigh, uncertain what to do, what to say, “I’m having a hard time.”

“Thank you, thank you so, so, so much. I’ll pay you back, I won’t do it again, I’ll do whatever you ask me to-”

“That’s enough, please. I just… I’d like some quiet,” you cut her off, closing your eyes and shuffling back in the ambulance. You cut yourself off from the rest of the world, hide your head behind your knees, and try to ignore the flashing lights and yelling voices. The ambulance shifts weight slightly as Jeanine sits beside you. She’s not too close to feel uncomfortable, just toeing the line.

Bruce comes back, looking over the two of you. He seems sombre, but you’re not sure why. Is it the entire night? Did something bad happen again? Is it just how miserable the two of you look? You don’t care enough to ask.

You just don’t care.

You tune out of their conversation again, even knowing it might be important. When Jeanine leaves, and Bruce invites you to a black car, you follow silently. He opens the door, and after a moment’s hesitation, you follow him in.

He knocks on the panel separating the two of you from whoever’s driving the car, and like a well-oiled machine, the car pulls out of the traffic and the paparazzi and out onto the street. Must be nice. You bet Jeanine is going to have to walk home.

Ah, wait, you’re one of them now. You’re one of those ‘must be nice’ types. Weird. You kept forgetting, somehow. Even with Gotham’s prince sitting next to you. Weird.

“I want you to stay at the manor for the night,” Bruce says, and you nod, barely listening. You’re barely conscious, far too tired to understand the implications of the words he was saying. If there were any, like you said, you couldn’t tell.

You’re watching the city go by, the light streaming past in a blur of colours. You rest your head in your hand, your elbow on the armrest. Even with you pressing your face to the glass, you can’t see the sky. The buildings stretch too high. And even if you could, it wasn’t like you’d see anything aside from some late-night flights. The Gotham light pollution and the smoke-filled sky would see to that.

Bruce doesn’t say anything else after that. You’re grateful for the quiet.

You squeeze your eyes shut, and maybe in some act of self-harm, try to remember what happened tonight. Try to pick through your thoughts, and understand whatever happened. That man… that horrible man. He disappeared into thin air. Gone, just gone.

And your world had changed. You’d gotten richer, more powerful. And yet, and yet… you knew this feeling. You knew this weakness. You knew what it meant when you looked in the mirror and you saw something barely alive.

You knew what grief looked like.

You want to rip out your own hair and chew off your own skin. It didn’t make any sense, and you felt crazier and crazier by the second. And none of it made sense, and yet, you had the worst feeling. An omen, a dark cloud. Something worse than the Joker, something that made even less sense.

Even in this life, were you alone? That wasn’t fair. That didn’t make any sense. That didn’t make any sense at all.

Your voice is quiet in the car. Her voice is quiet in the car.

“Do you know where my Mum is?” a little girl asks the big, strong man, her tiny body dwarfed by the black leather of the car. She’s out of place, out of time. She doesn’t fit here.

She doesn’t think she ever has.

The big, strong man, the hero, stays silent, his face hidden by the darkness. The little girl sobs, cries, wails. She wants her mum back. She wants her family back. And now, she wants her life back.

All have been stolen from her.

Maybe she was dreaming. Maybe she was dead. Maybe you were dreaming. Maybe you were dead. Maybe this was another world, and both you and her now have to navigate another lonely place. At least you’d do it together, hand in hand.

It didn’t matter. You knew where you needed to be.

“I want to see it.”

You need to see it. You grasp desperately at Bruce’s arm, nails digging into his expensive and ruined suit. Begging him, pleading him.

He says something. You think it’s a ‘what?’

“I want to see their graves. I want to see my mother’s grave.”

Bruce’s face darkens, and you’re too tired, too exhausted to tell what emotion flits across it. You wonder if it’s the same desperation you feel. But it confirms it. They’re dead. They’re still dead. Despite everything, despite the entire world changing for you, the most important part had been forgotten.

They were still dead. And you were still here. Alone.

“Tomorrow. Tomorrow, but for tonight, you need to rest,” he promises you, and your hand releases. You watch your palm hang limply in your lap, and for a second, it doesn’t seem like your hand. Bruce starts speaking again, this apologetic, pitying tone. You can’t stand it. You can’t stand it one bit.

And in the rudest, most cowardly thing you’ve ever done, you cover your ears like a child.

The rest of the car ride passes in a blur of colour and sound. You’re in Gotham, driving away from the Tower, you’re at the edges of town, passing over one of the bridges, you’re driving through New Jersey’s countryside, passing green fields and old buildings. You go by the iron-wrought gates of Wayne Manor, up the alley’s winding entryway, and finally, the car rolls to a stop in front of the stairs.

To Mr. Wayne’s credit, he doesn’t open the fucking door for you again. You get to stumble your way out on your own two stubborn legs, swaying drunkenly, sickly. He waits for you at the stairs, and you ignore the arm he offers you. He’s just as blindingly irritating as his son.

Didn’t you like these people? You would again in the morning, you just needed your hate. It was the only thing keeping you going at this point. Pure rage was fueling you as you climbed those steps. You’re panting, but you don’t really know why. They’re not that tall.

You feel weak. You feel so, so weak. And you hate it. You’d worked so hard to be free of it, even when you longed for it like a toxic ex-lover, you’d pushed it away. And now it had it’s fangs wrapped around you again, and again, you’d have to climb out of hell.

Today, it was more literal. Tomorrow? God fucking knows. People were literally vanishing from thin air, Pete’s sake. You’ll try, of course. But god fucking knows.

A butler opens the door, and Bruce enters. Once you follow in, the butler closes the door behind him. This time, you really do try to hear what they say. It’s impossible. You concentrate, but all you get for your hard work is a headache. Tomorrow, you’ll try again tomorrow.

The butler rushes off, something important and butler-y to be done. You really didn’t know what butlers did. You couldn’t imagine what their jobs were other than cleaning and cooking. Accounting? Did butlers do accounting?

“I need to handle some things. Will you be able to find your old room alright?” Bruce asks, interrupting your increasingly inane thoughts.

You blink, at him stupidly. Because you were stupid. You had a brand to keep.

“Yes,” you lie. You don’t really know why you do. Some odd mix of self-protective instincts, exhaustion-induced delirium, and also a deep desire to be alone. You really, really wanted to be fucking alone.

“Goodnight then,” Bruce says, he pauses like he’s going to say something else, but he doesn’t. He’s done that twice now, you think. Maybe he just doesn’t think you’re worth the effort. He’d be right.

You watch his back as he strides off into the darkness of the manor, leaving you shivering in the empty foyer. Your expensive ballgown is tattered, grimy, and worst of all, bloody. You want to get out of it. And then you want to sleep.

The click of his dress shoes fades, and you’re left wondering what the fuck you’re going to do next. Could you just start storming into random empty rooms? Where would you find any clothes? You were not going to sleep in this dress, no way.

So, you start up the grand staircase and start storming into random empty rooms. You find studies, bathrooms, and bedrooms. None that seem like anyone lives in them, of course. They feel like fancy hotel stays, the type you see online and sigh about.

The house, no, the manor, is quiet. Empty. It feels haunted, honestly. It probably was, a building this old and important. And it wasn’t like you didn’t know about Martha and Thomas Wayne. You didn’t think any Gotham native didn’t know about them, about the tragedy that had struck them.

It made Bruce seem like someone real, someone like you. Because if even the billionaires could get shot in alleys in Gotham City, it made more sense when the poor folks died. Like you were all human like God didn’t play favourites.

But, let’s be honest, you’d prefer to be an orphan in a mansion than the Narrows. Bruce Wayne had time to heal after what happened to him, for you it was from the frying pan to the fire.

The orphanage you’d been in for two years before you’d turned eighteen and been kicked out had had a very strict hierarchy. Probably still did, you never went back to check. It was technically a foster home, but the ancient sign beside the front door spoke differently. ‘Gotham Orphanage - Founded by Alan Wayne 1878’, the mark of the Waynes even found there. You used to touch the sign every time you went past it like it was some odd good luck charm. You still owe that sign your first successful job interview. Like you didn’t touch the copper plate every damn day, including every day you’d failed another interview.

And, well, it was Gotham. It wasn’t a good place. It had long been cemented in your mind that those theories that Gotham was cursed were true. That there wasn’t any other explanation.

You pause in your musings when you find a room that actually looks like it might be lived in. A long time ago, you think, from the dust covering the shelves. When you check the closet, you find men’s clothes, also untouched. You hope whoever lives here doesn’t care if you steal their shit, because you certainly don’t. Oh wow, this bathroom is gorgeous. The tub is gigantic, easily able to fit a group of at least six, maybe more. Still, you want to go to sleep more than you want a nice soak, so you go for a quick shower where you get rid of all… all the blood.

You watch the red run down the drain and are brought back to much simpler times.

Even as one of the older kids, you were still new blood. You hadn’t made any friends when you tried to defend the younger, weaker kids, either. The foster ‘parents’ who didn’t let you call them anything other than Mrs and Mr Hemming didn’t care about any abuse that happened under the house, as long as it wasn’t visible. You’d done this ritual before, but it actually had been your blood. It hadn’t hurt as much as this did, for some unknowable reason.

You weren’t a fighter. The very few punches you did take, you never hit back. Not like you had tonight. You’d been terrified the Hemmings would kick you out, stop feeding you. Still, you never moved, either. Never let the others take their anger out on the younger kids. You couldn’t do it. And now, looking back on it, your fear of the Hemmings retaliating was stupid. They’d needed the funds the foster caring gave them, and they were always trying to take in more and more kids.

They were empty threats. You were a terrified child. The what-ifs didn’t really matter anymore.

And maybe you were a bleeding heart type, like the other kids had said. Maybe you were gullible, naive, and a pushover. Like you hadn’t been through all the bullshit everyone else had. Like you being nice and hopeful and all those things that got you picked on weren’t all deliberate choices. One day, all the anger and rage you had would bubble over. It would destroy you and your life in a catastrophe, not unlike the one that took your family.

You’d already pushed it down so many times. Waking up today, in a different, unfamiliar world, had probably just made it worse. As always, you ignore it. It’s not worth worrying about.

Getting out of the shower, you do a very lazy towel off and then grab that mystery man’s clothes. They’re mostly dress suits, but you find a few old T-shirts. It hangs off you like a curtain, but it’s warm and it smells nice. Minty and earthy and… oddly free. Bouncy, alive, but still calming and relaxing. It’s a nice counter to the corpse vibes you’re rocking right now, which is decidedly un-alive and un-calm.

You wonder what it would’ve been like to mourn in safety. Where you didn’t have to worry if someone would steal your portion of food or the few funds you could hide in the garden. Where the glares of others didn’t constantly dig into your skin, reminding you that you weren’t wanted there. That you never would be.

That was alright. The place had stunk of mould and rat shit anyway. And maybe you had in this life. It didn't look like you were doing much better, anyway. No, this version of you somehow looked worse. You didn't know how it was possible, and then you remind yourself that none of this is possible, and you really ought to let go of that word.

Still, you lived in Gotham. You would always live in Gotham. You couldn’t leave, it was your home. It was a part of you, like every other sorry idiot who still lived here. School shootings, bomb threats, the city’s regular ol’ disasters. Even if you had been put in a good foster home, even if you had lived... here, you doubted your life would’ve been that much better. Of course, you were still bitter about it. Couldn’t the world just take a little bit off your plate? Maybe it was now, maybe this was the universe's way of saying sorry. A fancy, but empty house, with a still dead family. Maybe you were a little too greedy, a little too jealous.

You slide the duvet covers to the side, untucking them just like you do whenever you do stay in a crappy motel. When all the sides are thoroughly untucked, you slide underneath the covers. When your face lands on the pillow, you sigh in relief. Despite all the bullshit you’d suffered tonight, you had silk pillows, and this phone had youtube premium, so you could listen to rain sounds on it.

Safe. Sort of. Happy. Sort of. Alive. Sort of.

You told yourself it could be worse. And it could’ve been, so you kept on. Today, even after the night you’d had, you tell yourself it could be worse, again. At least the goon didn’t capture you, at least you didn’t actually see the Joker, at least you had a safe bed for the night, at least…

At least the Batman didn’t rescue you. You know it’s silly, but you can’t help but think it.

You hated him almost as much as the Joker, which was saying something since you regularly daydreamed about ripping that man limb from limb. Because the Bat refused to do anything about the supervillain, to finally put the mad dog down, you would always hate him. There wasn’t any other option. You sort of hated his entire entourage. Even Red Hood a bit, since even if they constantly fought, it was obvious both of them held back when dealing with each other. Still, you hated Red Hood and Robin a little less, after tonight. You kind of owed it to them.

You didn’t want to. You wanted to hate them and keep hating them till you died. It was one of your little things, the little things you couldn’t let go of. The little things that hinted at your less-than-perfect sanity. You felt that if you ever forgot what they’d done, what they kept doing every day, that you’d be disrespecting your family, forgetting some part of them. Some part of their memory, which you greedily hoarded away. Not a single precious recollection was to be lost, not ever.

You weren’t allowed to move on. Weren’t supposed to. Sometimes the many little rules you’d made for yourself felt like they were going to eat you alive. A swarm devouring its master. Swallowing you down bit by bit. Up and up, eating all the parts of you pushed down.

You wrap the blanket tighter around you, closing your eyes tight. Like if you tuck your feet inside the duvet, the monsters can’t get you. Your monsters can’t get you. Sometimes it felt like they were already feasting, and you just refused to feel it.

But only sometimes, right?

MASTERLIST - NEXT

#Series:WWW #yandere batfam #yandere dc #yandere batfamily #yandere x reader #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #damian wayne x reader #robin x reader

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bomber-grl · 11 days

Note

Hi, can I get something w the prompt 30? Maybe w Damian.

If it's friends to lovers-

Idk, I just want some inocent fluff and jokes.

I‼️ Need‼️ Sweetness‼️

Prompt #30: laying their head on the other’s shoulder

Today was an exhausting day, both at school and doing your vigilante work. Luckily, before you left back to your place Damian had invited you over, and how could you refuse?

Your bags were taken upon entrance by Alfred and then you were led deeper into Wayne Manor. Damian led you to the living room, or in other words- one of them.

It was a place to just relax and it’s not like any of the other residents were going to intrude so you and Damian whipped out snacks that you both bought on the way and some that were already here.

Not to mention how he had prepared a blanket and sat on the couch next to you…

The plan? It was to watch of movie of course! I mean it was already deep into the night and as much tired as you were- you just couldn’t sleep.

The same could be said about Damian, he was up right alongside you. It was kind of him to.

I mean, it had hardly been a few weeks that you were only friends now turned lovers. Things were bound to get awkward or lovey- or both, eventually.

Well a voice brought you out of your thoughts and back to reality. “So, you know what you want to watch or am I gonna choose?” Damian was standing by you on the couch facing the tv as he scrolled through Netflix.

“Um no I don’t know, how about you decide?” Best to cover up the fact you weren’t paying attention by forcing the question back at him.

“Alright then…” his tone was obviously suspicious but he went along without a fuss and chose a random movie that you weren’t familiar with but knew he enjoyed.

After, he snuck under the covers and sat by your side as the movie began. Throughout the movie you could tell from your peripheral vision that Damian was looking at you to gauge your reaction at certain scenes but you pretended to be none the wiser.

Since the movie was 2 hours long you got a bit lost in keeping track of time. You searched for your phone under the covers and once you found and read the screen you made a mental note of it being 12:00

One more hour to go… which you miserably failed. You were struggling to stay awake and the only thing that snapped you back to reality was a sudden weight on your shoulder.

You turned to face whatever it was, I mean were you really so off guard that this snuck pass your defenses?

Well much to your not so much surprise, it was Damian. His head was rested against your right shoulder and his eyes were closed and you took note of the gentle rising and falling of his chest.

He was so cute and looked peaceful as he slept. You sort of felt an ego boost at the thought of Damian feeling so safe around you that he could not only fall asleep but also let you touch him without rousing him awake.

Which is something you found out when you glided your fingers through his soft hair and gently pushed aside any stray ones from his face.

Maybe it was because of how late it was, maybe because of the lack of light, or maybe just the urge to cuddle with Damian but you let out a breath and let your head go limp and rest on top of Damian’s.

What’s the worse that could happen?

Well not anything particularly bad in your opinion. Luckily it was the weekend so you didn’t worry as much once you awoke but what really bothered you was the snickering sounds surrounding you.

Once you opened your eyes and saw Damian, his usual cool demeanor was gone. His face was flushed to the nines and you soon found out why.

Three of his siblings Dick, Todd, and Tim had found you sleeping there and thought I’d be cute to take a picture.

That wasn’t so bad but you knew Damian so him reacting this way wasn’t so bad.

Until Tim revealed that although he found you all that way, he left and returned with the other two to find Damian planting a kiss to your cheek.

You were shocked and turned to Damian as your cheeks filled with red. “Is that true?!?”

Your question fell on deaf ears and despite that you knew your answer when Damian turned away and refused to make eye contact.

Let’s just say it was an awkward family breakfast, leaving Damian with everything but his honor and dignity.

#fanfic #gn reader #male reader #fluff #fanfic fluff #female reader #damian wayne x male reader #damian wayne al ghul #dc fanfic #damian wayne fanfiction #damian robin #dc robin #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne fluff #damian wayne headcanon #robin damian

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emmcfrxst · 1 month

Text

dick grayson x reader

word count: 444

warnings: fluff! sleepy, silly dick being a sweetheart, reader is described as having boobies but there are no given pronouns and no description besides that :-)

The sound of the shower starting is what wakes you from your slumber, bleary eyes trying to focus on the bright numbers displayed on your alarm clock. 4:50 AM. You’d fallen asleep waiting up for him again, but here he is, home at last and most of all: safe. Smiling to yourself, you sit up in bed, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes with a tired fist. It isn’t long before the bathroom door opens and out comes a freshly showered Dick, a lovesick grin taking over his handsome features when he realizes you’re awake — he has long since given up on trying to get you to not wait up for him; he has learned to enjoy just how willing you are to spend time with him, including after he is done patrolling for the night.

He gives no warning before breaking into long strides, reaching your shared bed in the blink of an eye and immediately plopping himself on top of you, head on your chest.

“Hey there.” he mumbles happily, voice muffled by your breasts. You snort when he rubs his nose across the curve of them, your fingers sliding up his back to tangle into the wet curls of his hair.

“You did not just motorboat me.” you try to sound irritated but your boyfriend sees right through you, giggling to himself and squeezing you tenderly.

“M’sorry.” he does not even try to sound convincing, smiling against your skin and humming in delight when he feels your lips against the crown of his head.

“No you’re not. But you’re cute, so I’m willing to let it go just this one time.” you don’t bother hiding the smile in your voice, burying your nose into his hair and rubbing his back. He’s warm and solid above you, bruised knuckles running over your sides in a gentle touch. If you could freeze time, you would choose to do so during times like these; moments where Dick doesn’t have to be either Nightwing or Bruce Wayne’s son— where he can just be your Dick, your lover, your best friend, the one you can always count on for everything — where he can be his true,

genuine self without hiding behind masks of vigilantism and appearances.

“You smell good. I love you.” he sounds far away, slowly lulled to sleep by your heartbeat, and you feel a deep, all encompassing affection for the man atop you. Kissing his head again, you smooth a hand over his clothed side, allowing your eyes to close once more.

Sleep will come to you easier now that you know he’s by your side, safe and sound and loved.

#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson fluff #dick grayson fic #nightwing x reader #dick grayson imagine #nightwing imagine #dc fic #dc fluff #dc imagine

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evsstolenhearts · 5 months

Text

Summary: Jason patches you up after a patrol

Jason Todd x gn!vigilante!reader | roughly 1k words | no y/n

Warnings: some cussing, mentions of stab wounds, cuts, and gun shots

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡

Just as it was getting dark in Gotham, you and Jason went your separate ways. Leaving the shared apartment to go patrol the city. But your night way cut shorter than usual when a fight with a crime ring got a little to intense.

Normally, like any of the vigilantes in Gotham, a few scratches are nothing. A small knife wound, or even a single bullet hole can be patched up somewhere and you can finish patrol.

But last time that happened, someone (your lovely boyfriend) gave you shit. Even though you've totally found this man beaten and bruised in an alley way.

So, to please the hypocrite of the relationship, you made your way back to the apartment and gave Oracle a heads up. Which is why Jason found you passes out on the couch. Blood lightly staining your suit. It was obvious, that instead of coming home, changing, patching up your wounds, and getting some pain killers. You just fell asleep.

Jason takes it upon himself to strip off the top layers of his own costume, until he's in the compression shirt and cargo pants. Looking very yummy. You awake to this sight because he's carefully taking off and moving your suit out of the way.

"You know, you should at least take me on a date first..." you mumble as he stills his movements at the sound of your voice.

"I think those standards get thrown out the window when you're bleeding on my couch." Jason chuckles as he finishes taking off your suit, leaving you in your undergarments. "Come on, I need you to sit up."

He helps you sit up on the couch, hands supporting your lower back and hip. The pain of moving makes you groan, the gash under the right side of your chest moving with you. "Damn babe, what did you do?" He grabs the disinfectant and some paper towels, beginning to poor it on the wound and use the towels to collect the extra liquid.

"Bad bitch shit, obviously." You laugh at your own statement, but it quickly becomes a pained hiss as the movement makes the cut hurt worse.

Jason sighs as he carefully works on patching you up, kneeling on the ground between your legs to get a better view, "what actually happened?" Despite trying to sound disapproving, there's an obvious smile on his face.

While giving the actual explanation, one of your hands hold Jason's shoulder to stay distracted from the pain. "I was investigating that crime ring that's been springing up. Steph was mentioning how she has a theory they are branching out to some gags around Gotham and might be moving out of the city soon- fuck be careful holy shit-" you curse as jason applies to much pressure on the wound.

"'M sorry." He says softly as he waits for you to continue.

"Anyways- I was originally just gonna do some lurking, some snooping, you know. But I swear to God these aren't just normal assholes fucking off, I double checked myself and they still saw me." You take a break in talking to take a deep breath, as jason almost finishes, "I'm totally convinced at least one of them are a meta or something. So I'm gonna probably send the case information to someone else."

"You could have had me come with you, ya know." His voice is quite, knowing that despite what he says, he would have gone alone as well, so he really can't be mad at you. Jason finishes his work, packing up the first aid kit.

You watch him as he finishes, the apartment silent. Only thing able to be heard is the faint and distinct sound of Gothams road. "I can handle it Jay." Your voice is now just as quite, as if speaking to loud would damage either of you.

"Yes you can, I know you can." Standing up to put the first aid kit back in the kitchen, your eyes follow his movements. "It's just not a fantasy of mine to see you bleeding on the couch."

"Says the man who has made us get new bed sheets because he bled on them?" Resting your head on the back of the couch smiling lazily. He walks back over, so you see him from an upside down perspective.

Jason puts his hands on his hips as he smirks down at you, "This conversation isn't about me."

"But you would be a very good topic." Your smile grows as he rolls his eyes and walks infront of you. Everything goes silent again, looking into eachothers eyes for a few moments.

"Wanna get to bed?" He asks softly.

"Only if you carry me there." You pathetically respond. At your response, Jason's hand covers his face to hide his equally pathetic smile.

Without responding, he carefully picks you up. "This what you wanted?"

Now it's your turn to smirk as he walks you to your shared bedroom, "absolutely."

Jason puts you down on the bed as you both quietly go about your nightly routine.

Jason changed out of the remaining parts of his suit, into a pair of sweatpants and no shirt.

While he does that, you throw on some sleep clothes, careful to damage your wound more, before going back into the living room to move your suit off the floor so you can wash it in the morning.

When you walk back into the bed room, Jason is already waiting for you in bed.

"Well hello there, it's so nice of you to join us." He teases, us being him and the plushie that is on your side of the bed. With a smile you roll your eyes and crawl in next to him.

Snuggling up to him, you both latch onto one another legs tangles under the sheets as breathing evens out.

Masterlist

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd fluff #jason todd imagine #jason todd x gn!reader #red hood #redhood #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd fanfic #redhood x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd x you #red hood x you #redhood x you #red hood fluff #redhood fluff #jason todd comfort

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lostidiot24 · 4 months

Note

Hi! *

First off loved dog days are over, is it OK to recuest a part 2? 0 ++++

Thanks, so my keypad is misbehaving.

Hi!!! I’m so happy that you liked it😭 and of course! I really liked the idea I had for this story and I’m glad other people enjoyed it.

🪽Mary on a Cross🩹

Batfamily x Gender Neutral!sibling!Reader

Part 1: Dog Days Are Over

Song: Mary on a Cross by Ghost

Summary: After being rescued by Dick, your life has been anything but normal. Being a vigilante has its own unique risks but this incident has made your family very aware. Turns out, seeing your family member half dead can make you question your life choices.

TW: Burns maybe? None?? If there is any then please tell me!

(This took me a while to write cause my brain decided to stop imagining for once in its life but I hope you like this part😁)

/——/——/——/——/——/——/——/——/——/

Your senses came back very slowly. You could feel your hand twitch before the sounds of people talking over each other invaded your ears. A gentle but scarred hand clasped yours in a tender manner before your mind cleared. With a jolt, you sat up frantically and shook in slight fear. Your eyes opened and quickly shut from the bright lights. Your family was worried even more when your eyes showing no sign that you recognized them. Your body had many weird reactions to things and one was fainting out of fear, so that’s what you did.

Silence surrounded the cot you laid on as your family stared at your unconscious body.

“At least they’re not scared anymore…?” Steph shrugged with a nervous smile as she grabbed the hand that Jason wasn’t holding. He glared at her before looking back down on your body with a worried gaze.

“They’re fine. They were out of it when Dick picked them up so they probably don’t know where they are.” Tim walked through the doors of the med bay and sat down on a chair near the cot. “We got them stabilized so now we just have to wait.”

/——/——/——/——/——/——/——/——/——/

When you woke up, it was peaceful. Your body swayed gently with a gasp as your eyes widened at the sight before you. Everyone was asleep. Tim was asleep on the spinning chair while everyone else either slept on a cot or on the chairs for people visiting. Bruce and Alfred weren’t in the room with you and you guessed that was because it was the day already. Based on the clock on the desk, it was 11:17 am. With a wobble, you stood up off the cot and tiptoed into the cave.

When you left the med bay fully, you looked down and saw that you were in some pajamas that looked like yours. With fear in your eyes, you checked and was relieved to see that they didn’t take off your vigilante suit. While yes, your wounds needed to be treated, you were glad that they respected your privacy. They treated the ones that could be seen from outside the suit but you guessed that there probably wasn’t any under anyway. You carefully tiptoed up to your room after you walked out of the cave and up the stairs. When you got where to your room, you changed into different pajamas and assessed the damage fully. Burns rose up your back and crawled over your shoulders and around your thighs.

How can I not feel them?

The clock on your bedside table glowed slightly as the numbers and the date lit up. It’s been a week?! Questions swirled in your head but you settled upon the theory that they put a lot of pain relief in your blood. A knock sounded at your door and you quickly put your shirt back down before opening it. It was Dick.

“[Name]! I was so worried when you weren’t in the med bay!” He quickly walked towards you and wrapped quivering arms around your body. The ache of pain ran through your back when his arms pushed upon the burns. Dick quickly realized his mistake and pushed away from you. “Oh sorry, forgot about that… oh and B wants to talk to you.” The mention of your adoptive father created a cold environment in your room. He wasn’t a terrible father! He just had too many kids to keep track of, or that’s what you tell yourself.

“[Name]?”

“Oh sorry Dick, I was lost in my thoughts but I’ll be down in a minute.” He gave you a warm and nervous smile while her turned away, walking down the stairs. You stood in your thought for a valid amount of time until you pushed past your door and started your trek into the unknown ground of Bruce’s emotions.

/——/——/——/——/——/——/——/——/——

A/N: I’m definitely gonna make another part that has some angst/comfort from my favorite brother Jason🤩 but for now I’m gonna leave it here and give my mind a break lol

#damian wayne x reader #jason todd x reader #bruce wayne x reader #stephanie brown x reader #duke thomas x reader #tim drake x reader #cassandra cain x reader #dick grayson x reader #batfamily x sibling!reader #batfam x reader #batfamily x reader #lostidiot🪻

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lightwing-s · 4 months

Note

hello! i recently found your stories and i love how you write! so i was thinking, how about jason x gamer reader? idk why i have this idea of him coming back from patrol and finding you still awake playing a horror game or even minecraft (you have no idea how much time passes by without noticing jsjssjs)

hope you have a nice week! :)

You were too deep into whatever scary game you were playing to notice your boyfriend, who’d just climbed up a window to get to your small flat, doing so after a long but thankfully not busy night of patrol.

Jason shook his head when he finally settled inside your home, checking his watch to verify it was past 4:30am, way past your bedtime if you wanted to not be late for work.

“Babe?” he called, but he was promptly ignored. The clicking noises of your fingertips on your keyboard and the tenebrous music coming from your headphones were the only sounds filling the room as he approached you ever so slowly.

His mind flew to a mischievous idea, tiptoeing his way to you, making sure to hold in his breath as to not give him away. He grabbed a plush toy from your bed, throwing it at a lamp just enough for it to cast a moving shadow, managing to get your attention for a few seconds before your eyes returned to your computer screen.

Allowing a smirk to grow on his lips, he took the last steps to reach your side, his hands moving to a position that made him look like he came out of Michael Jackson’s Thriller music video, creeping up towards you.

Without taking any more chances, he jumped on you, and you screamed your lungs out in return, falling from your chair and knocking your head against your desk. Your computer screen and a few other items fell from it, as you curled up on yourself underneath the desk.

“Jason!” you cried out as you realized who your attacker was, your boyfriend now rolling on your bed from laughter.

The son of a bitch, who had already gotten rid of the majority of his vigilante outfit, held his stomach, pressing it down to stop hurting as he continued to laugh at your face. Your initial pout soon too turned into your own laugh, as his laugh was too contagious to get mad over.

“Why did you do that?” you kicked at his feet, after standing up and approaching him on your bed. You spread his legs open with your knees, his jeans long gone in favor of his boxer briefs, and you settled in and threw yourself on top of his chest.

“It just looked too perfect not to do it.” he stated, drying out the tears under his eye.

“That was mean.” you groaned, resting your head on his chest and letting out a yawn you did not see coming, tiredness reaching your eyes and weighting them down.

“I know,” he simply replied. “But you should’ve been in bed.”

“I’m sorry.” you apologized, already half asleep on top of him, feeling the warmth emanating from his body engulf you into the dreamland. “I promise I can wake up just in time.”

“Or I can call in sick for you,” he offered, placing a kiss on your hair. He could barely feel it against his shirt, but you nodded in response, letting out a soft moan and you drifted off sleep.”

“You’re the best. I love you, Jay.” you said, voice muffled by his shirt.

“I love you too, baby girl”

#jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd blurb #jason todd x you #jason todd fluff #jason todd

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mayajadewrites · 4 months

Text

ghostin

matt murdock x reader

preface: reader is a vigilante, much like matthew murdock. they've developed a relationship and have fallen in love with one another. their future together was seemingly written in the stars - until the blip.

tags/warnings: 18+, established relationship, angst, no use of y/n, eventual sex

notes: i will be mentioning aspects of the main character that are more specific to her looks, but picture her as whoever you please :)

ao3

The sounds of Hell's Kitchen filled Matt's apartment as you finally get out of bed for the day. People talking, car horns beeping, police sirens in the distance. It was a late night filled with vigilante escapades and sex with your boyfriend.

You sit up on the bed to stretch your sore muscles, feeling the aches of bruises from the past week on your skin. You heard Matt stir, a sign that he will be awake soon.

There's no point in trying to be quiet around him. He can hear your heartbeat from 5 blocks down.

"Good morning, sweetheart." You hear Matt's morning voice behind you. As you turn around, you marvel at the man that you share a bed with every night. His hazel eyes have a touch of sunlight in them, the green popping ahainst his tired eyes.

"Good morning Matthew." You press your lips to his pillow soft ones, a place you have grown fond of. His lips had to have been sculpted by the Gods. His face is a Renaissance painting. Only you get to feel it with your fingertips.

"You must've slept well. You added the good in 'good morning'." Matt brought his hand to the side of your face, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

"Ever since I started staying with you, I've slept so much better." You close your eyes and lean your cheek into his palm.

–

Before Matt, you were a vigilante that was frequently hired by people like Wilson Fisk to take out any enemies, or potential enemies.

The first time you met you were assigned to take out Daredevil. Obviously, that's not an easy task. But you needed the money.

The night was cold, your skin filled with goosebumps as you jumped from rooftop to rooftop. You would hear steps, but never saw him.

Until he striked.

Fisk wanted Daredevil gone, but he is a force to be messed with. You kept running into him, but never having the guts to take him out, and he felt the same as you.

You didn't know he was Matt Murdock until a few months after your first encounter. You were jaded from your past, as was he. Learning to trust does not come easy to either of you.

"Baby, come back to bed." Matt almost whined, his large hands grasping yours to pull you down to him.

"Fine, 5 minutes." You eliminate any space between your bodies and allow your lips to find his.

"Make that forever." Matt smirked against your lips.

"You're impossible." You feel Matt's tongue snake into your mouth, doing a dance you are all too familiar with.

–

The first time you and Matt had sex there was undeniable lust, love, and magic in the air. You both avoided your attraction to each other for so long. At the end of the day, the only people that didn't want to admit that you two were made for each other was you and Matt.

"I can't deny you anymore." Matt said helplessly. "Everything about you is everything I want in my life. Everything you are, I, I-"

You stare at his face as he speaks, his eyes moving to different spaces in the room with every word.

"I can't stay away from you. No matter how much you may want me to, or the world may want me to, I can't." Matt's tongue grazed his lower lip. "I want to fall asleep next to you. I want to wake up next to you. I want to share my coffee with you, even though you're psychotic and drink iced coffee regardless of the temperature outside. So you wouldn't want any of mine anyways. But I want to have the chance to share it with you."

"Matthew, are you going to let me speak?" You uncross your arms from your chest. "I wouldn't mind hearing your little speech for awhile though."

"Go ahead." Matt cleared his throat.

"I want you too." You take a step closer to Matt, taking a closer look at the bruises that mark his skin. "I want to learn how to play poole for you. I want to sit on your rooftop and take in the sounds and smells of New York with you. I want to kiss your lips first thing and the morning even though you probably have nasty morning breath."

"Aren't you just a romantic." Matt followed your lead and took a step closer to you. "Tell me to stop." He took another step towards you.

Silence.

Then another step.

And another.

Matt was now in front of you, his nose grazing yours, his hands hovering over you. "Tell me to stop."

You stare at him, silent.

His hands pressed against your hips, dragging along your curves until he grips your ass. His forehead presses to yours, like the world was finally aligned.

Matt's lips found yours, moving slowly and deliberately. His mouth was starved from yours for so long that he wanted to savor this moment. He palmed your ass gently as he slipped his tongue into your mouth, pushing your body against his once more.

"You are addicting." Matt broke the kiss briefly. He lifted you from your hips to wrap your legs around his waist, kissing you as he brought you to his bedroom where you would spend hours in the sheets.

–

"I'm gonna brew your coffee, baby." You plant a kiss on Matt's lips, his palm on the back of your head as you pull away. The pad of his thumb stroked your hair as you pulled away. "You never make getting out of bed easy."

"I never will."

As you brew Matt's coffee, you go through the mental checklist of what needs to be done for today. Grocery shopping, a jog through the park, and to clean Matt's apartment.

You pour the hot liquid into Matt's favorite mug - it's nothing special, but it's big enough for two cups of coffee so he loves it.

You pour a splash of creamer into the cup, stirring it with a spoon. You smile at your reflection in the liquid, unsure of how you were so lucky to live this life with Matthew.

"Be careful, it's hot-" You look up from the mug to see the bed empty.

You didn't hear Matt move from the bed. The bathroom door was never opened. You could still see the silhouette of his body tangled in the sheets.

"Matt?!" You said loudly. "This isn't funny." You opened the closet door, then the bathroom.

Nothing.

You hear people outside screaming.

"She was just here!! Where the hell did she go? She just... dusted away." You heard someone say outside the window.

"I was just talking to him and then he was evaporating before my eyes." Another worried voice screams.

Your heart fell to your stomach. You run to the bed, running your hand over where Matt's body just was.

It was still warm.

#matt murdock #matt murdock smut #matt murdock fanfiction #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock x reader #marvel mcu #marvel #mcu #daredevil #daredevil x reader #daredevil fanfiction #daredevil fanfic #daredevil born again

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littleredwing89 · 1 year

Note

about the ideas, I got one (pun intended :D):

Batboys reacting to their s/o casually falling asleep in their arms while watching a movie/cuddling/doing sth else?

@igotanidea sorry it’s a bit late lovely xxx enjoy 💙💚❤️

🩵 DICK 🩵

He’d love it. It’s rare Dick gets a chance to relax with his busy life. A full time job and been a vigilante really takes a toll on him, physically and mentally. But the second he gets to curl up with you, he’s in his own little slice of heaven. He’d spread out on the sofa, him behind you, wrapped all around you, limbs entangled. Neither of you knowing where one started or ended. The little sounds you make during your sleep are like a melody to him. He’d lay soft kisses along your shoulder or neck. Light and feathery. Seeing the smile on your face is enough for him. Bliss.

💚 TIM 💚

He’s always busy. So busy. Head in some sort of new gadget. Fixing things. Tinkering. Hands always fiddling away. So when he finally sits down to relax with you, he finds it hard to switch off. He’s never truly relaxing. Instead, Tim will find something to occupy his hands with. You. I think he’d really enjoy just massaging your feet as they rest in his lap. Rubbing up your calf and back down. So when the beautiful motions of his hands send you to sleep, I think he’d be proud of his handiwork. Plus, he’d finally be able to turn off the terrible film you’d put on but he was too polite to say.

❤️ JASON ❤️

Jason would be surprised at first that you find him so comfy. He’s a big, solid guy. Masses of tightly wound muscle from years of training to peak human physique. But, when you curl up and snuggle into him, falling asleep, it melts away all the hardened edges. He’s soft. Floating on air. Just for that moment. I know he’d be the type to play with your hair as you sleep, twirling strands around his fingers, scratching his nails along your scalp, lulling you further into a blissful sleep. Murmuring gently. He swears he hears his name leave your lips. Plus, it’d make you snuggle into him further, which makes his pulse race.

#jason todd x reader #dick Grayson x reader #Tim drake x reader #Jason Todd x you #dick grayson x you #Tim drake x you

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narcissarina · 2 months

Text

Darkened Desires

Prologue and Chapter 1: The sun || Chapter 2: The moon || Chapter 3: The moon || Chapter 4: The sun || Chapter 5: The sun || Chapter 6: The moon || Chapter 7: The moon || Chapter 8: The sun || Chapter 9: The sun || Chapter 10: The outsider

Pairings: Mafia!Scaramouche × Barista!Reader

Word count: 2,306

Tw: praise kink, degradation, kidnapping, tourture, dub/non-con, forced breeding, dismembering, gore, deaths, age-gap, corruption, use of force, trauma, use of drugs, stalking, mentions of human trafficking on the near chapters, slowburn.

Warning: This fanfiction may contain kidnapping, torture, dub/non-con, forced breeding, dismembering, age-gap, corruption, vigilante Scaramouche, use of force, trauma, use of drugs, stalking, and more. This fiction will continue grow darker as chapters goes by.

Your mental health matters.

CHAPTER 11:

THE MOON

I sigh and lay my head low, I left her alone in her own home—I shouldn’t worry too much since I know she’ll be safe and can protect her own. But I can’t help but feel my gut that tells me the opposite of it.

I’m not ready to talk about it, I’m not ready to share my criminal life and leave her uncomfortable.

She’ll ask me questions and probably press me why I didn’t become an agent like my mother is.

I lean back to my chair and tap on my armrest, papers been stacking up—got a few calls, few emails here and there.

Letting out a frustrate sigh, I look up my ceiling—there’s been a gut feeling that’s bee stabbing me to check up on her, see her, feel her.

I fight the urge and stood up from my chair, fixing my tie and brushing off dust from my vest.

I took out my phone and look through my messages, Ajax texted me: “Are you still gonna refuse what we had planned?”

Rolling my eyes and a scoff left my lips as I tuck my phone in.

Although I am worried, I know she is safe since I did sent out a few guards to check in on her. I assure myself and walk walked out of my office to stretch my limbs and stiffen body.

I let my head hang up in the air and silence filled my surroundings, muting any sounds as my eyes shut and take a deep breath. I hear faint footsteps… getting louder and louder and closer.

I took out my gun and point to my right, halting someone as I assume they would come knocking me out or attack me while I let my guard down, turning my head to see who they are. They’re one of my men, I groan and put back my gun.

He was frozen in fear and shock, I snapped, “what the hell do you want?”

“Sir…” his breath hitches, his voice quivering.

The moment I hear those words, the moment I felt my heart drop through the ground.

“She’s gone.”

Immediately bursting through her house door, I was met with eerie silence. My brows knitted together as I search the living room, I called out her name… No response.

“Sunshine?” I say out in a panic, my chest rising up and down as I head upstairs to her bedroom—I open the door and saw her messy bed, she was taken when asleep.

My head started hurting and my breathing starts to pick up, too much is happening all at once.

I called to one of my men while heading downstairs in a panic, I gripped on his collar and bring his face closer to mine.

“you had one fucking job.” I say in gritted teeth, he was still and his fist clenched, “how did this happen?” I asked and pushed him down, safely landing on her couch—god fucking damn it!

I clench over my hair and brush it back, letting out a frustrating sigh as I kick down a fucking chair.

Too much is happening and it’s happening all at fucking once.

“Where were you when she got taken?” I asked, trying to keep my cool and flatten my tone, he open his mouth to respond but his partner answered for him, “he was taking a fat shit.”

I closed my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose, “couldn’t you shit faster?” I sat down on the nearest and clasp my hand together, I lean forward and rest my elbows onto my knees.

“if you don’t find a piece of clue of her whereabouts within twenty-four hours, I’m going to have each of your fingers taken off.” I spoke, loud and clear—he nods and had a death grip of his own knee. If his nail could pierce to that piece of fabric and skin, he would be bleeding by now.

I lean back, groaning in pain and defeat.

Out of anyone, why would they target her? She hasn’t done anything wrong, she’s just a simple I clench over my hair and brush it back, letting out a frustrating sigh as I kick down a fucking chair.

Although she likes to poke her nose and ears where it doesn’t belong.

I need to find her fast, or all will be too late.

I sat in my car seat, my hands gripping on the steering wheel as I hit it repeatedly to let out my stress, I already made my men go back first without me since they’re doing shit at their job. I need a time alone before I couldn’t contain myself and kill them all.

Ping—

The sound of my phone notification grabbed my attention for a second as I look to the messages with a picture attached.

It was Ajax.

I read the message carefully and felt my heart stop for a few good minute.

I put my hand on the wheel and took off, speeding up to get to my destination, I’ll be breaking Ajax’s neck if his explanation did not satisfy me.

I arrived in front of his house as I slam my cars door shut and bolt inside his home, “where the fuck is she?!” I yelled and took his collar, making him meet me eye to eye. I would love to cut that grin off of his face as he only held his hands mid air and chuckle, “chill, she’s safe.” He said and grip one of his hand to my wrist, “if it weren’t for me, she would’ve been taken by… You know.”

“The hell you talking about?”

“It’s better if you go see her first then we’ll talk.” Ajax snap his finger to one of his men and got behind me, signaling me to follow them—my grip on Ajax collar loosen as I slowly turn my back and followed them.

My mind swirls with questions and how would I approach her and what her condition is, I never knew fear exist in me when one of my men says that she’s gone…

We arrived downstairs as his guard open the door, isn’t this Ajax torture room or something? Why did he kept her in here? Is he sick in the head, what the fuck…

Impatiently waiting and tapping my shoe, they opened it and I burst into the room and look around the dimly lit room, I see a couple of blankets and pillows on the ground and a tray with a plate that was once filled with food.

There she was, sleeping uncomfortably on the freezing ground as she toss from her left to right and the blanket wrap her like a burrito. I rush to her and held her in my arms, she was snoring and mumbling in her sleep, I held her tight and my hand on her cheek.

“Sunshine.” I mutter, my lips connected to her temple as I softly rock her in my arms. She’s also hugging a pillow and curl up into a ball, “wake up, darling.” I called, she whines and turn her back on me while still being in my arms. I chuckle at her tactics and carried her bridal style as I walk out of the room with her sleeping soundly in my arms.

I lay her down in one of Ajax’s luxurious couch and sat down beside her—sleeping soundly as if she doesn’t sense the danger in this world and that in her dreams, she’s safe and happy.

I adjust her position and let her head use my thigh as her pillow, she grunt and whines a little but proceed to smack both of her lips and turn her back as her forehead made contact where my healing wound is. I smile down at her and remove some of her hair from her face.

Ajax is right across me, legs cross and drinking his tea.

“I won’t cut to the chase.” I hear him clear his throat, his tone serious but his smile not disappearing. I look up at him and remain eye contact, “I called you for a reason, Scara.” He added then continue, “actually, when me and the boys did our job, you know? The usual—breaking in, shooting, murdering the wanted people. You know?” He chuckle to himself and lean back to relax his muscles.

“But there’s something that caught my eye when I broke in to my targets office,” his hands clasp together, “there was a file that stands out the most and most familiar,” he then snap a finger as his men gave him the file that he was talking about, “it's about your previous Sunshine, Scara.” He handed me the file by tossing it to the table between us, the file slides close as I manage to grab a hold to it.

I scan and read each word carefully while still listening to what Ajax’s saying, “she was being targeted, I don’t know who nor what do they want but they just wanted her.” My brows frown, muttering under my breath every sentences I read.

Name: Y/N L/N

Age: 24

It was one of her personal backgrounds, the same one I also have but different… It has the approved stamp on it and the date when they’ll be taking her, my eyes widen and filled with so much rage that I could fucking kill every single person in this room…

But I remain calm, as waiting my darling up would be every upsetting.

He could just watch me stress this out, “I know you have a lot in your plate right now, but I feel like you should know and that why I took her in the first place.” He explained, “she’s a lovely girl, but we can’t have her be taken away now. Not when she’s your sun ray and that the Tsaritsa just want to question her.”

My eyes shot up to him, “she wants to question her..?” Ajax nodded and smiles more widely now, “I mean, just a harmless question, she’s going to be fine!”

My eyes darkened, annoyance visible on my face, “now, now… Let me explain.” Ajax laughs, as I feel her again turning and letting out a sigh of relief as she knew she’s in a warm and comfortable spot to sleep on.

“You know… She low-key looks like the Tsaritsa’s diseased child, but more older and mature now.” His tone became soft and calm, “you know, since her lover got killed in an intense battle in war.”

“Isn’t her lover in the military?”

“yes and the Tsaritsa is part of the most powerful and resourceful mafia family…”

“Why and how did she fell in love with a soldier?”

Ajax thought for a moment and let out a deep breath, “she ran away to be with him, then his deployment came when she’s pregnant. Before she knew it, he’ll never return. And he doesn’t know that she’s the most wanted mafia’s daughter.”

I nodded, look down at her sleeping soundly and caress her cheek.

“how did her kid die?”

“When the Tsaritsa’s little princess was running around the house, greeting every servant and giving them smiles. She’s a lovely girl, like her—” he points to my sleeping sunshine, “—like her, the Tsaritsa calls her child her sunshine. Her ray of light when she was out of hope, but she continue pursuing life because that day, she has a child.”

I smiled, I know it’ painful to lose a kid. But I knew, because I lost not one but three kids because I failed to save them from their abuser and predator…

“But when hope was building, it collapsed when her ray of light got into a flight accident—along with the Tsaritsa’s trusted servants to guide her sunshine back home. Back where the kid belongs, not only did the kid lost its life, but also four or six people died there too. Most of them survived, but not the kid and the servant.”

I listen, as I feel this pain in my heart. I continue caressing her face as I look up and see Ajax wiping off tears from his eyes, he laughs and dismiss this matter. “N-No, sorry. Quite unprofessional…” I could hear him sniffle and smile again, “it’s just awful to lose someone that young and that they’re your only reason why you’re keeping it together.”

He inhales and tries to stop tears from falling off, he took a fan and starts flapping it in the maximum speed he can. “It’s just that, when the Tsaritsa caught a glimpse of her file. She immediately knew that she found another reason to keep it together and finally had someone worthy of her protection.” He smiled while battling with his tears, even though in those dead eyes of his—there’s still a hint of emotion in there somewhere, just finding it’s way to wave and finally come around eventually.

“So, I’m only doing this for her request, not a demand—but a request.” He clarify twice, assuming that I would hear it right. “it’s okay to refuse since the Tsaritsa only asked if she had a chance to meet her, and maybe talk to her too.”

I’m free to refuse, but how could I refuse when I finally knew what the Tsaritsa’s intentions are? There’s a side of me that’s really soft and this is one of them.

“I promise you, comrade.” Ajax lean forward, his elbow resting on his knee and hands clasp together, “that the Tsaritsa will provide her everything, will do anything to protect her. Even though she’s not her daughter—she found yet again a sole reason to keep it together.”

I sigh, pinching the nose of my bridge and look down at sunshine. Ismiled and try to lean and kiss her forehead, “alright.”

“Arrange an appointment for us to meet Her Majesty.”

Link:

Chapter 12: THE SUN

#genshin impact #genshin smut #dark romance #darkened desires series #scara x reader #scaramouche fanfic #scaramouche smut #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche #genshin scara #Mafia!Scara #Mafia!Scaramouche #I DID SOMETHING >//<#i tried doing some message thiny:3

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love-bugsy · 3 months

Text

trouble | jason todd

the worst thing about love (three) / series masterlist

you’re just trying to get through your surgical residency, but this masked vigilante keeps showing up half-dead on your fire escape and reminding you of your dead best friend. oh well, at least he's cute.

tw: no editing, allusions to character death, (haphazard) depictions of grief, mentions of blood and injuries, swearing, completely ooc Jason bc he’s just my lil guy, medical terminology learned from greys anatomy lol

only jerks steal other people’s writing and mine isn’t even that good so no reposts

The paint on your door is chipping, some of it flaking off when you shove it in that particular way to unstick the lock, dropping your keys on the side table in your entryway. Your eyes flick down to your watch, bleary eyes reading that you’ll only get a solid four hours of sleep tonight - by fault of a sadistic attending with a mountain of charts. Still half-asleep, you lock your door, habitually double-checking the deadbolt. Good ol’ Gotham. Taking a single step into your apartment, you freeze. Faint sound echoes from the living room; your TV is on.

Cold fear spills down your spine - you aren’t under any delusions that your neighbourhood is safe, but people here usually keep to themselves. You pull your baseball bat out of the umbrella stand by the door, clammy palms gripping the barrel too tightly. Wielding the bat haphazardly, you creep into your living room.

Old cartoon reruns play tinnily on your shitty TV, the nostalgia doing nothing to calm the prickling anxiety that crawls up the sides of your neck. Rounding the corner fully, you brace yourself for a murderous intruder to leap out at you; heartbeat in your throat.

Instead, your anxious heaving is broken by a gruff mumble from a lump taking up half of your couch. Fucking Red Hood. It’s the third time this month. Shoulders sagging, you pinch the bridge of your nose, squeezing your eyes shut like he’ll disappear when you’re not looking. You swear that mask glints at you mockingly when you look up again. You set the bat down, pulling off your coat and unwinding the maroon scarf around your neck. You’re being influenced, birdie.

You approach the couch, stepping around muddy boot prints to turn the television off. You drop your bag against the coffee table and slot yourself between Red Hood’s wide-spread legs. He’s slumped upright in the middle of your couch, one arm slung out over the back; scuffed leather jacket chucked over the other side. Something stutters in your chest at the sight of him taking up so much space in your home; the evidence of his presence.

You think he’s unconscious at first, but there’s a tenseness to his shoulders still; a rigidity you’ve seen lax when he was bleeding on your living room floor. The sight of him so relaxed spurs you into a bit of a panic - you doubt he would ever be so unguarded unless he had a serious injury.

Reaching out, you feel around his torso, frowning at the rough patch of dried blood seeping from his left shoulder. You unbuckle his makeshift pauldron and hunt around in your work bag for a pair of scissors to cut away his sleeve. You’re leaning over him with the scissors when he huffs, head shifting in his sleep. You flinch - nearly nicking him - and draw back holding the scissors a safe distance away.

“Shit!” You gasp out, as his mask lifts to meet your eyes. He lets out a gravelly laugh at your shock and you frown, taking your scissors to his sleeve again.

“Not gonna buy me dinner first?” He rasps drowsily. You can hear the shit-eating grin he’s sporting under the mask and you shoot him a dry look - fighting a smile as you gently pull his sleeve away. Pursing your lips at the dried blood caking his shoulder, you press around to find the wound, pausing when he draws in a sharp breath. You raise an incredulous brow.

“Is this a bullet wound?” You don’t know how he manages to look sheepish from behind the mask. He winces when you start cleaning away blood with an alcohol wipe.

“You should… shit- you should see the other guy.” You purse your lips a little, focused on cleaning the wound. Occasionally, he huffs when you get a little too close to his injury. You gnaw on the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from scolding him for getting shot in the first place. You should examine him impartially - years of training scream that one oversight could be fatal - instead, you slip up into something instinctual; something gentle.

“Jesus, Red… this is… how the hell have you been keeping yourself alive?” For some reason this yanks a dry, barking laugh from him. That damn familiar laugh. You just can’t place it.

“You’d be surprised.” You give him as flat a look as you can manage, absently gnawing on your bottom lip as you examine his injuries. He flattens his head against the back of your couch, staring stoically up at the ceiling as you prod around the bullet wound. You yank your phone out of your pocket, aiming the weak flashlight at his shoulder. Shit. Bullet’s still in there.

He lifts his head when you turn your back to him, putting your phone down to grab what you need. You shoot him an apologetic look, “Got a bullet in there, Red.” He grunts, shifting so his shoulder is angled towards you. You pull on a pair of rubber gloves, dousing the palms in Betadine. “This is gonna hurt.” He huffs out an amused breath.

“Always does.” You lay a repentant hand on his other shoulder before digging your fingers into his wound, trying to find the shell. His breathing starts to get more laboured, his head lolling back a little. Wincing in his stead, you pull out what’s left of the bullet, wiping it off to see if there’s shrapnel still in his shoulder.

“You’re lucky, this looks intact.” You feel the way he looks at you, biting your bottom lip to hold in a laugh. He is less amused.

“Lucky, huh?” He says, gaze locked on the bullet as you hand it back to him - clean of his blood. Taking it in his good hand, he fiddles with it as you dig around for bandages in your first aid kit; you’re starting to run out. You find the bandages at the same time as you find your response; part fond, part disciplinary.

“Just be glad you don’t need stitches.” His head shifts slightly and you get the distinct feeling he’s trying to read you. He’s silent for a long while after, watching you bandage his injury quietly.

Not for the first time, you’re unsettled by the blank slate of his mask; you don’t like that you can’t figure him out. His anonymity makes the silence unnerving.

“So… you gonna tell me how you got shot?” He just looks at you, mask hiding any indication of his response.

“My self-preservation skills aren’t all that honed.” You can’t help the snort that escapes you at that, covering your mouth with both hands in embarrassment. You have to look away at how intensely he’s staring at you. Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you go back to securing his bandages.

“I noticed.” You mean for it to sound dry but you can’t fight the little smile that betrays you. You’re getting too comfortable with him, forgetting that he’s a killer, forgetting that he’s a criminal, forgetting that he isn’t him. Maybe that’s why you blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “Reminds me of someone I used to know.” Stupid.

“Never heard that one before. Maybe you should introduce us.” His tone is joking, but you tense up all the same.

“No.” You say, tightly, averting your eyes. It’s cold, and mean. You grit your teeth to stop the flood of memories. Red doesn’t notice.

“Ashamed of me are ya?” He teases, voice rumbling out of his modulator. The sound is somehow twisted, grating against your ears. Unknowingly wrenching up a buried grief into the pit of your stomach; kicking dirt in a minefield.

“He’s dead.” You marvel at how cold you sound, how detached, when your chest is tight with a phantom pain. He shifts up immediately, sobering in an instant. He reaches out a gloved hand, gently pulling your wrist from where you’d unconsciously crossed your arms. He rubs an apologetic circle into your pulse point.

“Shit, sorry.” You look away, though you know it’s unfair. He winces. “I didn’t- I’m…”

“... sorry.” You nearly drop the tray of dirty dishes you're carrying at the sight of Jason in your door; hand cradling his profusely bleeding nose. Shoving the tray onto the closest table, you sit him down at a chair behind the counter and wander off to find a clean towel. Wetting it under the sink, you sigh, nudging his hand away to tenderly daub at the blood under his nose.

The silence stretches, broken only by Jason’s foot tapping on the floor as he fidgets in the chair. He winces when you bring your hand up to check his nose and you snap.

“If this was one of those Castor boys again, I’m gonna kill ‘em.” That pulls a little smile out of him, imagining you up against those 6 foot ogres. You don’t think even the Gotham in you could give you a fighting chance with those two.

“S’okay. Can handle it.” Little crease between his brows. You sigh fondly, running a curious finger over the tiny scar on his cheekbone. If you were paying a little more attention, you might have noticed the red flush crawling up his neck at your touch.

“I know that. Doesn’t mean you should.”

“Sorry I… it just makes me so angry- I,” he huffs in a tight breath, like he can’t get enough air in, “I can’t stop myself.” You frown, torn between being angry at him or with him.

“I don’t want you to apologise, blue, just,” you draw in a pensive breath, brows furrowed, “They got you bad this time.”

“They were jumping a kid, ‘dee, couldn’t stand by and watch.” His hands are as restless as his bouncing leg and you feel a twinge of endearment and jealousy all at once. He’s always moving, so much that sometimes you feel like you’re at a standstill; only a matter of time before he leaves you behind - grit in your teeth and grit in your heart. But today, he’s your best friend and he could’ve gone anywhere, but he’s here. You wrinkle your nose, worry creasing your forehead.

“You and your hero complex.” You hand him the bloody cloth to fiddle with, before gingerly checking his nose again - barely ghosting your fingertips over his nose. You didn’t know - back then - what being careful meant - to him, to you - you just knew you meant it. Your eyes are locked on his nose when you speak again, “S’gonna get you killed one day.”

He narrows his eyes at you, head tilted to the side - a language you aren’t fluent in yet. He’s serious for a long moment, watching you dart your eyes away and begin to pick at the skin peeling off your fingers. His brows loosen.

“Not when I got you lookin’ out for me, birdie.” He shoots you a toothy grin - god, you love his grin. All his teeth bared like he never learned how to smile properly. You always want to make him smile like that. Still, you can’t help the way your brows knot up, jaw tight as you watch a trickle of blood drip from his nose.

“I’m tired of watching you get hurt, Jay.” The lump in your throat makes the words come out thick; the fear makes them small. Despite your best efforts to hide them, stubborn tears pool on your lashes as you blink furiously. Jason looks devastated.

“Shit.” He brings his free hand up to take your wrist, rubbing comforting circles against your pulse. (An effort to stop your tears that only makes them fall harder.) “I’m… I’m not used to people worrying about me. I’m sorry. Fuck, please don’t cry, I hate it when ya cry.”

You let out a watery laugh, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. The little voice that tells you you’re going to lose him one day. You must look utterly pathetic when you meet his gaze because he pulls you into a tight hug, tucking your head into his shoulder as you cry.

Distantly you recognise the uncomfortable position you’re folded in, nearly bent in half to press your face into his neck, his shoulders pushing against yours. You don’t know how long the hug lasts - a lifetime in a minute and a half - but when you finally pull back, eyes puffy and red, Jason hangs on to your wrist, thumb brushing the hollow where your hand meets your wrist.

“I got your shirt all wet,” you say, laughing self consciously, “I’m sorry.” Jason just shakes his head, grinning sheepishly.

“I got blood on yours.” You nearly get whiplash from how fast your head turns to your shoulder, which now sports a deep maroon splotch. Gross, nose blood. He laughs heartily at your expression, “Guess we’re even then, birdie?” You roll your eyes, pulling your hand from his grip to cross your arms over your chest, raising a brow when he pouts in return.

His eyes dart between your unamused expression and the clock behind your head, smile faltering a little. He has to go. You hold out a hand for the cloth and he jumps up - his constant energy is a marvel - dropping the bloodied tea towel in your open palm. He runs his hand under his nose, smearing a last drop of blood over his upper lip.

You stop him as he’s about to leave, running the clean corner of the cloth gently over his mouth to wipe away the mark. He looks straight into your worried gaze, bringing up a finger to smooth the crease between your brows. “Hey, birdie, no wrinkles over me.” Your mouth twists.

“S’you and me, ‘dee, promise. Not gonna go anywhere else.” Jason holds out his hand, pinky outstretched. He cocks his head with that stupid, glorious grin of his. “Come on, don’t leave me hanging.” You roll your eyes, wrapping his finger in yours.

“You and me, blue.”

“Doc?” You jolt back into the present, hands frozen over the clip you’re securing Red’s bandage with. His hand is still wrapped carefully around your wrist and you yank it back - face heating - letting his hand fall forlornly by his side.

“Shit, sorry, I- sorry.” You finish your, somewhat shoddy, job, chucking your supplies back into your bag haphazardly.

“You okay over there?” With your back to him, you hum a less than convincing agreement that he seems to believe. You hear him rustling about behind while you zip up your bag, and assume he’s getting ready to sneak out your window, leaving you with only traces of him until he fucks up on patrol again.

Instead, when you turn around, he’s holding out a scratched up burner phone, mask tilted. You shoot him a confused look, taking the phone into your hands.

“What… am I doing with this?” He laughs, and you fight the heat rising in your cheeks at the sound.

“You know, for someone so smart, you’re pretty dense sometimes.” Now your face really does feel hot, brows furrowing at his chastisement. He chuckles at your quiet indignation, pushing the phone closer to you, “Your number, pretty girl, so you don’t get scared half to death next time I show up.” You fumble the phone, glancing between him and it as you enter your phone number. You tuck your hair behind your ear as you hand it back to him, crossing your arms again.

“Next time, huh?” You think he might be smiling under the mask, though you’d never be able to tell.

“Not getting rid of me that easily, doc.” He gets up, dusting off invisible dirt from his pants. Absently, you follow him over to your window, sweeping up his leather jacket before he can. When you hand it to him, your hands brush - a cliche jolt sparking up your arm when you touch him. He looks away as he takes it.

Red ducks out of your apartment and onto the fire escape, putting the jacket on fluidly and adjusting his mask. He gives you a little mock salute and you shake your head, biting back a smile.

“Don’t text me unless it’s an emergency.” You say, not meaning it at all.

“Swear on m’life.” He returns, fingers crossed behind his back. He turns after a last, charged stare, grasping the railing with his good arm. Flustered, you scramble, not one to let him have the last word.

You lean out of your window as he swings, one-armed (christ almighty, your knees might be weak), down onto the fire escape below. “You can use my door, you know!”

He meets your stare from below, as you hang half out of your apartment. He belts out a chesty laugh, “Now where’s the fun in that?” He swings over the fire escape, and disappears into the night.

Oh yeah, you’re in trouble.

some “emergency” texts:

y’all I wish I had an excuse but the truth is just that I have adhd and I got really into pjo haha, uh so here’s chapter 3. it’s not great but it is done so I hope you guys enjoy it, gonna make less promises about my fucked up schedule now lol.

with love, bugsy :)

#x reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd fic #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd x reader #love-bugsy #jason todd reader insert #series: the worst thing about love

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