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dccomicsimagines · 11 months

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One Day At A Time - Nightwing x Reader

Part Two

Author’s Note - Glad I finally got this one started. It was in my head for a long time. More parts are coming.

Voices were the first thing you recalled. They were different tones, some feminine, others masculine. Screams echoed from somewhere far away. Beeps sounded near your head.

You couldn’t open your eyes. Your eyelids had been replaced by stones. “Is she going to wake up soon?” one of the voices demanded. You recognized it as you heard it often.

“She can wake up at anytime.” This voice was recognizable as well. It gave orders a lot. “We will just have to wait.” Footsteps echoed and a door closed. You wondered if they were talking about you. Were you asleep? It was hard to tell.

There was scraping of a chair. Suddenly, someone grabbed your hand. They cradled it in theirs. Lips pressed to the back of your hand. “I miss you, sweetheart,” the voice you heard most often spoke. Sweetheart? You felt confused. No one had called you that before. “Please wake up soon.” Something wet dripped onto your hand.

Disgusting. You couldn’t pull your hand away. It was like your blood had been replaced with sand, holding you down. You endured it. The voice rambled on and on about things. You stopped listening and let yourself drift back into bliss of darkness.

***

Slowly, rising from the darkness and into the fresh air, you finally dragged your eyes opened. The light was bright. You closed them again, reaching up to rub them.

Your eyes adjusted to reveal a white hospital room with flowers everywhere. The ones next to your bedside were your favorite. Those were the same ones your brother would get for your birthday every year. A smile pulled at your lips. You glanced down at yourself, the paper hospital gown scratching your skin. There were heart monitors stuck to your chest and stomach. Odd.

An IV was in your arm. You pulled at it gently, shivering from the idea of it in your arm. Biting your lip, you tried to remember how you got here. The last thing you remembered was being at gymnastic practice. It was after hours and you were breaking the rules by attempting Olga Korbut’s uneven bars routine from the 1972 Olympics. Most of those moves were illegal now days, but you wanted to try just for fun.

The last thing you remembered was preparing for your dismount from the high bar when your brother, Wally West, and your coach walking in. They startled you and you fell hard. You frowned. Was that what happened? Did you end up in the hospital?

You pulled the covers around you. Where were those voices you heard before? The man’s voice. The one who held your hand. You wondered who he was? Rubbing your hands up and down your arms, you froze when you felt metal on one of your fingers. You glanced down to find a beautiful ring.

It was a contoured design, two rings fitted into one. You remembered Aunt Iris had one like that. Her engagement ring and wedding ring were made into one. Why would you have a ring like that? You were only nineteen and you don’t remember anyone giving a ring like this to you.

The door to your room opened. You looked up eagerly, hoping to see your family. However, there was only a strange man. He stared at you, eyes wide with a cup of coffee in his hand. His hair was dark, shaggy and falling into his bright blue eyes. You had to admit he was attractive and fit, even if it looked like he hadn’t slept in a week.

The coffee cup dropped from his hand and splashed on the floor. You jumped only to find the man suddenly hugging you and pressing his lips against yours. Your mind shut off. You didn’t move, unsure what to do. Should you scream? Were you being attacked?

“Oh thank god, you’re awake. I thought you would never wake up.” The man sobbed, breaking the kiss to bury his face into your shoulder. His voice triggered your memory. He was the one who held your hand.

You didn’t know what to do. Your brain was on autopilot as you patted his back. Maybe he was mentally disturbed and thought you were someone else? You noticed the call button by the bedside and tried to reach for it.

“Woah, hey.” The man pulled away, grinning despite the tears in his eyes. “You feel okay? Anything hurt? Should I get the doctor?”

You opened your mouth to speak only for it to be dry. Wetting your mouth, you cleared your throat. “I’m fine.” You looked him in the eye for a second before quickly looking at the flowers across the room. Your eye caught a bag sitting on the chair in the corner.

“I think my heart finally restarted. It stopped when you took that fall.” The man laughed. You looked back at him to find him studying you like you were the most precious thing on earth. It sent a warning shiver down your spine.

You quickly looked away, eyeing the coffee spill on the floor. “Is Wally here?”

You bit your lip nervously when the man’s smile faltered slightly. “He...doesn’t know you’re here.” The man took your hand, rubbing warmth into it.

“What?!” You blinked, heart skipping a beat. Oh god, did this man kidnap you? Were you even in a hospital or did it just look like one? Where was Wally? Where was your family?

The man played with the ring on your finger. He frowned slightly with concern in his eyes. “Sweetheart, you know he doesn’t approve of us. He won’t answer my calls, even when you got hurt, but we don’t need to worry about him. We got each other and our family. That’s what matters, right?” He ran his other hand through your hair.

Your blood ran ice cold. You had to escape. Clearly, this man kidnapped you and was mentally insane. Why did he act like you were in a relationship with him? Thoughts about all those old stalker movies filled your mind.

“Hey, you okay?” The man cupped your cheek. “Calm down. You’re fine. Everything’s okay.”

You forced a smile on your face to try to reassure him. Get him out of the room. You could escape then. “I just have a headache.” You rubbed your temple. Your chest tightened when his hand moved to rest over yours.

“Let me grab the doctor.” He leaned down to kiss you again. You turned your head, disgusted. His lips caught your cheek instead of your lips. The man frowned, but got up. “I’ll be right back, okay?” He left the room and firmly shut the door behind him.

Once he was gone, you got to your feet. Sharp pain shot through them, but you just gasped and stayed standing. You removed the IV and the heart monitors carefully before going to the bag in the corner. There were clothes inside. You ripped off the paper gown and changed into the sweatpants and sweatshirt inside. The clothes were too big, but you tightened the pants to fit you. There were no shoes, so you made do with a pair of socks.

Panic set in when you heard noise outside the door. You rushed to the window in the room. Outside was a city you didn’t recognize it. Scared beyond belief, you opened the window. The rays of the late morning sun hit your skin. Your room was two stories up, but you noticed a gutter drain nearby.

With somewhat ease, you climbed out and down the gutter drain. Once you were a few feet from the ground, you dropped. Almost landing on your feet, you toppled to your knees. Your center of gravity was off. Did you gain weight while you were kidnapped? You shook your head, getting to your feet.

“(Y/N)!” The man shouted. You spun to see him leaning out of the window with another dark haired man with him.

“No.” Adrenaline fueled you and you sprinted off. You were fast, but you were no speedster. Traffic was heavy in the street, but you ran out without a care, jumping over the hood of a car that slammed on their brakes to avoid you.

You glanced back to see the man already on the ground. Panting, you ran faster down the street, dodging people as you went. You had to break the line of sight. A child ran out in front of you. You jumped, using a light post as leverage to send yourself flying into an alleyway.

“(Y/N)!” The man was gaining on you as you fell hard on your knees again. The wind knocked out of you. Rage filled you. Why was your center of balance off? You could have landed that in your sleep. However, you got to your feet and kept running.

Turning several corners, you saw a coffee shop filled with people. You burst through the door, the bell ringing loudly. People stared at you like you were insane. Maybe you did look it, but you had a good reason. “Can I borrow a phone?” you panted, searching the room for a friendly soul.

“Here, honey,” a middle aged woman said, handing you a phone.

“Thank you.” You glanced behind you in a panic and ducked into the hallway that led to the bathrooms. The phone shook in your hand. Every part of your body ached, completely weakened by the run as adrenaline drained into all out terror.

Air was being squeezed out of your lungs, coming out in ragged gasps. Black swarmed your vision, but you blinked it away. The bell on the door to the shop rang. You slipped into the ladies' room and slid to the floor by the sink.

Knees pressed to your chest, you dialed the one number you knew by heart. “Please pick up, please pick up.” The man’s voice sounded outside, asking about you.

“Hello?” You sighed in relief, knowing his voice instantly.

“Wally?” Your voice cracked. Tears filled your eyes. “Please help me. Walls, please help me.”

“(Y/N)?” Wally seemed shocked. “What’s wrong?” His voice deepened into that tone he used when he was Kid Flash.

You crawled into one of the stalls when you heard someone tell the man that you went to the restroom. Reaching up to lock the stall, you got up to stand on the toilet to hide. You had to lean against the wall to stay upright. “There’s a man chasing me. He kidnapped me, but I escaped.” You held your breath when the bathroom door opened. “He’s here. Please help me.” Your voice dropped to a whisper.

“(Y/N), sweetheart, I don’t know what’s going on, but you need to come with me,” the man said loudly. He opened one of the stalls. You pressed your hand against your mouth to prevent a scream.

“I’ll be there in a flash. Where are you?” Wally’s voice sounded distant. He was already on the move.

The next stall opened. You whimpered softly into the phone. The bathroom fell silent until the door to your stall shook. You choked out a sob, losing your balance. Your foot went into the toilet, but you caught yourself. However, the phone slipped out of your hand and clattered to the floor.

The man kneeled in front of the door. “(Y/N), sweetheart, please tell me what’s going on. You’re scaring me.”

“Please leave me alone. I just want to go home,” you begged, ignoring your wet sock as you climbed higher on the toilet in case the man crawled under.

“We can go home, but I need you to calm down.” The man peeked under the door. You screamed, fresh tears bursting out of you. Suddenly, a loud gust sounded in the room and the man disappeared from the door. “Wally? What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing?! (Y/N) called me saying she’s been kidnapped and a man is chasing her,” your brother’s voice said. You relaxed slightly, suddenly concerned that Wally seemed to know the man. “And now I searched the city only to find you chasing her!”

The man gasped. “She said what?!”

The door of your stall shook again. “(Y/N), come out. I think you’re confused,” Wally said. You slowly climbed down from the toilet and opened the door. Wally stood there in a Flash suit. Strange, wasn’t he Kid Flash? You ignored it and hopped into his arms.

Wally held you tight. “Please get me out of here, Walls. Keep him away from me.” You clung to Wally like he was your lifeline.

“What the hell is going on?!” The man stepped forward. You broke out of Wally’s arms to hide behind him, watching the man as he stared at you with his brow furrowed. “(Y/N), sweetheart, I’m Dick. Your husband.” He pointed to his chest.

“I can’t be married!” You gripped Wally’s arms with a death grip.

Wally’s head snapped between you and the man. “Wait a minute.” He pressed a hand to the man’s, now Dick’s, chest to stop him from coming closer. Wally spun to you and gripped your shoulders. His green eyes bore into yours. “(Y/N), what year is it?”

You frowned, blinking. Your lips trembled. Wally never talked to you like this before. “2020.”

Dick’s jaw dropped. His hand slapped against his forehead. Wally stared at you with fear in his eyes. “(Y/N), honey, it’s 2023. You’re not nineteen, you’re twenty two,” Wally said calmly. He swallowed hard and nodded to Dick. “This is Dick Grayson. You married him a year ago. Without my permission, I might add.”

Your eyes snapped to Dick’s. “No...” Your knees collapsed. Wally caught you before you hit the floor. Dick’s hands clenched into fists, keeping his distance from you. Black swarmed your vision again. You blinked it away as Wally cradled you in his arms.

“This is too public.” The other dark haired man you saw in the window with Dick entered, glancing around nervously. “Get her out of here.” Wally picked you up and zoomed off. Sometime along the way, you fainted.

***

You woke on a soft bed with an older man hovering nearby. He smiled when he saw you open your eyes. The lights were dim in whatever room you were in. In the distance, you swore you heard bats screeching.

“Hello, Miss (Y/N).” He patted your arm. “Do you remember me?”

You studied him, but shook your head. He wasn’t a threat, because you didn’t even tense when you saw him.

The man smiled gently. “I am Alfred.” He held up his hands. “Is it alright if I examine your head?”

You nodded. A lump was in your throat, memories floating back to you. Alfred carefully ran his hands over your head, feeling for any bumps. You winced when he touch a spot toward the back of your head. “It hurts there.”

Alfred hummed. “I see.” He pulled away. “I am going to alert the others that you are awake.” You tensed, scared to find out what else you didn’t remember. Three years. You were missing three years. “Don’t worry, Miss (Y/N). It will be a calm discussion. We only want to figure out what is going on.” He patted your knee and left the area.

You pulled the sheet up and around you. Your fingers rested on the edge of the sheet, the ring on your wedding finger sparkling beautifully. How could you forget something so important? You must have loved Dick, right? You snorted. What a name. You hoped it was short for Richard.

Wally came in first. He smiled in relief, coming to your side. “Hey, glad you’re awake, sis. You gave me a heart attack when you fainted on me.” He sat on the edge of your bed.

Dick followed him. He started toward you, but stopped and moved to lean against the far wall. The other dark haired man from before entered and took a seat on the chair at the end of the bed.

“Here we go, Miss (Y/N). You should at least drink something,” Alfred said, appearing with a cup of steaming tea. You took it from him, giving him a timid smile in thanks. “I’ll bring a meal in a bit. Remember we are going to proceed calmly.” Alfred glared at the three men in the room. You liked him already.

“Let’s start from the beginning. What the last thing you remember, (Y/N)?” The dark haired man asked, leaning forward and studying you with an intense gaze, your hands began to shake with nerves. Alfred smacked his arm as he passed and the man’s gaze softened.

You took a sip of tea, gathering your thoughts. Sneaking a peek at Dick, you saw the pain in his eyes. “I remember being at gymnastic practice at Central City U. Everyone had left and I stayed to see if I could do Olga Korbut’s uneven bars routine from the 1972 Olympics. Oh my god, Walls, you remember how much I loved her routine. She was moving like an angel.” You grinned, feeling relaxed for the first time since you woke up to find everything strange and unfamiliar. A small smile pulled at Dick’s lips. You wondered if he liked gymnastics too.

“And you fell after I and your coach caught you in the middle of a high bar dismount.” Wally sighed, crossing his arms. “You hit your head, but you were fine afterwards.”

“I don’t remember that.” You bit your lip, holding the cup of tea tightly. “I just remember falling and then I woke up in the hospital with...Dick.” You met Dick’s eye. His smile fell into a firm line.

The dark haired man hummed. “You remember nothing else?”

You leaned into Wally. He wrapped his arm around you. “Just stuff before. Like growing up at home then living with Aunt Iris and Uncle Barry in Central City when Mom and Dad were having problems. Graduating high school, going to college on a gymnastic scholarship.” You looked at Wally. “Did I finish college? Please tell me I did.”

Wally chuckled. “You did. With top honors.” He kissed your temple. “Of course, then you ran off with Dick afterwards.” Wally glared over at Dick. Dick snorted. You glanced between the men, confused.

“Was I not supposed to?” You bit your lip when Dick burst out laughing suddenly. Wally narrowed his eyes at you.

“No, you weren’t. He’s older than you and was one of my best friends.” Wally pulled away from you, crossing his arms. “I made a mistake and invited him to my engagement party after working so hard to keep you away from this life, then all of a sudden, you married him.”

You looked at Dick, knowing you must have loved him quite a bit to piss Wally off so bad. “Enough.” The dark haired man got to his feet. “We need to focus on what’s important.”

“Bruce, we are focusing on what’s important,” Dick said after he stopped laughing. “(Y/N) might remember if we remind her.” He smiled at you with a charm that made your skin tingle. Maybe there was something there?

The dark haired man, now Bruce, shook his head. “No, there is something going on here. Don’t you think it’s strange that (Y/N) happened to forget about you? Three years is specific.” Bruce pointed a finger at Dick’s chest. “It’s very specific that the last thing she remembers happened the day before you met her at West’s engagement party.”

Dick sobered. “Are you suggesting someone erased me from (Y/N)’s memory? Who could even do that?”

Wally took the cup of tea from you when your hands started shaking so hard that it threatened to slosh out. “It’s okay,” Wally soothed, rubbing your back. “You’re fine, we’ll figure this out, okay?”

“Don’t you think it’s odd that a day after you two announced your pregnancy that (Y/N) takes a fall during patrol and forgets about you?” Bruce said, waving his hand in the air. “We need to open an investigation.”

Your blood drained out of your face. Pregnancy? You looked down at your stomach with wide eyes. Heart monitors on your stomach, the loss of your center of balance? Wally was staring at your stomach too. His face white as a sheet.

“Shit, Bruce. Just let the cat out of the bag, huh?” Dick rushed to your side. He hesitated before taking your hand. “(Y/N), sweetheart. Don’t freak out. You’re fine, the baby’s fine.”

“Baby?” You looked at him, chest tightening. Breathing became a struggle. Every muscle in your body tensed, trembling. “No, no, no, no. I can’t...I don’t remember anything.” Your cheeks felt wet, tears escaping.

Suddenly, you were in Dick’s arms with your head pressed against his chest. “Breathe with me, sweetheart. One breath at a time.” His calm heartbeat loud in your ear. You fought to slow down, trying to breathe in rhythm with him. Wally disappeared from your side. Your hand clutched at Dick’s shirt. He tightened his arms around you. “There you go. You’re doing such a good job, sweetheart. Nothing to freak out about. We’re taking care of it.”

You buried your face into his chest, breathing in his scent. He smelled of sweat, cologne, and laundry detergent. Your abdomen tingled as if your body remember that scent. You found you liked it.

“I’m heading out. Call me if there is an emergency,” Wally said. You looked up at him, eyes widening. Wally wouldn’t look at you and Dick, arms crossed. “I’ll let Mom know you’re okay.” With that, he zoomed off.

“But...” You blinked, your heart felt like it was ripped from your chest. “Why?” You looked at Dick. Dick smiled sadly at you.

He kissed your temple. “I’ll explain later.” Dick kept his arms around you as you sobbed. You buried your face into his chest, feeling so cold and alone. Your head ached as you tried to remember. How could you not remember getting pregnant or getting married? Why did Wally abandon you with these strangers that weren’t strangers, but were? Dick’s chin rested on the top of your head, not saying a word.

***

Dick stumbled out of medbay, exhausted and heartbroken. The bats screeched in the distance. The cool air in the cave made him shiver. You had cried yourself to sleep. Dick wished he could have comforted you, but he didn’t know how. What do you do when your wife doesn’t remember even meeting you?

Bruce was at the computer, working away on the theory he had throw out in front of you. Dick’s hand clenched into a fist. It was bad enough you were recovering from the news that you forgotten three years of your life and your husband, but to find out you’re pregnant and that someone may have erased your memory. No wonder you broke down.

Dick turned away from Bruce and headed up the stairs to the manor, needing distance. The absolute terror in your face when you looked at him in that coffee shop bathroom haunted him. He never wanted to see that expression on your face again.

Delicious smells came from the kitchen, drawing Dick toward it. His stomach growled. The last time he ate was that sandwich Alfred had brought him in the hospital. Dick ran his fingers through his hair. Was that a day ago? Time went by so fast after you woke up.

“Hey, Dick,” Tim said as Dick entered the kitchen. Alfred was over the stove, stirring a pot of what looked to be his special chicken noodle soup. Tim sat at the counter with a sandwich and a bowl of soup.

“Hi, Timmy.” Dick collapsed into the stool next to Tim and took half of the sandwich from his plate.

Tim watched him worriedly. “So how’s (Y/N)?”

Dick took a big bite of the sandwich. “Not great.” He mumbled with food in his mouth. Alfred turned to glare at Dick before going back to the stove. A jolt ran through Dick. Dick waited until he swallowed to continue. “She just cried herself to sleep in my arms. Bruce let slip that she’s pregnant, then Wally got all mad again and ran off.” Alfred poured another bowl of soup and set it in front of Dick. “I’m worried what the stress is doing to her and the baby.”

“This is why I suggested a calm discussion.” Alfred set a spoon next to Dick’s bowl. “Is she asleep?”

“Yeah.” Dick finished his sandwich and started on the soup. His eyes caught the ring on his finger. The one you had specially made for him. His heart broke once again.

“Well, I’ll prepare a tray and take it down. She needs to eat.” Alfred moved to grab a serving tray.

Tim eyed Dick and Alfred. “So it’s true then?”

“What’s true?” Dick glanced at Tim, frowning at how pale he was.

“(Y/N) doesn’t remember you or us or...anything?” Tim swallowed hard. The food in front of him forgotten.

Dick took another spoonful of soup, pushing away the urge to cry. “No, she doesn’t.” He froze, noting the shifting shadow by the kitchen door. “Damian, come on out.”

“TT.” Damian stepped out and came over to sit beside Dick. Alfred raised an eyebrow and quickly served Damian a bowl of soup too. “Can I see her?”

“Let’s give Miss (Y/N) space for now.” Alfred picked up the serving tray. “I’ll bring this down to her.” He left the room.

The three ate in silence. Dick slipped into his own thoughts, your face flashing before his eyes again. He dropped his spoon and buried his face in his hands. “It’s probably not permanent,” Tim said, biting his lip.

“Or it is.” Dick groaned, dropping his hands. “Do you know how it felt to see her so scared? She climbed out the hospital window and ran out into the street. Then she called Wally. Wally! They haven’t spoken in a year.”

Tim laid a hand on Dick’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

Dick glanced at Tim. “Why are you sorry? You didn’t do anything, Tim.”

“No, but I’m sorry just the same.” Tim pulled away to play with his spoon.

“TT.” Damian jumped off his stool and took his bowl to the sink.

Dick watched him. “Damian, you okay?” It helped to focus on something else. He’d rather comfort his brother than deal with his own emotions at the moment.

Damian spun and glared at him. “You are weak.” Dick and Tim flinched. Damian shook his head. “You are just giving up. If (Y/N) doesn’t remember you, then make her remember you.”

“It’s not that simple, Dami.” Dick got to his feet and came to kneel in front of Damian. “This isn’t something you can just fix.” He rested his hands on Damian’s shoulders.

“TT, then you take it one day at a time until (Y/N) remembers everything you had, everything we all had.” Damian jerked out of Dick’s grip and walked away. “Fool.”

Dick stayed on his knees. His body froze, shocked to his core. “So you’re saying I get (Y/N) to fall in love with me again?” He turned to look at Tim, who was nodding. “That’s not going to work. I don’t know how we did, it just happened.”

“You mean you don’t have any idea how you fell in love with (Y/N)? Come on, that’s not true.” Tim chuckled, getting to his feet and started to clean up the dishes. “You told me how you saw her from across the room and basically drew to her like a starving man to bread.”

“I didn’t say that.” Dick got to his feet and started to wash the dishes. Tim grabbed a towel to dry.

“Yeah, you did. It might have been after your wedding night and you were half asleep, but you did.” Tim smirked. “(Y/N) said you drank too much, but then Jason made that crude comment and you whaled on him.”

“Okay, I remember that. (Y/N) made me sleep on the couch until our honeymoon.” Dick felt a smile pulled at his lips. It felt wrong. Why should he be smiling when he lost the love of his life?

Tim laughed. “I didn’t know that part.” He dried a bowl and put it away. “I think if you help (Y/N) relive those moments, it might spark her memory.” Tim shrugged. “Unless Bruce’s theory is right.”

Dick choked, dropping a dish into the sink. “I pray he’s not. Who would do such a thing?” He grabbed another dish towel to dry his hands, shaking.

“Don’t think about that now.” Tim grabbed Dick’s arm. “Calm down.”

“How can I be calm, Tim?! My wife doesn’t remember me at all!” Dick threw his hands up in the air.

“Quiet.” Dick turned to see Cass staring at him, silently appearing like she always did. He should have heard her. Suddenly, her hand shot out and Dick fell limp to the ground.

“Cheap trick.” Dick mumbled, his cheek rested on the floor. HIs body paralyzed from the nerve strike.

Tim knelt down next to Dick’s head. Dick felt Tim’s thin fingers checking his pulse. “Little much, Cass, don’t ya think?”

“He needed rest. No sleep for days. Sloppy.” Cass grabbed Dick’s arm and pulled him up. Tim grabbed Dick’s other arm and they drag him out of the kitchen.

Dick closed his eyes, letting the darkness of sleep take him. The last thing he remember was being flopped down onto a couch.

***

You leaned against headrest, keeping your eyes on the city outside. “So we live in Gotham?” The car was clean and smelled like mint from the bat shaped car refresher.

“Well, no.” Dick cleared his throat, keeping one hand on the wheel while rubbing the yellowing bruise on his neck. You asked him about it, he just said it was what he needed. Whatever that meant. “We live in one of the suburbs between Gotham and Bludhaven.” He glanced over at you somewhat nervously. “Bruce bought us a house for our wedding gift. Decked it out with everything, even added a secret tunnel that would take us straight into Gotham or Bludhaven in minutes.”

“And Bruce is your adoptive father and Batman.” You frowned, playing with the sleeves of the sweatshirt you were wearing. Apparently, it was yours, but you don’t remember seeing it before. You sighed. It was a common occurrence nowadays. “Damian, Tim, Cass, and Jason are your siblings. Tim, Cass, and Jason are adopted while Damian is Bruce’s biological son.”

Dick nodded. A smile pulled at his lips. “Yeah, that’s right.” He glanced over at you. You met his eye. It sent a pleasant shiver down your spine. Over the last few days, you noticed you were feeling those shivers more and more. You played with your wedding ring, unable to take it off. It felt wrong to remove it.

“You’re Nightwing and I’m...” It was on the tip of your tongue.

“Redwing. Red from the Flash and wing from me,” Dick said after several seconds of silence. “You didn’t go out too often. Mostly to help me out if I needed backup.”

“And we both run a trapeze and gymnastics school?” You folded your arms across your chest. Your heart glowed with joy at having your dream job of teaching gymnastics.

Dick nodded. “And dance and boxing.” He looked back at the road. “We added those recently, wanting to reach out to more kids.”

Your eyes fell to the ring on his finger. “Did I give you that ring?”

“You did.” Dick’s hand left the wheel and was held out in front of you. You took it, feeling the calluses that were very similar to yours. The ring was a dark gray metal with no scratches or marks. “You had Superman make it out of some kind of Kryptonian metal, so it doesn’t wear or tear.”

Tracing the ring, you frowned. You tried to remember, pushing your brain until a headache blossomed in your temple. “I’m sorry.” You let go of his hand and turned away to look out the window.

“You don’t have to be sorry.” Dick rested his hand on your knee. You tensed. Dick flinched his hand away. “Sorry.” He bit his lip. “It’s okay, sweetheart. We’re figuring this out. One day at a time.”

Tears filled your eyes. He had been saying that a lot over the last few days. One day at a time. Like that was supposed to help you get three years back. “Are Iris and Barry really gone?”

“Yes, I don’t understand it all myself.” He looked at you as if you were going to break into pieces. “Apparently, they got sent to the future. Wally’s the Flash now.”

“Wally married Linda and had two kids who I’ve haven’t seen in a year because Wally hates that we’re together.” You took a deep breath. “Mom remarried after Dad disappeared and now lives in Europe. She agrees with Wally. Not surprising. She always liked him more.”

“That’s not true.” Dick drove down a street of very nice houses. Suddenly, he turned into a driveway of a beautiful huge white house. It was surrounded by trees, offering privacy from the neighbors. “Here we are.”

Your jaw dropped. “This is the house?” You quickly got out of the car to get a better look at it. Dick followed you.

“You like it?” He came to your side.

“Yeah, I just didn’t expect something so...large.” You walked ahead to the front door and took out a key from under the mat. It didn’t occur to you until the key was in your hand that your body must have remembered the motion. You looked back at Dick to find him staring at you with hopeful eyes. A lump formed in your throat.

“Go on in, sweetheart. I’ll get the car in the garage.” Dick climbed back into the car and opened the garage door. You pushed open the door and walked into the quiet, dark house. A motion sensor light clicked on along with a soft alarm. Your heart stopped.

Dick suddenly ran in behind you. “Sorry, forgot about that.” He typed in a code into the box in the corner by the door. A sensor popped out and Dick widened his eyes for it to scan his retinas. “There you go.” He turned back to you and started to lean forward, but stopped when you backed away. His face fell. “Don’t worry. It’s just our security system.” With that, he went back out the door to the car.

You watched him go. Blood rushed to your face when you realized you were looking at his butt. You covered your eyes, telling yourself that he was your husband and you probably could look at his butt. However, the embarrassment didn’t go away. It was a very nice ass though.

Slowly, you wandered through a beautifully decorated living room and dining room, stopping to study the pictures on the walls. There were a few of you as a child, along with you assumed were Dick’s childhood photos. You stopped at a picture of you and Wally as kids. Both of you were in swim suits with the blow up pool behind you. Wally’s arms were around you, both of you grinning as your mom snapped the picture.

Tears filled your eyes again, but you pushed them away. You had enough of crying for one day.

You explored the rest of the ground floor, finding the kitchen, pantry, office and a bathroom. It was so beautiful that you felt out of place. This was something you always dreamed about. Your own home, a place where you always belonged. You went upstairs. Another bathroom and three bedrooms. Two were empty, one made up into a guest bedroom. At the end of the hall, there were double doors. You swallowed hard and opened them.

The master bedroom was decorated by you. That you recognized right away. It very close to the bedrooms you designed as a teen when you couldn’t sleep after gymnastic practice. You would cut out photos from home magazines and print out pictures from the internet to paste together a mock room design for your dream home.

The bed looked so comfortable, you went over and laid down on it. It was as soft as you liked it. The comforter and sheets smooth on your skin. You stared up at the ceiling. Your dreams really came true, didn’t they? Maybe this was some form of karma. You got what you always wanted, but now you can’t remember the pieces that made it all happen.

“Hey, you found our room,” Dick said, coming in with the bags. You recognized one of the bags as the one you stole clothes from at the hospital. He set the bags on the armchair in the corner. “You picked everything out in here, I was just along for the ride.”

“So we’re both sleeping here?” You asked, stomach twisting with nerves. Dear god, it felt like you were about to have your wedding night with this man.

Dick paused, smile faltering. “No, I’ll be in the guest room.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to rush things for you. It wouldn’t be healthy for you or the baby.”

Your hand went to your stomach. There was a slight bump, which you only noticed after you found out you were pregnant. Dick’s eyes watched your hand. “Right, sure.” You got up from the bed and wandered toward the door in the corner. It led to a master bathroom with a walk in shower and giant tub in the corner. “Bruce really went all out, huh?”

“Yeah, he did.” Dick followed you, leaning against the doorframe as you peeked into the shower. “You told him about the house you dreamed about as a child and he made it for you and me.”

“I told him about it? But I never told anyone about it. Not even Wally.” You spun to look at Dick. That pleasant shiver went up your spine as he smiled at you. His eyes sparkling with what seemed to be love.

“You told me on the night we met. It was after Wally and Linda’s engagement party. Everyone was passed out drunk or left. You and I stayed to clean while Wally took care of Linda. We got to talking and I offered to take you out for breakfast at three am.” Dick sighed. “We talked until seven am, telling each other everything.”

You blinked. “Everything?” Your eye caught the photo on the wall. It was of you and Dick standing in front of the Golden Gate bridge. The two of you gazed into each other’s eyes, foreheads pressed together. “Like this? Is this our honeymoon?”

“No, that was a trip we took the summer after we met.” Dick came to your side. He kept a safe distance between you and him. “We were keeping our relationship a secret. Linda and Wally’s wedding was a month later and we didn’t want to cause trouble.”

You hummed, noting how happy you were in the photo. “I wish I remembered.” Dick hesitated before gently reaching over to rub your shoulder. You forced yourself not to tense. His touch felt nice, warm.

“You will, but for now, I’ll remind you.” Dick smiled. His pain was almost hidden, but you could see it in his eyes. He took your hand. The contact alone made you want to cry. Dick tugged you. “Come on, let me show you the basement.”

“That’s not creepy at all.” You laughed halfheartedly, letting Dick lead you down the stairs to a part of a wall with a framed poster of the Flying Graysons on it. “Is it hidden for a reason?”

Dick winked at you. A jolt ran through your abdomen. “Remember that tunnel I told you about? Well, we don’t want that out in the open.” He touched the side of a frame and a fingerprint scanner popped out. “Always use your thumb.” He pressed his thumb and it dinged. The wall swung open revealing a staircase. “It scans you as you walk. If it doesn’t recognize you, the alarms go off and you’ll get sealed in the stairwell.”

“So this is like the safe room then?” You went in first, scared but comforted by the fact Dick was right behind you.

“Yeah, this would be the place to go if we have a situation like that. Of course, they’d have to try to get into the house first. I’ll show you how to lock down the house too.” Dick slipped around you once you reached the bottom of the stairs and wrapped his arm around your shoulders. The weight of his arm felt right. “What do you think?”

It was a huge underground base with big computer on one side. Costume displays were build into the wall. Three motorcycles and one military looking car sat at the far end. You pulled away from Dick to look at the workout area. There was a lot of equipment, but the only thing you focused on was the uneven bars.

You broke into a run toward the uneven bars and glide kipped onto the lower bar before doing a flip to the high bar. “Careful,” Dick chuckled, leaning against one of the punching bags nearby. “Your balance is off because of the baby.”

“Right.” You did a few backward giants before slipping into a few piked Stalders. A laugh escaped you. You couldn’t even begin to describe the joy you had. Your body ached for this.

You did a tucked Jaeger release before flipping down the lower bar. It felt unsteady, but you quickly adjusted to your change in weight. You did a toe-on release back to the high bar. Gaining momentum with a few more backward giants, you did a layout Jaeger release. Your grip slipped slightly, but you held on with one hand.

A scream slipped out when you tried to gain control. Suddenly, arms wrapped around your waist and you were pulled down from the bar. “It’s okay, I got you.” Dick pressed you against his chest until your feet were on the floor.

“I should have chalked first.” You bit your lip, face burning. Dick’s arms stayed around you. The walls felt like they were closing in. Reality sunk your stomach to the floor. Who were you if you couldn’t remember?

“You were amazing.” Dick started to lean forward, but froze when you pulled away from him. You avoided his gaze.

“Right.” Hot tears filled your eyes, out of your control. “I’m tired. I’ll go lay down for a while.” You walked away briskly, head down.

Dick sighed loudly behind you. “Okay, I’ll wake you for dinner.” You glanced back at him to give him a quick nod before disappearing up the stairs.

***

“I don’t know what to do. She doesn’t get up from bed and only eats what I bring her.” Dick stood up from the kitchen table and poured himself another cup of coffee. “I thought coming home would help spark her memory or at the very least cheer her up, but she’s depressed.”

Alfred hummed and sipped his tea. He settled back in his seat at the table in your kitchen. You were upstairs, still in bed despite it being two in the afternoon. “Well, that is not healthy.”

“No, it’s not. I’m scared for her and the baby.” Dick sank back into his seat. “I don’t know what to do, Alfred.”

“Have you tried talking to Mr. West again? Perhaps Miss (Y/N) needs someone familiar around?” Alfred crossed his arms, pursing his lips.

“Wally won’t answer my calls. I tried calling him, but he won’t pick up.” Dick ran a hand through his hair. “I called with her phone to see if he would pick up for (Y/N), but nothing. Her mother is not answering either, which isn’t a surprise. I debated calling Bart Allen or Jesse Chambers or even Jay Garrick, but I don’t know if it would be a comfort to her. She wasn’t very close to them.”

“I swear that man and his mother are almost as stubborn as Master Bruce.” Alfred stood up and moved around the kitchen. “Did Miss (Y/N) have any cravings?”

Dick smiled halfheartedly as Alfred looked through the cabinets. “Well, not recently, but before everything, she was dying for pot stickers and refried beans. We had them every night for two weeks.”

Alfred shook his head. “I suppose we can add a salad on the side.” He started to cook, gesturing for Dick to get out. “Now I need you to come up with a plan to get Miss (Y/N) out of bed. It’s best that we don’t have to force her out.”

“Right.” Dick sipped at his coffee and left the kitchen. He racked his brain. There had to be a way to get you out of bed on your own. He was a fool for expecting Alfred to come over and magically fix everything. Dick smiled. However, if he figured out a way to get you up, Alfred’s food would probably keep you up. It was going to be way better than the food Dick had made for you the last few days.

Dick wandered upstairs and stopped outside an empty bedroom. This was the room you planned for the baby. Nothing was in it yet. In fact, it wasn’t even painted. Suddenly, a lightbulb went off in Dick’s head. After all, you were still you, even if you didn’t remember the last three years.

***

“Oops.” You jerked awake, sitting up in bed. Your eyes felt sticky, your body more tired than you ever felt before. The master bedroom was empty, but the doors to the rest of the house was open. “Damn, which color was it supposed to be again?”

It was Dick’s voice. You frowned. Curiosity tickled you. You felt the urge to get up and see what he was doing. Honestly, you were waiting for something to happen. Wallowing in self pity and sorrow only seemed worthwhile for so long.

You pulled back the covers and got to your feet. The pajamas you wore were a little tight around your stomach, the baby bump revealing itself. You still couldn’t believe you were pregnant and married. How do you forget something so important? It was like you were living someone else’s life.

“It couldn’t be black, could it?” Dick’s voice echoed down the hall. Your heart jolted. Why did you have a sense of dread?

You went down the hall, not caring that you were walking around in pajamas and bed hair. Dick was in one of the empty bedrooms surrounded by boxes and paint cans. He was holding up paint sample cards to the wall, clearly deep in thought. “What are you doing?” you asked.

He flinched, dropping his sample cards. “(Y/N)? Oh, good. I was thinking of painting this bedroom. We were going to make this the baby’s room, but white walls are just so boring. I was trying find a color that matches those decorations.” He nodded to the boxes.

You knelt down to look through the box, getting curiouser by the minute. Inside was a ton of baby decorations, all circus themed. “Wait, you were thinking black for the walls?” You looked up at him in disbelief. Your eye caught the black paint sample on the floor. “Black? For a baby’s room?”

“Yeah, it would really bring out the circus theme.” Dick’s eyes were wide with innocence. You swore you saw a hint of a smirk on his lips.

“No, that’s not happening.” You got to your feet and took the paint samples from him. “I mean what are you thinking?”

“I don’t know. This is more your thing.” Dick shrugged as you tossed the black sample over your shoulder while keeping the others. You held them against the wall and glanced back at the decorations in the box. “I think we should go with this blue.” You handed him the right sample.

Dick grinned. “Yeah, I can see it now.” He came up behind you and held the paint sample to the wall. “I’ll go buy the paint.” You shivered, feeling his breath against your neck.

“Miss (Y/N), Master Dick, dinner is served.” Alfred appeared in the doorway. You crossed your arms.

“I’m not very hungry, Alfred. Sorry.” You moved away from Dick and toward the door.

“That’s too bad, because I made pot stickers, refried beans, and a green salad.” Alfred sighed and headed down the stairs. Your stomach growled. You found yourself following him.

“You did?” Wrapping your arms around yourself, you licked your lips. “When did you get here, Alfred?”

Alfred shrugged. “A few hours ago.” He disappeared around the corner.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.” Dick came up behind you and wrapped his arm around your shoulders to lead you toward the kitchen. “We’ll finish the baby’s room later.”

You frowned, glancing back at the room. Did you really marry a man who thought black was a good color to paint a room? No wonder most of the house was your designs. “I suppose I could eat. Since I’m up and all.”

Dick hummed. You glanced at him, wondering once more what you saw in him. He was hot, you admitted to yourself, and kind. You pondered some more as you both joined Alfred for dinner.

***

With your stomach full and satisfied, you ended up in the baby’s room again. You offered to help with dishes, but Alfred refused your help, instead making Dick do them as Alfred had to head home to take care of Bruce.

Kneeling down next to the box of decorations, you sorted through it. There was were pictures of circus animals, a worn stuffed elephant, a circus mobile, crib sheets with lion and lion tamers on them etc. You noticed a lack of clowns, but then remembered the Joker and thought it was for the best.

“We have the crib, but it’s still in the box in the closet. Bruce and Alfred sent it over once we told them the news.” Dick’s voice made you flinch. You forced yourself to relax as he slowly made his way to sit down next to you on the floor. He kept a nice distance between you, sensing your unease.

“That was nice of them.” You bit your lip. Dick reached over to take the worn stuffed elephant, smirking at it. “That was yours, wasn’t it?”

Dick looked up at you in surprise. The hopefulness in his eyes panged your heart. You didn’t remember that, you just guessed. “Yeah, I grew up with Sikta. She’s named after one of the elephants we had in the circus.” He chuckled, glancing back at the stuffed elephant. “She used to tease me by spraying water on me when I was close by and I would sneak her peanuts.”

“Wow.” You felt a smile pull at your lips. “We didn’t have any pets when I was little. Mom and Dad wouldn’t let us and with Wally being a superhero. No one had the time I guess.” You shrugged, taking out a few classic children books. “These were mine.” You opened them to see your messy three year old handwriting inside. “I wrote my name in them because Wally always did it to his.”

“Is that your name? Wow, your handwriting has gotten much better.” Dick teased, leaning closer to look at the book with you. You got a whiff of his cologne, faded, but still there.

His words gave you pause. “Did I take your name?” You looked at him, blinking when you found him only inches away from you. He turned, his lips almost brushing yours.

“Yeah.” He swallowed hard. “You said your name sounded better as (Y/N) Grayson instead of (Y/N) West.” A blush came to his cheeks. “I was quite flattered.”

“Is that why Wally doesn’t approve?” You took a deep breath, breathing in his scent. It made your body relax. Your abdomen buzzed with excitement.

“No.” Dick sighed. He paused before slowly wrapping an arm around your waist. You found you didn’t mind the touch. “I don’t know for sure to be honest. He hated that we were together and that we kept it a secret for so long. Wally always said that he worked hard to keep you from this life. I think he didn’t want you to be apart of the superhero life and by being with me, you joined it.”

You pursed your lips. “Right, so I should be the one left out? It’s bad enough that I spend holidays alone with Mom and Dad when Wally ran off to save the world. At least with Aunt Iris, it was just me and her when Wally and Barry ran off. Less fighting and passive aggressive comments all the time.”

“Do you want to try to call him?” Dick looked at you with those sparkling blue eyes. You found yourself awed by them. Hopefully, the baby would get his eyes. They were so much prettier than yours.

“No.” You turned back to the books, picking up the Peter Pan book. Opening the cover, you smiled sadly when you saw Wally’s name crossed out and replaced with your own. Dick’s chin rested on your shoulder, looking with you. “I don’t think it will do any good.”

“You don’t know that.” Dick pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “But I’ll support whatever you want to do.” You felt him smile into you, feeling it through your pajamas.

You felt yourself crack like the ground during an earthquake. Your emotions swelled to the surface.

“I’m sorry.” Tears welled up in your eyes uncontrollably. You turned away from him. “I’m sorry I don’t remember. I’m sorry I don’t know you like you know me.” A sob slipped out. It was unstoppable. You felt like there was no way to put a lid on your emotions. “It’s horrible to see the hope in your eyes, but the truth is, I don’t know if I’ll ever remember because nothing here triggers anything for me.” You glanced around the room. “I don’t remember buying this stuff, I don’t remember anything of the photos of us, or decorating this beautiful home.” You choked, wiping your tears with your sleeve. “It’s hopeless.”

Dick pulled you into his arms, letting you rest your head on his chest. “It’s not hopeless and you don’t need to be sorry. You can’t help it. I understand that.” He kissed the top of your head. You relaxed, soothed by his scent and warmth. Your body certainly remembered him, but why couldn’t the rest of you? “I love you, (Y/N). During our vows, I promised to be with you even after death parted us. We’ll work through this.” He chuckled softly. “If anything, we’ll just have to make new memories and stop focusing on remembering the old.”

You looked up at you, smiling at his goofy grin. “Did we really promise each other that in our wedding vows?”

“We did.” Dick leaned down. His lips brushed softly against your cheeks, making your entire body light up in pleasure. “We’ll just have to get married over again, so you can have new memories.”

You blinked. “Do you really mean that?” His lips left you aching for more. He got to his feet and held out his hand.

“Yeah, I do.” He winked at you. “Come on, let’s get out of here and watch a movie or something? Maybe we can discuss what kind of memories we want to make while we do it?”

You nodded, starstruck. Now you could see how you fell in love with him. He was just so...charming. You took his warm hand and got to your feet. Hope was reborn inside you.

***

To say Dick felt great would have been an understatement. He was practically skipping through patrol. Many of the criminals he found were quite surprised by the happy Nightwing who wouldn’t stop smiling as he knock their lights out.

He finished up patrol early and picked up a few things. Dick couldn’t believe he was so stupid. You needed to make new memories instead of him trying to force the old on you. Yes, it hurt him to know you didn’t remember the first time you met, the time he proposed, the wedding, you telling him you were pregnant... Dick swallowed hard, pushing his own feelings aside. He had to focus on you.

Dick took the tunnel home and quickly changed out of his suit. He showered quickly before the food he picked up could melt. Jogging up the stairs, Dick felt like he could do anything.

The kitchen light was on. Dick frowned slightly, wondering if you were up. He knew he turned that off.

As he stepped inside, he froze when he saw a tall, masculine figure leaning inside the fridge. Dick carefully set the bag down on the floor and crept up behind the figure. He grabbed the figure by the back of their leather jacket and pulled them back out of the fridge. The figure grunted, elbowing Dick in the stomach.

Dick groaned before using his strength and position to push the figure into a hold over the kitchen counter. “What the hell?” the figure said. “You greet all your visitors like this, Dickhead?”

“Jason?” Dick blinked, feeling stupid for not recognizing the brown leather jacket that Jason always wore. He let his brother go. Jason groaned, stretching his arms. “What are you doing here?”

“I got back from four months in space yesterday, so I decided to stop by and get something to eat while on my way back to Gotham,” Jason said, glaring at Dick. “(Y/N) said I was always welcome. She even gave me a key.”

Dick sighed. He rolled his shoulders to try to relax. “Right.” He took the groceries out of the bag and slipped around Jason to put them away in the fridge. Jason licked his lips at the sight. “It’s not for you. Don’t touch them.”

“Why not?” Jason snorted, opening a cabinet to take out a bag of chips.

“Jay, did you get any news while you were away?” Dick closed the freezer and leaned against it with his arms crossed. “I’m assuming no, because you wouldn’t have sneaked in here if you did.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “I know you spawned. Tim sent me the announcement card.” He shrugged his shoulder, shoving a chip into his mouth. “Congrats, I guess,” he mumbled with his mouth full.

Dick held back a wince. That felt so long ago. You were so excited to send out those announcements. “Something happened with (Y/N).” He swallowed hard when Jason suddenly froze, staring at Dick with wide eyes. “She’s fine, physically at least. The baby is too.” Dick held up his hands. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

Jason finished chewing and swallowed before he spoke. “So what happened?” His eyes darkened. Dick almost smiled. He always found it funny how protective Jason became of you once you joined the family. Then again, everyone in the family felt the same way.

“(Y/N) took a fall during patrol a few weeks ago.” The memory flashed before his eyes. He had to blink it away. “She was in a coma for about a week. When she finally woke up, she didn’t remember me.” He bit his lip, hating the horror dawning on Jason’s face. “She doesn’t remember anything from the last three years. The last thing she remembered was the day before Wally’s engagement party.”

“Shit.” The color drained out of Jason’s face. “I’m sorry. Geez, I could have scared her to death if she found me, huh?” He ran a hand through his hair at the same time Dick did. Dick noticed, but Jason didn’t.

“It’s okay, you didn’t get the message.” Dick rested a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “If you want to crash on the couch, I can introduce you. She’s met the others again already.”

“Why can’t I take the guest room?” Jason met Dick’s eye, having a ‘duh’ moment. “Oh, right. I suppose if she doesn’t remember you at all, you won’t just jump into bed together.”

Dick hummed, tensing when he heard a creak from the stairs. “So the couch is what I can offer you. We’re going to make up the other bedroom, but we haven’t got to that. I was going to set it up before...”

Jason snorted, tilting his head. He heard you too.

Dick sighed before turning to meet you as you entered the kitchen. You took his breath away even with bedhead and those pajamas that were getting too small for your growing belly. “What’s going on?” you yawned, rubbing your eyes. You saw Jason and jumped at the stranger in your kitchen.

“Sweetheart.” Dick soothed, reaching out to take your hand. You relaxed slightly. “This is Jason, my brother.”

“Oh.” You laughed slightly. “Hi. Dick told me you’re the one who causes the most trouble.” You waved at him shyly. Dick could see the grief in Jason’s eyes once he realized you didn’t recognize him, but only knew of him.

Jason quickly hid his feelings. “Nah, Dickhead is the troublemaker. Isn’t that why you’re knocked up?” He smirked when you seemed slightly taken back by the comment.

You blushed, taking a step behind Dick to hide your pajamas. A somewhat awkward silence filled the room. Dick cleared his throat, squeezing your hand soothingly. “Can Jay stay the night on the couch?” he asked you.

“Sure.” You bit your lip. “That would be fine. Sorry that the guest bedroom is already taken.”

Jason shrugged. “It’s fine. I’ve been sleeping on a rock floor for the past week, so this will be luxury.” He shoved more chips in his mouth.

“I’m going back to bed.” You slipped away. Dick turned, but you were gone as quickly as you came.

“Wow, so you weren’t kidding. She doesn’t know us at all. Otherwise, she would have yelled at me for eating chips and insist I eat some leftovers or something.” Jason sighed, rolling up the chip bag and wiping his fingers on his jeans.

Dick held his breath, listening to your footsteps as you moved around upstairs. “I have a plan though.”

Jason snorted, shaking his head. He grabbed a can of soda out of the fridge. “What? You’re going to hit her on the head again and see if it all comes back?”

“No!” Dick punched Jason’s arm. Jason winced, rubbing his arm. “I thought I could trigger her memories with the house and photos, but it’s not working.” Dick bit his lip. “So I decided to make new memories with her. Tomorrow, I’m going to make her breakfast.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “Right. Well, don’t mind me.” He waved a hand and brushed past Dick to go to the living room. Dick snorted, holding back a yawn of his own. He turned off the lights and headed upstairs to the lonely guest bedroom.

***

You stood in front of the full length mirror in the huge bathroom, studying yourself. Three years didn’t change much overall. Sure, your hair was different. Maybe your face thinned out a little, losing the bit of it’s childishness.

You turned to the side. The baby bump was new. You remembered Dick said you were almost at the end of your fourth month. Running your hands over it, you smiled. Children had always been something you considered. Tears filled your eyes as you thought about finally having your own family.

Of course, you didn’t remember anything about your husband or the act of getting pregnant itself. You took a deep breath. “New memories,” you said to yourself. Dick was supportive of it and honestly you felt it was the only way to move forward.

The house was quiet for five in the morning. You had been awake since you heard Dick and Jason downstairs. Moping and sleeping for the past week left you full of an energy you weren’t sure what to do with.

After leaving Dick and Jason, you explore every single drawer and storage container in your bedroom. It was like shopping, discovering you still had amazing taste in clothes. Dick had nice clothes too. You blushed at the thought.

You rocked on your feet. Boredom was your problem now.

With a sigh, you left the bathroom and collapsed onto the bed. You reached for your phone and started to look through your pictures again. There were a lot of selfies of you and Dick, a picture of an ultrasound, shots of Dick’s family doing silly things, and lots of kids and people you didn’t know. You guessed that they were people from your gymnastics school.

But there was one person missing from your recent pictures. Wally.

Tears burned in your eyes. “New memories, but without my family.” A shaky breath slipped out of you as you opened your contacts and hovered your thumb over Wally’s name.

You remembered how Wally wouldn’t look you in the eye once he found out you were pregnant. How fast he ran out of the batcave, leaving you alone with people you didn’t know.

Your Wally wouldn’t do that. Never.

You hesitated, hovering your thumb over the call button. He probably wouldn’t be awake if he answered at all. You bit your lip.

Melancholy ate at your heart. You wanted to just see someone you knew. Uncle Barry, Aunt Iris, Wally. Even your mother or father would be great right now.

Your stomach growled. A blush came to your cheeks. You sat up and looked at the double doors to the rest of the house. “It’s your house, you can go eat, you can do what you want,” you told yourself softly. Blueberry muffins with strawberry smoothies sounded good. Very good.

You stood up and went to the door. Taking a deep breath, you opened the door and stepped into the hallway to shuffle your way to the kitchen.

***

Dick woke to the smell of freshly made muffins and coffee. He opened his eyes and jerked up to his feet. “Crap.” He checked the clock only to find it to be seven in the morning. Blinking, he rubbed a hand over his face. Did he make the muffins already? Why would he be in bed though?

He grabbed a shirt from the foot of his bed and headed downstairs. Your laughter drifted from the kitchen along with Jason’s low chuckle.

You and Jason were at the kitchen table with muffins and smoothies in front of you. Jason had a grin on his face. Dick’s heart stuttered when he saw a matching one on your lips. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw you smile. A real smile.

“Hey, I was going to make you breakfast,” Dick said. He straightened his shoulders when your smile didn’t fall as you turned to look at him. “I picked up the fruit last night.”

“Sorry, I was hungry and up early. I saw the fruit and went with it.” You stood up. Dick’s eyes dropped to your bump. Still there. Slightly. He wished he could rest his hand on it, but he stopped himself. You might not be comfortable with that yet.

Jason glanced between Dick and you. He took a big bite of a muffin. You turned away. Dick raised an eyebrow at him. Jason just smiled while chewing.

“Close your mouth,” you said, patting Jason’s shoulder. Jason obeyed. Dick’s heart fluttered as he thought for a moment how it was like the old you. You took out another plate and glass. Dick took a seat across from Jason.

“I was telling (Y/N) about my adventures in space,” Jason said once you sat back down and served Dick a muffin and a smoothie.

You smiled, resting your chin in your hand. “I think you were on the part where you got drunk on alien beer and found yourself in bed with a three foot tentacle monster and a six breasted woman.”

Dick choked on his smoothie. He coughed. You reached over to pat his back. Jason just laughed, leaning back in his seat.

“You what?!” Dick said after he recovered. Your hand stayed on his back. Dick met your eye as Jason told the story. His heart fluttered with hope, your touch warm and so familiar. He hoped this new memories idea worked. His heart couldn’t take it otherwise.

463 notes · View notes

dc-and-arfrona · 9 months

Text

Night Time - Headcannons - Batboys

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Bat Boys x GN!Reader

Type: Fluff

Word Count: 2.3k+

Masterlist

Summary: Your gifts to them after a night of patrol.

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Jason Todd - Home Cooked Meal

After a long and exhausting night of patrolling Gotham City, Jason Todd, the Red Hood, returned to the sanctuary of his home, a mix of weariness and anticipation coursing through his veins. He opened the door and was immediately greeted by the enticing aroma of a home-cooked meal that filled the air.

As he entered the kitchen, he found you, the person who held his heart, standing there with a warm smile on your face. The sight of you preparing a delicious feast tugged at Jason's heart, washing away the fatigue of the night's battles.

"Welcome home, Jason," you said, your voice filled with affection. "I thought you could use a good meal after tonight."

Jason's lips curled into a grateful smile, his eyes reflecting his love and appreciation. "You always know how to make me feel at home, Y/N. Thank you."

He joined you in the kitchen, stealing a taste of the dish you were preparing. The flavors exploded on his taste buds, a testament to your culinary skills. With every bite, he felt nourished not only by the meal but also by the love and care you poured into it.

As you both sat down to enjoy the meal together, the exhaustion from the night's battles faded into the background. The warmth of the home-cooked food mirrored the warmth that enveloped the space between you, strengthening the bond you shared.

In those moments, Jason realized the true meaning of coming home—finding solace and comfort in your presence, in the simple act of sharing a meal together. The home-cooked meal became a symbol of the love and care you bestowed upon him, a reminder that amidst the chaos of their lives, he had found a haven in your arms.

As you exchanged smiles and conversation, the weight of the night's battles lifted from Jason's shoulders. In your embrace and through the flavors of the meal, he found peace—a respite from the darkness he fought against. He cherished these moments, knowing that they were the threads that wove their lives together, creating a tapestry of love and support.

And so, in the glow of the kitchen, Jason Todd and you discovered that the simplest acts—a home-cooked meal and the shared moments around the table—could heal wounds, rekindle spirits, and remind them of the love that burned bright in their hearts. In each other's presence, they found a home—a place where they could truly be themselves, nurtured by the warmth of love and the taste of a home-cooked meal made with devotion.

Dick Grayson - Pillow Fort

After a grueling night of patrolling Gotham City as Nightwing, Dick Grayson returned to his apartment, his body weary but his spirit alive with anticipation. Little did he know that you, his partner and love, had prepared a surprise that would chase away the weariness and envelop him in warmth.

As he stepped through the door, he noticed a soft glow coming from the living room. Curiosity piqued, he followed the light and discovered a sight that brought a wide smile to his face—a cozy pillow fort filled with blankets, fairy lights, and a collection of his favorite movies.

Dick's heart swelled with joy as he realized what you had done. The thoughtfulness and care behind the gesture warmed his soul, washing away the fatigue of the night's battles. He couldn't help but feel a deep appreciation for the effort you had put into creating this haven of comfort and relaxation.

"You've outdone yourself, Y/N," Dick said, his voice filled with awe. "This is amazing."

You stepped out from behind the fort, a playful grin on your face. "I thought you could use a little relaxation after tonight. Come on, let's unwind and enjoy some movie magic."

Without hesitation, Dick joined you in the pillow fort, sinking into the softness of the cushions and reveling in the cozy atmosphere you had created. The dim lighting, the warmth of the blankets, and the presence of the person he loved turned the living room into a sanctuary—a place where the weight of the world could be momentarily set aside.

As you snuggled close, laughter and whispered conversations filled the air. You shared stories, whispered secrets, and basked in the comfort of each other's company. The movies played in the background, but the real magic was the connection between you and Dick.

In those moments, as they lost themselves in the embrace of the pillow fort, Dick realized the true meaning of home—a place where he could find solace and love, where the weariness of the night could be cast aside in favor of moments of pure joy and relaxation.

Together, you created memories—moments that would be etched in their hearts forever. In the gentle glow of the fairy lights and the soft whispers that filled the fort, Dick Grayson and you discovered the power of simple pleasures—a pillow fort and movie night became a symbol of their love and the sanctuary they had created together.

As the night wore on, Dick's weariness transformed into a profound gratitude for the person who had brought this beautiful moment into his life. With every laugh shared and every stolen glance, their love grew stronger, nourished by the comfort of the pillow fort and the magic of movie night.

And so, in the embrace of the fort, Dick Grayson and you found respite from the darkness of Gotham, a safe haven where their love could bloom. In each other's arms and in the flickering light of the movies, they discovered the true power of home—a place where they could be themselves, surrounded by the warmth of love and the gentle embrace of a cozy pillow fort.

Tim Drake - Coffee

After a long and demanding night of patrolling Gotham City as Red Robin, Tim Drake returned to his residence, a mix of exhaustion and appreciation coursing through his veins. He opened the door, expecting to find a familiar mess of books and gadgets scattered about. Instead, he was met with a pleasant surprise.

The house was impeccably clean, everything in its place. The sight instantly eased the tension in Tim's shoulders, a smile of gratitude gracing his lips. He could see your thoughtful touch in every corner, in the tidy rooms and the polished surfaces.

As he made his way to the kitchen, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. Tim's senses awakened, and he spotted a cup waiting for him on the counter—a steaming mug of decaf coffee, perfectly prepared to his liking.

Tim couldn't help but feel a surge of warmth and love. The consideration you had shown him, taking care of the chores and providing him with a comforting beverage after his patrol, touched him deeply. It was a testament to the bond you shared, a connection that extended beyond the mask and cape.

With a grateful sigh, Tim settled into a chair at the kitchen table, cradling the cup of decaf coffee in his hands. The warmth seeped into his palms, matching the warmth he felt in his heart. As he took a sip, the rich flavors danced across his taste buds, providing a moment of solace and comfort.

In that quiet moment, Tim's weariness faded into the background. The clean house and the cup of decaf coffee became symbols of your love and care, a reminder that amidst the chaos of their lives, he had found a haven in your presence.

As you joined him at the table, Tim's gaze met yours—a silent expression of gratitude and affection. He didn't need words to convey his appreciation; the gentle smile on his face said it all.

Together, you shared a peaceful moment, savoring the quietude and the gentle companionship. The clean house and the decaf coffee became touchstones in their relationship, reminders that even in the face of darkness and danger, love could create pockets of serenity and understanding.

And so, in the gentle embrace of a clean home and the comfort of a cup of decaf coffee, Tim Drake and you discovered the true meaning of love—a partnership built on consideration and support. In each other's presence, they found a sanctuary—a place where they could recharge and find solace, nourished by the warmth of love and the taste of a perfectly brewed cup of coffee.

Damian Wayne - Night Cuddles

After a long and challenging night of fighting crime as Robin, Damian Wayne returned to the comforts of the Wayne Manor. As he entered his room, a familiar sight brought a small smile to his face—the bed was made with precision and care, a soft glow emanating from the bedside lamp.

Beside the bed, his loyal companion Ace, the Bat-Hound, eagerly wagged his tail, sensing his return. Damian's heart swelled with warmth, knowing that you, the person who held his heart, had prepared everything for a night of peaceful rest and the comfort of shared cuddles.

As Damian approached, Ace jumped onto the bed, settling himself in anticipation. Damian couldn't help but appreciate the thoughtfulness behind your actions. The meticulously made bed and the calming ambiance set the stage for a moment of respite—a sanctuary from the trials of their crime-fighting endeavors.

Climbing onto the bed, Damian wrapped his arms around Ace, feeling the softness of his fur against his fingertips. He couldn't help but feel a sense of serenity, a calmness that washed away the weight of his responsibilities.

And just as he settled in, you joined them on the bed, a gentle smile on your face. Damian's eyes met yours, a silent expression of gratitude and affection. The world outside may have been chaotic, but here, in this moment, he found solace and a sense of belonging.

With Ace snuggled against his side and you resting against his other, Damian experienced a moment of tranquility. The warmth of the embrace and the comfort of shared affection brought a sense of peace to his heart. The trials and tribulations of their lives seemed to fade away, replaced by a profound connection—a reminder that love could thrive even in the midst of darkness.

As Damian drifted off to sleep, the bed made with care and the nightly cuddles with Ace and you became symbols of comfort and security. They were reminders that, no matter the challenges they faced, there was a haven waiting—a place where he could find solace, embraced by the love of those closest to him.

And so, in the gentle embrace of a perfectly made bed and the soothing presence of Ace and you, Damian Wayne and you discovered the true meaning of love—a sanctuary built on trust, understanding, and shared affection. In each other's arms, they found a respite—a place where they could recharge and find solace, surrounded by the warmth of love and the unconditional support of their loyal companion.

Bruce Wayne - Bath

After a long and relentless night of protecting Gotham City as Batman, Bruce Wayne returned to the solace of Wayne Manor, his body aching from the battles fought in the shadows. As he made his way to the master suite, he was met with a sight that filled his heart with gratitude and anticipation.

You, the person who had captured his heart, had prepared a luxurious bath, the warm water cascading from the ornate taps, filling the room with a soothing ambiance. Candles flickered, casting a soft glow that danced along the walls, creating an atmosphere of tranquility.

Bruce's eyes met yours, and a genuine smile played upon his lips. The tension that had gripped his body began to dissipate, replaced by a sense of calm as he realized the depth of your thoughtfulness.

"You've outdone yourself, my love," Bruce said, his voice filled with appreciation. "This is exactly what I need after a night on patrol."

You stepped closer, your presence comforting and grounding. "I thought it would help you relax and ease the weariness from your body. Let me take care of you, Bruce."

Without hesitation, Bruce shed his suit, the weight of the night's battles fading with each discarded piece of armor. He stepped into the warm embrace of the bath, the soothing water enveloping his tired muscles. As he settled, you joined him, the fragrant scent of bath oils filling the air.

Silence settled between you, broken only by the soft lapping of water and the steady beating of their hearts. Bruce's eyes met yours, conveying a depth of gratitude that mere words could not express. In your presence, he found a sanctuary—a respite from the darkness that consumed his nights.

As you gently washed away the dirt and fatigue from his skin, Bruce allowed himself to lean into the tenderness, embracing the vulnerability that came with allowing someone to care for him. The weight of the cowl and the burden of Batman were momentarily set aside, replaced by the intimacy and comfort of the moment.

In the quietude of the bath, a connection deepened—an unspoken language of love and understanding. You saw beyond the mask and into the vulnerable heart of the man beneath, tending to his physical and emotional wounds with gentle care.

And as the warm water enveloped them, Bruce Wayne and you discovered the power of love—a force that could heal the wounds of the night and soothe the weariness of the soul. In each other's presence, they found solace—a place where they could truly be themselves, embraced by the love and care of the person who saw beyond the façade.

In the realm of tranquil baths and shared intimacy, Bruce Wayne and you found a haven—a place where they could find respite, supported by the warmth of love and the understanding that they were not alone.

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random-imagines-blog · 6 months

Text

Imagine accidentally inhaling pheromones, making you unable to hide your feelings for Bruce Wayne.

A strange smell wafted through the laboratory. You couldn’t place what it was, but you could put a finger on the things that it was making you feel. “Oh no,” I said, looking around for who could have been the culprit of such an attack. The Joker? No, this wasn’t funny enough, he’d blow the place up. Scarecrow? He was more into fear gas, not ... whatever this was. Poison Ivy? ... Perhaps.

To your disappoint, your instincts had taken over more than your smarts for once, pressing the emergency button that would send Bruce down here. Or rather, Batman. You were one of the few people who knew his identity, and he hired you to work for him, finding you to be an extraordinary inventor, coming up with ways to improve his gear, and come up with new ideas. But now he was headed down here. And you weren’t sure if you were going to be able to prevent yourself from doing something very, very foolish.

A metallic sound was heard as the secure doors opened. “MASK!” You managed to shout, and Bruce pushed a button that made his mask unfold in a way to cover his mouth and his nose, and filter in the air. You hoped that was enough. “What is it?” He said, walking forward, looking around for an explosion of some sort. A spilled beaker. Anything that made it look like a science class gone awry.

“I don’t know - pheromones,” You said, trying to wave the air away from your face but it was too late. “Pressed the emergency button by mistake - gotta vent this out - sorry, I have it handled...” You went to the computer system and started to type things in to start one of the emergency filtration systems. One was to keep dangerous chemicals in, to keep them from spreading to the city, and others was to get them out quickly. You started the operation for the second one when you felt a hand on your shoulder.

“Hey,” The voice didn’t come out all broody and gravelly like Batman’s did. It was all Bruce through the mask. “I trust you, just relax, and focus on what you’re good at.”

Oh - you really wished he didn’t touch you, because it just set off the reaction.

Goosebumps erupted on your skin. Your face started to feel warm, beadlets of sweat breaking out on your forehead. Your heartbeat increased. Your pupils dilated as you saw the reflection of Bruce in your computer screen. And now he was touching you. His hand - so hot against your skin, you instantly felt feverish. He noticed your reaction, and then slowly let go.

“N-no, please,” You said, putting your hand on top of his, feeling his skin beneath yours, the contact making even more feelings surge through you. “I’ve had feelings for you for a long time and I-” Your breathing started to grow heavier. You were forcing yourself to remember to breathe in through the nose and out through the mouth. “I just want your hand to stay there while I do this - oh God, please forget this is happening.”

Bruce bristled for a moment, but then he relaxed his hand against you. He kept it there, under yours, while you typed with one hand into the computer. The vents opened and fans started to spread the air out of there, the unnatural pheromones leaving with it, out into the woods beyond the cave. You were left still trembling slightly, still holding Bruce’s hand. Once you realized you were, you moved yours quickly, putting it into your lap.

“I’m sorry-"

“Don’t be,” Bruce said, patting your shoulder, before taking his hand away. “I’ve been wanting to hear that for a long time now.”

Requested by: Anonymous

#Batman x reader #Batman imagines #Bruce Wayne #Bruce Wayne imagines #Batman #DC #DC imagines #x reader #imagines #brucew #Bruce Wayne x reader #NB reader

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thebigbadbatswife · 7 months

Text

Day 1 - Pegging

Pairing - Bruce Wayne x F!Reader

Warnings - 18+ content, if you're under 18 leave immediately! Smut, Pegging, FemDom, Anal Sex, Doggy Style, Strap Ons, Submissive Bruce Wayne, Nicknames, Hand Jobs

Summary - You and Bruce try something new in the bedroom.

“Are you ready, Brucie?”

Your voice was all teasing and full of temptation. He could hear the smirk that was on your face. He was on his hands and knees, on the bed, with you sat directly behind him.

Tonight had been your idea. Asking him to give up control, even for just a little bit. As much as he hated giving up control, he trusted you and what you had proposed sounded good. Really good. How could he say no?

“Yeah, I’m ready,” he replied. The question came off as strange to him. You knew he was ready. You had watched him prep himself earlier. Fingering himself open, slowly stretching his hole, while you had watched from the armchair. Your legs spread, resting on the arm rests of the chair while you had very lightly touched your clitoris. Enough to work you up, but not enough to come close to coming. Then realisation hit him. You were giving him a way out, if he wanted it. Like the many times he had tried something new with you and he had made sure you wanted it. He didn’t want or need a way out. He wanted you to fuck him.

His body jolted and his breathing hitched as you applied some more lube. It was cold, sending goosebumps all across his body. He felt the mattress dip as you moved, settling between his legs. The anticipation of it all had his cock feeling harder than it had ever been before.

He felt the head of your strap-on press up against his puckered hole. One of your hands smoothed over his back before coming to rest on his hip. Slowly, you pushed the head of the dildo inside of him. The stretch was delicious and had his mouth dropping open as he took as shuddering breath. You chuckled as you stroked his hips, as you continued pushing inside of him.

He clenched down and moaned as the toy already rubbed against his prostate. Bruce could feel the warmth radiating off of you and the feel of the harness against his body, as you bottomed out. He was grateful he had chosen the penthouse for this tonight. There was no need to add to his family’s trauma.

You were murmuring softly. Letting him know how good he was doing. Sprinkling in a few “pretty boy”s here and there. He couldn’t explain what that nickname did to him. How it made him feel. All good things, of course. Much like the feeling of the toy inside of him. Making him feel so goddamn full. It had him briefly wondering if this was how you felt every night he slid into your wet, hot cunt.

His hands gripped the covers and he could feel precum leaking from his cock.

The mattress creaked as you shifted, slowly pulling out of him before pushing back in. The action sent electricity shooting up his spine and he moaned again. Though he had a preference for being quiet, mostly so he could hear your noises, he wasn’t ashamed of his moans and groans. Plus they let you know how much he approved of what you were doing. How good it felt for him to be fucked by his girlfriend.

As his body relaxed, each thrust became easier, letting you go faster and harder. The sound of your hips clapping against him filled the room, along with his moans.

“Feels really fucking good, doesn’t it, pretty boy?” you purred his nickname. He could hear it in your voice. You were enjoying this a lot. Watching him lose himself completely to the pleasure coursing through him. Falling apart because of you.

He didn’t trust his voice not crack, so he responded to your question with a guttural moan, that he definitely didn’t mean to come out like that. Fuck. The things this was doing to him. Him. Bruce Wayne. The Batman. Gotham’s Dark Knight reduced to a needy, moaning mess by his girlfriend’s strap-on. Thankfully, what happened behind closed doors stayed there.

His cock ached, badly. He was starting to get desperate for it to be touched, but he couldn’t do it himself. He didn’t trust that he wouldn’t just collapse on the bed, letting you have your way with him even more than you already were. Fortunately it seemed you had read his mind because before he could try to speak up, he felt your hand wrap around his shaft. You stroked upwards, wiping away the precum that had been leaking out of him with your thumb. You chuckled softly at your discovery.

“Already a mess and you haven’t even emptied your balls yet, baby.” The way you were speaking to him had a shiver run through him. He liked it a lot. He didn’t think that he would, yet here he was wanting more of it. Your hand released his shaft so you could give his balls a quick squeeze before you started to stroke him again. The squeeze made a choked noise leave him. A noise he was certain you enjoyed.

As you stroked his cock, your thrusts became harder, more forceful. Each one moving him forward a little bit. The pleasure made his eyes roll in his head. His orgasm building up quickly, like a speeding train. He wasn’t going to last much longer and you were sure as hell making sure of that.

“Going to be a good boy and come for me, pretty boy?” you asked him, fucking him harder. The constant feeling of the dildo hitting his prostate, the way you were stroking his cock and how you were speaking to him, sent him over the edge.

He came hard, his body shuddering as he emptied his balls. He felt some of it hit his chest, the rest of it staining the covers. His mouth dropped open in a soundless moan as you continued to fuck him through it. Stopping when he made a small sound of protest from the sensitivity of his cock. His forearms shook as he did his best to hold himself up.

Bruce felt like he was up on cloud nine. All of the tension releasing from his shoulders. The force of his orgasm relaxing him completely. For the time being at least, it seemed you had taken the weight of the world off of him.

You released his cock, but remained sheathed inside of him for a moment. You were panting yourself, and you hadn’t even come yet tonight.

Slowly, you eased the toy out of him. The emptiness it left behind felt… odd to him. He couldn’t quite find the words as he let his body finally give out and collapsed onto the bed. His limbs felt like jelly.

“How was that?” you asked. The dominance you had just shown was completely gone. Instead replaced by well… you. Eager to find out how he had found that. “Was it good?”

“Yeah, baby,” he replied. “It was great.”

“Good.” You rubbed his lower back reassuringly. “You did so well for me.”

He couldn’t help, but smile softly, as he looked over his shoulder at you. You were resting back on your knees, a fine sheen of sweat on your body, your breasts bouncing slightly with each deep breath you took. The harness was still in place, the straps digging into your skin. You looked amazing to him.

“You must be pretty worked up right now,” he said.

“Yeah.” A smirk was on your lips. “Want to help me out with that?” you asked, already starting to remove the harness. Ready to chuck it to the side.

He nodded. “Of course I do.”

He rolled onto his back and, with the harness gone, you moved up his body, your legs coming to rest either side of his head. Your cunt was dripping, arousal smeared on the inside of your thighs and your clitoris swollen, begging for his attention. His licked his lips, swallowing thickly. He couldn’t wait to devour you. Show you how appreciative he was.

You lowered yourself down onto his face, gasping as his mouth was quick to meet you.

#bruce wayne x reader #batman x reader #bruce wayne smut #batman smut #bruce wayne x fem!reader #batman x fem!reader #kinktober 2023 #batman imagines #bruce wayne imagines #kinktober

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serafilms · 3 months

Text

song 17! cupid (fifty fifty) + tim drake (spotify wrapped event)

i’m feeling lonely, oh i wish i’d find a lover that could hold me, now i’m crying in my room, so skeptical of love, but still i want it more, more, more

You’ve reached a certain point where you think you’re going to die alone. Call it the overwhelming anxiety, paranoia, being surrounded by happy couples syndrome, or whatever you want, but none of it excuses the fact that in all your years of life, hardly anyone has even glanced your way.

Perhaps you’re just blind to their stares, like how pigeons can only see out the sides of their heads, but never what’s sitting right in front of them.

“Or maybe I’m just a loser,” you mutter under your breath.

You slam your book shut, having spent the last 10 minutes reading and rereading the same line without absorbing it, as your mind was preoccupied with wallowing in your misery.

Distractions are no help. There is quite literally nothing for you to do now except lie down and accept your fate. And maybe get some sleep.

Standing from your desk, you look around and take a moment to open the window.

Cold, fresh air.

Then, you take a step towards your bed and collapse face first into the pillow, letting out an agonising groan that comes out muffled.

“Wow, that doesn’t sound good.”

The first reaction you have upon hearing the voice is to scramble up and promptly fall on the floor. Rubbing your bruised tailbone, you stare incredulously at the open window, where there is a guy dressed up in a weird, red getup with a cape and a mask over his eyes.

“Red Robin?”

He grins at you as he slips through the window and looks around your room, wasting no time in going to your shelf to snoop through your things.

“That’s me," Red Robin replies, tilting his head at a picture frame. You leap out of bed at record speed to snatch it out of his hands.

"Dude, what the fuck?" Clutching it protectively to your chest, you shoot him an incredulous look then glance down at the picture. It's one of you and your friend, Tim, at your high school graduation. You set it down on your bedside table quickly, and cross your arms as you turn to glare at the vigilante in your room.

"What are you doing here?"

He glances away from your shelf for a moment, taking in the way that you've awkwardly shuffled to the edge of your bed away from him, then shrugs. "Just stopping by for a visit."

Brows knitting together, you frown. "Okay, let me rephrase. Why are you in my room?"

Red Robin pauses, his eyes flitting towards the picture frame you've set aside.

It's been silent for a little too long now, so you speak up again. "Like, is this some kind of interrogation? Because I swear, whatever crime you think I'm involved in, I don't know anything about it. Unless it's about my chem prof cooking meth. But even then! All I know is rumours!"

He looks at you, amused, and you feel fear building up in your stomach. Is this some sort of technique? You did see a video about how the best way to get someone to tell you a secret is to stay silent and wait for them to spill. You suppose you've just given him exactly what he wants.

Red Robin takes a step towards you and you stumble back into your bedside table.

"This isn't an interrogation," he chuckles, "I'm just checking in.”

Why would he check in on you, of all the people in Gotham?

You sniff. “I’m perfectly fine.”

You can’t see his eyes or eyebrows under the mask, but you assume they’re raised in skepticism.

“I heard you groaning from outside, you know.”

Dead silence. Your neck heats up.

“Oh, right … that …”

The vigilante says nothing; he just watches as you dart your eyes around the room, looking at anything but him.

You feel the need to say more and fill the silence. “Yeah, uh, I was just … having a moment.” He stares at you. “Loneliness. Relationship troubles.”

Damn it, now he’s using that tactic on you.

Red Robin clears his throat. “Ah, I see.”

Do your eyes deceive you or is he blushing?

“Yeah, that’s a tough one. Um.” He starts to back up a little, eyes flitting between you and the space behind you. “Well, you know, it’ll get better. You’ll find someone. Uh, I should probably get back to patrol.”

The vibe just got really weird, you think.

You watch in confusion as he takes tiny steps backward towards the window. He tosses a red business card towards you that lands somewhere halfway in between. “Well, shoot me a text later and I’ll try and help with that. It’s my duty as a hero, you know, haha.”

You blink. “Okay?”

He’s halfway out the window when he looks back and clears his throat. “Sometimes, the right person might be right under your nose. Or behind you.” He gestures vaguely behind you and makes a quick exit.

You’re not quite able to process what just happened. Behind you? Turning around, your eyes focus on the picture. The one of you and Tim. You frown. The right person. What was he on about?

You place the picture down and snatch up the business card instead. There’s a picture of his symbol in the centre, and a mobile number on the back. Maybe you’d have to text him and ask.

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ichorai · 1 year

Text

talk ; bruce wayne.

track nine of WASTELAND, BABY!

pairing ; rpatz!bruce wayne x fiance!gn!reader

synopsis ; it’d been years since you died. bruce stood silent in front of your grave, hair damp from the cold rain. you approached him from behind, tipping your umbrella forward just enough so the tears of the sky would stop mingling with his own.

words ; 6.8k

themes ; angst, action, fluff, engaged au, ex-thief au

warnings / includes ; faked death, injuries/blood/violence/death, depictions of human trafficking, a lot of Emotions, reader used to be a thief, mentions of the joker and harley quinn, alfred cameo !! and one smutty-ish sentence?

main masterlist.

The ground was sodden with rainwater, mud clinging onto his black boots. Its long laces were loosely dragging through the dirt, wet and filthy, but he couldn’t be bothered to retie them. Rain dripped from the hair that hung limply from his head, frigid drops pricking his skin and meandering down his cheeks. The cold air from the sky was a pleasant but striking juxtaposition to the hot tears slipping from the corners of his eyes, conveniently camouflaged by the rain. It wasn’t often that Bruce Wayne cried, but for you, he allowed himself to shed a few tears.

After all, it was the third anniversary of your death.

He hadn’t shown up to your funeral—well, from what Alfred told him, he wouldn’t have made much of a difference. There were hundreds of people there. He was just glad he wasn’t there so the vultures of public press didn’t have the chance to shove flashing cameras into his face.

He could just imagine the headlines: Bruce Wayne At Gotham’s Most Notorious Thief’s Funeral, Y/N L/N And Bruce Wayne: A Tragic Romance, Bruce Wayne’s Ex-Criminal Fiance Killed By The Joker.

Bruce coughed into his fist, masking a strained, broken sob as his eyes trailed down your headstone, where your name was carved in stone. His shoulders trembled. The sky thundered. He bit down on his tongue. His lungs felt thick and heavy, as if slickened with tar.

There were nearly a dozen bouquets of flowers crowded around the stone. Bruce noticed that there were several wilting roses amongst the heap of petals and thorns.

You hated roses.

“Hope you didn’t leave me any of those,” said an eerily familiar voice from behind him. All of a sudden, the rain stopped pelting his head, shadowed by a dark umbrella, just enough to stop the tears of the sky from mingling with his own. “You know I hate roses.”

His shoulders tensed.

Chest constricting, your name slipped from his lips, nearly lost to the pelting rain.

“The one and only,” you said. “It’s been a long time, Bru.”

He turned around, stiff. His eyes twitched in disbelief. There was a bitter taste in the back of his throat. A part of Bruce, the grief-stricken part, wondered if he was hallucinating you.

But you were here, in the flesh. And there was a small grin coyly toying at the corner of your lips. You had a hat pulled low over your head, nearly shielding your bright eyes as well, and you were dressed in loose, dark clothing.

The ring he gave you dangled on a thin silver chain around your neck, gleaming as if regularly polished. You silently noted that he still wore his own engagement ring.

Bruce’s supposedly dead fiance tilted their head, regarding him with veiled fondness.

“Come on,” you said, pointedly turning away so that the umbrella was no longer hovering over him. He flinched when the cold rain touched his skin. He stood there for a second longer, still in shock, before numbly following behind you.

Rust.

Bruce could smell it everywhere.

“I know it isn’t much,” you said, shouldering the creaky door to the abandoned warehouse open, “but it’s home. For now, at least.”

You glanced over your shoulder, catching Bruce’s hardened eyes. With pursed lips, you shook the water out of your umbrella before shucking it closed, tossing it somewhere in the corner. Bruce watched as you busied yourself with lighting small gas lamps on rickety metal chairs, before allowing his gaze to briefly dart around the room. It was spacious in a way that was unsettling—dark and dreary, cold and lifeless. There were a couple dozen boxes stacked along the opposite wall, lining the large, moldy windows. A beaten down sofa was placed off to the side, with a thin blanket messily thrown over the back.

You’d been living here this entire time?

When he spoke—his first words to you in three entire years—it was shaky and saturated with raw hurt. He was… he was so inexplicably angry with you. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he whispered, so quietly you nearly wished he was yelling instead. “How could you… how could you do this to me? To Alfred?”

The splinter within the fractures of your heart was all of a sudden a large stake, and Bruce held the hammer.

A small sigh fell from your lips and you turned to face him fully. “It’s a long story.”

Bruce’s frustrated countenance remained unchanged. “You better get going, then.”

You shifted your weight from foot to foot, before dropping down onto your patchy sofa. “You don’t wanna sit down?” you asked. He gave you no response. “Alright, then.”

There was so much to tell him. You didn’t know where to start.

After clearing your throat, you finally croaked out, “That night three years ago—I contacted the Joker through Harley Quinn. She was an old pal of mine from my crime days. Through her, I asked him to meet me under Gotham’s largest bridge because I had a deal to make with him. A part of me wasn’t sure he was going to show but—my reputation as the city’s most famous ex-thief was more than enough to convince him. He was curious, you see. He thought I was coming back into the business of stealing. It didn’t take him long to realize that I wasn’t planning on working with him, and he was about to call his cronies for back up, but I knocked him out before he could reach for anything. I planted evidence of my death on him—a knife with my blood on it, his fingerprints over my equipment, his hair on my clothes, my skin under his nails. The next couple of hours, I was across the city, ingesting a fake-death pill—potassium cyanide. The next day, the entire world thought I was dead, killed by the Joker—though if you dug up that grave you were standing over earlier today, you’d find it to be empty. I framed him so he’d land in jail, Bruce. Like he deserves to be.”

Bruce’s pallid complexion made it look like he was going to keel over and hurl. “Why? Why did you do it?”

“There were people trying to kill you because of me, Bru,” you whispered. “They wanted me dead, and they wanted you dead, too. I was protecting you. If I’m gone, then they’d no longer have a reason to kill you.”

“YOU COULD’VE TOLD ME!” he roared, his pain ricocheting throughout the warehouse. All of a sudden, he was no farther than an arm’s length away from you. The blue of his eyes gleamed with a mirage of resurfaced bitterness and anger. His voice quietened, “I could’ve done something. I could’ve helped you. We could’ve worked through it together.”

You shook your head. “You knowing I was alive would’ve put us both at more risk. I had to do it, Bruce. I… I had to do it so I wasn’t under the eye of scrutiny anymore. Being the most famous ex-thief and Bruce Wayne’s fiance meant more eyes on me than practically anyone else in the country. One tiny slip up, and I’d be in jail right next to the Joker!”

Bruce reared back upon realizing what you were saying. “You faked your death to steal again?”

“No!” you bit back, voice cracking. “Not to steal. To help—just without the cops on my back. Without the Penguin breathing down my neck. Without Deathstroke hunting me down. I did it to protect you and help the city in my own way.”

Silence stretched thin between the two of you. Bruce was tense, frozen in front of you, repeating your words over and over in his head.

“I still love you, Bru,” you said, reaching out for his arm. “That’s never changed.”

He moved out of your way, flinching at the mere prospect of touching you.

“Then what do you want from me?” he snarled, gruffer than he had intended. “I grieved you. I couldn’t—I couldn’t live with myself knowing that I’d failed you. I couldn’t save you. It tore me apart, Y/N. I just… I loved you so much. You meant so much to me. And to just… leave without so much as a goodbye! Not even a note!”

Your hand fell back to your side, a sharp ache clawing within your ribcage.

“I’m sorry,” you said, gritting your jaw and willing the surfacing tears away. “I’d love to hash this out with you, B, but there’s more pressing matters at hand. I would’ve never told you that I’m still alive if I really didn’t need your help.”

There was a beat of silence. Bruce shifted, shoulders hunched over as if he wanted to cave in on himself. The thought of being around you right now was simultaneously the worst thing he could do to himself, and what he desired most.

He missed you—painfully so. He missed the hard, determined edge to your expression whenever you concentrated on something. He missed the way you used to cradle him close to you when he had terrible nightmares, kissing around his bruises. He missed the way you’d playfully bump your hip against his while the two of you worked on the same table. He missed the way you'd lewdly moan your special nickname for him—Bru—into the mattress when he rolled his hips into yours from behind, pressing hot kisses down your arched spine. He missed your infamous grin, and how it never failed to replicate itself onto his own lips. He missed your scent—a homely mix of cinnamon and lavender, a smell he wanted to drown himself with. After you’d died, he’d sleep with your hoodie pressed against his nose—and he did so until the perfume wore away, and the last trace of you was gone. He missed your laughter, your lighthearted banter with Alfred, your help on missions when he found himself at a dead end.

This time, you were asking for his help.

And how could he say no to that?

Bruce’s sore eyes darted from the rusty ceiling to you, watching him intently. “What is it?”

Hope sparked within you, like a candle lit in the middle of a hurricane. “Human trafficking, Bru. That’s what I’ve spent the past three years trying to take down. Gotham is rampant with it. If I told the police… they would’ve been five steps ahead and relocated across the country and we’d be right back to square one. I finally got my hands on some intel—they’re moving a bunch of kidnapped children through the abandoned railways under the city tomorrow night. I don’t know where they’re going, but I can’t let them leave, or things would get infinitely more complicated. I don’t know how many exactly. Could be a couple dozen. A hundred. Maybe even just one. But I know I have to stop them—and I can’t do it alone.”

There was something akin to awe behind Bruce’s blue irises. “The five missing kids randomly appearing in a homeless shelter last year—that was you?”

A weak grin nudged at the corner off your lips. “Yeah. The poor things were being forced to manufacture illegal firearms with scrap metal parts.”

Another beat of silence. The hesitance in Bruce seemed to wane away with each passing second.

“How do you know it’s not a trap?” Bruce stepped closer to you, eyebrows furrowing. The fact that all of this was happening right under his nose made a sick feeling twist his stomach.

Your lips trembled. Slowly, you pulled out your phone, pressing on a video file and held it out to him. He took it from you, watching with horror as the grainy footage played. Half of the screen was black, as if filming from behind a wall. The kids were chained, manhandled and shoved into a truck by several armed people, screams and cries echoing along the metal walls. There was a louder shout, closer to the person recording, and the camera began to wobble and shake, pulling away from the crime scene as they began running. The video was cut off there.

He felt sick. His eyes flickered back up to you, anxiously worrying on your bottom lip.

“I filmed that around a day ago,” you whispered, throat thick with emotion. You began to physically shake. “I saw it. I tried to stop them—but I messed up. One of the guards turned around the corner and saw me. I killed him, Bruce, or the entire operation would’ve been blown. I… I—”

There was a cold hand on your shoulder. His thumb brushed against the bare skin of your collarbone. Your fiance kneeled in front of you, nodding his head to silently tell you to go on. You swallowed nervously.

“Thankfully, the rest of them didn’t know I was there. I don’t know where the kids are now, and it kills me to wait. All I know is that they’re planning on taking them through the railways tomorrow. It’s the best shot I have.”

Bruce’s stare burned into you. “You’ve been managing on your own for the past three years. Why are you only asking for my help now?”

You winced, pursing your lips. “The man I killed—he didn’t go down without a fight.”

Gingerly, you shifted your hands down to the hem of your shirt, lifting it up to reveal tightly wound bandages over your stomach. Much to your dismay, they were soaked through with copper-hued blood, a dark shade that sent a queasy tremor up your spine.

Almost immediately, a shadowed, closed-off expression melded over his features. You couldn’t exactly tell whether or not he was angry at you, or just angry in general.

“You’re bleeding,” he stated, rather bluntly. You bit back the urge to berate him for spelling out the obvious, and remained quiet as he told you to lean back. “Do you have extra bandages?”

“Yeah—in that box in the corner there. Nicked ‘em from the pharmacy down the block.”

Bruce frowned at that, but didn’t vocalize his disapproval.

In the box, he’d noticed a bottle of alcohol beside the bandages, grabbing that as well.

He strode back to you, softly asking you to peel back your bandages. You complied, but not without a grumpy divot appearing between your brows. If you weren’t practically bleeding out in front of him, Bruce would’ve found it to be rather endearing.

There were several lacerations across your abdomen, some shallow, and others deep. There were stitches across the more serious wounds, but they were done shoddily. Bruce sent you a look, swallowing hard.

“These look awful.”

“Why don’t you try stitching yourself up, then?” you hissed, biting down on your palm as he started cleaning up your wounds with an alcohol-doused bandage.

Bruce couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that he was cleaning up his fiance’s stab wounds after three years of their supposed death. A part of him wondered if he’d wake up from this nightmare, sprawled across his bed with his nose tucked into your hoodie.

But this was real.

Your muffled groans of pain brought him back down to earth.

You were real.

As swiftly as he could, he neatly wrapped fresh bandages over your waist, murmuring a shaky apology when you cried out from the stinging agony of the combined pressure and the cleansing alcohol.

“What else have you been doing?” Bruce asked, much to your surprise. Your eyes darted to his, and his skin flushed with heat, shifting his gaze to the ground.

It took you a moment to formulate a response. You were walking on eggshells around him, afraid that a slip of your tongue would make him get up and leave. “I’ve been in international waters for the majority of the time—staking out meetings, organizing heists, stealing from the rich—all that lovely jazz. I went to France, Mexico, India, New Zealand—trying to find something to do. My purpose. I guess I was traveling all over the place to run away from Gotham for a while. But I came back—because Gotham will always be my home. Because Gotham is where you are.” You fixed him with a pointed gaze, and Bruce swallowed uneasily. The hazy blue of his irises darkened a shade. You spoke again, voice lowered, “I gave all the money to charities, by the way. A couple of orphanages, too. Balancing out the scales, Bruce. For all the shitty things I’ve done.” You gritted your teeth when he wound another set of bandages over you for good measure.

Your words made an overwhelming sense of nostalgia wash over him, like a tidal wave crashing against the shore. There was good in you, no matter what the press had to say about that. Bruce knew that you were doing your best to help Gotham, just like he was. In your own way, of course, but it was what made Bruce fall in love with you in the first place.

You cared so much for Gotham. For its people. Even when they probably didn’t deserve it.

“Ironic that I fell in love with one of the richest men in the world, isn’t it?” you chuckled, lolling your head back onto the sofa’s armrest, staring up at the rusty warehouse’s ceiling. Bruce could feel his chest constricting. “What about you, Bru? What’ve you been up to since I’ve been dead?”

The man gave you no response, merely lifting one of his shoulders in a tense shrug. He wasn’t sure he was ready to divulge the past few years to you just yet. As much as he missed you, dreamed of you coming back to him—he couldn’t find it within himself to tear down all the barriers he built around himself since your death.

It was all too sudden. Bruce needed time.

You understood him all too well, much to his mild relief, and hummed noncommittally, as if to say ‘take your time’.

“You can’t tell anybody that I’m alive,” you said breathlessly, after a moment of terse silence. “Not even Alfred.”

Bruce’s jaw flexed. He didn’t like keeping secrets from the closest thing he had to a father, but he knew that it was necessary. “What’s the plan?”

“They’ll be moving tomorrow. Are you in, Bruce?”

Only now did he realize that his hands were still splayed out over your bandaged abdomen, and he jerked back, as if he’d burned himself. You propped yourself up on an elbow, a hint of an amused grin tugging at the corner of your lips.

God, you were so beautiful.

It took a great amount of effort for him to look away from your lips, and he focused on leveling his gaze with those bright eyes of yours.

“I’m in,” he said.

You smiled, all warm and utterly heart-breakingly wide, and Bruce could swear the air stilled around the two of you.

“Alright.” Your hand reached out to clasp his pale, cold one. He couldn’t pull away. He should’ve. He didn’t want to. “We strike at midnight.”

There was something about Bruce’s Batman suit that made you stop and stare at him with awe. Quite a few adjustments had been made to the outfit the past three years—the bulletproof platelets over his chest and abdomen were much more form-fitting than before, and a lightweight cape draped down to his ankles, dark as the night. His mask was different as well—it was tighter and covered more of his face. Seeing him like this made you remember that Batman didn’t hide in the shadows—he was the shadow.

He caught you watching him, the blue of his eyes flashing almost dangerously beneath the moonlight. You noticed the way his gaze trailed up and down your form, soaking in your own suit.

It was a simple outfit, made up of a long, cowled coat, the hood draping over your forehead and stopping just above your eyebrows. It was a mottled hue of grey, perfect camouflage for the dull concrete jungle of Gotham city. A mask of the same color covered your nose and mouth, leaving just your eyes for Bruce to see. The rest of your outfit beneath the coat was dark and well-fitted, with several compartments to store your gizmos and gadgets.

There were two daggers slid into your utility belt and a third emergency one strapped to your left shin. Further hidden within your pockets were a multitude of smoke grenades, ropes, and throwing stars.

You had a small pistol wedged into your belt, but that was only for worst-case scenarios. You knew Bruce didn’t like guns.

The two of you stood before the entrance of the abandoned railways, the gaping tunnel overgrown with moss and greenery. He gave you a weary glance, non-verbally asking if you were ready. You gave him a soft nod in response. Graffiti lined the walls near the front, but as the two of you walked in, there were fewer and farther in between.

The plan was clean-cut. Locate the children, take out the guards, and high-tail out of there. Your fiance (or was it ex-fiance? You weren’t quite sure) had made you promise not to kill anybody but—given the circumstances, you weren’t entirely sure if you could hold up to that promise.

Bruce had this innate ability to move in a way that if you hadn’t known he was already there, you wouldn’t have seen him at all. His hands loosely wrapped around your wrist to guide you to the right, and you couldn’t help but hold your breath at the minimal contact.

In the distance, the two of you heard echoing murmurs, gruff voices of what sounded to be a pair of boisterous men. They were getting closer, and getting close fast. In a whirl of dark fabric, you found yourself pressed up against the wall, Bruce’s face mere inches from yours. His long cape draped over the both of you, blending seamlessly into the shadows.

It took you another second to realize that his entire body was slotted against yours. His scent warped around you and consumed you whole, an overwhelmingly nostalgic aroma of fresh mint and blueberries and something purely, entirely just Bruce. You inhaled sharply.

This close, you could see the thin flecks of pale green amongst his blue irises, the smudged mascara around his eyes, the small, faded scar on his jaw. You could—

Oh.

A lump formed in your throat. You could hear his heart beating—feel it—thundering against his ribcage, just above where yours was.

Heat spidered beneath your skin, crawling up your neck and flushing your cheeks. Bruce watched you with an indiscernible gaze, jaw set. Perhaps it was a trick of light, but you could’ve sworn you saw his pupils dilate, dipping towards your lips for a millisecond before flicking right back up to meet your heady stare.

Desperate for a distraction, you craned your neck, and caught sight of the two men passing by. You bit onto the inside of your cheek, swallowing down a tirade of curses when you saw that they both held guns. Of fucking course they did.

Another couple of minutes, and they turned the corner, speaking to each other loudly. Bruce stepped away from you then, still keeping his eyes trained on you.

They both have guns, you signed with your hands. Sign language was something the two of you learned together during your first year of dating—it was always handy in case of emergencies such as this.

Bruce cocked his head in understanding. Stay in the shadows, he signed back.

You nodded, and the two of you took off once more, skimming across the gravel so quickly that you were practically floating.

The two of you slowed to a halt in front of several wrecked train cars, rusted and filthy with neglect. You peered through the glass, noting a few guards milling in front of trucks on the opposite side. That must’ve been where the children were. Tilting your head to look further to the left, you caught sight of a row of children lined up against the wall to the side of the tunnel. Chains shackled their wrists and ankles together. They were entirely silent, which unnerved you more than anything.

You’ve done this a million times before. Why were you so nervous?

Ah, right. Maybe, just maybe, because last time, you got stabbed. Or maybe it was because the love of your life was right by your side—the man who was supposed to think that you were dead.

You bit down on your tongue in a fruitless effort to quell the nausea roiling about in the pits of your stomach.

With a gentle hand to Bruce’s shoulder, you signed, Six kids. Get them to safety. I’ll take the guards.

Not allowing him the chance to protest, you reached into your coat’s pocket and brandished two smoke grenades, your other hand sliding out a dagger. You leapt through the totaled train’s doors, before pulling the pins out with your teeth, chucking them amongst the lounging guards.

Shouts erupted as two large plumes of ashy white smoke encompassed the entirety of the tunnel. Silent as the night, you snuck up behind two guards, bashing their heads together hard enough to render them unconscious. Your dagger flipped in your hand as you knelt, sweeping around and stabbed another right in the leg, dragging the blade down the entire length of their shin. An ear-splitting scream ricocheted across the stone walls of the tunnel.

That was when the gunshots started ringing out. You were able to dodge them lithely, watching the trajectory of the amber sparks made by the ricocheting bullets and ducking away from its sweeping arc. You drove your dagger straight into the jugular of the guard with a gun, kicking him back until he fell into the gravel, gurgling incoherently through the blood flooding his mouth.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Bruce ushering the children through the wrecked train cars, towards the exit. Panic seized its dark hands around your heart as you spotted another guard—the last one in sight—pointing their gun towards Bruce.

You ripped your dagger out of the guard’s throat in no less than half a second, pulling your arm back to hurl it through the air. The blade embedded itself cleanly through the side of his head, the impact sending him crashing into the wall.

A breath of relief slipped your lungs, and you ran over to scoop the fallen gun up, shoving it into your belt.

Bruce had all the kids—it was time to go.

You dashed through the first set of doors into the train.

A deafening gunshot rang out to your right, and you dove down out of pure reflex.

But you were too late.

Searing pain blossomed over your chest, your stomach, your head—everywhere.

Children screaming.

Footsteps thundering.

The gravel beneath you—cold and sticky with your blood.

Bruce yelling your name, panic saturating every syllable.

The edges of your vision flickered with darkness.

Chest heaving—heaving—heaving—your breath leaving you—

Bruce… the children…

Oh, fuck. Everything hurt.

Your head throbbed angrily.

“Wake up, Y/N. Look at me. LOOK AT ME!”

Bruce’s voice was tightly interwoven with dread—bordering on hysteria as he knelt down over you, palm applying direct pressure to the bullet hole in your abdomen. A low moan fell from your lips at the searing agony that shot up your body.

As soon as your eyes dazedly cracked open, Bruce swore under his breath, mild relief seeping into his blown eyes. You’d only been down for no less than two seconds before he ripped his batarang from his armored chest, sending it arcing through the air to the last gunman, striking him down.

Not a single thing registered in your mind as Bruce swept you into his arms, carrying you down the tunnel and ushering the children along with gritted teeth and panic-laced words.

An overwhelming sense of terror still coursed through the very fibers of his being. He couldn’t lose you—not again.

“Bats, put me down,” you said, hoarsely. “Put me down.”

A protest was on the tip of his tongue, but the warning glare you sent him made him reluctantly comply, gently lowering you down to your feet. Your hand clutched his bicep for stability while the other still held pressure against your bullet wound. There were so many emotions coursing through him that he nearly felt dizzy with the overwhelming barrage of turmoil.

The two of you soon reached the end of the tunnel with half a dozen kids in front of you. Bruce herded them into the back seats of the Batmobile—it was a tight fit, but they were small and eager to leave. One of the little girls started crying as soon as she sat down on the leather seat of his car, and Bruce could feel his heart lurch with an ugly amalgamation of anger and concern.

He slid into the driver’s seat just as you slumped into the one next to him. A groan of pain left you as you began rifling through the car dash’s compartment, whipping out a roll of bandages and began winding it around your abdomen.

The car purred to life and in no less than half a minute, you were jetting off, leaving the dirty crime scene far behind.

Bruce’s eyes darted from the dark road to you, nearly bleeding out in the passenger’s seat. You were panting shallowly, head tilted back as you swallowed uneasily. Sweat beaded your forehead.

“We need to get you to a hospital,” he whispered.

“No,” you replied, a biting edge to your tone.

Bruce’s eyebrows drew together. “You have a fucking bullet in you.” His voice lowered, hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. “I can’t lose you again.” The last bit was said softly, his voice cracking with raw hurt.

You shook your head, stubborn. Your voice was quiet enough so the trembling kids in the back wouldn’t be able to hear you. “Don’t take me to the hospital, Bru. It’ll ruin everything I’ve built the past few years. Nobody can know I’m still alive.”

There was a beat of hesitation. Bruce clenched his jaw so hard it was a wonder his teeth didn’t crack under the pressure. “At least let me take you back home. Alfred can help you.”

You frowned but kept silent. Going back to the Wayne Mansion was less than desirable, but it was the best choice you had—the other being bleeding out to death in your rusty abandoned warehouse. Your nose twitched as you slowly shifted to look out the window.

The drive went by much quicker than expected, mostly because you were fading in and out of a pain-induced unconsciousness. When you cracked your eyes open again, your head was pounding angrily and your bullet wound pulsated hotly in tandem with the thick, languid beating of your heart. You could faintly make out Bruce in his Batsuit just outside of the car, leading the kids into a building.

Your gaze shifted upwards, a sigh of relief falling from your lips upon seeing the gotham orphanage sign. Bruce helped the woman at the door usher the children in, before handing her about a dozen fat wads of cash. The look on the woman’s face was priceless—mouth gaping and eyes misting over with unshed tears. His lips moved, but you couldn’t hear him from inside the car.

Once Bruce made sure the kids were safe inside, he nodded once to the woman, before turning back to the Batmobile.

He slid in smoothly, checking all the mirrors to make sure that nobody had followed you.

“How are you holding up?” he asked, quiet and uncertain.

“I’m alive,” you replied. “Could really use an Advil right now, though.”

He huffed out a humorless laugh. “Think you need a bit more than an Advil.”

You couldn’t find it in you to reply, the edges of your vision darkening at a concerningly rapid pace.

“Hang on for me, baby,” Bruce whispered brokenly, his hand darting out to grasp your limp one as he drove to the Wayne Mansion, slamming down on the gas. “Hang on.”

The street lights began to expand into a million shards of light as your eyelids drooped.

Blinding, blinding, blinding.

And yet you could see everything. The blue of Bruce’s eyes that constantly glanced over at you. The trembling of his pale hand on the steering wheel. The tacky blood that meandered down your sides and pooled into the crevices of the leather seat.

All of a sudden—

It all went dark.

It’d been three years since you stepped foot in the Batcave.

Really, it was just a private underground railway beneath the Wayne Mansion, but it definitely wasn’t fit for its original use and you were sure at least a couple dozen bats made the dark tunnel their permanent home, thus its name.

Bruce carried you out the car and into his work station, worry woven between every muscle. He deposited you gently onto the table, just as the elevator door rattled open.

Alfred stepped out, and he immediately blanched upon seeing you, bleeding and teetering on the edge of death itself.

They exchanged a couple hurried words, but you couldn’t hear much. Everything was blurry.

A tear slipped down your cheek when Alfred made his way to you, his hand cupping your cheek. He had a medkit clutched in his hands, and he popped it open right beside your head.

“Hi, Al,” you murmured hoarsely. “Long time no see.”

“Hello, my dear,” he replied fondly, deathly calm. It might’ve been a trick of the dim lights, but you could’ve sworn you saw his eyes misting over with unshed tears. “Last I checked, you were dead.”

If you weren’t in so much pain, you would’ve laughed, and given him an easy shrug. “Plans changed, I guess.”

Mustering what little energy you had left in you, you turned to look at Bruce as Alfred began peeling your clothing back to start working on your wounds.

“Hey, Bru,” you whispered. Bruce’s lips twitched at the nickname. “If I don’t make it—”

“Don’t say that,” he gruffed.

His warning fell upon deaf ears and you spoke again, determined. “If I don’t make it, for real this time, just remember that I love you. And I’ve never stopped.”

Something in his chest broke, and a suffocating sob thundered within him. He clutched at your limp hands, whispering out your name just in time for you to hear before you let the darkness take you one last time.

The first thing you noticed when you came to was Bruce’s hand still holding tightly onto yours. The second thing was the fact that the pain in your abdomen was no longer unbearable, but instead subdued to a sharp ache.

Your gaze roamed around the room, and you dimly realized that you were in Bruce’s bed—the bed that the two of you had slept in together when you were together. He was asleep by the edge of the mattress, hunched over in a position that wasn’t at all good for his spine.

He still had the black eye makeup on, smudged and flaking off, dried bits of mascara on his cheeks. His hair was mussed, as if he had raked his fingers through several times.

When you shifted a bit on his expansive mattress, Bruce stirred awake, the blue of his eyes shifting from confusion to panic to relief in a matter of seconds.

“Hey,” you croaked. “Thanks for getting me here. And tell Alfred thanks for patching me up.”

“We nearly lost you,” Bruce replied hoarsely. A muscle in his jaw flexed. “Alfred wasn’t sure if you were going to make it. There was so much blood.”

A pained smile stretched your lips thin. “Well, I’m alive. Sort of. How long was I out?”

“A couple hours,” he replied. He exhaled quietly, lowering his head. “I never stopped loving you, too. After all these years… I should be mad at you. I was, at first… but I’m not anymore. I’m just—glad. I’m glad you’re here.”

You blinked, tilting your head. Slow, you wrapped your wrist around his hand, gingerly moving it up to your lips. You kissed the back of his palm, and he cupped your face tenderly just as the familiar sensation of tears began stinging the corner of your eyes.

“Oh, Bru. I’m so sorry for causing you all this pain. I’m sorry.” You hiccupped, not wanting to dissolve into a mess of tears right in front of him. “I love you so much. I wanted to come back every day, I swear. I had to do it. I did it for you.”

A glimmer of pain warbled in the blue of his irises. “After you died… I was in a bad place. I nearly killed the Joker when I visited him in prison—I was this close. Gordon took me away before I could. From then I just… I lost myself without you. I spiraled. I was vengeance. Then the anger just sort of left and all I had left was just this… this ache. This hurt that never went away.”

A part of you was surprised he was opening up. It was as if the dam had cracked, and the water was spewing out and Bruce just couldn’t stop. He began to cry softly, the dark mascara meandering down his face once more and his hand shaking against your cheek. You could feel your heart crumbling through the bones of your ribcage, and you wanted nothing more than to hold him close to you.

“Please stay,” Bruce croaked. “I can’t lose you—not again. I can’t go through that again. Please don’t let me go through it again.” His forehead fell to the mattress right beside your hip as his hand fell away from your face and his body shook.

This was him begging, you realized in shock. He was begging you.

Helplessness placed its dark hands on your shoulders, and you were frozen for a second.

“Bru, baby, I—”

“Please don’t leave. You can fight crime undercover with me. Here. By my side. Please—I love you.”

Tentative, you reached over and gently ran your fingers through his overgrown hair. This seemed to quell his shaking just a bit. He stayed in that position for another minute before peering up at you.

“I’ll stay,” you said. “But we’re going to have to be careful. I can’t risk more people finding out I’m alive—and I can’t risk dragging you down with me. I need you to understand that if things go south, I’m leaving immediately—to protect you, Bru. And as long as you won’t hold me back from my own missions. We might’ve stopped one trafficking transfer tonight, but I have no doubt that there’ll be plenty more to come.”

For the first time in a very long time, Bruce smiled. It was a small one, the kind that twitched at the corner of his lips and wrinkled the corner of his mirthful, tear-glossed eyes.

He shifted upwards so he sat beside you on the bed, pressing a chaste, affectionate kiss to your forehead. His palm found its way back to your jaw, and he rested his temple against yours.

It’d been three long years since you kissed him.

You arched your neck just enough so his lips would meld over yours. A pained, broken noise fell from Bruce’s throat, and he surged forward, kissing you back with just as much vigor. He missed this. He missed you.

He avoided touching your stomach, afraid that he’d hurt you or rip the stitches of your wound. The last thing he wanted was to explain to Alfred how you’d managed to hurt yourself even more.

As he kissed you, your hands moved to grip his biceps, nails digging into his shirt. His nose bumped softly into yours and he could feel your radiant smile growing against his lips, utterly contagious. Your homely smell, the mesh of cinnamon and gentle lavender invaded his senses, and he nearly started sobbing again at the pure nostalgia from it all.

You were back. You came back to him.

“As lovely as this is,” you husked, voice lowered an octave, “I still need you to promise me you won’t hold me back. You’d be Batman and I’d be… a ghost.” It pleased Bruce immensely to see your chest heaving, and your pupils dilated as they shamelessly darted from his eyes to his lips.

“I promise,” he whispered against your lips in reply. Despite everything that had happened the past few days, he still trusted you to take care of yourself. A thrill shot through him when the cold engagement ring around your neck pressed flush against his chest. “How’d I be able to hold back a ghost, anyway?”

You smiled into him, before tugging him down for another kiss.

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lightwing-s · 1 year

Text

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

!! My masterlist is your main source of knowing who I'll be writing for, so please check this out before requesting. However, you can still ask for another character to see if I can possibly write for it, but no promises will be made in regards to that.

last updated: january, 13th | ♤ angst ♢ smut ♥︎ fluff

picture © lomlisyou on pintrest

B A T B O Y S

g e n e r a l h e a d c a n o n s

✾ the batboys' favorite male marvel heroes

✾ the batboys as spy movies

✾ the batboys as 2000s pop hits (female vers.)

✾ the batboys as 2000s pop hits (male vers.)

✾ the batboys as words

✾ the batboys when mute! reader writes 'i love you' on their backs

d i c k g r a y s o n

i m a g i n e s

✾ home ♥︎

✾ midnight kiss ♥︎

✾ impressions | pt ii | pt iii ♥︎

✾ hello officer ♢

b l u r b s

✾ loving all his sides | pt ii

✾ migraines

✾ the better detective

✾ my pretty boy ♢

✾ cupid

✾ one bed

✾ curious

j a s o n t o d d

i m a g i n e s

✾ midnight kiss ♥︎

✾ i want to k__ you | pt ii ♢

✾ i'll teach you ♤

✾ gravity ak!jason ♤

✾ shower thots ♢

s e r i e s

✾ baby steps ongoing

b l u r b s

✾ making a playlist

✾ nice catch

✾ please don't leave me

✾ moon

✾ shoot me with your arrow then, cupid?

✾ red like roses

✾ you're in love with me, ew

✾ I failed to protect you

✾ aftercare

✾ overuse

✾ flustered easily

✾ biker!jason | x | x | x | x | x | x |

✾ study late at night

✾ food vlogger series

t i m d r a k e

✾ late night park walks ♥︎

b r u c e w a y n e

✾ affection in the workplace

O T H E R D C C H A R A C T E R S

w a l l y w e s t

✾ winter warm cuddles ♥︎

N A R N I A

p e t e r p e v e n s i e

✾ not the best at being discreet ♥︎

✾ post duty affair ♢

✾ jealous confession ♥︎

C A L L O F D U T Y

s i m o n ' g h o s t ' r i l e y

✾ secret haven ♥︎

j o h n n y ' s o a p ' m a c t a v i s h

✾ soon...

j o h n p r i c e

✾ soon...

k y l e ' g a z ' g a r r i c k

✾ soon...

M A R A U D E R S

g e n e r a l h e a d c a n o n s

✾ soon...

s i r i u s b l a c k

✾ soon...

nav // rules // request or let's talk

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currymariana · 7 days

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GUYS, I' AM BACK!!!!

Actually, I never left; I just struggled to find the motivation to write again. I was feeling unhappy with my writing style and constantly comparing myself to others, thinking things like "they're so much better than me" or "that's how you should write" or "you suck," and those kinds of things. I wasn't frustrated with my story, but with how I wrote it.

But after a while, I realized a few things: English isn't my first language (heck, it's not even my third); I'm not a professional writer; this is just a hobby, and if there are people who enjoy it, it can't be all that bad. I was being too hard on myself for no good reason. 'The tear in my heart' is a story I've had in mind for a long time, and I wish to share it with anyone who's interested. I've every bullet point mapped out from the beginning to the end; now, I just need to shake off my laziness and self-criticism and actually write it. And I don't even know if people are still interested.

With that being said, I've decided to make some changes. From now on, I'll be rebranding the entire aesthetic of the story, possibly even reconsidering the title (it started to sound a bit tacky to me - but i would like to hear your opinions) and updating th cover too. I'll be changing some scenes just to ease my mind, but these won't alter the storyline at all.

I don't even know if anyone is even reading this; or if it matters to you. Yet I'm writing this for myself and perhaps help someone going through a similiar thing. Don't be too hash on yourself; this is meant to be enjoyable, so embrace the fun. If you want to write a cheesy story or a serious one, follow your heart. We're not earning from this; we are fans who write fiction (or make arts) for others fans. If it's not fun anymore, it's okay to let it go. We're not flawless, and neither are our content. But do what's best for yourself —I extend this advice to writers, artists, and all who engage with this form of expression.

I'm sorry for the lengthy text, but I felt it was necessary only to express myself but also to explain and express my gratitude to everyone who enjoys or has ever appreciated "The Tear in My Heart." You guys are absolutely the best; thank you for everything. And for those still here... I hope you'll enjoy this new phase.

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holycryptid · 1 year

Text

Nightcrawler

Bruce Wayne/Batman x AFAB!reader (no pronouns/gendered language).

Explicit content (18+)

Word count: 6.3k

Tags/warnings: descriptions of blood/injury, angst, allusions to sex, groping/touching, descriptions of medical treatment (suturing), fingering/pussy play, explicit language, unrequited feelings (let me know if anything was missed!).

Summary: Bruce confronts his feelings after you put him back together. Again.

Notes: wrote this all the way back in 2020 right after the first trailer came out…found it sitting in my computer files and figured i shouldn’t let it go to waste! since it was written before the movie came out, please excuse/forgive any inaccuracies regarding the batsuit, terminology, setting, and characterization (and the painfully amateur writing) 😣

The cave is always a little too frigid for your liking.

Especially when it’s already well into the late hours of the night—a time you definitely shouldn’t be awake. The long fluorescents buzz and highlight the metallic sheen of everything, while still piercing through any inch of unguarded darkness in the gloomy room.

A light breeze swirls around your huddled figure every so often, and the rhythmic sound of water continuously dripping onto floor somewhere echoes throughout the quiet, isolated space. There’s still some changes and additions that need to be made to the current set-up he has, but it does the job for now. You don’t bother taking note of what needs to get done—you’ll probably forget it all an hour from now anyway.

You let your head roll back onto the chairs headrest, and your eyes skim over the time at the bottom of one of the monitors screens.

3:43am. It’s been almost four hours—you always wait.

You wait even though he tells you not to, and even though you know you maybe shouldn’t sometimes. But you can’t help it. It’s habit at this point. You’re down here at 10pm on the dot. Daily.

You don’t need to be, but you are; it’s tradition for you to be part of his prep and routine before the nightly endeavour out into Gotham, even if you just sit and watch as he slowly works his way into the suit piece-by-piece, fiddling with various tech accessories that you don’t even know the names of yet.

You try to pass the time by organizing and sorting his skewed files, papers, and small pieces of armour that have been damaged beyond repair—meticulously placing them in their rightful spots on the seemingly never-ending line of desktops, shelves, and hidden drawers.

But mindlessly arranging anything and everything only lasts for so long before there’s nothing left to do but sit. And think. And then sit some more.

Not knowing how long you’ll be rolling around in one of the padded office chairs for is one of the prices you have to pay for caring too much, and he reprimands you for it, even as you furiously dump an entire bottle of rubbing alcohol onto his body, and he never shows that it affects him in the least.

He’s stubborn. He’s stupid.

Your eyes wander along the blank stone walls as you slouch further into the chair, stopping when you see the time again: 3:47am.

You let out a heavy breath through your nose as you repeatedly click the tip of a pen in and out. You push yourself around in slow circles with the toe of your foot, letting the spinning room distract you for just a few moments just to pass another minute at least.

This isn’t necessarily part of your job. He knows that, and you definitely know that. A lot of things have changed with your workplace duties, clearly, as you notice some earlier pieces of his armour piled in one corner of the room.

Unsurprisingly, things have…happened here and there. It’s becoming a more common occurrence, but it feels circumstantial and…convenient. Maybe it’s all meant to happen at this point. You think about it often enough—too often. Enough to make things awkward for yourself sometimes.

Another anxious glance at the leering clock: 3:51am. “This is fucking ridiculous,” you reason with yourself, getting up from the chair and tossing the pen on the desk.

You resort to pacing around the grand floor space, now closely watching the entrance and exit as you circle by. All you can do is wait—

And just as you turn your back to the computer displays and monitors, the clocks turn to 3:59am.

You cut back sharply to begin another circle, and there he is. Four hours later. Alive.

The broad shadow makes your heart stop for a split second, but the only physical reaction you have is your knees locking, keeping you in place and giving you no choice but to stare at the familiar, broad outline of him.

“You’re a fucking idiot, Bruce.” It slips out, a little rushed and aggressive, but you mean it. He knows you well enough to not take any literal offence from it.

Your harsh acknowledgement prompts him to walk in further.

“Yeah, you said that last time,” he points out casually, sauntering into the blinding lights with calm steps, coming around to the front of the desks.

You observe his gait with a hard stare—you take notice of how he hesitantly bends and twists at the hip when he leans back to rest against the edge of the metal desk, rolling his head back until his neck pops with a relieved grunt.

He’s already got the cowl, cape, and gloves off, so whatever the problem is, it must be worse than what he’s playing off, as usual.

And then you see the issue. “Do you need help with that?” You point at his stomach and drop back into the chair, deflating with concern.

Your alert eyes study the suit, looking at the damage.

“With what?” he counters, seeming unaware—avoiding; yet his dark eyes confidently meet yours as he rests back on his hands, trying to find some comfort and seem unbothered by whatever desperately needs your attention underneath the sturdy armour.

A very thin layer of blood has seeped through a small displacement in the suits plating, soaking into the tri-weave fibers that cover the titanium. You roll your eyes and scoot back to a shelf where a med-kit sits, one that you put together specifically for nights like these, which is every night.

Positioning yourself back in front of him, the chair brings you to the perfect height to get a good look at the impairment. You can already tell it’s a knife wound just by the location. It’s at the perfect height. It cut perfectly in-between the overlapped layers of plating, perhaps the biggest flaw the suit has. You’re sure he’s aware of that now.

You inspect it briefly, tugging up on the bent piece slightly to see the amount of blood beneath. He takes a deep breath as the dense pressure is relieved from the tender area.

“Shit—” he breathes in relief. You’ve only heard that clipped tone slip out of his mouth on very few occasions, one of which was barely a week ago, yet you still tense at the vivid memory that you never really want to let go of.

He’s not one for reminiscing, but unfortunately, you are.

“It’ll only be a few stitches,” you say gently, letting the plate mold back into place softly. You tap the hard armour pointedly. “Take it off.”

You flick your eyes up to his—the black paint has smeared around just a bit more compared to when he smudged it on with no real technique earlier.

You’ll help him get it off later.

He brings a quick hand through his damp hair and starts unclipping the few clasps hidden on his shoulders and chest. One by one, the durable pieces are detached, and you carefully place them off to your right as he hands them over.

“Can you get the one in the back?” He motions over his shoulder. You nod and mumble a thoughtful ‘mhm’ as you both push yourself onto your feet again.

He turns his back to you, leaning forward on his palms and presenting the last clasp that sits in the middle of his spine. You know he can reach it, you’ve seen him do it before. You flick the clip, carefully pulling away the last plate. He physically relaxes his already tense muscles as soon as the extra weight is removed.

“I don’t know why you do this every night. It’s not worth it,” you confess while rummaging through the med-kit for a needle, surgical thread, topical antiseptic, a gauze pad, and a self-adherent bandage wrap to hopefully hold it all together.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment as you carefully lay out the supplies next to him on the desk.

“I have to…” he whispers, trailing off, but you catch it, shaking your head as you thread and ready the needle with severe concentration.

“Turn around, please.” He shifts back to where he originally was without a word, leaning back against the cool steel with hesitation once again.

You grab the bottle of antiseptic and apply a generous amount onto the pad, delicately holding it as you take a seat in front of him once again.

“Are you sure you wanna stand for this?” you grimace. The hot sting of a sterile compress isn’t the most enjoyable sensation to experience, especially while bearing weight.

He looks down at you, looking rather uninvolved with the priority. Dazed and distracted; something that could be mistaken for the potential amount blood loss, but the gash isn’t big enough for that possibility.

This is something you’ve seen more often than you’d like to.

“Just get it done,” he starts, “You know I can handle it.” He dismisses the option, letting his head roll back with a deep inhale as he waits for you to start.

You say nothing in return. Carefully balancing the compress in one hand, your other cautiously pinches the soft, spandex material of his base-layer shirt. It fits comfortably, hugging tightly around the curvature and muscle of his body, improving his movement in the suit.

The shirt is slowly pulled away from his stomach. The thick blood sticks around the tear in the fabric, making it peel away instead. You drag it halfway over the rest of his lower abdomen, pulling and letting it bunch up tightly, staying isolated from the torn skin below.

You stare at the ugly cut for barely a second before you quickly dab the antiseptic around, patting it into the irritated, puffy flesh and watching it fizzle with each pull back.

Sometimes, you feel like he likes the pain. Like he purposefully seeks out the discomfort of an incapacitating injury in hopes of suppressing the turmoil of concern…worry…love…

It gives him something else to focus on instead of the sorrowful emotions that avoiding you doesn’t seem to fix. It’s only been making it worse, and things are beyond saving now.

Your free hand gently rests against the burning skin of his waist, and his head drops forward at the surprising contact.

“Calm down. It keeps me steady,” you chuckle, shaking your head lightly.

He hums thoughtlessly in response, unconvinced with your excuse, maybe.

There’s that sudden anxious tension in the room from nothing but a fleeting graze of fingertips. The uncertainty of who’s going to make the first move this time.

You do one more press and then pull the soaked pad away, examining your progress before discarding the bloody material.

“It might only be four sutures or so,” you determine while gently squeezing the inflamed edges closer together to try and gauge the amount of work needed.

He inhales sharply, tightly gripping the rim of the desktop. “Well, the faster you stitch it, the faster I’ll be able to—”

“Don’t even finish that sentence.” You cut him off with a harsh but accidental hard squeeze of the torn flesh, making his words die in his throat with a groan.

That wasn’t something you really needed to hear right now, let alone think about as if he wasn’t just bleeding out in front of you only minutes ago.

You know how that sentence ends; you’ve heard him say it more times than you’d like to admit, but you can’t let him have his way tonight.

You glare at each other for a moment. Your eyes hold a tired frustration behind them, but his hold a different kind…something that is able to get you to do whatever he says, something that makes you giddy with anticipation, and something that makes you feel just a little more alienated afterwards.

“You can’t lie to yourself anymore,” he says instead.

You laugh coldly. “Well, neither can you. I’ve stopped doing that a long time ago. You should try it sometime,” you counter, snatching the threaded needle with anger while maintaining your unimpressed gaze.

He sighs, messing with his drying hair again as you begin suturing quickly—not so you can get to what he was alluding to, but the opposite.

For once, you don’t want that, and you don’t want the burden of sadness that comes with it.

But it’s so…tempting.

He gave himself away. You haven’t. And of course he’s leaning against the very spot you were pinned down against a week ago, feeling the contrast to the emotions you’re feeling now: excitement, passion, comfort, love—

It puts you into a conscious daydream for a moment. But you’re awoken from it when you feel his body jolt suddenly. You see the needle poking into the tough muscle of his side instead of the spongey cut.

“Shit— sorry,” you mumble, shifting your focus back to the final suture and looping it through itself securely in a rush.

Seven stitches in total, you notice. You were close.

You grab the bandage wrap and press it firmly over the closed wound before snaking it around his back. You’re able to get two layers from it; the pressure should stop any possible bleeding, but he always manages to tear it open anyway. Sometimes you think he does it on purpose just so he has a good excuse to see you.

“Done,” you sigh, packing up the med-kit and rolling back to its shelf.

You stand from the chair and go to make your way to the exit without another word, not interested in any other interaction tonight. Well, that’s what you hope for, but you’ve learned that he will never let you go peacefully.

You go to pass by him mindlessly as he’s carefully pulling his shirt back down, but he manages to grab ahold of your sleeve quickly when he sees your destination. The effortless pull makes you skid to a stop, twisting back towards him with your inverted momentum, almost smashing your face in his chest, but you stop yourself with your forearm.

He holds onto you tightly, with a purpose, as you share a moment of mutual hurt and resentment. His dark eyes, the opaque paint making them look just as black in the hazy lighting, search your conflicted ones desperately.

“If I asked you to stay, would you?” he asks quietly. There’s no demand behind it, seemingly afraid it’ll scare you away.

His face softens, perhaps relief from asking. He’s never had to before.

You furrow your brows together in shock, dumbfounded at his apparent stupidity in this continuous situation. You scoff lightly at his rather domestic request. “Why? So we can just dance around the truth like always?” Your voice never raises in volume, but your tone gets harsher as you continue.

“So I can hope that maybe you’ll come to your senses and fucking realize that I lo—”

The hand he had wrapped around your arm moves to the back of your neck before you can even say the word or finish your passionate rant. He promptly pulls you right to him, his deft lips quickly doing the much-needed apologizing in that moment.

It’s feverish and assertive, seeming out of place in the cloud of desolation and melancholia…yet you don’t stop him. You don’t want to.

He knows you’ve needed this. Not the rushed, messy, convoluted kisses that come from your desperate fucking after a hard night or a close call, the ones that seem to happen almost by accident, by pure circumstance. There’s just always something missing…

Fervour. That’s what you feel now—that’s what you’ve wanted from him every single time he took control of you with ease for the night. You’re never able to make it back up to the manor either.

You shudder slightly when his hand moves to your jaw, gripping it firmly as he slides his mouth against yours consumingly, sucking your lips gently and teasing your tongue with his cautiously. You moan when he deepens the kiss further, letting his tongue fully overlap yours with a practiced versatility. It subdues you, inviting him to give and take as he pleases.

Several whimpers fall against his lips as you stretch onto your toes to meet his height as best as you can, trying to get more even though he’s already giving you plenty. It’s pensive. Each movement thought out and executed with a purpose, something that you can feel has a very clear destination in his mind.

You let him maintain authority, let him kiss you with a force that could bruise if he didn’t soothe the pressure with his soft tongue occasionally, dipping it back into your mouth quickly after. Your taste seems insatiable to his starved soul.

It all draws you in further, and your hands find themselves grasping at his shoulders instinctually when a forceful hand snakes through your hair to gain better control of you.

Your mouth feels a little numb and swollen from the welcome force, and he pulls away hesitantly when he feels your soft touch finally rest at his collar delicately. He barely lets more than an inch get between your lips, and you can feel the reluctancy in his movements as he pulls back.

You open your eyes slowly and see his sombre expression—more sombre than usual. The sorrow in his eyes and the agony on his brow is enough to force you to speak up first.

“I wish you told me months ago,” you whisper, lightly resting your forehead against his own as you wrap your arms around his neck, confident that he won’t pull away like he has before.

He looks longingly into your forgiving eyes, taking his hands and sliding them down to your hips in solace; an abrupt switch from from their dominant spot around your face. You understand the conflicts he has to live with. Most of them are caused by his vigilant habits in the night, yet you expected everything outside of that to still be easy for him.

Unfortunately, trauma picks and chooses its victims at random.

You find yourself looking for words. Maybe for the moment you realized he was different, when he changed.

“I wish it wasn’t so hard for you, Bruce.” You try to comfort him, provide some ease for his always anxious mind.

He squeezes your hip, silently reassuring you that it’ll be fine, that it won’t kill him.

“I wish it wasn’t so hard for you,” he retorts in an indignant tone, irritated with himself.

He regrets all of it. Most of all, he regrets making you feel unloved. The nights where he used you as a release, when he would act like nothing happened, when he would unconsciously ignore you, and when he ultimately closed himself off in the end.

“It wasn’t fair. It was…selfish,” he finishes forcefully, taking a quick breath to regain some composure.

“I just don’t want you to be part of that life,” he admits tentatively.

You can see he’s telling the truth. The way he doesn’t meet your gaze again. He does it to avoid the confrontation that comes with honesty.

You pause to take in his confession, closing your eyes for a moment with relief, but his tone is like a bullet to the heart. The dejected feeling of you possibly not wanting to be here with him in this moment.

“‘That life’?…You mean your life?” you reason, sounding surprised with his absurd claim.

You’d think that having done this religiously with him for a year would make him think otherwise, regardless of your acts together. You always showed up no matter the circumstances or emotions.

He pushes against your hips lightly, making some space between your bodies, and you shuffle back without hesitation. You let your arms fall away from his shoulders, and he does the same as you distance yourself.

“My life is your life,” he explains. “What happens to me affects you, why can’t you see that?” His face falls slightly. The realization of you not knowing you’re significant enough to be considered part of his life is…heartbreaking.

There’s so much you could say to that.

You let the silence linger briefly. “Maybe I’d be able to see that if you weren’t afraid to be in the same room as me,” you say, voice quiet as you test your reasoning.

You don’t want to start a fight. You just want to understand. You want to know why.

You notice how he hesitates when around you, and not in a flattering or complimentary way. It’s avoidant, scared, and even worried. Worry of confrontation.

He takes a deep breath and wraps his arms around his stomach in comfort, carefully avoiding the fresh bandage.

“I…I’m not…scared. I’m—” Batman doesn’t get scared from feelings, but maybe Bruce Wayne does.

“You’re unsure,” you finish for him. His eyes meet yours with a sense of hope that you’re understanding.

“I just…don’t know how to go about…all of this,” he motions between you with a flick of his hand.

All of this…meaning—

“Love?” you try, making it more of a rhetorical question.

He presses his lips together in surprise before offering a firm nod. He doesn’t trust himself to say it. It’s hard to wrap your head around. It couldn’t just be that, it had to be something more problematic? Complicated?

But yet, it all makes sense because he’s him—he doesn’t necessarily do romance; there’s no time. You know that. You’ve seen how he is, nothing but a fleeting moment in the night to most, even to you.

It all clicks, and you rub your face in relief and exasperation. You can’t blame him for it all. You can for some, of course, but a relationship needs communication from both. It can’t be a one-person effort, but that’s what it ended up being.

He was just trying to protect you. That’s all someone can really ask for, but the execution wasn’t right. He abandoned you emotionally to protect you physically, and that’s not the right balance.

“Why didn’t you just tell me the truth at the beginning? So I wouldn’t spend all this time thinking I was doing something wrong,” you pleaded, stepping closer to him again to pull an answer from his huddled form.

The closer you get, the higher you have to tilt your head to hold his gaze.

He looks right back, overwhelmed. “I didn’t know how to say it…I didn’t know if you felt that way. When I realized you did, I thought it was just…too late,” he admits, stuttering briefly at the end.

It was clearly hard for him, too. But was it not apparent that you were waiting? For him. For anything.

You look down, nodding your head in understanding. “I don’t think I could’ve made it any more obvious, but lust can be confused for love, so I understand.” You were serious, but some sarcasm slipped through at the end.

Lust is deadly; it will bait you, hook you, and then drag you under it’s pleasurable and irresistible cloud of euphoria, disguised as the domineering man in front of you.

“At least you know now,” he says, matching your tone.

He straightens his posture and locks his cold stare onto yours momentarily, searching for something he still can’t seem to find.

Giving up, he turns to collect each piece of armour you set aside, and he busy’s himself with meticulously putting it back in its rightful spot for tomorrow.

You watch him with surprise, but there’s no anger at his dismissal. You feel relieved. Relieved that you know. You don’t expect things to be normal right away, not with him.

You know he’ll come around, but you can’t help but ask a prying question just to entertain your already validated thoughts. And to keep him talking. There’s still so much you want to know.

“So…” you start lightly. “You said you weren’t sure if I was interested at the beginning,” you say carefully.

He stops moving the instant he hears the curiosity in your tone. He turns back to you slowly, an amused expression on his face. Shit—

You hesitate when you catch his look, but continue cooly. “So, if you didn’t know…then why did you keep, uh…” You lose your words, too afraid to be so blunt and direct about your past endeavours.

It seems taboo to discuss it while not in the moment itself. Sometimes you wonder if it’s just a dream. Too good to be true.

He raises his brows knowingly as you trail off, entertained with your hesitation and embarrassment.

“Why did you— why did we continue…”

“Fucking?” he finishes for you bluntly, a small smile playing on his lips, yet it’s devoid of genuine humour. It screams danger.

He chuckles when you nod your head wordlessly. “Like you said, lust is confusing. You can never seem to get enough, and I don’t think I wanted to.” He pulls the sleeves of his tight-fitting shirt over his forearms, watching you carefully as you consider his words.

His tone was suddenly light, confident. He could feel that you were walking the fine line of giving in or leaving without another word.

“I’m not trying to persuade you into doing anything, if that’s what you’re thinking about,” he clarifies softly when he sees your eyes dance across the floor rapidly.

You laugh lightly, glancing at him reluctantly. “I’m not, but you wouldn’t have to, anyway,”

That makes him narrow his gaze in question.

You raise a brow in response. “What?”

He glances over his shoulder at a monitor, very obviously reading the time: 4:29am.

And you realize exactly what he’s doing. Why would time matter unless you were to suddenly become busy. Tonight was on the shorter end of time spent putting him back together, and you never fall asleep quickly or peacefully anyway…that’s if you were to attempt it or even make it that far.

You watch him speculatively, still mindful that he’s injured, and probably very, very sleep deprived at this point, even though you can never say for sure.

He doesn’t sleep much. You seem to be his biggest distraction.

He twists a dry strand of hair between his fingers as it’s brushed back from his face, black eyes full of self-assurance as he turns to you for what will be the last time tonight.

“You think we can make it back to the manor?” His relaxed yet serious tone startles you, making you consider the options quickly.

Hard and cold floor, small and cold desktop, small rolling chair—none are ideal, but you’ve made all work before…when he didn’t offer another option, mind you. It was never momentous enough to have taken place outside of the cave. But the manor is…farther. There’s a buffer you don’t think will be beneficial.

Who fucking cares—

“Here seems to work just fine,” you quip nervously. You haven’t taken notice of how your legs have gotten…shaky.

There’s a burning heat between your thighs, an ache that blazes bright from anticipation and just him. Just knowing what’s to come. It feels like you’ve done everything imaginable at this point, but that doesn’t lessen your excitement.

He gives a small smirk that fades just as fast. “Figured you’d say that,” he finalizes.

Stepping back to you with graceful movements, you’re chest-to-chest again in an instant. He glides a delicate finger up your neck, hooking it under your chin and tilting your gaze to his intimidating one.

“Tell me what you want.”

You desperately want to say ‘anything’, but you know he won’t settle for that.

You get lost in your thoughts, thinking of the possibilities you can choose from, and he waits for your answer patiently.

“A week ago…when you came back with a torn rotator cuff in y-your shoulder—” you stumble through the sentence but never break from his studious eyes.

“You, uh, didn’t pay any mind to it even though you definitely should’ve, and you had me down against the desk,” your voice turns to a whisper as you recount the events—as vague as possible to save you the embarrassment of being too vulgar in, perhaps, an irreplaceable moment.

As soon as you finish, you swear you see a flame flicker in his eyes. The same one you feel grow stronger in your cunt at the same time. Your knees almost buckle from anticipation, and he can only make it worse from here.

“That’s…a good choice, even though it was kind of impersonal,” he ponders, clearly running through the events of that night.

He’s not wrong. He kept your chest pinned tightly to the surface of the frigid desk, taking you from behind. No hand-holding, no kissing, no eye-contact, no nothing.

You went on to figure that it was better—easier for him that way. You never seemed to mind anyway.

“That’s nothing I can’t fix,” he mutters, finishing the thought; already set on an alternative for both of you.

Your brows pinch together, curious of what he means exactly. But you don’t have much time to think about it.

His hands quickly curve around your jaw, keeping you still as he swiftly interlocks your deprived lips again. It’s zealous and luring, pulling you even further under the crashing wave of temptation and craving.

The soft joining of your mouths makes your stomach jump with exhilaration and eagerness, clawing your hands into his hair with a gasp of bliss as he grabs your waist just as hard in response. You let out a soft sigh of relief, feeling brave enough to gently bite at his bottom lip as his warm, encompassing hands slide under your shirt.

He barely lets you break for air, delving back into your mouth just as fast as he left it to reposition. The intensity of the heavenly moment builds its tempo, and you find yourself pushing against his chest. Not to pull away, but to try and push him towards the cold, awaiting desk behind his wide shoulders.

You manage to get a single word out in between the consuming and now sloppy kisses he offers. “Bruce—”

He hums contently as he swallows your thoughts, connecting your tingling lips forcibly. He’s too fixated on the passion. He wants it to last forever, but there are more demanding impulses that will be tended to first.

“Bruce,” you gasp when you break apart again reluctantly. He notices the calm assertion in your voice, and only slows the onslaught of kisses enough to reply.

“I know,” he soothes your neediness, now delicately pressing his greedy lips to yours repeatedly in understanding. The heartfelt action controlled by nothing but spirited lust.

His hands glide back up to your jaw, cradling your face in comfort as you twirl the long strands of hair at his neck between your fingers. Heavy breaths cloud your already tangled thoughts, leaving him to take the lead again.

He gives you one last intense taste of him, stroking his tongue teasingly over yours, firmly capturing your lips together in the process with a pleased moan. You’re almost chest-to-chest, a minute sliver of space keeping your bodies just distanced enough to not completely lose what little control both of you have left.

He’s taken note of how tight your thighs have been pressed together, and how your breaths are becoming shaky with each passing second he uses to dominate your mouth.

You’ve taken note of how his tactical pants, in fact, can’t hide his very prominent arousal for you, and how you can feel the warmth finally releasing from his exerted and thoroughly worked muscles. The heat seeps through his shirt and goes directly to your body, making you shudder when you feel the change in temperature.

You draw in a breath when he finally pulls away. His obsidian eyes wild with excitement and dominion. You’ve seen this look a lot, and you’re ready to hop on the desk without another word.

He floats his eyes down your body observationally, but you don’t notice. All of this is a lot slower than you’re used to. Well-paced. If it were any other night, you’d be on round two by now at least. You’d be whining with pleasure, shaking from release and overstimulation, dripping around his cock as he buries himself as deep as your cunt will allow, over and over until he simply feels better.

He was always generous with what he gave you.

You press a hand against his chest again, and he moves this time. Taking a long stride back, he tries to conceal an amused smile as you push him toward the desk. Your eyes light up when you see the knowing and teasing look on his face.

A quiet laugh rumbles against your hand. “This isn’t how it usually goes…” He smiles lightly.

You smile with him. “I never said it’s gonna stay this way,” you challenge, your eyes twinkling with mischief.

You never take charge. You never dominate. He’s more well-versed with it, and you won’t dare to try to match his competence.

The backs of his thighs bump the rounded edge of the desk, and your stomach jumps with elation when his index finger instantly hooks into the waistband of your pants, pulling you just a little closer.

But he leaves it there. He slides it side-to-side along the hem, gently caressing the sensitive skin of your lower stomach playfully. You look into his eyes as he casually continues the slow motions.

Your eyes flick down to his hand instinctually, out of pure reflex, and you watch his finger disappear further as he smoothly twists his wrist, palm resting against your lower stomach momentarily before his shoulder shifts too…angling his hand to travel down.

His fingers graze lower, creeping to a spot that so easily welcomes him.

One of your hands grabs onto his shoulder, simultaneously steadying yourself with a gasp as you bring your faces closer again. He gives a fleeting, comforting kiss, not leaving much behind.

His towering height makes it easier for his hand to reach its destination all too quickly. And when a careful and precise finger slips in-between your folds, your eyes close in anticipation and with the thought of relief.

Your minor reaction makes him smirk. Thankfully, for him, you don’t see it.

It’s sad just how wet you already are, but it spurs him on. He let’s his fingers explore, alternating between rubbing you and slipping a single digit inside, only doing so to gather your arousal to rub across your clit smoothly.

A quiet moan gets caught in your throat as he repeats that process a few times, building you up and teasing you onto the edge continuously.

“Mm— please, f-fuck—” you whimper, fisting the shirt in your grip on his shoulder.

You don’t need to finish that sentence for him to know exactly what you mean. He needs it, too. His tactical pants have become increasingly uncomfortable.

Your plea makes him apply more pressure to the slow strokes he gives your throbbing cunt. You all but drip onto the two fingers that glide over your aching clit and back to your slick entrance, occasionally giving you what you want.

He pulls them slowly in and out of you, making sure you feel them nice and deep before he drags them against something that makes you pant with desperation. Your eyes remain shut, brows pulled together tightly as you focus on the sensation of his intent touches, but he watches your face appreciatively, analyzing your pleasure with each movement he makes.

A particularly harder jolt of his fingers up into you makes you choke, caught between a gasp and a whiny moan. That makes his eyes drop to where his hand disappears.

He hums in satisfaction. “Is that the spot?” he questions with a mocking tone, knowing full well what the answer would be. “I think it is…”

You nod your head quickly, eyes reopening ever so slowly to meet his.

His eyes are full with devilish aspirations, and your knees almost give out when he roughly thrusts his fingers back in again for a final time. You let out a small cry of bliss and dissatisfaction when he slips them out of you, wiping them off on his pants carelessly.

You were decently wet before, and you are definitely abundantly wet now.

“I think you need to lie down.” He sounds concerned, but you know it’s just for show to make your heart pound harder.

He takes your hand from his shoulder, holding it securely as he shuffles your bodies around, putting you in his place and himself in yours. Now your thighs rest against the desk, and he crowds you against it.

“Lift your arms,” he says cooly, observing your dazed expression with care.

You raise them, and he pinches the hem of your shirt, delicately dragging it up your torso and over your head with caution. He tosses it on the chair off to the side.

Your eyes catch the mangled slash at the bottom of his shirt again, and you quickly reach for the thin material.

He doesn’t question your intentions, letting you maneuver the thin fabric over the bandage, his chest, and extend onto your toes to pull it over his shoulders. He peels it from his arms, and your hands can’t help but wander across the firm muscles that stretch around his entire body.

The power he holds within him—the Batman—is unparalleled to anything you’ve ever seen. It was terrifying. It was unbelievable, the things you’ve seen his body do. And he would continue to push his limits.

#batman x reader #the batman x reader #battinson x reader #battinson x you #batman x you #batman imagines #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne imagines #robert pattinson x reader #the batman (2022)#bruce wayne #the batman #bruce wayne imagine #batman imagine #battinson imagines #long post #long fic

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darling-i-read-it · 2 years

Text

Laugh

Joker x fem!reader x Bruce Wayne

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: violence, guns, fear, kind of a hostage situation. I am probably missing something lemme know

Author’s Note: this was inspired by the harleen comic which is fantastic if you haven’t read it already! I wanted to make both the Joker and Batman ambiguous to whoever you wanted to picture! I hope you all enjoy my impulsive joker fic lmao if you want a part 2 lemme knowwwww. okay back to requests lol

Summary: Bruce is always out doing god knows what. The night you get fed up and leave you get ambushed by the Joker in the streets of gotham

Genre: ????

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

Bruce wasn’t home.

When was Bruce ever home, you wondered with dismay. Too often you came over to see him and it was just Alfred there. At this point, you saw him more than you saw Bruce. You should have known when you started a relationship with the infamous Bruce Wayne that you wouldn’t see him as much as you wanted to. You had tried so much to be understanding.

He just wasn’t there.

Ever.

“I think I’m gonna go home,” you muttered, running your hand through your hair. You hadn’t even bothered to get changed. Usually you waited until Bruce came back from business but you were slowly losing patience with him. Alfred could feel it in the way you stood up.

“Let me call you a car,” he offered.

“No, it’s alright. I’m really not that far away.” Alfred pursed his lips. He was still wearing his day clothes. You often wondered how much sleep he actually got. It was essentially superhuman.

“Master Bruce wouldn’t want you out walking this late.”

“Well then he should’ve come home,” you muttered. “Plus,” you said, scoffing. “The Bats out.” You pointed at the sky. The light was illuminating in the otherwise dark and gloomy night.

Alfred consistently had a hard time not telling you where Bruce actually was. But he knew it wasn’t his place to say. Bruce had to open up and tell you himself. But he could feel you slipping away every night, a little bit more as you reverted into yourself.

“Are you sure I can’t call you a car? For my sake.” You shook your head.

“I’m alright Alfred, really. Thank you.”

“Will I see you tomorrow night?”

“I don’t know,” you said honestly. You rubbed your eyes and grabbed your bag, shoving it in your pocket. You were so angry. Bruce claimed he loved you every time he saw you. He was loving and he was tender and then he was gone all over again. You were never sure when he was coming back. You would always be second to Wayne Enterprises.

It was cold outside. You felt the shiver on your skin. It felt like Gotham was never going to get warm in the summer but the second it did it would start to roast the trash in the alleyways and make the whole city smell. You walked quickly. You were starting to regret your anger denying Alfred. He had just been trying to help.

You glanced behind you in the darkness, trying to push Bruce out of your mind.

Still, you imagined him coming home to realize you weren’t there. How would he feel? Would he be angry? Unhappy? You imagined the distaste in his face in his stupid suit and clean pressed hair when he goes to bed alone. A part of you relished in it. He deserved to feel the way you consistently felt because of him.

How dare he. How dare he make you feel like this. You didn’t deserve it and he knew it. You deserve someone who would protect you and not let you go out at night like a crazy angry person like you were right now. You deserve someone who cared-

Bang!

You turned around quickly, almost falling over.

Bang! Bang!

Gunshots were ringing off the side of the building you were leaning against. You scrambled back, your heart racing in your ears as you tried to find the source of the noise.

Out of the natural Gotham smoke emerged the Joker himself. You recognized him instantly as though you had seen him in person before. You knew he wouldn’t hesitate with that gun he had in his hand. His laughter seemed to be echoing through the streets like he was bigger than he was. He could scale buildings with that laugh.

You slipped on your own shoe and fell over. Fear colored your face as you leaned against the wall, hoping he wouldn’t see you.

“He’s wasn’t very funny anyway!” the Joker exclaimed to a silhouette behind him. You breathed heavily but all you could hear was a funnel to his voice. Where was Batman when you needed him?

“Boss!”

You had been spotted but you couldn’t move. Someone was pointing a gun at you leisurely, gesturing at you. You put your hands flat against the wall behind you, trying to force yourself to get up. You needed to leave. You needed to run.

Joker walked up to you carefully, holding his gun to your forehead. You made no attempt to slip away. You felt the cool metal against your skin.

You stared up at him. He stared down at you.

His smile flickered into amusement. Like he wanted you to squirm and beg. You were silent, not even tears escaping your eyes. You just looked at him.

“It’s the cops!” one of his henchmen called. He dropped the gun to his side, leaving you completely unharmed. He looked at his men and then back down at you.

“Better scram sweetheart. Gothams full of dangerous people.” You pulled yourself up and nodded. He flashed you a smile and you were about to back away and finally run when there was a loud crash behind Joker. For some reason, the crash scared you more than he did.

Batman had arrived.

“Bats! I was starting to think you wouldn’t show up,” Joker said, an insane smile on his face. “We aren’t gonna do this in front of the lady are we? Bad manners!”

You couldn’t feel yourself breathing anymore. The looming figure of the Batman was staring at you. You slinked behind the Joker like he would protect you. You didn’t have time to rationalize your morals at that moment. All you knew is that the Joker had not shot you and it sure as hell looked like Batman was here to fight.

“You don’t get to play knight in shining armor Joker,” Batman said, voice gravelly.

“Oh I didn’t plan to be. I just got distracted! You’re all dark and brooding Bats, kinda hard to miss ya!” You stood evenly on both feet, trying to decide if you needed to run or not. You looked towards the looming alleyway for a moment and then back at the antagonists. Joker pointed a gun at Batman.

You slid away and booked it.

You had run for what felt like forever when you realized you had no idea where you were going. You had just been trying to get away. You could feel your chest heaving now as you leaned against a wall, closing your eyes. You felt far from safe but there’s no way anyone could try and rob you after that! The world was cruel but not cruel enough.

You looked desperately at the street signs. You were lost. Every street looked the same in the dark.

Your phone rang but it sounded far away. You struggled to get it out of your pocket, tears pricking your eyes. You had almost just died!

“Y/N?”

“Bruce,” you breathed. You wanted to cry but held it together. Your anger from earlier was all but gone. You just wanted to go home and take a very long and very deserved shower.

“Where are you?” he sounded remarkably serious which made your anger come back a bit. You had just gone through that and Bruce had the audacity to be mad at you for leaving? You knew it wasn't’ rational, there was no way he could’ve known, but still.

“I don’t know,” you said honestly.

What you didn’t know is that Bruce was jumping across buildings to find you. He had left Joker, actually left him, to make sure you were safe. The clown would surely live to fight another day. When Bruce saw you his heart sank into his stomach. You shouldn’t have been there. He should’ve been with you, back home.

“What street signs do you see?”

You peaked around the alley corner just to run right into someone. Your phone dropped and toppled, cracking. As if this day couldn’t get any worse. A white hand grabbed your arm and moved you in front of them so that you were both against the alleyway corner.

“My phone,” you whispered to yourself, pathetically. You looked at the man and met the familiar eyes of Joker.

“Fancy running into you again!” he said, smiling comically large.

“What happened to Batman?”

“Fled! I know, crazy huh.” He peaked around the corner. He had lost his gun back there. All he had now was some smoke bombs and a knife. He was too far away from the compound to head back there in the dark now. He had to shelter for the night. He pulled his knife. “You got a place sweets?”

The world really was that cruel.

“I don’t even know where we are!” you whisper screamed.

“I’ll get you a GPS.” You grabbed your cracked phone. Bruce had hung up in his attempts to find you. You wished he was still on the phone.

Joker had no actual plans. That made it all the funnier!

You stumbled around the streets. At some point he had dropped the knife completely and just followed you. You got home in remarkably good timing. Your place was one bedroom and a mess but a part of you was glad to be in a familiar place with an unfamiliar person.

“You got a pullout?” he asked, laughing through his teeth.

“Why should I help you? You’re the Joker! Don’t you have people for this?” He rolled his eyes, gesturing with his hand. He sat down on your couch.

“If you can find an untapped phone in Gotham, be my guest!” he put his feet up, his hands behind his head. He really believed you weren’t gonna hurt him. His eyes were shut like he was cozying in for bed.

“What, should I offer you water or something?” you asked, your voice mixing with amazement, fear and anger.

“If you got one! I could use something sparkling. Long run after all!” He peeked one eye open and that smile returned.

“I could call the police on you.”

“Are you gonna? If I remember, I didn’t kill ya. I’d say you owed me one.” You didn’t even have a response to that.

“If I take a shower are you gonna kill me?” you deadpanned. Both his eyes opened up.

“No. Be my guest. I could use one myself.”

“You broke my phone.”

“Save me some hot water sweetheart.”

“Y/N.” He smiled brightly.

“Jay.”

And you left the room. Your phone was broken. You hadn’t signed up for any kind of home phone. Who even uses home phones anymore? Maybe Bruce would be by to apologize. Maybe he wouldn’t.

You stripped off your clothes and you took a shower.

When you got out Joker was on the kitchen counter, drinking a glass of water.

“That was a long shower.”

“It’s all yours,” you muttered.

“How will I know you won’t call the cops?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

You laughed in his face. He gave you a confused, slightly infuriated look.

“With what?”

“Point taken!” He slid off the counter, slamming the glass of water down. He walked up to you as you were ringing out the water in your hair onto the ground. He had to squeeze into the small hall that led to the bathroom. He made no attempt not to touch you. His chest brushed yours fully, his lanky hand on your elbow as he moved you aside. You stared at each other, directly into your eyes.

It felt kind of…electric.

He went in the bathroom. You had left him a towel.

“You have a good laugh!” he called through the muffled wall. You smiled a bit to yourself and looked down at your broken phone. You tossed it aside onto the counter. Bruce could worry a little more.

Part 2

DC Tag List: @karasong @elisaa-shelby, @alexxavicry, @demigirl-with-problems, @chaotic-fangirl-blog, @caswinchester2000, @gxrlwithluv, @lov3vivian, @blkwayne, @wandering-poetess, @softiekayy, @navs-bhat@shownuflakes

#joker x reader #bruce wayne x reader #batman x reader #batman x reader x joker #joker x fem!reader #bruce wayne x fem!reader #batman x fem!reader #batman x fem!reader x joker #joker x fem!reader x batman #dc imagines #joker imagines #batman imagines

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dccomicsimagines · 1 year

Text

Babysitting on Halloween - Damian Wayne x Reader

Requested by Anon - CAn I have older!Dami celebrating Halloween with the fem!reader?!

Requested by Anon - So could you do a older damian(many 16 idk your the writer) where he's helping his s/o baby sit her five year old stepsister.

Requested by Anon - Could you do an imagine of older!damian Wayne where his girlfriend or s/o gets hit on by another guy and he become very jealous and protective of her?

Author’s Note - I put all these requests together. Hope you all don’t mind. Also Smiley is the stepsister. Now that can be her nickname or actual name, up to you.

***

“Absolutely not.” Damian crossed his arms, his face dropping into his batman glare. You ignored it and kept looking through the racks of costumes.

“I’m watching Smiley on Halloween since our parents have to work and she wants to go trick or treating.” You spared him a glance to find his expression hadn’t change. An older woman further down the aisle looked at him nervously. You sent her a smile to reassure her. Damian still didn’t understand how his height and build changed things when he glared around in public.

Damian’s gaze softened. “Beloved, this is Gotham.”

“Yes and?” You pulled out skeleton costume and held it up to your body. Damian shook his head.

“People don’t trick or treat in Gotham, (Y/N). It’s not safe here.” Damian wrinkled his nose as you pulled out a skimpy skeleton costume next. He reached out, taking it from you and hanging it back up. You laughed and moved on.

“No, they do trick or treat.” You rolled your eyes. “My parents’ neighborhood has a trick or treat party to keep things safe. They live in the suburbs. It will be fun.”

Damian grumbled and narrowed his eyes at an employee that was lingering nearby. The employee paled and ran off.

“Stop scaring people.” You took his hand. “If you are so concerned, then come along. It will be fun.” You smiled, tracing a finger down his chest. Damian’s eyes followed your finger like a hawk watching his prey. “And once Smiley is in bed, we can be alone and do whatever we want.” You sighed, looking up at him with doe eyes.

World war three played upon Damian’s face. His mouth twitched. Eyes narrowed, than widened. His hand tightened around yours. You just kept your eyes on his, smiling rather innocently.

“Fine.” He held up a hand, pursing his lips. “But I’m not wearing a costume.”

“Really?” You frowned, turning away from him. “I mean it doesn’t have to be something you’re uncomfortable with...” You grabbed a ninja costume and held it up to him. “What do you think?”

The tip of Damian’s ears turned bright red. You bit your lip to keep from laughing at the bewilderment on his face. “Perhaps, I could find something to wear that is not this polyester imitation of a uniform.” He took it from you, sneering when he felt the cheap fabric.

“Whatever you want, dear.” You kissed his cheek. “It will be fun.” You turned back to the racks as Damian put the ninja costume away with a huff. “Now, what should I wear?” You tapped your chin, looking at all the costumes.

“TT, anything you wear will be beautiful,” Damian said softly. You turned to hide your blush. “But it will be chilly, so you’ll need something warm.”

You snorted at hearing Damian say ‘chilly’. “That’s true.” Damian’s arm wrapped around your waist, keeping you close as you kept up your search.

***

Bruce rubbed his eyes. Perhaps he was staring at the batcomputer for too long. “Damian, could you come back here please?” The batcave was quiet except for the bats screeching.

“TT, what is wrong?” Damian marched back into Bruce’s line of sight. Bruce hummed, taking in the old League of Assassins’ training outfit that fit Damian almost perfectly.

“Why are you wearing that?” Bruce crossed his arms. It looked good on Damian, but that didn’t help Bruce’s concern.

Damian scoffed. A slight blush on his cheeks. “It’s Halloween, Father.”

“Yes, I’m aware.” Bruce stood up and stretched. “But why are you wearing that?”

Damian stiffened, shifting from foot to foot. “(Y/N) wanted me to dress up. I couldn’t force myself to wear the ridiculous excuses of costumes at the store, so I thought I could wear something here.” He sneaked a glance at Bruce. “Obviously, our normal uniforms are out of the question.”

Bruce hummed. He studied Damian carefully. “So if someone asks about what you’re dressed as?”

“I’m (Y/N)’s bodyguard and by extension, her sister’s.” Damian smiled rather smugly. Bruce swallowed back a laugh. Did Damian know how charming he was being? Probably not. You were a lucky girl.

“Have fun and stay out of trouble.” Bruce clapped a hand on Damian’s shoulder. “Use protection.” Damian’s ears turned red. Bruce had to swallow a laugh. He let his hand drop from Damian’s shoulder as he moved to grab a cup of coffee from the cave’s machine.

“TT.” Damian hurried away before Bruce could say another word. Bruce shook his head and admitted he was proud of the man his son had become.

***

“Smiley, don’t move,” you whispered, gently added the glitter gel to her face. Smiley stilled her body, but, to live up to her nickname, she had a big grin on her face.

“Can we take a picture when you’re done?” she asked. Her eyes sparkled in excitement. The two of you were in your parents’ bathroom. Smiley sat on the counter as you tried to make the picture of unicorn makeup she found online come to life on her face.

Damian stepped in the doorway. He watched you work. “It looks...pretty,” he said slowly when you sent him a warning look.

“Really?” Smiley practically glowed. You suspected she had a little crush on Damian.

“All done.” You grinned, wiping your hands on a towel before holding up a hand mirror. Smiley gasped, clapping her hands at the rainbow glitter makeup on her face. “I think you’re going to be a fabulous unicorn. Now go get your costume on and we’ll have a photo shoot before we go.” You helped her down and she ran off giggling.

“You did a good job, beloved.” Damian stepped in to kiss your cheek.

You smiled, heart fluttering at the praise. “Thanks, it’s harder than you think.” You took in his outfit. “I got to say, you look good in this. A lot better than the one we would have gotten at the store.”

Damian huffed. A faint blush grew on his cheeks. “You look good, beloved. I never thought you would be such a good-looking pirate.” He adjusted the pirate hat on your head. You bit your lip, holding in the giggles that wanted to spill out.

“And the jacket’s warm so I won’t get chilly,” you added, tapping his nose. Damian smirked and leaned down to kiss your lips.

“Damian and (Y/N) sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes a baby in a baby carriage!” Smiley’s singing broke you and Damian apart. Damian’s eyes widened in horror while you just laughed and peeked around to see Smiley in the hallway in her unicorn costume.

“Now you’re going to get it, Miss Unicorn!” You chased after her, laughing at her giggles. Damian was behind you, a rare chuckle escaping him.

***

Damian frowned when a little hand touched his pant’s leg. He glanced down to find Smiley looking up at him. “Dami, could you take me to the next house? (Y/N)’s taking too long and I want to get the candy.”

You had stepped away to answer a call from your parents. Damian glanced at you before letting Smiley take his hand and walked her up to the next house. A group of older girls dressed like some cartoon show characters passed them, taking about how much candy the house gave out.

“Ooo, I think we hit the motherlode,” Smiley said. She ran ahead and knocked on the door. Damian stayed back. He was close enough to run and grab her if anything were to happen. Much to his disbelief, everything felt safe for the most part. The neighborhood was doing a very good job keeping it that way.

However, this wouldn’t stop Damian from replacing all the candy Smiley got tonight with candy he had pre-purchased. It was Gotham after all.

The door opened and a lady cooed over Smiley’s costume. She glanced up at Damian and flinched, frowning worriedly. Damian relaxed his stance and forced himself to smile. The lady relaxed and dumped two handfuls into Smiley’s bag. “Thank you,” Smiley said, skipping back to Damian. “Look at the goods.”

Damian peeked inside the bag. He almost got a sugar high at the sight alone. “Yes, you did...well.”

Smiley beamed. Damian let her take his hand again as he looked around for you.

He froze when he saw you shifting uncomfortably as two men stood rather close to you. Damian took a deep breath. He scooped up Smiley in one arm and marched to your side.

“I’m actually busy, so I can’t come to your party,” you said. Your voice cracked. Damian frowned, seeing the tension in your body. You weren’t afraid, but nervous. He lengthened his stride to get to you faster. Smiley just giggled, unware of the situation.

“Are you sure baby? Because it will be a lot of fun and you’re dressed so...yummy,” one of the men said, smiling like he owned the world. Damian clenched his fist.

You shook your head, grinning when you caught Damian approaching. “Actually, there’s my boyfriend now. Bye and thanks for the invite.” You waved and slipped past the men to meet Damian halfway.

“Are you alright, beloved?” Damian demanded. He almost kept walking toward the men, but you stopped him with a hand to his chest.

“I’m fine, they were just hitting on me.” You smiled and took Smiley out of his arm. She laughed, chatting away about her candy to no one in particular. You patted her head, but focused on Damian. “It’s okay. You don’t need to go over there.”

Damian pursed his lips. He glared at the men causing them to run off. “TT, I should.” His hand trembled. You took it, squeezing it gently in yours.

“It’s okay. I’m okay,” you whispered to Damian as Smiley kept talking, not caring that neither of you were listening to her.

“They shouldn’t make you uncomfortable.” Damian growled, glaring at a group of children. They gave you all a wide berth.

“I know, but this isn’t the time or place.” You kissed Damian’s cheek. “Relax. My parents just checked in and said to limit Smiley’s candy intake.”

Damian hummed. Smiley grabbed Damian’s other hand and tugged him along. Damian in turn tugged you. “Next house. I need more candy. My bag is only half full,” Smiley said, pouting slightly.

You laughed and shook your head. “We’ll do our best to fill your bag, but I don’t think there are enough houses in the neighborhood.”

Damian snorted, but a smile tugged at his lips as your sister protested. He vowed not to leave your side again until you were safely home.

***

“Is she asleep?” Damian asked as you walked in and collapsed on the living room couch beside him. Your sister had a bit of a sugar high and it resulted in a hour long chase around the house to burn it off. Damian had thought he had seen it all. Apparently not.

“Finally.” You let out a long sigh and snuggling into his side. “Thank you for tonight. It was fun.”

Damian kissed your temple, resting his arm around your shoulders. “It was...an experience.”

You giggled. “Yes, it was. I’m glad you were here with me.” You closed your eyes and relaxed. Damian hummed. It pleased him to no end that you felt so safe near him. Most people felt frightened.

“It was my pleasure, beloved.” He grabbed the remote without moving and turned on the tv. You opened your eyes. “When will your parents be returning?”

“Probably around two.” You rested your hand on his knee. Damian’s knee burned at the pressure. “I told them to go out and have some fun since they ended up working so late and we were here anyway.”

Damian hummed. “So...what should we do?”

You looked at him with care. Damian blushed as you pulled your hand away from his knee. “We could watch some scary movies? I could make popcorn?”

Damian bit his lip, glancing at the tv then back at you. “I would enjoy that.” He let you get up and walk out of the room. Damian smiled as a sense of peace filled him. He let himself imagine what it would be like to have a home and a family with you some day. His smile widened. It would be something to look forward to.

#damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne imagine #dc comics imagines #dc reader insert #robin #robin x reader #robin imagine #batfamily #batfamily imagine #halloween #batman #batman imagines

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dc-and-arfrona · 9 months

Text

First Glance - Batboys Headcannons

BatBoys! x GN!Reader

Type: Fluff

Word Count: 2.4k+

Masterlist

Summary: What was it like at first glance?

—

Batman / Bruce Wayne

Bruce Wayne stood at the edge of the ballroom, his presence masked behind a facade of confidence and charm as they surveyed the guests mingling beneath the dazzling chandeliers. Another night in Gotham City, another charity gala to attend. The dark shadows of their past lingered in the depths of their eyes, hidden from the world, but ever-present.

As they took another sip of champagne, their attention was abruptly drawn to a figure entering the room. Y/N had just arrived, and an inexplicable magnetic force seemed to pull Bruce's gaze toward them. The room faded away, the noise of chatter and laughter melting into the background, leaving only Y/N in their sight.

Y/N exuded an air of elegance and grace that was unmistakable, their every movement commanding attention. They were dressed in a stunning evening gown that accentuated their natural beauty without being ostentatious, and Bruce found themselves mesmerized by their understated allure.

For a moment, they almost forgot their identity as the billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne and the dark vigilante Batman. In that instant, they were merely a person captivated by another person who stirred emotions they had long thought buried deep within them.

Bruce felt a tug at their heart, an unfamiliar sensation that made them feel vulnerable and exposed. Their life had been one of secrecy and isolation, driven by a solemn mission to protect Gotham from the darkness that had claimed their parents. Yet, here was Y/N, unknowingly threatening to breach the fortress around their heart.

As Y/N moved gracefully through the crowd, Bruce found themselves unconsciously stepping forward, drawn to them like a moth to a flame. They wanted to know more about Y/N, to understand what lay beneath that composed exterior, and why they had this unexpected effect on them.

As luck would have it, fate intervened, bringing them together in the most unassuming manner. They found themselves side by side at a charity auction, both bidding on the same piece of artwork. The tension was palpable, but Bruce sensed an unspoken connection between them.

They decided to take a risk, abandoning Bruce's usual playboy charm, and engaged Y/N in genuine conversation. They talked about the art, the charity event, and as the night progressed, they touched on deeper topics that revealed their shared values and beliefs.

Bruce discovered that Y/N was not just another socialite or guest at the event. They were driven by a desire to make a difference in Gotham, just as they were. Underneath their poised exterior, Bruce saw a passion that matched their own for justice and redemption.

In that moment, Bruce felt a glimmer of hope. They realized that maybe, just maybe, they didn't have to walk this dark path alone. Perhaps Y/N could be a beacon of light in their life, a counterbalance to the shadows that threatened to consume them.

As the night wore on, Bruce found themselves unable to tear their gaze away from Y/N. They were both exhilarated and unnerved by the emotions Y/N stirred within them. The walls they had built around themselves were cracking, and they didn't know whether to welcome the change or retreat into their familiar solitude.

By the time the gala came to an end, Bruce Wayne knew that their life had been irrevocably altered. Y/N had entered their world like a shooting star, and they couldn't shake the feeling that Y/N was meant to be there.

Little did they know that this enigmatic encounter would be the catalyst for a profound transformation, one that would forever change both Bruce Wayne and Batman. The road ahead was uncertain, but for the first time in a long while, Bruce dared to hope that they might find solace and companionship in the presence of Y/N.

---

Nightwing / Dick Grayson

Nightwing, also known as Dick Grayson, glided across the rooftops of Gotham City, the night air swirling around him like a familiar embrace. The city below was bustling with the usual chaos and crime, and he was on patrol, keeping a watchful eye on the dark corners where danger lurked.

As he leaped from one building to another, a soft sound caught his attention. A rustle in the shadows that seemed out of place amidst the usual background noise. Nightwing's instincts kicked in, and he moved silently toward the source of the disturbance.

There, in the dimly lit alleyway, he saw them. Y/N, a figure shrouded in mystery, was standing their ground against a group of muggers who were closing in on them. Y/N's face was obscured by the hood of their jacket, but Nightwing could sense the determination radiating from them.

He watched as Y/N deftly dodged a swing from one of the attackers, moving with an agility that suggested they were no ordinary civilian. In the dim light, Nightwing caught glimpses of their swift and calculated movements. They were holding their own, a skilled fighter in their own right.

Intrigued and impressed, Nightwing hesitated for a moment, debating whether to intervene or allow Y/N to handle the situation on their own. But his training and sense of responsibility won over, and he decided to step in, leaping into the alley with a graceful somersault.

"Need a hand?" Nightwing's voice was firm, offering assistance while simultaneously letting Y/N know he was there as an ally.

Y/N turned to face him, and even in the darkness, Nightwing could feel their surprise. He noticed the way their eyes flickered with recognition, though they said nothing. There was a momentary pause as the muggers sized up the new threat that had appeared before them.

With Nightwing's arrival, the odds tipped drastically in their favor. Together, they fought seamlessly, each anticipating the other's moves as if they had trained together for years. It was as if they were two halves of the same whole, united by an unspoken understanding of each other's abilities.

As the last mugger slumped to the ground, defeated and disarmed, Y/N turned to Nightwing. Their eyes met, and a silent communication passed between them, acknowledging the unspoken connection forged during the heat of battle.

"Thanks for the help," Y/N finally said, their voice carrying a hint of gratitude.

Nightwing nodded, his admiration for Y/N growing with each passing moment. "You held your own pretty well back there. Ever consider joining the fight against crime in Gotham?"

Y/N smirked, the corner of their lips curling up slightly. "Maybe I already am," they replied enigmatically.

Nightwing was intrigued by Y/N's response, a sense of curiosity building within him. He knew there was more to this mysterious figure than met the eye, and he couldn't help but wonder what secrets they held.

As the night continued, Nightwing and Y/N found themselves working together more frequently. Their paths seemed destined to cross, and each time they fought side by side, their partnership grew stronger.

In Y/N, Nightwing found a kindred spirit—a fellow guardian of the night, dedicated to protecting the innocent and upholding justice. And in Nightwing, Y/N discovered a trusted ally who could match their skill and determination.

As they continued to patrol the city together, their bond deepened, and they forged a partnership that would become legendary in Gotham City—a duo that struck fear into the hearts of criminals and brought hope to those in need.

Little did they know that this chance encounter in the shadows would mark the beginning of a partnership that would stand the test of time, with Nightwing and Y/N becoming an unstoppable force for good in Gotham's ever-encroaching darkness.

-----

Red Hood / Jason Todd

The neon lights of Gotham's infamous nightlife illuminated the streets as Jason Todd and Roy Harper, also known as Arsenal, found themselves at a bar. After a particularly grueling night of crime-fighting, they needed to unwind and let off some steam. Laughter and the clinking of glasses filled the air as they navigated the crowded establishment.

In a corner of the bar, amidst the lively atmosphere, Y/N sat alone, nursing a drink and observing the bustling crowd. They exuded an air of mystery, their eyes scanning the room with a mix of curiosity and caution. Y/N seemed to blend into the background, but something about their demeanor caught Jason's attention.

With a nudge from Roy, Jason's gaze shifted to where Y/N sat, and his curiosity was piqued. There was something captivating about the way they seemed detached yet aware of their surroundings, as if they were silently assessing everyone they laid eyes on.

"Hey, check out the lone wolf over there," Roy remarked, his voice laced with mischief.

Jason smirked, intrigued by the challenge of approaching someone who appeared so enigmatic. "Let's go say hello," he suggested, sliding off his barstool.

As they made their way toward Y/N, Jason couldn't shake the feeling that he'd seen them somewhere before, but he couldn't place where. Nevertheless, his instincts told him that this meeting was far from ordinary.

"Mind if we join you?" Jason asked, his voice casual yet tinged with genuine interest.

Y/N glanced up, their eyes meeting Jason's, and there was a flicker of recognition in their gaze. "Sure," they replied, a hint of a smile gracing their lips.

Roy took the seat next to Y/N, and the three of them fell into easy conversation, discussing everything from their lives as vigilantes to mundane everyday topics. Despite the contrasting worlds they came from, there was an undeniable chemistry that sparked between Jason and Y/N.

As the night wore on, the bar's atmosphere grew livelier, and the trio found themselves laughing and sharing stories as if they were old friends reunited after years apart. Jason was drawn to Y/N's mysterious aura, and the more they talked, the more he wanted to unravel the enigma that surrounded them.

In Y/N, Jason found someone who mirrored his own turbulent past—a past that involved pain, loss, and a relentless pursuit of justice. He sensed that Y/N was no stranger to darkness, yet their strength and resilience resonated deeply with him.

As the clock struck midnight, Roy excused himself to hit the dance floor, leaving Jason and Y/N alone for a moment. The air between them crackled with unspoken emotions, and Jason felt an unexplainable pull toward Y/N.

"I feel like we've met before," Jason admitted, breaking the silence.

Y/N's gaze softened, and they nodded. "We have," they confessed. "A long time ago."

Jason's mind raced, trying to recall where he could have possibly crossed paths with Y/N before. But before he could press for more details, Y/N touched his hand gently, the contact sending a jolt through him.

"Some memories are best left in the past," Y/N said cryptically, a glimmer of sadness in their eyes.

Respecting their boundaries, Jason didn't press further. Instead, he allowed himself to be drawn into the present moment, savoring the connection he felt with Y/N.

From that night on, Jason and Y/N's paths intertwined in unexpected ways. They became inseparable, understanding each other's demons and finding solace in one another's company. Their bond grew stronger with each passing night, and together, they discovered that sometimes, healing and redemption could be found in the most unlikely places—like a chance meeting in a crowded bar in Gotham City.

-----

Red Robin / Tim Drake

Tim Drake, also known as Red Robin, had always been a dedicated student, excelling in academics with a keen mind that was always hungry for knowledge. He attended Gotham Academy, where he sought refuge from his life as a vigilante and relished the chance to be just a normal teenager.

One ordinary school day, as Tim was engrossed in his studies during lunch break, he noticed a new student sitting alone at a nearby table. Y/N had just transferred to Gotham Academy, and they looked a little lost amid the bustling crowd.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Tim decided to approach Y/N. He walked over with a friendly smile, hoping to make them feel more at ease in their new environment.

"Hey, I'm Tim Drake," he introduced himself, extending a hand in greeting.

Y/N looked up, their eyes meeting Tim's, and a warm smile graced their lips. "Hi, I'm Y/N," they replied, shaking his hand.

From that moment, a friendship blossomed between Tim and Y/N. They spent their lunch breaks together, sharing stories about their interests, hobbies, and aspirations. Tim discovered that Y/N had a creative flair and a unique perspective on the world that intrigued him.

As the days turned into weeks, Tim found himself looking forward to seeing Y/N at school. Their presence brought a lightness to his otherwise serious life as a vigilante. With Y/N, he could temporarily forget the weight of his responsibilities and enjoy the simple joys of being a teenager.

In turn, Y/N appreciated Tim's intelligence, kindness, and unwavering support. Tim was always there for them, offering a listening ear and thoughtful advice. They felt understood and valued, something they hadn't experienced with many others.

In their time together, Tim and Y/N explored the city, taking advantage of Gotham's eclectic cultural scene. From museums to street art, they embraced the beauty and diversity the city had to offer, deepening their connection.

As they grew closer, Tim began to trust Y/N with the secret he had been carrying—the identity of Red Robin. He confided in them about his nighttime escapades as the masked vigilante, something he had never shared with anyone outside the Bat-family.

Y/N listened attentively, respecting Tim's trust, and they admired his bravery and dedication to making Gotham a safer place. They didn't judge him for his double life; instead, they became a pillar of support, someone Tim could lean on when the burden of being Red Robin became too heavy.

The more time they spent together, the more Tim realized that Y/N had become an integral part of his life. They had seen each other through both challenging and joyful moments, and their bond had grown deeper than either of them had expected.

Through Y/N, Tim discovered a sense of peace and acceptance he had never known before. They became the anchor that kept him grounded in the chaos of his dual life, reminding him that he was not alone in his struggles.

In Y/N's presence, Tim found solace and a rare sense of belonging. And in Y/N's eyes, he saw a reflection of his own strength and resilience. Together, they navigated the challenges of adolescence, school, and superheroics, knowing that they had each other's backs.

Their love story may have started at a school lunch table, but it would continue to grow and flourish, a testament to the power of finding someone who truly understands and complements you. And so, in the bustling halls of Gotham Academy, Tim Drake and Y/N found not just friendship but a love that would stand the test of time.

------

Robin / Damian Wayne

The moon hung high in the Gotham City sky, casting an eerie glow over the dark alleyway where Y/N found themselves trapped. They had been going about their usual business, unaware of the danger lurking in the shadows.

Unbeknownst to Y/N, a sinister figure known as the Black Serpent had set a trap, targeting innocent civilians to lure out Batman and his allies. As the villain's henchmen surrounded Y/N, their heart pounded with fear, realizing they had stumbled into something far more dangerous than they could handle alone.

Just as the situation seemed hopeless, a flash of movement and a gust of wind announced the arrival of a new player. Damian Wayne, the fierce and enigmatic Robin, descended from the rooftops with grace and determination.

Without hesitation, Damian engaged the thugs, taking them down one by one with calculated precision. His combat skills were unmatched, and he moved with the efficiency of a well-trained warrior. Y/N watched in awe, grateful for the unexpected rescue.

Once the last thug had been defeated, Damian turned his attention to Y/N, his eyes filled with a mix of concern and curiosity. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice surprisingly soft for someone known for his stern demeanor.

Y/N nodded, trying to steady their breath. "Thanks to you, I am," they replied, still in awe of the young hero standing before them.

As Damian stepped closer, Y/N took in his appearance—the striking green eyes, the determined set of his jaw, and the unmistakable symbol emblazoned on his chest. He was Robin, the formidable ally of Batman.

"Do you need any further assistance?" Damian inquired, his tone businesslike but tinged with genuine concern.

Y/N hesitated, considering the offer, but ultimately shook their head. "I should be fine now, thanks to you."

With a nod, Damian turned to leave, but something about Y/N's presence made him pause. He wasn't accustomed to interacting with civilians, but there was something about them that intrigued him, a spark of bravery and resilience that reminded him of his own journey to become Robin.

"If you ever find yourself in danger again," Damian said, his voice firm but sincere, "don't hesitate to call for help."

Y/N smiled, touched by the unexpected kindness of the young hero. "I'll keep that in mind, Robin," they replied.

As Damian vanished into the night, Y/N couldn't shake the encounter from their mind. They felt a strange connection to the aloof hero, and a part of them hoped they would meet again.

In the days that followed, Y/N found themselves keeping a closer eye on Gotham's news, searching for any sign of the mysterious Robin. They wondered if he would remember them or if their brief encounter was just a fleeting moment in his life as a crime-fighting vigilante.

Little did they know that their paths were destined to cross once more. As fate would have it, Y/N's life would become intertwined with Damian Wayne's in ways they could never have imagined, as they both learned that sometimes, the unlikeliest of encounters could lead to the most extraordinary connections.

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