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gaintsnowflake · 5 days ago

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❆ MONSTER

PAIRING : aged up!damian wayne x fem!reader

ONESHOT request : lost within your head, you shift into a monster when your stress peaks, and when you break, damian is there to soften the fall

A/N : me when i lie and i actually finish editing it become sleep isn't real in this house hold (please make sure you are getting proper amounts of sleep, you deserve it). and to the anon that requested this... thank you for gracing my brain because i had about 30 tabs open on monster designs and didn't use not one. love you <3

masterlist

“CAN YOU hurry up and neutralize her? I can only do so many different types of punches while running!”

Dick’s voice was no better than chalk scratching on a board to Damian. Yet he held his tongue when he heard another grunt come from his favorite annoyance behind him. His fingers moving aptly over the portable console in front of him. Keys tapped in rapid succession, each press a memorized ritual, cold and methodical.

Your monstrous state was no new thing, actually it was how you met. Transformed in one of your worst moments, chaos and carnage bursting from your body like steam from a fractured pipe. That night, Damian had fought you. Then saved you, insisted you not be shipped to Arkham with the others, never providing much reason to his drastic measures. Maybe it was the way you collapsed in his arms once you turned back, maybe it was the way you pleaded your sorries, maybe it was your tired, tear filled eyes that made a slight crack in his armor.

“Robin! Just press the button before your girlfriend fucking kills me!”

“That is not the worst possible ending."

“Robin!”

His hands hovered over a few more buttons before he finally decided to pull a lever. An electric shock wave hurling through the water Dick leads you to step in. Your screeches were something he could never find himself getting used to, every time the scream shifted into your actual voice he could feel the shiver in his spine. A sound that seemed to echo in his chest, sharp and wrong.

He could see bones snapping and groaning back into place. The monster retreating. What was left of you curled in the debris— shaking, small. He was at your side, instinct following through. Lowering himself so that he could hold you in your curled up state. Running his hands on your back as he tells you to count your breaths. Within moments your weeping cries are nothing more than small scoffs.

“These kids are gonna kill each other,” Damian could barely hear Dick’s mumbling words as he turned down another road leaving you two alone, abandoned in the rat infested streets of Gotham.

“I thought you said you could handle being alone today,” the grating in his voice wasn’t purposeful, but you were smart enough to tell how targeted it was.

“I could’ve… I just… one thing led to another. What was supposed to be a quick trip turned into me babysitting my friends like some shitty mother. And, fuck! I don’t know, cause when they tried planning something without warning me, I just— I snapped.”

Your words contained the truth, yet withheld the parts that caused the demon etched into your bones to make a guest appearance. The parts that you were the reason buildings had new indents. The parts where your brain damaged you so much that you accepted that you would cause foot prints in the streets.

You’ve never been terrible at handling your anxieties, you knew your breathing methods and comforting items, yet some days your mind became a cage, and the thing inside you rattled the bars so hard you thought the whole world might just come down with it.

“I’m sorry… I am,” your voice was still cracking as Damian picked you up.

“I don’t need sorrys, I need you to stop putting yourself in situations that make you like this. That makes you the threat,” His words like a hammer in your skull, only he was nice enough to round the sharp edges.

The walk to the manor was silent. You, afraid that you would hurt him with just a word, and Damian, terrified of being the cause of an outburst. The peace between the two of you is an elaborate dance, except the fate of a misstep being potential death rather than the song being reset. Yet somehow, blindfolded, you guided each other through a quiet choreography— each knowing only your own part, yet together assembling something whole, piece by delicate piece.

But when you were alone again— his steady hands and steady eyes no longer there to keep the beat— you lost the rhythm, your body became lost within itself again.

A blank expression written across your face as you sat with your head in your arms. Thoughts raced in loops too quick to catch..

Yet the quiet creak of him leaning on your doorframe brought back the melody. Your head snapped and you felt your breath shorten. But once your eyes found his, everything began to find its place again.

“Are you feeling better?” The featheriness of his tone was one you grew used to, something used only for you.

“Peachy,” your voice wavered, yet your smile still shined.

It’s not that you weren’t strong enough to handle it on your own. You were more than capable of finding your own path. But when holding yourself so high, for so long, your shoulders could only grow tired and brain fatigued. In a constant battle of insecurity, afraid to hurt those brave enough to reach their hand out to help you find inner peace.

He spoke your name in response. A warning in some sense, yet you heard the way he used it to ground you. Calling your name so delicately to make sure you knew he sees you. His tone a bridge, connecting the terrors of your mind and the safety of him. So you let those walls fall, allowing a clearer view into your twisted world.

“It doesn't make sense. I don’t make sense. How can anyone be this... broken? Every day, I’m terrified. I’m terrified of what happens when I lose control. When the smallest thing sets me off, when my heart races, or when I can’t stop my mind from spiraling.

“I... I don't want to hurt anyone. That’s the thing. I don’t want to hurt you. Or anyone else. But when the panic takes over, when the fear comes crashing in, I can feel it—this thing inside me, just waiting to burst out. It’s like a pressure building and building until… I don’t know what happens after that. And that's when I lose myself. That’s when I turn into it. That monster.

“Then I become so obsessed with keeping it in, it's this suffocating feeling. The anxiety, that feeling at any second I could hurt you— it never lets me breathe, never lets me rest.”

You don't know when the tears started. You're unsure when your fingers themselves pulling at your scalp. Yet for some reason you don't feel the break of your bones. You don't feel the cracks and the aches. Instead it's replaced by a hand resting on your back, and a soft breath on your ear.

“I just… I don't know how much longer I can keep running from it. I'm a ticking time bomb and I only make it worse.”

By the time your words are spoken they are muddled in sobbing you're fully engulfed in a hug.

“You’re not a monster,” he murmured. “You’re mine. And you are not going through this alone.” “But what if—”

“No.” His voice firm now. Steadying. “No what ifs. I am with you. Until the end.” Your breath hitched. His thumb wiped the tears from your cheek, his forehead laying against yours. “We’ll figure it out,” he said. “Together. Always.”

#damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x female reader #da #damian wayne x you #damian wayne x y/n #batboys x reader #batboys x you #robin x reader

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gaintsnowflake · 5 days ago

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I'm so glad you like my request :]

She/her is preferred but gn is fine too!

Also loved the sneak-peek❤️

Can't wait for the final fic to be out(no need to rush though!)

taking this as an excuse to push it back another day because going thru im unsure how these sentences follow one another

anyway lots of love as always !!! and keep yourself safe <3 make sure your drinking water and all that jazz

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gaintsnowflake · 6 days ago

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Hi, I was wondering if you could a angst to fluff fic with damian x reader, where reader turns into a scary monster that wreaks havoc when stressed.

I think reader would kind of always be on edge a little bit, since they're worried that they'll transform and hurt someone if they don't control their emotions, thus repeating the never-ending cycle of anxiety and worry.

Bit of an odd request, I know, but I think its interesting. Lol.

this was one of the most fun things ive written!! it'll be out in about 24 ish hours (8 - 10 pm est tomorrow) once I finish editing it and everything and will be linked right

HERE

just as im going thru and editing you want gn reader oui? using words like partner and they/them pronouns or do you want a more gender specific thing?? (just said another ask if wanna stay anon or dm me) (also thank you for gifting me this treat of a writing and have a lovely day lovie)

anyway here's a sneak peaksies (it might change a bit because I keep going back and forth on if I like the way the dialogue sounds [writing people talking is the scariest part about writing because a lot of the time I talk like an old Victorian child whose trying to learn 20th central lingo])

#❄️ requests

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gaintsnowflake · 6 days ago

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since when the batman part two listed as one of gunns works??

(praying and hoping this means that we get Pattinson as batman in the dcu [even tho gun just said no...])

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gaintsnowflake · 8 days ago

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❆ comfort

BLURB : your boyfriend comfort's you

A/N : wrote this to comfort myself thru a ptsd moment, written with the intent of dick or tim, not proof read

masterlist

Time moved slower when you started to remember. Every blink felt like forever. Every breath seemed burdening. Flashes of what life used to be— when your body seemed more ready for war than a hug— seemed more present than your life now.

And before you realized. Truly realized that you weren't there, your breathing had already stopped. not in a permanent way. in the way that you weren't sure you wanted to breathe anymore. It suddenly became so painful to even think.

So while you stayed surrounded by people you call family, you began to choke on your laughter. You began to drift away from the conversation, not purposely, but rather their joyful words were replaced by horrid mantras you heard a thousand times before.

But when minutes turned into hours of fighting to keep yourself standing, grounded, while your boyfriend danced through conversations with friends, you began to lose hope. The feeling of being swallowed whole seemed to surround your body.

So when you reached him, in the middle of a conversation, arm twisting around him until you could squeeze his hand, you weren't surprised to see his eyes finding yours. Concern lacing his face as his words seemed to fly with the wind. And when he didn't look back to see the face you both stitched together, the one of love and comfort, but rather the one he found you with, one so far lost in surviving, so far gone into fear, the same eyes it broke his heart to see and he swore he'd never cause the pain, he lost himself. He held you closer, counting your uneven breaths as he excuses himself from conversations and you, weaving into the bathroom.

The memories had consumed far too much of you to notice when he made you sit on the closed lid of the toilet. Or when he kneeled down, hands placed on your thighs, rubbing circles with his thumbs. Too consumed with your vile imagination to notice his voice calling for you. Not until he said your full name, when your head snaps to face him. bringing some consciousness forward.

“Are you okay?” His words held more than they were meant to bare.

“I'm sorry.” you didn't mean to say it, not like that, you don't even remember your mouth moving. You don't know why you're sorry, not necessarily, sure you could think of reasons, but you aren't truly sure what caused the pang in your chest for you to feel sorry. But you felt the need to repeat it. Maybe it wasn't even to him, maybe it was to yourself, maybe your past. “I’m sorry.”

You felt his hand snake to your cheek, forcing your eyes to keep with his. “No, baby, no sorry. What's wrong? How can I help you through this?”

You almost didn't notice how he slowed down his breathing, you knew he did it purposely, because he knew subconsciously you would match his breathing and it would slow you down, ground you a bit more. You almost didn't notice how his pinky laid below your jaw, right over your pulse, he was counting it. You almost didn't notice how he rolled up the sleeves to his hoodie, making sure you felt his skin on yours. He knew what you needed before you knew you needed it.

“home. I need home, please. I'm sorry, I just-”

“You don't have to explain yourself, you don't have to be sorry,” He began to hold you tighter as he could see your eyes dart around the room, attempting to bring yourself back to reality, rather than the fucked up world your brain tried to simulate. “You're here. You're with me. You are alive. You are safe. Nobody can hurt you right now, not mentally or physically. You are safe. Can you repeat that for me, pretty? Then we will go home, promise.”

“I'm safe. I’m here, I'm alive, and I'm safe. I'm not there anymore. I'm safe.”

“Good job, I'm proud of you, you know that? I'm really proud of you,” He was slow to begin moving. “Come on, let's get you home…”

#batboys x reader #batboys x you #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x you #nightwing x reader #tim drake x reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #red robin x reader #damian wayne x you #damian wayne x reader #fanfic #dc x reader

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gaintsnowflake · 9 days ago

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❆ MAZES

PAIRING : tim drake x gn!reader

ONESHOT : within a maze the truth will finally surface

WARNINGS : kidnapping, both human and animal death, canon violence, minipulation, and other content are discussed if not directly shown. A/N : no comfort, only hurt. angstangstangst. tim is an asshole (he was trying to protect you)

masterlist

“TIM?” You screamed his name again. And again. Your voice tearing at your throat, fraying like old cloth in the wind. It wasn’t until the fifth cry that he answered. Faint and far, swallowed by the living maze that shifted in front of you like something breathing.

“Where are you?” His voice was distant. Hazy. The hedges twisted in response, curling away from his sound like they, too, didn’t want you to find him.

“I— I don’t know…” Voice cracking, quieting as your eyes searched, looking, yearning for any distinctive features around you.

He muttered something under his breath— a name maybe, or a curse— then louder, “Stay there. I’ll find you.”

And then, you were alone. Surrounded by silence. Only interrupted by the rustle of hedges rearranging themselves with a whispering hiss. Like serpents slithering through leaves. You didn’t touch them. You wouldn’t. They felt wrong. Afraid to feel its sharp edges, scared it might pull you in and never let you go.

Yet you walked along them, tracing its movements. Slowly. Carefully.

Then a turn. A dead end. And a cat. Small. Soft. Emerging from the green like it had always been part of it. A slip of paper clutched in its teeth.

You crouched down, hesitating. The cat was warm. Real. Its purr rumbled the moment your fingers brushed its fur. A comfort you hadn’t realized you missed.

Then you heard it. Long before you saw it. The arrow came first. The blood followed.

You could only allow yourself to move backwards. Hand still gripping around the paper. Eyes wide as you were forced to watch. Forced to watch its last breath.

The dead thing at your feet a reminder. A warning.

You haven’t escaped. You do not know who your kidnappers are. Where you have been taken. Or what they could possibly want. But you knew Tim was here, with you.

They wanted you to know that. They wanted you aware that you were taken together, as if they wanted you to know it couldn’t be done without the other. That it wasn’t just one of you they wanted. It wasn’t an issue with Red Robin or Batman. No. It was something deeper. Something more personal. That’s why they took you when you were in your apartment. It’s why they waited until neither of you deemed the superhero costumes. They waited until you were truly yourselves.

And now, they have handed you a message. Two of them, one written in the paper. One that lays within the dead cat, a reminder that they are in control here. A reminder that you are at their will.

A reminder that time is ticking… and death? Death will soon find you.

The hedge in front of you moving tore you from your head.

The shake in your hand slowed you while unraveling the paper. Its edges frayed. Blood marked the bottom corner, a fingerprint in red. The handwriting old. Worn away over the years. Tears stained and smudged writing.

“Two hearts entwined, but bound by lies,

The door won't open while silence hides.”

You whispered it aloud. Once. Twice. The words clung to the air, heavy and strange, like a riddle meant for someone else but cruelly gifted to you.

The hedge in front of you stirred again— not gently this time. It groaned as it twisted, parting like a mouth preparing to speak. And suddenly, the path ahead didn’t feel like salvation.

It felt like an invitation.

Waiting beyond was no longer twisting greens, but rather, a door. An old, wooden, chipped door, warped with age. Faint lights pulsed from beneath it, like something inside was breathing in the dark.

It called your name. And you listened. You stepped forward.

The cat’s blood still drying on your fingers. The paper clenched in your palm like a lifeline. Every part of your body screamed to turn back. But the silence was louder now. It no longer gave you a choice.

The door creaked open with barely a touch.

It wasn’t what you expected. No chains, no dungeons.

A room. Familiar. Terrifying in its familiarity.

Your apartment. But not your apartment. Not now. It was wrong. Too still. Too perfect. A moment stolen from the past, preserved like a butterfly pinned under glass.

You stepped inside. The photos on the wall… they were real. One of you and Tim on the couch, hair messy, pizza box balanced between your knees. Another of him asleep on your shoulder, the city lights through the window casting shadows across his face. The sweater draped over the chair? Yours. The one you thought you lost last fall. The center of the room held only one thing: a table. On it, a small recorder. Old, dusty. But the red light blinked, waiting.

You pressed play.

“If you're hearing this…” Tim’s voice, but younger. Unsure. Tired in a way that didn't come from lack of sleep. “…then they found it. They found us.” A pause. Breathing. “I told myself it wasn’t love. That it couldn’t be. But maybe that’s why it hurts like this. Because I knew it was.”

Static crackled, swallowing the rest. But you knew what came next. Not on the tape… but in life, after it.

The start of your relationship. You memorized his words, so long ago. You found it before it made sense, still now you don’t understand who would find you. Only knowing that he loves you.

The air felt heavy, thick. They had dug it up, paraded it in front of you, and locked you inside it. Not to haunt you, but to remind you. That the truth always found its way through. That no matter how far you ran from it… it never stopped chasing.

The door slammed shut behind you.

The room didn’t look threatening, but that only made it worse. It was comforting. Designed to disarm you. Wrapped in memories like a silk noose. You turned slowly, eyes scanning everything again. But this time, you weren’t looking at what belonged to you. You were looking for what didn’t.

And that’s when you saw it. The bookshelf. Top row. A journal. Not yours. Not Tim’s style either, too ornate, too old. Leather bound, no title. The kind of thing meant to be hidden. Meant to be found only by someone who knew to look for it.

You reached for it, your fingers grazing the edge. Dust clung to it like it had been sitting untouched for years. But there was no dust anywhere else in the room.

This had been planted. You opened it. The handwriting inside was sharp. Familiar. Not Tim’s. Not yours. But the words… the words were yours.

Transcripts. Pages of old conversations. Ones you barely remembered having. Scrawled-out entries. Notes. Observations. Surveillance.

Each page detailed things no one should’ve known. Where you went. When you slept. Who you talked to. Even the moment you found the recording— that was here too.

You flipped further, faster now. Then… one page stopped you.

“Subject D.” Redacted from Watchlist 04-B by Temporary Agent Red Robin, citing “emotional compromise.” Override approved under Silent Protocol.

Drake has since failed to disclose Subject D’s reclassification. Physical closeness and emotional codependency continue to deepen. Mission risk elevated. Potential liability confirmed.

A symbol stamped at the bottom. Not the Bat. Not the League. Something older. Governmental. Deep black-ops.

You swallowed hard, the truth pressing down like ice in your veins. You weren’t just kidnapped. You were being watched. Studied. And Tim… Tim had been involved long before you knew. Not because he wanted to betray you— but because he already had.

He pulled you off the radar. He chose to keep you hidden. Because you weren’t meant to exist. You were a subject. A variable.

He hadn’t just fallen in love. He had interfered.

And now the people who wanted you both… they weren’t criminals. They were the ones cleaning up the mess. The tape wasn’t the secret.

You were.

Tim’s hands were bloodied. Not his. Not yours. But someone else's, someone who had been in his way.

He knelt over the broken body of a guard in full tactical gear, chest rising and falling in fast, shallow bursts. The hedge maze behind him had closed again, trapping the man inside, unconscious. Or maybe worse. It didn’t matter.

Not compared to the sound he’d heard minutes earlier; your voice, faint and far, like it was already slipping away from him again.

He pressed the comm on his wrist. Static. Still no signal. They were jamming him, or worse, isolating you.

He swore under his breath, fingers twitching like they wanted to find something to punch. But there was no time to get angry. Because they knew. They had to know.

The file. The override. The erased logs. The favors he pulled to keep your name off every record that mattered. All the lies. All the pieces he thought he could control.

It was unraveling. And now they were playing a different game. This wasn’t about leverage. Or bait. They weren’t using you to get to him. They were using him to destroy you.

Just like they planned all those years ago. Before the complications. Before he marked the mission as abandoned. Before he lied. Saying you fled. Claiming you couldn’t be found. While he laid in your bed every night. Pretending the world outside didn’t exist. Pretending the lie was love. And love… wasn’t a lie.

You stared at the page. At the stamp. That word: Compromise. It echoed in your ribs. Sharp. Unrelenting. A breath shuddered out of you, and it wasn’t until then you realized you were shaking.

Not because of the journal. Not because of what you read. Because deep down… some part of you had already known.

A soft click behind you made everything feel more real. As the apartment— the illusion, the echo of it— shifted. Changing as if you were watching your life all over again. It looked just as it did when you left.

And then: footsteps. Familiar. Weight carried in a way you knew in your bones. You didn’t turn. Not right away. Because turning meant facing it. Facing him.

“...You read it.” His voice was hoarse. Almost small. You could hear the blood in it, thick at the back of his throat, the cost of whatever fight he’d just survived to get here. You swallowed. Tight. Painful.

“Not all of it.” Pause. “But enough.”

You turned. And there he was.

Not Red Robin. Not the mask. Not the mission. Just Tim.

Hair matted to his forehead, sweat and dirt streaking his skin. Eyes wide, haunted. Like the weight of every word you just read had carved itself across his back years ago, and only now had you seen the scars. He took one step, stopping himself.

“I didn’t want you to find out like this.”

“No,” you said. “You didn’t want me to find out at all.”

That landed. His shoulders folded in slightly, like they couldn’t hold the rest of him up anymore.

“I tried to protect you,” he said.

You threw the journal down between you. It landed with a thud too loud for the soft carpet it hit.

“You lied to me.” Your voice cracked. “You made me believe it was a choice. That all of this— us— was real.”

“It was— is real.”

“Then why is my name in a file, Tim? Why is my life marked Subject D?! Why did you erase me?”

He moved, then. Fast. Desperate.

“Because they were going to kill you.”

That stopped you.

“I don’t mean scare, I don’t mean threaten, I mean erase. Quiet. No headlines. No traces. Just gone. They said you were a danger to the world. They hired me to find your vulnerability." His voice broke. “But I couldn’t. I couldn’t do it.”

He took a breath that didn’t fill his lungs.

“So I made you disappear. On paper. On every database I had access to. You weren’t in the reports because I deleted you. I buried your name under favors and lies and firewalls. You were gone.” He looked at you. “But you were safe.”

You didn’t know what to say. Because part of you understood. And part of you still wanted to scream. Because he made that choice alone.

“I didn’t fall in love with an altruist,” you said, quieter now. “I fell in love with someone who looked me in the eye and promised I could trust him.”

“I broke that,” he said. No defense. No excuses. Just the truth. “I know.”

You both stood there, in the stillness between everything said and everything unsaid.

And then, a hum. A low, mechanical hum. The air shimmered.

A rift opened in the far wall, black and blinking with glitching static. A doorway. The maze was reacting. To the truth. To you.

Above it, carved in light: “Only what is faced can be freed.”

You stared at the door. Then back at him.

“Tell me one more thing,” you said. His lips parted. But you beat him to it. “Would you do it again?”

The silence before his answer was unbearable.

“No,” he said. “Not if it meant losing you like this.”

You looked down at your hands. At the blood still dried along your knuckles from the cat. The tape still clenched in your pocket. The pages of the journal littered behind you like wreckage.You turned to the door. Tim stepped beside you. You didn’t take his hand. But you didn’t stop him from walking with you either. You stepped through— together.

Expecting to taste freedom. Expecting to be bathed in sunlight. Expecting, maybe, the illusion to crack fully and reveal something warm beneath it all. Instead, you walked into a silence sharper than gunfire.

A long corridor. Cold, sterile. Lined with figures in black, motionless as statues. Their armor bore no logos you recognized. Only one symbol— sharp, angular, etched in gray. The same one that stained the bottom of the journal page.

You stopped. Tim did too.

And there, at the end of the line— a man. Unarmed. Barehanded. His stance said authority. His eyes said calculation. He didn’t move closer. Didn’t need to. But when he spoke, his voice cut through everything.

“Give her up, Tim.”

Four words. Simple. Final. Inevitable.

Your heart skipped. Not out of surprise, but recognition. It wasn’t a demand. It was a protocol. Tim didn’t look at you. His jaw clenched.

“I burned my clearance for this,” he said, low, measured. “I shredded files. I deleted her from your system. She is not a hazard. Not anymore.”

The man’s face didn’t change.

“That wasn’t your call.”

Silence stretched like wire pulled tight.

“You were compromised the moment you fell for her.”

Tim stepped forward. “No. I was compromised the moment I realized you were willing to erase people just to keep control.”

A flicker of emotion crossed the man’s face. Not guilt. Not regret. Disappointment.

“Don’t make this worse than it already is, Red Robin.”

Tim reached for his belt— slowly, deliberately— showing his hands. No weapons drawn. But his body tensed like a wire ready to snap.

“She’s not going anywhere with you.”

The soldiers flinched. A subtle movement, but trained. Programmed. Prepped for escalation. You took a breath and stepped between them.

“I’m not a thing,” you said. “Not a code. Not a case file. Not a threat to neutralize.”

No one answered. No one needed to. The man’s silence was enough. He looked past you. To Tim. “Last chance.”

Tim’s voice didn’t waver.

“I already chose her.”

And then the lights went out. All at once. No flicker. No warning.

Just a plunge into black— thick and electric— and then the sound of boots scuffling, weapons shifting, orders shouted into void. And Tim’s hand finally found yours.

But before you could squeeze back, you felt it. Right in your chest. Knocking you so far back you weren’t sure you were on Earth anymore. You thought getting shot in the chest would be quick. But you felt as your back hit the floor, pressure running down your spine. You felt as your hands lost Tim’s grip. You felt as blood escaped your body, before it crept up your throat. You tasted the metal in your mouth. Heard the firing of another shot. A thump next to your ear.

You barely turned, vision blurred. But you could make out that face any day.

Tim laid next to you now, like he did every night. But this time, when you felt your breaths combine, there wasn’t any after.

#tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #batboys x reader #batboys x you #tim drake x you #red robin x you

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gaintsnowflake · 10 days ago

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gaintsnowflake · 10 days ago

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hurt no comfort? kidnappings? tim drake's an asshole? possible death? coming tomorrow (or monday depending on how much i hate it while editing)?

#tim drake x reader

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gaintsnowflake · 15 days ago

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❆ SKETCHES

PAIRING : aged up!damian wayne x gn!reader

ONESHOT : you finally get a glance into the sketchbook he carries around

A/N : artist... artist...

masterlist

ON QUIET DAYS between the two of you, when neither of you had a task at hand and rather decided to relax in a shared space, you hear the scribbling of his pencil in a sketchbook. You noticed how he often had it around you, but he never really let you peak at his artistic abilities.

Yet, while you wandered into his room at the manor during one of your visits, you were quick to notice it placed on his desk. Damian, however, was nowhere to be found.

It felt like intruding— probably because it was— but it was left so perfect and open on a random page in the back. It wouldn't be a crime if you just so happened to peak over to see what it contained.

Yet when you did, you were not expecting to see drawings of you scattered across the page. Every miniscule detail about you, perfect. A bunch of rough sketches of your face, at different angles, and different expressions that you often found yourself making when conversing with your boyfriend.

You couldn't help but feel encapsulated. As if he was harboring every detail of you to not forget your beauty. As if he was keeping your likeness safe and well. As if he was trying to understand every detail of you, memorizing it, incase-

“My beloved?” Your body calmed at his words, before realizing that you were snooping in his things.

Your shoulders that tended to drop its tension around him perked up, eyes going wide as you spun to face him. He stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame.

“Hm? Hi? Yes?” You responded with a quick hum, shuffling towards him.

“Snooping are we?” He hummed, pressing forward, his hands laying upon your arms, you melted at the touch, just as you always did.

“Not purposely, love, you just left it open and I couldn’t help myself…”

Damian’s gaze drifted past you, toward the sketchbook still open on the desk. His face remained unreadable, but you could feel his fingers tighten just slightly on your arms— not in anger, but in quiet vulnerability.

“I thought I kept it hidden better than that,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. His voice held none of the sharpness he so often used with others. This was softer, almost… shy.

“You did,” you whispered. “I just got lucky.”

Or maybe it was fate. Maybe you were meant to see it. To understand that he saw you not just with his eyes, but with something deeper, more reverent. Each line in those sketches was deliberate. Loving. You weren’t just someone he drew. You were someone he studied like art worth understanding.

Damian stepped past you, picking up the sketchbook. His thumb brushed over the edge of the page, where your laughing face had been drawn in loose, flowing lines.

“I don’t usually share these,” he said. His voice was low, like a secret. “They’re… for me.”

You nodded, suddenly aware of the trust you’d stepped into, a hidden space of him that he never let anyone touch. As if he was allowing you to step into a sacred place.

“I know,” you said. “But… Damian, they’re beautiful. The way you see me… it’s…”

You trailed off, unsure how to put it into words. But Damian looked at you then, really looked. His expression softened in a way that made your breath catch.

“You’re beautiful,” he said simply, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

And then he handed you the sketchbook.

“I’ve memorized them anyway,” he added, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “You can keep it… if you want.”

You took it in your hands, heart fluttering. That book held parts of him no one else got to see. And now he was offering them to you. A gift. Like a vow. A vow to give you his everything. Although you knew he already did.

You smiled, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll keep it somewhere safe.”

“Good,” Damian said, pulling you into his arms. “Because that’s where you BELONG.”

#damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x you #damian wayne x y/n #batboys x reader #batboys x you #damian wayne x female reader

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gaintsnowflake · 15 days ago

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woah, yeah i defiently took a 11 day nap... yup... mhm... yup... (posting a fic in a few hours don't worry)

unfortunately back in the states to see none of them actually went thru.... more soon ig.... (i didnt think two weeks of traveling would make me this jet lagged I need a nap holy shit)

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gaintsnowflake · 26 days ago

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unfortunately back in the states to see none of them actually went thru.... more soon ig.... (i didnt think two weeks of traveling would make me this jet lagged I need a nap holy shit)

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gaintsnowflake · 1 month ago

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❆ BOOKSTORE

PAIRING : jason todd x gn!reader

ONESHOT : a comforting habit of returning to a bookstore

AN : i'll fix the layout when im back home in a few days... but enjoy the fluff

masterlist

THE SOUND of police sirens echoed in the streets. It was familiar in a sorrowful way. Reminding you of how stuck you were in the depths of Gotham City. How it rarely spits anyone back out.

But those thoughts dulled when you heard it, the echo of heavy boots against old wood, their rhythm as known to you as the whistle of the kettle when it boiled over.

He stood in the back again, crouched in the romance section like he hadn’t just walked out of a warzone. You’d seen him like this so many times now, all armor and menace, yet tender with each paperback spine like he might bruise it if he wasn’t careful.

“Hey, Hood?” you called out, casual like you hadn’t been waiting for that sound all night. He grunted, the sound short, but not unkind. Just him acknowledging your existence— and in his world, that meant something. “I’ve got boxes in the back. You wanna help or just loiter like usual?”

He stood slowly, plucking a slim, well-worn book off the shelf. Something with a corny title and a couple holding hands in the rain on the cover. Then, without a word, he stalked over, dropped it at the counter.

“Lead the way.”

You did. And like always, he followed.

The two of you moved through the silence together, shuffling books into place, falling into the rhythm of something that wasn’t quite friendship, but felt sacred all the same. He sat on the counter when the work was done, pretending to read, but his eyes traced your movements like they were learning something sacred. And then, like always, he left. No goodbye. Just a pat to your shoulder, the touch gentle and too fleeting.

But he came back. Every night. Without fail.

Same sirens. Same boots. Same moment carved out of time where the world outside the bookstore didn’t exist. You started leaving the back window cracked open just enough for him to slip in without setting off the old alarm. It was quiet, unspoken— but it was yours.

Then one night, he didn’t come.

The sirens still wailed. The rain still fell. But the steps never came. You stayed late that night, watching the door like it might open by sheer force of will. He’d joked once that not even death could stop him. You believed him. Until now.

The sun broke through the blinds like an apology. You finally left, locking the door behind you, the click louder than it had any right to be.

The next night, still nothing.

Your chest ached with something stupid. Something fragile. Something you weren’t ready to name. How did someone you didn’t know the name of leave such a hollow space in your night?

And still, you stayed.

You told yourself you wouldn’t. But an hour past closing, you were still there, fingers trembling slightly as you turned the pages of a book you couldn’t read.

And then— the boots.

Faint, but growing louder. Familiar. Grounding.

You rose to your feet just as he stepped into the halo of light spilling from your desk lamp. His armor was cracked. Scraped raw. Blood — dried and dark — crusted the edge of his chest plate. You didn’t think. You just moved.

You collided into him, arms wrapping tight around his frame, anchoring him. Anchoring yourself. He stiffened, just for a moment… then melted. His arms didn’t wrap around you, not right away. But his head dipped, resting on your shoulder.

“I thought you died,” you whispered. There was no softness in your voice. Only fire.

He didn’t answer. So you pulled back, yanked him into the light fully, and stared up at the emotionless face of his helmet.

“I’m sorry,” he began, voice lower than usual, quieter. “I just—”

“Where were you?” Your words struck like bullets. “Why didn’t you come?”

“I didn’t want you to see me like that…” he murmured.

“I don’t care how I see you. I care that you’re alive,” you snapped. “You hear me? That’s all that matters.”

A long silence. Then, finally:

“Yes, ma’am.”

You hugged him again. Tighter this time. And this time, his arms wrapped around you too.

You pulled back after a minute, enough to look up into his visor. He stood still, like he didn’t want the moment to end. Your hands still gripping the edge of his jacket like you weren’t entirely sure he was real.

“I left the window unlocked,” you said, quieter this time. “Just in case.”

His voice, behind the helmet, was rougher now. Worn. “I saw.”

Your heart twisted. You stared at him. The helmet gave nothing away, but you didn’t need it to. You could feel it. The hesitation. The shame. The fear that came from someone who’s been left before and expects it every time.

He was silent again.

Then slowly he lifted his hand and reached for the edge of the helmet. Your breath caught. But he stopped. Fingers hovered, curled… and dropped. Not tonight.

Instead, he stepped past you, the space between you thick with everything unsaid. He moved to the back corner, where the old reading chair sat. The one he always ignored. He dropped into it like his bones ached.

“You… staying?” You blinked.

“Just for a bit.” Jason leaned his head back against the wall.

“You want a book?” He took a long pause, as if he was searching for the right words. “Read to me?”

That one surprised you. You didn’t answer at first, just walked behind the counter, plucked a dog-eared classic from the shelf, and returned, settling down on the floor, leaning against the chair he sat on. Until you felt his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you onto his lap. You didn’t fight it. Didn’t move too fast or too far.

You just opened the first page. The words felt heavier now, like they meant more with him there. Jason didn’t move. He didn’t speak. But you could feel him listening.

And outside, Gotham screamed and wailed and burned like it always did— but in that little corner of the city, in the soft rustle of pages and the breath between words, the night held its breath. WAITING.

#batboys x reader #batboys x you #jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #red hood x reader

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