#rogue the bat x reader

[stellahaze135]

Ok so hear me out, the reason my blanket OC NightShade or Shade (the one that has Umbrakinesis.) has that monicker is because of Ivy. Ivy n Shade have always been cool, almost like a sibling bond, and Ivy’s always called her different flower names. One night, one really stuck after Shade helped Ivy raid/sabotage a chemical processing plant, where Shade for one of the first times uses her powers in an effective combative way. Ivy makes the offhand comment of ‘Thatta girl! Beware The Deadly Nightshade!’ And it kinda stuck. Well years go by, Shade gets real damn good at tech things and espionage (you can tell she shadowed Selina a lot on her heists being an honorary Gotham City Siren.) but eventually an event happened where it kinda forced her to look for new surroundings.

The earthquake that practically leveled the city, forcing it to become a No-Man’s Land. (talking the comic arc not the season of Harley Quinn just to clarify.) So she was able to find work in, guess where, but Raccon City. She finds work, ironically, at the R.P.D in their tech dept. specifically under the S.T.A.R.S division. Where she meets and becomes friends with most of the team including Jill, Chris, and Rebecca (I actually have a headcanon that Rebecca is actually one of the first people in RC to find out about Shade’s powers but because Rebecca is a literal angel, she promises to never tell!) and of course Captain Wesker. Now, she always knew Umbrella and Raccoon were dirty, like more corrupted than Gotham, and THAT was definitely saying something. But she had no idea Wesker was working for Umbrella all along. Until she happened to unwillingly listen in on a phone call between Wesker and Birkin. She always had complicated feelings about the Captain. He was drop dead gorgeous but he was also a bit scary to tell the truth. And she was used to people like Scarecrow and Joker. But to learn that he was working with Umbrella well that put a bit of ice in her veins for sure. She knew that because of her status as metahuman/mutant that could put her in all sorts of danger that she didn’t want any part of. She spent enough time in Arkham to be incredibly weary of scientists. She never wanted to be another experiment ever again. But her feelings, destiny, and he had other plans.

Wesker took an interest in her anyway, despite not knowing what she was. He considered her quite intelligent resourceful and he had to admit that he found her incredibly attractive. If she was afraid of him she knew how to put up a good front. She’d give his sarcasm and snark right back to him, and definitely didn’t take any shit from anyone else. The teams would joke that you could definitely tell she was a Gotham girl. And despite everything, Shade and the Captain still managed to hook up. (Shade like me has a really hard time saying no to that little voice in our heads that tells us to not do the fucking thing that we really shouldn’t do.) Anyways skip to the mansion incident, and both Shade and Albert are forced to show their hands. And Wesker’s just plain impressed ok? Not only did she manage to hide this beautiful development (seriously he thought she was breathtaking the first time she used her powers. Would he ever admit that out loud to anyone else? Probably not.) but she managed to hide them while they were fucking? He definitely made a mental note to keep tabs on her in the future eventually trying to win her over to his side as an asset, and he silently hoped future Goddess to his God. Which he does. Well he wins her over to his side anyway. She hates to admit it but Wesker’s become the Joker to her Harley. He’s got her wrapped around his little finger, but she hates to do anything against Chris and the others. He’d call her weak but she’d counter that she still has a moral compass. A definitely damaged one, but it still works. Skip through 5 and his death. She comes to terms with their relationship however incredibly messy it was, and decides she needs to move on…. Then Chris gets wind of happenings in Eastern Europe. And well let’s just say a new distraction in the form of a burly crass sexy metal man that chain smoked the finest of cigars with enormous mommy issues. But oh is Karl actually so sweet to her. He puts up a good front she wasn’t gunna lie, but once they got to know one another work together to take down Miranda… Well she found Albert Wesker to be a distant memory. For now.

I wanna set up a love triangle and maybe eventual poly relationship with the three of them. Like after Village, Shade n Karl get sent to Arkham, but this time with Karl she’s willing to go cause fuck they’ve been through some shit and need to talk it out. Being years later, the city and asylum have been rebuilt.

Things seem to settle down, Shade’s content, and Karl’s been really receptive to therapy. That is until another curve ball was dealt. Wesker somehow survived the volcano, pulled out by his own people after the dust had settled, but as they were busy keeping Albert stable, the BSAA breaks in. They apprehend Wesker and where is it decided that he be sent to? Arkham Asylum of course. If they had the capability to contain the likes of Poison Ivy and Killer Croc then they had the facilities to keep him contained.

I‘d love to see Karl n Albert bickering and the sexual tension is palpable, and I don’t know who moved in first but in a split second the two are passionately making out. Wesker mostly doms both Karl and Shade, Karl’s a classic switch, and Shade for all her bark is a bit subby.

[witherby]

Witherby's DC Masterlist

Here's where you can keep track of everything I've made for the DC fandom!

Visual key:

Headcanons || Drabble || Long Post || Closed Series (no continuations)

One-Off Posts

--

The Batfamily members in Squid Game

The Batfamily enjoys a Snow Day

Lonely in a Crowded Room - Neglected!Batsis!Reader

Close Call - Bruce Wayne x Batman

Mother Hen, A/B/O Edition - Hal takes care of the batfamily

Here's a Batlantern Selkie AU

Blood and Teeth - you don't make it home before sunset.

Here's some Brucie Wayne admitting a Sexy Secret on a late-night talk show

What if Dick fell in love with one of his rogues?

Hal gets called a homewrecker by the Gotham Gazette.

Batlantern Valentine's headcanons

Catwoman x Fem!Sidekick!Reader - it's exactly that.

The Realization - Selina is in love with her sidekick.

Chubby!Reader - how do the bats feel about it?

Series

--

Mer!Reader x Human!Damian

Damian, one of the newest employees at Gotham Aquarium, forms a fast bond with its only mer inhabitant.

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, and 9

Gotham Aquarium's Twitter: you respond to the people on social media

Family Photo - fan art of Damian, his Mer, and their child

Kryptonian Soulmate AU

What if Clark Kent had a human Soulmate?

What if that soulmate hated Superman?

What if you were both from Smallville?

The Littlest Wayne - Adopted!Reader au

Or, the one where Bruce brings home a baby, and your adorable little face wins the heart of your new, big brothers.

The Littlest Wayne - Bruce brings you home.

There's more where that came from! LW's Masterlist is Here!

Punchline: Daughter of the Joker

Bruce and Damian find you during what was supposed to be a routine patrol, and now the family has to take on the monumental task of breaking your programming from your father.

Punchline - The Batfamily finds out about the Joker's Daughter.

There's more where that came from! Punchline's Masterlist is Here!

Flight of Fancy: Damian Wayne x Winged!Reader

Damian rescues a metahuman. The safest place to keep you in Gotham is the Batcave.

Part 1, 2, 3, 4,

What does Angel look like?

Another depiction of Angel!

[[ If a fic is missing please remind me to update the list! Please do not repost my stories anywhere without my permission! ]]

[cyberstrm]

-> catch me if i fall

levi ackerman x gn!reader

cws: injury details, injured reader

a/n rewatching aot,,,, soft levi brainrot

"what the hell are you doing."

levi's harsh voice cut through the silent kitchen. you could tell he wasn't asking, per se, more like demanding to know why you were up.

two weeks ago, the scouts were on a recon mission outside the walls. it was supposed to be standard, but things went rogue quickly. your ODM gear snapped and you fell tens of meters through the trees. you hit the ground, hard, and shattered your knee. you don't remember a lot of it, just a lot of your own screaming and your captain whisking you onto his horse.

a day or so later, you woke up, knee in layers of bandages. you'd been ordered to stay in bed by your captain (and partner, awkwardly enough) levi ackerman. you'd never seen him so rattled, hands shaking, voice trembling.

"you fell, you fell so far and i couldn't catch you in time."

honestly, staying in bed was getting very boring, so you chanced a trip to the kitchen in the middle of the night when you assumed levi was asleep.

evidently, he wasn't.

"i...um, well, i wanted-"

"you're supposed to be in bed, your leg isn't healed yet."

you scowled. "yeah, i know, but-"

"look at you, you can barely hold yourself up." his tone was harsh, even though it was clear he was trying to be caring. he approached you slowly, setting a hand at your lower back. you flinched away, annoyed.

"i know. i'm bored, and being cooped up in my room is driving me mad." you turned to face him, but moved too quickly. your knee twinged, and you legs buckled.

levi caught you swiftly, holding you tight. his gaze softened.

"listen, i know it's hard. but you're not going to heal if you move around too much."

you sniffled, feeling tears prick in your eyes.

"shhh, angel, i know. it's okay. come on, let's get you back into bed."

he helped you back to bed, holding your waist tightly as you limped beside him.

he set you down on the cool white sheets, and tucked you in neatly. he stroked the hair from your eyes gently.

"stay for a bit?" you asked, batting your eyelids.

"mhm."

he sat by your side, still stroking your hair softly.

"i'm sorry." he said out of the blue.

"for what?" you asked, puzzled.

"for not being able to catch you, when you fell."

you chuckled. "don't be silly, it wasn't your fault." you sat up, looking into his slate grey eyes. he didn't look convinced. you took his face in your hands. "it wasn't your fault."

"i'll catch you next time. i swear it."

"i mean, you caught me earlier, in the kitchen," you smiled weakly, trying to make him feel better.

you could've sworn you saw a smile flicker across his face. he leant forward and kissed you.

"get some sleep now, doll."

[stove-top96]

Wicked Game

Ch. 01

Y Batfam x GN Reader

Featuring: Platonic Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Stephane Brown, Tim Drake, Cassandra Cain, Damian Al-Ghul Wayne.

1.9k words

Prologue <- Ch. 01 -> Ch. 02

Class schedule

1st period - Art

2nd Period - Maths

12:00 - 1:00: Lunch

3rd period - Biology

4th period - English

( 5:00 -> Basketball game)

<Y/N>

Cool, I’ll see you tomorrow then.

Tim stared down at his phone, unable to look away. you were just so cute.

He replayed your conversation in his head—every glance, every word, the way you copied his notes—over and over again. The fact that you were his partner? It was perfect. It practically accelerated their plans 10x.

His grip on the phone tightened. Giddy smile creeping on his face. He wanted to keep texting with you, but knew he couldn’t. He needed to be careful.

”What is so important that it is keeping you from your responsibilities?”

Tim rolled his eyes.

Damian. Snarky as ever, standing by the bat computer with the same judgemental expression he always had. He’s been pressing for updates nonstop, and throwing snide remarks whenever possible.Tim wanted to tell the family about the ‘new development’ right away, but Damian’s constant questioning made him hold off.

It’d be easier just to tell everyone on patrol. Dick would be in the city tonight, anyway. He’ll tell the whole family once everyone’s together.

Sure it’s a little selfish, but he’s not keeping it a secret forever, only a few hours.

It takes all his strength to put his phone away and get prepared for patrol. Excitement coarsening through his veins.

Damian Just scoffed and turned away in disgust.

Patrol is expected to go by without a hitch. Most of Gotham’s rogues are locked up in Arkham. The streets will be relatively quiet. Couple of rookies tonight at best. It'll be a breeze tonight.

But Tim wouldn't be able to focus tonight, not fully. His mind would be too preoccupied.

“Red Robin, Nightwing. There’s a bank robbery 3 blocks north”

Oracles' words snapped Tim back to reality. He was thinking about you again.

“On it” Nightwing spoke into the coms. Leaping off the Roof with an effortless grace making his way over. Tim was quick to follow, pushing down all thoughts of you.

“5 individuals, all armed… Be careful” Oracles voice echoed through the coms.

“Nothing we’ve never handled”

watching from the rooftop opposite of Westwood Bank, it was obvious these men were amateurs.

One was fumbling with the alarm system, cursing under his breath. Another was banging on the register, trying to force it open. The other 3 were likely in the back fumbling through the more valuable vaults.

It was very sloppy and clearly unplanned. Easy.

“Whoever takes down the most wins.” Dick smirked. The only way they’d be able to get any type of entertainment out of this was to make a game of it.

“Sure” Tim didn’t really care to win or lose but he’d figure he might as well humour Dick. It’ll make it go by quicker.

Busting through the window of the building, glass shattering in a hundred pieces. The men were slow to react, before they could even raise their guns. Dick and Tim’s batarang sliced through the air, disarming them with a clank.

The noise sent the other three into a panic. Two of them raced in guns blazing. They were clearly rushed, aim painfully sloppy.

Shots fired throughout the building, ricocheting off the walls. Dick was quick to throw one of his escrima sticks, CRACK. He knocked the smaller one out.

The bigger one hesitated for half a second, more than enough time for Tim. One swing of his Boa-staff and he was out.

Tim took a deep breath. Standing tall over the man, pride swelling in his chest. He took the biggest guy in one swing. His mind flickered back to you. What would you think of that? Would you be impressed? Tell him good job?

“TIM LOOK OU—“

Dick’s warning barely registered. Before he could even turn around.

BANG.

A noxious sting rang through his side. The impact sent him crashing to the floor.

The force left him winded. He knew his suit was bullet proof, but the pain was unbearable, a sharp fiery burn in his ribs. It was excruciating.

Dick was fast, he moved in a blur. Tim could hardly focus on him. His vision was beginning to fade. White spots clouding his vision; the pain was just too much.

He needed to close his eyes, he knew he shouldn’t.

but he did anyway.

+++++

BEEP BEEP BEEP

The grating alarm is quick to piss you off. You smashed the snooze button, groaning. You just wanted 5 more minutes of precious Beauty sleep.

BEEP BEEP BEEP

Jesus— has it seriously already been five minutes?

With a groan you turn it off you and roll out of bed. You grab your phone to scroll through your socials as you make your way to the kitchen. You have a game today so you gotta actually eat breakfast for once— even if your options are limited.

Scanning the kitchen— seemed like cereal was your only option. You poured a bowl of ‘fruit rounds’. It tasted like cardboard but you had to eat. As you scrolled through TikTok your mind drifted back to yesterday.

Tim Drake

It was weird thinking about it, some random scholarship kid talking with the biggest nepo baby in Gotham. At least his family taught him some manners, he was nice enough to let you copy his notes. Which was more than you could say for most students. Yikes.

Finishing up with breakfast, you went about the rest of your morning routine. Packing up for the game you triple checked you didn’t forget anything. Coach would literally Kill you.

The ride to school was… odd.

Your stomach twisted and you broke into a cold sweat, it was like your first day of school all over again.

You stared out the window, trying to focus on the buzz and chatter in the subway anything to take your mind off this feeling

What would happen if you had a bad game?

The thought had been in your head since you found out about the game last week. But today it was relentless, it was all you could think of.

Bad games meant losing , Losing meant a bad season. Bad season meant.

No scholarship.

your breath hitched. This scholarship was your ticket out. Without it, you’d end up like her, like your mother. Swallowed by Gotham and everything she has to offer.

That wasn’t going to be your future.

Art and Maths go by in a flash. It’s always been hard for you to focus in class on game days.

Like always you make your way to Brandi’s locker, she’ll ease your mind.

“You look like a wreck” She raises an eyebrow, waiting for any sort of explanation “Game day nerves” you sigh feeling a wave of stress wash over you. You want nothing more than to collapse in bed. Pretend none of it’s happening.

She hums, “Ohhhh, forgot that was today” Brandi is the only one who truly gets it. Her GPA drops below 3.7? She's gone. you lose more than you win? you're gone.

She doesn’t press, instead talking about how her day was. It’s what you love about Brandi, she knows what to do.

You two go back and forth telling stupid jokes and gossip about other students.

Until you’re interrupted by a group of girls heading towards your lunch table. One girl breaks away from the group, she’s beautiful— blue eyes, shiny brown hair and flawless skin. The kind of pretty that can be bought. Expensive skin-care, hair products, the whole nine yards.

“Umm your y/n right?” She asks through giggles, the girls behind her are all whispering and laughing to each other. Something tightens in your chest. “Yeah… why?” You ask, voice quieter than you’d like.

“So like… are you like… friends with Tim now?” She hardly gets through her sentence, giggling and looking back at her friends.

“Uhh no?” You respond, with a little more confidence.

She stops laughing, her eyes narrowed “Oh!? So then why were you talking with him?” her voice is sharper.

What is with her? Is this middle school? “We’re assigned partners” you answer flatly.

“So you like weren’t passing notes with him?”

For a second you just blink at her. Why would you be passing notes with Tim Drake? You were just copying his notes.

”No”

“oh okay” She turns on her heels, heading back to her group. The giggles and side eye’s start up again.

You clench your first. This is why you wanted to avoid him— Dumb rumours, unwanted attention.

“What the hell was that about?” Brandi asks, “Why would I know?” you stab at your lunch, taking another bite of your food.

“Since when were you partners with Tim Drake?” She asked.

You froze.

If she didn’t know… How the hell did Tim get your number?

+++++

Tim woke up in his room. Mind still foggy and body aching, from whatever happened on patrol last night.

Fuck, he missed the chance to tell everyone about yesterday.

He groaned and reached for his phone—8:20. Still breakfast time, everyone but Jason should be downstairs.

It took all his strength to make his way downstairs. It was a bad idea to be moving so soon after an injury. But he had to tell them.

His body was screaming at him by the time he made it to the dining room.

“Quite the show Drake.” Damian sneered, not bothering to turn around and face him.“Who knew you were such an easy target?”

Tim rolled his eyes. No one at the table disagreed with Damian's comment. Deep down they all knew he was right.

“What happened out there?” Stephanie raised a brow. Dick and Duke looked up, expecting an actual, reasonable, explanation.

Tim paused, the pain stinging in his ribs.

“…I was thinking about y/n” he answered honestly.

A fork clanked on a plate.

“Enough to get shot?” Damian scoffed, shaking his head. “It’s not like you even have the guts to—“

“we’re assigned partners for a project… we were supposed to work on it today after school” Tim cut him off, hand clenching at his ribs.

Everyone at the table pauses. then everyone’s staring up at him.

Even Bruce.

”We sat beside each other yesterday, they copied my notes… I even texted them last night, before patrol” He tries to sound casual, but pride swells in his chest. He’s the first person in the family to talk with you.

The family see’s through him right away.

”you texted them?” Asks Dick

Tim nods, Damian scoffs.

“And you didn’t think it was necessary to tell us?” Bruce’s voice is calm, his expression neutral. But Tim knows him—he was analyzing everything.

“I was going to tell everyone on patrol” he exclaims, hand clutching his side as he limps to his seat. “it’d be easier to come up with a plan together”

His reasoning seemed sound, but the family knew better.

“You’re not fit to go to school today” Bruce stated coldly, turning back to his meal.

Tim paused “But-“

”you’ll invite them over tomorrow.” His voice is final, he sets his coffee cup down with a quiet clink “I’m sure they’d love to meet the family.”

+++++++++++

Chapter 1! Although the prologue feels more like Chapter 1 than a prologue. I stayed up way too late to finish this. If you want to be added to the taglist just ask me :).

Taglist: @jjsmeowthie @crazycaoticsimp

[wayneskluv]

Wonder Woman's daughter x Bat-fam - Chapter one

summary: Your mom—Wonder Woman—just dropped you off at Wayne Manor like a kid because she apparently couldn’t find a “suitable babysitter.” Never mind that you’re a fully grown adult and more than capable of taking care of yourself. Now you’re stuck in a mansion full of brooding vigilantes, chaotic adopted siblings, and a butler who’s already silently judging your life choices.

You survived battles, monsters, and Olympian family drama—but can you survive living with the Batfamily?

word count: around 1.6k before i made final touches on tumblr editor

pairing/s: platonic!alfred x reader, platonic!damian x reader (he's a child in this fic!) and then maybe romantically dick x reader or jason x reader perhaps even tim. probably not bruce x reader. if anyone has any preferences, do let me know!

warnings: basically none at the moment. haven't pre-read. no beta, we die like jason todd. damian being a bit of a demon brat. demigod!user.

a/n: all images edited by me! if there’s an artist i haven’t credited, please let me know! i usually get my images from pinterest, and the credit is.. not great. if i’ve written something twice or misspelled something please PLEASE don’t hesitate to tell me. i very much appreciate it. but please be kind! i promise the next parts will be longer, this is sort of an intro into it. even if they aren’t longer, i’ll write a few.

# ── chapter one's POLAROID design - DAMIAN’S:

WAYNE MANOR is.. a lot.

It’s not just the size—though the sheer magnitude of the place is ridiculous—it’s the atmosphere. There’s a certain weight to the air, something woven between the old wood and polished marble, between the paintings of long-dead Waynes and the ever-present shadows stretching down the halls. It’s a house of ghosts, of past lives and quiet grief, but also of something more. Something alive.

You follow Alfred through the halls, the weight of multiple sets of eyes trailing behind you.

“So,” Dick says, effortlessly slipping into step beside you, “how long are you crashing with us?”

“Not sure,” you admit. “Mom was vague. Something about a ‘diplomatic mission’ and ‘needing someone to keep an eye on me.’”

Jason makes a noise that’s somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “You’re a grown adult. You need a babysitter?”

“Right?!” You throw up a hand. “I told her that. But apparently, my ‘tendency to attract trouble’ means I need supervision.”

Tim, still lounging on the couch with his coffee, raises an eyebrow. “You’re in good company, then.”

“I fail to see why we should be responsible for you,” Damian mutters, arms still crossed. “You’re more than capable of defending yourself. Do you require assistance dressing yourself as well?”

You smirk. “No, but thanks for the concern.” How old was this kid?

Damian bristles. Jason outright laughs.

Bruce, who had been silent up until now, finally speaks. “You’re here. You’ll train, patrol, and follow house rules. No exceptions.”

Ah. There it is. The Batman speech.

You tilt your head. “Define ‘rules.’”

Jason grins.

Bruce ignores him. “No reckless fights, no engaging Gotham’s rogues without backup, and no breaking my city.”

You cross your arms. “Define ‘breaking.’”

Tim groans into his coffee.

Dick pats your shoulder. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”

You look around at your newly acquired dysfunctional family and resist the urge to sigh.

Mom really did just dump you here like a stray dog, huh?

—

You’re led to your new room—temporary room, you remind yourself—as Alfred sweeps open the door with his usual poised efficiency.

The space is huge. Bigger than necessary. A four-poster bed, heavy oak furniture, a massive window overlooking the eternal Gotham gloom. Everything is dark wood, old money, and class. The whole place smells faintly of leather-bound books and expensive cologne. It’s… nice. In a cold, excessively rich, mildly haunted sort of way.

Alfred clears his throat. “I took the liberty of preparing the room to your specifications. If anything is unsuitable, do let me know.”

Your specifications. Right. You’d told your mom you didn’t need anything, but she must have sent a list anyway, because there’s ambrosia nectar in a crystal decanter on the desk, a thick training mat rolled up in the corner, and a wardrobe that probably contains battle-appropriate outfits tailored to your measurements.

She really did just drop you off and send instructions like you’re a dog.

“Thanks, Alfred,” you say, running a hand over the desk. Solid mahogany. You could probably suplex a god onto it, and it would hold.

He nods approvingly. “Dinner is at seven. I trust you will have no issue finding the dining hall?”

You smirk. “I don’t know. This place is a maze. You sure I won’t end up lost and starving in the east wing?”

He doesn’t blink. “Then I shall inform Master Wayne that a search party may be required.”

Alfred departs, leaving you to take in the ridiculousness of your situation. You sit on the bed—comfortably firm, definitely high-thread-count sheets—and drop onto your back, staring at the ceiling.

Your mother owes you so much for this.

—

You spend the next couple of hours getting familiar with your prison.

It’s quiet for a while. Peaceful.

Then the knocking starts.

“Hey, Newbie.”

The door opens before you can answer. Dick. Of course it’s Dick.

He leans in, all easy grins and big brother energy. “Figured I’d check in. You settled?”

“As settled as I’ll ever be,” you say, sitting up.

Dick saunters in like he owns the place (which, okay, technically he used to). He glances around, nodding at the Amazonian touches. “Mom went all out, huh?”

“She thinks Gotham is held together with duct tape. She’s probably right.”

“Oh, definitely right.”

Before you can ask what he actually wants, another figure appears in the doorway.

Jason.

He crosses his arms, giving you a slow once-over. “So. You’re an Amazon.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be dead?”

Dick chokes on a laugh. Jason grins.

—

The next few hours are a crash course in Batfamily survival.

Tim appears just long enough to tell you that “if you touch my coffee, I will kill you” before vanishing into the night like a cryptid.

Damian tests your reflexes by casually throwing a knife at you in the hallway. You catch it without looking. He says nothing. Just nods and walks away.

Jason decides to test your strength. By handing you a gun. You crush it in your bare hand. “…Well, okay then.”

Dick drags you into the living room for an impromptu movie night. Apparently, it’s a tradition. Jason spends half the movie making snarky Amazon jokes. Damian complains about historical inaccuracies.

By the time dinner rolls around, you’re half-convinced you’ve walked into a madhouse.

Alfred serves a massive feast (courtesy of your inhuman dietary needs). You sit at the table, surrounded by Gotham’s weirdest vigilantes, eating like an Amazon in the middle of a completely normal family meal.

It’s bizarre. It’s horrifying.

It’s… weirdly nice.

Bruce, sitting at the head of the table, barely says anything. He’s watching you, but it’s not that usual piercing Batman stare—it’s more like a curiosity. Maybe he’s wondering what kind of trouble you’ll stir up. Maybe he just doesn’t know what to make of you. You’ve barely had a real conversation with him, just him dropping you here with all the grace of a father figuring out how to deal with his kids’ newest problem. But then again, Bruce Wayne isn’t exactly father of the year.

Dick’s usual charm is in full swing as he tries to make small talk. “So, you’re a demigod, huh? You’re gonna have to teach me some moves sometime. You know, to keep up with all the crazy stuff we have to do around here.” His smile is big, open—like he’s trying to make you feel at home, but you can tell there’s a nervous energy under it. He keeps glancing at you, like he’s trying to figure out how to approach someone who could probably snap him like a twig. You almost feel sorry for him. Almost.

Jason, sitting next to you, shovels food in with no care for finesse. “So, you’re Wonder Woman’s kid. That explains the whole glowing warrior princess thing you’ve got going on. What do you actually do with all that godly power? Sit on mountaintops and brood or do you, like, break people’s faces for a living?” His voice is laced with amusement, but there’s a sharpness in his eyes. He’s testing you.

“You’d be surprised,” you say coolly, setting your fork down. “I’ve had a bit of experience with face-breaking.”

Jason laughs. “Good, because Gotham needs a lot of that.”

Damian, who had been silently poking at his food, suddenly looks up from his plate. His eyes narrow with some strange mix of suspicion and mild interest. “You will be trained, I assume?” he asks, not bothering to hide the condescension in his voice. “Or do you believe that your divine abilities will suffice?”

You almost choke on your drink. “Oh, I’m definitely trained, kid. What, you think just because I’m half-god I don’t need to learn how to fight like a human?”

Damian’s lips curl up into something that might be a sneer, but it’s more like the equivalent of a raised eyebrow from someone who’s always trying to one-up everyone. “I suppose that’s a good attitude, for now.”

You raise an eyebrow back, feeling the tension between you two starting to spark. “Keep thinking that.”

Tim, who’s been glaring into his phone the whole time, suddenly looks up. His expression is the usual deadpan, but you catch a flicker of curiosity. “You know,” he says, tapping on his screen, “if you really want to get the most out of this place, you’ll have to figure out which of us is your mentor. Bruce is… well, Bruce, so don’t expect much from him. But if you’re looking for a solid training regiment, maybe ask Dick or Jason. Just—don’t get too attached to the idea of normal training. This is Gotham, and we all have our… quirks.” He’s about to say more when Bruce interrupts with a sharp look.

“That’s enough, Tim,” Bruce says softly, but with authority. The room falls silent for a moment. Tim’s eyes flicker up at Bruce, then down at his phone. No more words from him.

It’s… strange. You’re used to the chaos, but this feels like a whole other level of dysfunction. They bicker like siblings, but there’s this undercurrent of something deeper—loyalty maybe? You can tell that whatever happens between these people, they’re bound by something stronger than just the weight of their shared lives.

You take a breath and cut in, trying to ease the tension. “Look, I’m just here for the short-term. All I need is a place to crash and a bit of guidance while Mom does whatever it is she’s doing.”

“Short-term?” Damian asks, raising a brow. “How short is short-term?”

You glance over at him, the corners of your mouth tugging into a smirk. “Not long enough for you to start calling me ‘sis,’ if that’s what you’re worried about.”

He glares at you. “We shall see.”

The dinner continues, awkwardly at first but slowly finding its rhythm. There’s a comfortable noise in the air now—the kind that only happens when people are used to each other’s company. And while you’re still very much the outsider in this strange little family, for the first time since you arrived, the weight of the world outside feels just a little bit lighter.

@hjgdhghoe @linnygirl09

[ofbatsandballads]

kindness you can’t afford

jason todd x fem!reader

word count: 2.1k

warnings: injured character, multiple descriptions of blood + wounds

a/n: so this is the very first jason fic I’ve written since I was twelve, so forgive me while I find my jay’s voice now that I’m not a preteen. anyways I humbly offer thee my wares.

divider credit: cafekitsune

Gotham’s a shithole. You hadn’t known that when you first moved here. To be honest, you’d kind of thrown a dart at a map and gone where it landed. Alright, maybe it wasn’t literally a dart throw, more so finding the cheapest metropolitan city because New York was tempting but it would bankrupt you. Mostly you just wanted a place to not exist. And so Gotham’s relatively low rent rates and towering skylines were the pick with little to no research.

Gotham’s a shithole. You know that beyond a shadow of a doubt now. It’s surprising, honestly, how little of Gotham’s chaos makes it outside the city limits. One would think a psychotic killer clown that’s prone to gassing a whole city district or a half-plant poison lady or a guy going around dressed like a bat would make national news. And yet, no. You’d known superheroes existed, of course. Superman was the shining jewel in the crown of the country that is Metropolis. Everyone knows about the extraordinary Wonder Woman. It’s not like hyper skilled people working for the greater good aren’t a thing. But Gotham plays her cards close to her chest.

You've lived here almost two years now and you’ve managed to make it through relatively unscathed. An impressive feat especially since you live in the Bowery. The Bowery itself isn’t so bad, but its neighboring district Park Row, more often known as Crime Alley, is about the worst Gotham has to offer. You’ve heard your fair share of gunshots and sirens, and you’ll never forget the time that Scarecrow released fear toxin in the district and you had to shove every towel and blanket you owned against the cracks by the doors and windows to keep it out. However, you’ve avoided being mugged or assaulted or anything like that so far. And you’ve never encountered the vigilantes that run the night here.

But there’s always time for new and exciting experiences.

The loud thunk that sounds outside your living room window makes you jump and starts your heart pounding. You know you should just ignore it. Crawl off the couch and to the bedroom, lock the door. The lights in the apartment are already off, only the television light illuminating the room, so it would be easy to creep unseen. But you can’t. Something pulls you to the window. Maybe it’s the cat killing curiosity, or maybe it’s your own little voice of self destruction, or maybe it’s something else entirely. All you know is that you have to go look.

So you do. And there, out cold on the fire escape, is a man. A very large man. A very large man in a red helmet. A very large man in a red helmet with dual pistols holstered to his thighs. Red Hood. Red Hood is passed out face up on your fire escape. Huh.

You’d heard of him. It was hard not to. The Bat had the most notoriety by far, but it was Red Hood that truly scared the criminals of Gotham. Batman might break your bones, cripple you even, but you’d leave with your life. No such guarantee existed if you crossed Red Hood. Hurt a few innocent people and you might end up with a bullet or three in your skull. Then there was that thing about heads in a duffel bag and Red Hood running crime for a solid year in Gotham, but he’s better now, apparently. None of this is deterring you from unlocking the window, pushing it up, and stepping out into the cold winter air. Not when you see the blood seeping through his body armor start to drip off the fire escape grate.

He needs help and he can’t stay unconscious in the middle of the city. If whoever injured him didn’t find him, the cops would. He’s just as wanted as the actual rogues of Gotham. You think it’s bullshit, which is why you’re trying to find a way to get him inside the safety of your apartment. He’s huge up close. This is going to be very, very difficult. Your mind flashes suddenly to one of your favorite childhood movies and how the princess pulled the dashing rogue around with her hair. You glance down at the street before heading to your bedroom.

You come back out with sheets bundled up in your arms. You’re not even sure if this harebrained idea will work, but you weave the sheets through the gaps in the grates and around Red Hood’s waist nonetheless. You secure a knot and go back into your apartment with the length of the sheets. Your legs are stronger than your arms, so you brace them against the wall and pull. You can feel his body slowly dragging towards you and you pause to check your progress. He’s slumped against the window now. Good. You loop your arms under his, place your feet back against the wall, and pull hard. Your hard work is rewarded with his body breaching the threshold of your window and landing directly on top of you. The air is knocked clean out of your lungs. He is heavy.

It’s a struggle but you manage to roll out from under him and immediately see the massive red stain contrasting against the white of your fluffy pajama pants. A small puddle of blood is emerging on your floor under his left thigh, and droplets of blood have splattered next to his torso. He’s not in great shape. It suddenly hits you what you’ve done. You dragged an injured vigilante, known for shooting first and asking questions later, into your apartment with no plan on what to do after the fact.

What the fuck did I do?

That’s all you can think as you look down at him. Then something snaps into place inside your rattled mind and you run to your bathroom to grab your first aid kit. You’d bought it and learned the basics after Wayne Enterprises ran televised infomercials about the importance of first aid a couple months back. You’re carefully balancing all the supplies in your arms as you head back out to the living room.

The empty living room. No vigilante in sight. Then your world spins. Everything clatters to the floor as you’re yanked backwards by your waist, pinned to something solid and unable to move.

“Who are you?” A growl sounds behind you, modulated to sound semi-mechanical.

Ah. There he is. You think you should be panicking, absolutely losing your shit even. But your brain is moving in slow motion.

“Someone trying to help you,” you breathe out.

“Doesn’t answer the question.”

The grip around your waist tightens. You want to laugh. As if you could’ve made a run for it in the first place. You tell him your name, and explain that you live alone. There’s no one else here but the two of you and you really do want to help.

“You were passed out on my fire escape. I couldn’t just leave you out there,” you explain cautiously.

The two of you stay like that for a minute longer. Then, a mechanical sigh sounds from behind you and the vice grip on your waist goes slack. You turn to him and see that he’s already halfway to your window.

“Hey! Wait! I can help!” you shout, scrambling after him.

“Don’t need it,” he snaps.

“You were bleeding out on my floor!” you exclaim.

You don’t know why you feel so strongly about this. Maybe because he seemed so…mortal. It’s easy to forget that these guys running around at night are people. They’re strong, tough, and capable, but they’re still human. The fact that he stumbles and has to catch himself on the window frame proves your point.

“Please. I promise I won’t take long. Please just let me help,” you beg.

He turns around and even through that unreadable helmet you can tell he’s sizing you up. You’re sure you must be a sight in your fuzzy white cat pajama pants, old Snoopy t-shirt, and fluffy white socks. Honestly, it’s a bit of a ridiculous tableau. Massive armed man in tactical gear opposite a woman in fluffy pajamas, both bloodstained. But either you seem harmless enough or he’s in exceptionally bad shape, because he just slumps against your wall and gives a barely noticeable nod of his head.

You go into autopilot the second you get his consent. A dining room chair is dragged to the center of your living room and Red Hood drops himself into it, the old wood creaking under the force. You go to assess the damage on his torso first. Light slashes litter his waist, none of them are deep enough for stitches. You grab the rubbing alcohol and cotton balls from the floor where you kneel before warning him that it might sting.

“I got slashed. Think that might’ve hurt a bit more,” he deadpans.

“Yeah, that’s fair.”

The torso slashes are light work. It takes all of five minutes to disinfect them and seal them shut with bandages. It’s his thigh that you’re a little more concerned about. There’s enough blood that it’s soaked his tactical pants around where you’re guessing the wound is. You can vaguely make out what appears to be cut fabric, so you’re assuming he was stabbed.

“How deep did the knife go?” you ask.

“Hm. ‘Bout two inches?” he offers.

“Why’d you take it out?” you ask incredulously. Anyone with half a brain knew not to take a knife out of a stab wound.

“No idea. Should’ve just gone runnin’ around the city with a knife wedged in my leg.”

The mask’s modulator does nothing to hide the teasing edge to his voice. Of everything you’d heard about Red Hood, you’d never heard he was such a smartass.

“You know how to do stitches?” he asks.

Great. So he saw the deer-in-headlights look you had while thinking about how to fix his stab wound.

“If you count mending clothing then, uh, sure,” you reply.

The white slits of the helmet stare hard at you before a warped chuckle comes from under it.

“Well, close enough.”

Oh, so he liked to gamble with his health then. Okay. Sure. Great. You could totally do this. Untrained, unlicensed, unsupervised you. You have to stop your hands from shaking as you thread the curved needle. You have to stop yourself from vomiting with anxiety as you push the needle through his skin. He hisses and you immediately feel bad. He’d handled the alcohol without flinching, but the stitches were a different story. You whisper sorry’s with every puncture of his skin you make. Soon enough, his leg is closed up and the whole thing is said and done.

“Okay, should be good to go,” you start, “Well, not good per se, but functional to go.”

A hum and a quick nod of his head are the only response you get before he’s back on his feet. He’s about to climb out your window for the second time tonight when you call out to him again. He turns around and you’d swear he almost seems exasperated.

“Take these with you. You’ll probably need them,” you say as you toss him a water bottle and a small carton of orange juice.

He snatches them easily from the air. But then he just stands there and stares at the drinks in his hands. You think you may have somehow offended him and go to apologize when he speaks.

“Thanks,” he says, mechanical voice catching on the word.

And then he’s gone. Out your window and off into the night. Once you shut and lock the window you feel exhaustion hit you like a freight train. All the adrenaline drains from you and it takes whatever energy you have left to collapse on to your bed and drift off to sleep.

You’ll never know it, but the Red Hood spends the last fifteen minutes of his patrol sipping his orange juice and dutifully watching your apartment window.

You’ll never know it, but Jason Todd lingers across the street to make sure you get home from the grocery store safely, and he scoffs as he sees you feed and pet a stray dog. It’s silly, he thinks.

Don’t you know that now you’ve shown it some kindness, it’ll just keep coming back?

[manicandobsessive]

Baby I’m Yours | L.H.

Summary: He’ll be yours until the end of time.

Warnings: Cursing, fluff, so much fucking fluff, pet names, fem!reader, lovesick lo

WC: 2.2k

AN: Here’s a little something for valentine’s day ✌️☺️

Never in Logan’s long, long life did he imagine this day. He felt undeserving, like he was living some other man’s life. As he looked in the floor length mirror, tugging and adjusting at his tie- a method of distraction, he imagined your pretty face when you walked down that aisle. He imagined the smile you’d give him when he inevitably gave you the same lovestruck grin in return. Crazy how the mere thought of you made him all the more calm. His girl, clearing his mind even from across the hallway, without knowing. He’s sure if anyone found out how often he thought of you or simply melted at the idea of how you look at him he would be endlessly teased by the other X-men. Though it wasn’t hard to see, he never tried to hide how soft he was for you. Even when you weren’t dating, he’d always treated you gently and with the same kindness you treated him with. You were the first person in a long time to make him feel alive, like he’d been doing more than just surviving. And it was easy to tell.

He’d heard the way Kitty and Rogue whispered when he would carry you home from a night out. When he’d bring you water and advil. The way he’d gently set you on the couch, kissing your forehead and kneeling to take off your heels like it was second nature. He never once had to question his next move with you, it all came naturally. One step after the other. Pieces of a puzzle falling together.

He allowed Scott and Hank to tease him for falling for your every move. Heeding your every request without so much as a batting an eyelash. He’d do anything for you, and he made damn sure everyone was aware of it. He let them tease him, anything to see that smile on your face. You were proud to have him, proud to be his girl. It was absurd to him, the way you wore his love like a medal of honor. But to you it was quite the opposite. Asking why he chose you when he could easily have any woman he wanted. In those moments of insecurity, he’d furrow his brows in genuine confusion and ask why you would ever think that. You were the single most important thing in his life, everything else be damned. He wouldn’t have you wondering whether you were enough or not.

Which is why he was so eager to put a ring on your finger. And in those moments of insecurity, all he had to do was say: “Look at your hand, baby.” You’d look down at the simple engagement ring banding your finger and flush. All while the smile returned to both of your faces and he’d pull you in for a soft kiss that said everything he couldn’t. But he always made sure to tell you he loves you and only you, no one else was it for him in the way you were.

He didn’t even notice Scott standing in the doorway while he reminisced on some of the best moments of his relationship. The man watched him with a proud smile, something that Logan wasn’t on the receiving end of often. But Scott was like a brother you never had, and having his approval was something that he didn’t necessarily want to beg for but something he knew he had to have before he moved forward with you. Anyone important to you was important to him. In the same sense that anyone you disliked, he disliked as well without question. He cleared his throat and looked at Scott through the mirror.

“Summers.”

He greeted cordially, if you could call it that. It was awkward not being on bad terms with him, but he tried for you always. Even if it killed him to not insult the man at every turn. It was too easy.

“I’m proud of you, Logan.”

Which took him completely off guard.

Him and Scott were on decent terms, but this was another level. Logan expected he’d feel uncomfortable with the sentiment, but he didn’t have any emotion of the sort. He was prideful he’d won over the acceptance of one of the closest people to you. Scott was protective in a brotherly way, he always had been. Logan, being Logan, was protective in every way possible, and Scott approved of it. Logan could get possessive, but in the harder moments Scott was there to help him reel it in. And while reluctant, Logan was grateful to have a support system like that. Someone to reassure him when you didn’t have the chance to.

There was no hesitance in Scott’s mind. Logan was the man for you. His love for you shone bright and bold, never wavering. Not once did Logan make him wonder if he was enough for you. While he was weary at the beginning, knowing Logan only to be the man who was gruff and closed off, he saw him open up. He saw the way Logan’s posture relaxed with you, the way a small smile graced his face. He’d never forget the day Logan asked him if he could have your hand in marriage. While it wasn’t Scott’s position to have the final say, he knew that getting his approval would mean the world to you. As he did with your other friends at the mansion.

Logan grunted in thanks, messing with his hair some more in the mirror and adjusting his suit for the 15th time. Scott noticed his fidgeting, it wasn’t hard to, and stepped in the room closing the door.

“Not getting cold feet are you, Howlett?” He asked, more-so in a joking demeanor. He sat himself on the couch off to the side of the suite. And while he was obviously teasing, he knew Logan wouldn’t bail, Logan took the accusation a little too seriously.

“You kiddin’ me, Summers? I’d be a fuckin’ idiot to.” He huffed, rolling his eyes in irritation. When he caught a glimpse of the man smirking at him he couldn’t help the pull of his lips into a small smile. He laughed at himself, there was no shot of him being less than happy on a day like today.

“Jus’, wanna make sure I’m good enough for her.”

Scott nodded in understanding, a feeling most men got on a day like today. Logan looked back over at him as he spoke..

“I know we don’t necessarily talk to each other this way, but I see the way that girl looks at you Logan. She acts like you gave her the moon and the stars. She hasn’t ever felt like this for anyone, it’s clear to all of us. She loves you.”

He reassured, making Logan take a deep breath and nod along.

“And, I love her. I love her with all of me.” He stated, like it was a habit. Never would it go unnoticed how much he had fallen for you. The fact that he was marrying you was proof enough for everyone else, but to him, he felt that if he didn’t spend every waking moment making sure you knew how much he really loved you- how much you’d changed his life- there was no point in living.

“I know you do, Logan.”

~

You never thought you’d make it here, let alone so easily as well. Relationships, for the most part, weren’t ever your strong suit. Having been someone who was focused on the here and now, you never paid much mind to the future or any planning ahead of the next day. You had dreams, goals and whatnot, but marriage was never one of them. You knew either way you’d be fine, married or not.

So when Logan showed up it was the definition of sweeping you off of your feet. Your knight in shining armor. Your man. And you loved every fucking minute of it. Being able to say you had tied down the renowned Wolverine. Telling people he proposed to you? It was something to be proud of. Though, when it came to Logan that was never what you really focused on.

You allowed him to open up to you just as he had allowed the opposite. You were two people who had drifted so far from the picture-perfect idea of a love story, yet everyone around you aspired to have a love like yours. A man who would do anything- who would flip the world upside down- for his woman and vice versa. You saw each other as equals, eye-to-eye.

You’d known about Logan’s past endeavors, to say the least. He was the type of guy any woman- or man- would want with a single look. His attitude, surprisingly, contributed to it as well. People liked a challenge, Logan was just that.

Your friends warned you, telling you he was a player. Someone who wanted one thing and one thing alone. Which is why you seemed uninterested, despite the nagging feelings of desperately wanting to know him in any and all ways. You were turned off by the idea, but it didn’t change your opinion of him negatively. You simply had no interest in pursuing any relationship, and you weren’t about to be another notch on his belt either.

That’s why you asked if he was joking the first time he asked you out.

He never let you live it down.

~

“Hey doll, can I talk to ya?”

You closed your eyes, breathing in ever so slightly before turning to face the only person who would dare call you that.

“Hm? What’s up?”

You feigned casualty, even though your rapid pulse spoke for you.

“Listen, I uh- I dunno how to go about this.”

Logan scratched the back of his neck, cursing himself for acting like an awkward teenager. He had game, so why couldn’t he speak to you without feeling this way?

You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow with a playful smirk he found himself drawn to. This was the moment all the tension over the last year had boiled down to. All the playful gestures and lingering glances. The heat between the two of you when you stood a little too close to be friendly. He knew it had to be the moment.

“Can I take ya out? Sometime, y’know. Like- a date.”

“Like a date?” You teased, smiling at his bashful face that was reserved only for your eyes. The way he gazed at you was something to cherish, and the minute you noticed it- lightyears after everyone else already had- you were a goner.

“Just- fuck darlin’, I suck at this.” He huffed, irritated with himself. Irritated that he couldn’t function properly standing feet away from you.

“You’re not joking right?” You asked, seeing almost offense flash over his face. You immediately felt guilty.

“Not that- not that I want you to be joking. I just, I know you don’t do this type of thing. And Scott’s been teasing me and I don’t want you to think you have to because-”

“You think I’ve ever done somethin’ I didn’t want to, doll?” It was his turn to tease. You blushed and looked away for a moment before meeting his eyes again.

“No.” You murmured out.

He smiled.

The rest was ancient history.

~

The time had come, you were fully ready. Logan was anxious to see you since it’d been almost a day without having you by his side. (You told him it was bad luck even after his unwavering protest) and he missed the hell out of you. You the same for him.

He stood at the end of the long aisle the girls had set up. Admiring the way they had all put in so much effort to make this your picture perfect wedding. Logan was just happy he was finally getting to call you his wife. He didn’t care if you would’ve gotten married in sweatpants under a bridge.

He tugged on his tie one last time, clearing his throat as the music started, a love song that you’d shown him on one of your first drives together. It was a cover of an older song he’d loved back in the 60s. He smiled at the first few chords, knowing it by heart from the way you’d always hummed the song or played it for him.

He thought he would’ve been able to hold it together.

That was until he saw you.

You stepped into view, your figure illuminated by the golden light of the sun like an angel. His angel. And your smile, your bright beaming smile that stopped the world. He was done for.

Logan wasn’t an emotional man by any means, he’d been through actual hell and back. He had nothing to cry for anymore, and somehow you made that all fade away.

He never thought he’d be able to cry of happiness, yet here he was. Silent tears streaming down his cheeks as he watched the love of his life stride towards him in all her beauty.

As you reached him, you wiped off his face with your soft hands. Kissing his cheek and smiling, saying a quiet “Hi, Lo.” before you took your position across from him. He was rendered speechless, having never seen something so breathtaking.

In that very minute he had confirmed what he knew all along, he was yours and you were his.

Until eternity.

[literary-dolly]

jailbird

jason todd x fem!reader

word count: 2.3k warnings: police, reader gets held at gunpoint and arrested (whomp whomp) and it’s a bit brutal, other than that i think it’s fine

Can you really call it a meet-cute if you meet the love of your life in a prison cell?

Yeah, this was not how you thought your day was going to go.

When your boss had told you that you needed to go and work a shift in Bludhaven, you’d shrugged. It was Bludhaven, how bad could it be? It certainly couldn’t be any worse than Gotham and it’s collective of rogues that seemed to haunt every street corner these days. Oh, and the giant man dressed as a bat. Everywhere needs it's selling point.

As it turns out, Bludhaven must be the safest place on earth, because seemingly their biggest perpetrator is you.

Everyone knew about the corrupt cops, that was a given. Everyone knew about the rag-tag villains that made their way over from Gotham and the like. What everybody didn’t know about Bludhaven, was the danger of being dragged out of your car at gunpoint by a police officer, being screamed at to get on the ground as traffic skidded perilously close to your body, handcuffed and raced to the nearest police station with the sirens screaming in your ears.

You were keeping your cool, which honestly, was quite the feat. The beginnings of tears had pricked at your eyes as they read your rights (because clearly that was something that had been considered when you’d been thrown onto the concrete), the thrum of your heartbeat rushing around your head and clouding every conceivable thought. But you held it together in spite of it all, refusing to give the smarmy officer with a twisted grin the satisfaction of watching you break down.

You still didn’t even know what you’d done.

Their hands are rough as they begin to muscle you towards a holding cell, jeering as they push you forward, feet stumbling to keep upright. Your lip begins to throb from the force of your teeth sinking deep into the flesh, but still, you manage not to break.

The cells are remarkably empty, save for one a lone man whistling in the corner (he promptly quiets when you and the officers enter), and you’re pushed forward into one without much thought, knees hitting the ground sharply with the force of the shove. They don’t even take your cuffs off.

“Give us half an hour, sweetheart, we’ll be back,” the big, round officer chuckles snidely, a barking laugh coming from his counterpart behind him. The two make quiet jokes to each other as they bicker back and forth. The final swing of the door slamming shut makes every muscle tighten, and when they release again, everything else seems to be unleashed with it.

The tears are coming thick and fast before you can even register the wetness on your cheeks – it’s not sadness, its rage. You muffle quiet sobs with the back of your hand as you brush yourself off, hoisting yourself upwards with what feels like every ounce of energy left within. You hadn’t even been able to call your job and tell them that you had gotten a little caught up and probably wouldn’t be making it in today. With this luck, you were probably going to be fired by 5pm this evening.

“Hey,” a rough voice calls from across the room, startling you from your thoughts. It’s surprisingly tender, “You doin’ okay?”

You wipe your eyes roughly, staring upwards towards the man in the cell across from you, taking him in with a long glance. He’s tall, but more so than that, he’s huge. Honestly, it’s a surprise they fit him through the doors around here. Even through his tattered hoodie and jeans, it’s not hard to tell he has the physique of some kind of bodybuilder, the muscles in his forearms taut as he leans casually against the bars. A mop of unruly black hair lays atop his head, broken by a vivid strike of white curled against his forehead.

In normal circumstances, you would be intimidated by the sheer stature of a man like him, but his eyes are what capture your attention. A gentle baby blue, flecked with stripes of green than seem to flicker as he stares – they’re kind. There’s a softness to his gaze that was more courteous than any other you’d experienced so far today.

He’s exceptionally attractive, so there’s always that.

“Yeah, yeah,” your voice is brittle when it finally comes out, “I’m, uhm, okay, just a rough morning.”

“What have they got you in here for?” His head tilts to the side with and ever so slightly furrow of his brow, “no offense, but you don’t exactly strike me as the armed robbery type.”

You have to stifle a laugh at the absurdity of the situation, “Uhm, I’m not really sure, to be honest with you. I was just driving to work and now I’m here.”

“What?” His voice is sharp and there’s an edge to it that can’t be mistaken, “they just arrested you and didn’t tell you what it was for? That’s like Policing 101.”

“Tell me about it,” you huff, heart rate finally beginning to slow, “I…haven’t done anything. I mean yeah, I accidentally stole that yoghurt at the checkout but that was like a month ago, and that was just because I forgot to scan it! And that was in Gotham, not here. I’ve never even been here before!”

A grin fights its way onto the face of the handsome stranger, and he shakes his head in what seems to be a smidge of disbelief, “Oh that’ll be it, I hear they’ve been looking for the reprobate that did that one for weeks now. But seriously,” he pauses and his eyes narrow, “they hurt you?”

“No,” you hum, before sighing and settling yourself back onto the floor, it was likely going to be a fair bit longer than half hour before you got out of here anyway, “they were a little rough. Unnecessarily forceful, pulled a gun, but I’m not hurt.” Not physically anyway.

If you weren’t staring directly at him, you would’ve missed the way the stranger’s eyes darken, swathes of green seeming to swim faster around his irises. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he looked like he was planning a murder. You’re suddenly struck by the potential danger of your new companion, after all, he was trapped in a cell same as you.

He shakes the look from his eyes almost instantly, stretching his noticeably uncuffed hands out behind him with a sickening crack. For a second, he seems to wince at the action but quickly pulls himself back to his languid stance against the bars.

“What about you?” you bite the bullet despite your reservations, offering him a small smile to show there was no animosity in the question, “what did they get you for?”

“Armed Robbery,” he replies without missing a beat making you choke a little, a shark-like grin stretching across his lips, a soft chuckle rattling his chest, “No, I'm joking. Speeding - but I happen to be a very good driver.”

“Oh, is that right?” you bite back playfully, “I thought I took the wrong turn to the motor track but apparently I made it in the end.”

Both of your laughs seem to mingle together in the stagnant air of the cells, his deep vibrato making something stir in the pit of your stomach. Isn’t this like rule number one of stranger danger? Don’t be enchanted by random man met in prison cell on a Tuesday lunchtime.

“Okay, Comedy Club,” the stranger lets out a bemused sigh, “so tell me, how does a degenerate like you end up in a paradise like Bludhaven?”

Your eyes meet for a second, and in spite of every warning sign, you can’t help but feel an affinity for this guy. He’s funny, and he’s handsome, and oh fuck it, it’s not like there’s anything else you could stand a chance to lose today.

“So, it starts with my bastard of a boss, right?”

Handsome stranger is in the middle of regaling you with a story about how him and his best friend accidentally turned a lighter into a blowtorch when the angry voice cuts through the room, metal door slamming open with a clang against the wall behind it.

“Jason, seriously? Why can’t you just call like a normal person? One-twenty in a fifty! I mean seriously!” A dark-haired officer rushes forward to face Jason’s cell. He’s not as tall as the former, a lot leaner, but seems to be fairly strong from the way the bars rattle as his hand clamps around one, “You know how busy I’ve been. If this is about B-���

“Dickhead,” Jason bites with a smug grin, nodding towards you in the cell opposite, “Good to know your senses are as astute as always. I know Alfred taught you the same manners he taught me. We have company.”

The officer spins on his heel with a sheepish grin, a nervous laugh dripping from his mouth. He’s also strikingly attractive in that universally-accepted, male model kind of way – not as much so as Jason, who seems to be constructed entirely of hard lines and edges.

“Pardon my manners, I’m Officer Grayson. Dick Grayson,” the man offers kindly, a warm mirth in his eyes, “I was simply distracted by this one here. He’s a real problem, like, you wouldn’t believe.”

Jason kicks him through the bars, eliciting a yelp from Dick, who only seems to offer him a scowl in response. You realise all at once the similarities between how the two hold themselves, their seemingly boisterous way with one and other, and also the fact that Officer Grayson hasn’t called in any support and tackled Jason to the ground. Brothers.

“I did call, Dickiebird,” Jason hums, “You didn’t pick up.”

“You called once, Jay!” Dick sounds utterly exasperated, “I’m at work – and trying to be professional.” Dick throws a few pointed head movements in your direction.

“It’s important, Dick,” Jason’s voice steels, and all of a sudden there’s the same seriousness you caught a glimpse of briefly when you’d mentioned the gun earlier, “About our mutual friend, you know the one.”

Concern passes Dick’s face briefly, the light of realisation brightening his eyes. Wordlessly, Dick swipes his badge against the cell door, and it swings open, prompting Jason to straighten up to his full height and step out into the light.

Heaven almighty.

“I get off in twenty, and I reckon we have about thirty before they realise you’re not going to show up on the system. Can I trust you to wait outside?” Dick concedes, staring uncertainly towards his brother.

“Been outside before, Dickhead,” Jason grumbles roughly, “Not a fucking animal.”

“Yeah, okay Jay. Cuffs?” Dick asks, brow pinched between his fingers. Without a sound and nothing more than a shit-eating grin, Jason slowly peels the missing cuffs out of his pocket, placing them in Dick’s open palm, who reacts with little more than a sigh, “I’ve been telling them we need better ones for months.”

“Cuffs aren’t the problem, Dickie,” Jason chuckles, pushing his way past his counterpart towards the door. Dick turns on his heel and begins to follow, reaching around to open the door.

“I don’t understand why you were in there for so long, Jaybird. You could’ve broken out hours ago,” Dick mutters, seemingly to himself more than anything.

Jason’s gaze flicks to you, warmth in his features, and with a soft smile he utters, “I had some pretty good company. See ya’ around, Comedy Club.”

You offer him a soft smile in return, trying to ignore the way your heart batters against your ribcage. Jason.

The door shuts behind them. You are alone, again, still in a prison cell and mostly definitely in need of a new job – but for some reason, you don’t feel too bad about it all.

It takes all of five minutes for Dick to return, storming in and muttering profanities under his breath. He presses his badge against your cell door. It swings open, and he takes a hasty step forward to start undoing the cuffs that have left deep indents on your wrists.

“I can’t give you those hours of your life back, but I can apologise,” his words are sincere, and marred by some kind of resentment, “I am so sorry about this. They mistook you for someone else who we’ve had a warrant out for a while now – but they had no reason to treat you like they did. If you want to press charges, I can point you in the right direction.”

“It’s alright,” you offer, surprised by the cheer in your own voice, “it really wasn’t that bad in the end. And I can check one thing off the bucket list, I suppose.”

Dick chokes back a laugh, unable to fight the grin that comes forward. “I like you, kid, you got some spirit. Now come on, enjoy your freedom. Who knows how long it’ll be before you're back behind bars again, huh?”

The transition out of the station goes a lot more smoothly than your entrance. As you take your possessions back from the front desk, you’re fairly certain you can hear Dick admonishing the two officers that arrested you from the adjacent room.

Now, that makes you smile.

Stepping out into the parking lot, you feel silly as you glance around, hoping to catch one last glimpse of Jason before you likely never see him again – maybe even exchange numbers. You find yourself thoroughly unsurprised when he’s nowhere to be seen.

By the time you make it back home to Gotham, the sky has dulled to a smog-laced, inky black, nothing but moonlight bleeding out into the darkness. It may be gross, criminally-infested and maybe the worst-holiday destination in the entire world, but its home. As your keys sink into the front door of your apartment building and your breath pools out in an icy furl, you swear you catch a flash out of red out of the corner of your eye. It’s probably nothing more than some rogue out causing trouble after sundown, nothing out of the ordinary.

It's only when you collapse onto the couch that the weight of the day finally hits you, limbs feeling suspiciously like lead as you melt into the cushions.

What a day.

Jason joking about armed robbery like he doesn't commit actual murder on the regular.

If you liked it, well, like it - a reblog is always appreciated. If not, leave me alone.

[princessbrunette]

⊹ ᜊ(ᜊ ´ ˘)੭ ♡ … ESPRESSO ♡

track four of the short n’sweet series. pairing: pope x deer!reader. based loosely off the song espresso by sabrina carpenter. enjoy ໒꒰՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞꒱ა

his skin was salty from the sea, which is why you simply couldn’t stop kissing it. you always loved that taste.

you’re lazy from the heat, laying on the sun lounger as you listen to the sound of waves crashing, feeling the soft up and down motion of your boyfriends chest against your cheek as he breathes slowly. you’re in bliss, a bliss that is only broken by the soft snore from pope.

giggling, you lift your head to look up at him with a raised brow and the movement shakes him out of his slumber, blinking himself awake in the warm afternoon sun.

“oh god, okay.” he clears his throat, embarrassed over his impromptu nap. this was early days in the relationship after all.

“sleepy?” you hum quietly. you were always quiet, it was a surprise he could hear you over the crashing of the waves.

“uh, something like that.” he squints down at you.

“is it the heat?”

“i just didn’t get the best sleep last night, i’ll be honest.” he sits up a little, bringing you with him as he stretches his arms. naturally, your fingers come up — drawing shapes on his chest.

“oh? why’s that? is everything okay pope?” you get that cute little worried line between your brows when you furrow them and he brushes some rogue grains of sand off your cheek.

“more than, actually. i, uh…” he chuckles awkwardly at himself before composing. “i was kind of… super excited for today… to see you… so excited that i kind of couldn’t sleep?” he tilts his head, and you feel your cheeks straining from how wide you grin.

“really?” you hum happily, batting your sandy eyelashes and he nods, taking in your every feature. it was rare anyone he liked actually liked him back fully, not the way he liked them anyway. to have secured a girl this beautiful was something of his dreams.

you sit up, feeling too sweaty in the position you lay— rolling and swinging a leg over him so you could straddle him where he lays. you were usually far too shy to pull that sort of move in public, but pope had driven the two of you up to his special little spot — not a soul around for miles.

“i was excited too.” you shrug from your new position and he suddenly looks physically pained, covering his face for a moment with a groan.

“oh my god.” he heaves and your eyes widen, wondering whether or not you should take your weight off him. “theres no way you’re real. i’m sorry. look at you.”

you burst into a relieved chuckle, confidence boosted yet your shyness takes ahold of you, causing you to fiddle with the drawstrings of his swim shorts instead.

“like, i don’t think you get it? i’m like actually light headed looking at you… and… my heart is pounding really hard, and my throat feels dry.”

“are you sure you’re not sun sick? or having an allergic reaction?” you ponder, half joking. he huffs out a more relaxed chuckle this time, resting his hands on your hips with a content sigh.

“not unless i have an allergy to beautiful women, no.”

you laugh, and the movement causes you to shift a little on his lap. pope winces, face cringing and stomach tensing. “okay so um, the blood that was in my other vital areas is currently swimming towards my… yeah. i’m sorry about that.”

confidence up enough to make a move, you lean forward to hover your lips over his, resisting your giddy smile. “i know.”

“oh. okay.”

you kiss, and suddenly he’s grateful that this spot of the beach was so private.

[sanguineterrain]

im begging you to write a part 2 of vigilante reader because the way you write??? the dynamic between reader and jason??? the sex tension???are chef kiss!!!

thanks very much! part 2 and I couldn't put off the reveal bc I'm just too impatient lol 🫶 but I might write another part post-reveal? maybe? cuz I'm growing attached to these two <3

jason todd x gn!vigilante!reader (nocturne). tw explosions, smoke inhalation, reader passes out, canon typical violence, identity reveal, asshole bruce. jason is in love? jason is in love.

read pt 1 here! | all fics are reblogged to @sanguinelibrary

****

"Go home."

"Bruce, I—"

Bruce looks at you, eyes sharp with fury and... something else. Something older.

The others know how to talk back. You still haven't gained the courage to sass The Batman.

"Go. Home. If you need an escort, I can call Superman."

You take a step back at his coldness.

"Bruce, I know I messed up, letting Hood escape but—"

"Yes, you did. You deliberately disobeyed an order. I told everybody to stand down. He could've killed you."

But he didn't, you don't say. He could've, but he chose not to.

He'd felt safe.

"I had it under control, honestly. He wasn't—it wasn't like the other encounters you've had with him. He wouldn't have hurt me."

That is the wrong thing to say. You realize that after the words leave your mouth and the muscles in Bruce's jaw jump.

"You can't be this naive. I know I wouldn't have chosen someone who's this naive," he says savagely. "You know Hood can't be trusted, and you're defending him to me. We've seen time and again he's rogue. He doesn't make sense and that's exactly why he's dangerous."

"But if you would just listen—"

"Enough," he snaps. "Enough. Go home. I'm suspending you for three weeks."

"Three w—I'm not even injured!" you cry.

"No, but you need the time. You're not thinking clearly. Go. I don't want to see you until next month."

You press your lips together before you say something truly foul. Something about Batman's habit of pushing people away. Something about dead Robins.

You don't let the tears fall until you leave the Cave. This is all Hood's fault. You know it would've been a different conversation if you'd managed to successfully capture him.

You'll take down the Red Hood if it's the last thing you do.

****

It takes you approximately two days to break your suspension.

In your defense, you meant to follow Bruce's orders. You would've stayed put and helped Barbara with research instead.

But not at the expense of civilian lives.

"All units to Canal and Riverview, 10-80. Standby. Do not enter the factory until given clearance from the Bomb Squad."

You turn off the police scanner and stuff it in your drawer. In Gotham, explosions usually come in multiples. If there's one, there's bound to be another. The police are generally inept when it comes to evacuating civilians. You know one of the other Bats are on their way, but you're the closest to the docks.

You glance at your suit. No. If you go as Nocturne, Batman might suspend you indefinitely.

You grab your gas mask and put on a black hoodie and a domino mask. You'll just have to make do.

The marina is blanketed in thick smoke. It makes your eyes water. But in the commotion it causes, you're able to slip past the barriers and help workers out of the factory. It's difficult because without the suit, people don't give you the same trust and respect. But you're anonymous, and that's all that matters.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

You ignore the voice and keep hauling two elderly workers towards the exit. They're barely outside before you turn around, determined to clear every level of the factory.

You're yanked backward by a hand on your hoodie. You nearly lose your footing, but the hand is firm, dragging you towards the pier.

You're spun around and put face to face with a red helmet.

Oh, of all the fucking—

"Let go of me!" you shout, smacking his arm. Hood's grip tightens.

"I will as soon as you stop doing stupid shit. What were you thinking, coming here?"

You pause. Whoops. This isn't how a plain civilian would react to being apprehended by the Red Hood.

And that's definitely not how the Red Hood would react to getting swatted by a random civilian. Shit.

"I was, um, I was thinking I could help," you say haltingly. "P-please don't hurt me, Mr. Hood, I was—"

Hood sighs and lets you go, then tucks his gun into his holster.

"Cut the shit. I know you're Nocturne. I also know that you need some acting lessons because what the hell was that? Mr. Hood?"

A chill washes over you. "I don't know what you mean. Nocturne?"

Hood shakes his head. "I don't have time for this. The building's gonna collapse any second. Stay. Put."

He goes back toward the smoking entrance. Your eye twitches as you follow him.

"Last time I checked, you don't have that kind of authority, Hood."

He turns around and looms over you. "Don't I?"

Anyone else would back down. You might've a week ago. You should, after the tongue lashing Bruce gave you.

But there's no soot on Hood's helmet or vest. He doesn't smell sweet like gasoline or pungent like motor oil.

He was in the factory to help.

Something shifts. Batman is wrong. Batman is more wrong than he's ever been.

Because Hood's not the enemy here. Not anymore. Maybe not ever.

You push past Hood. "It'll be faster if we work together."

"Oh, absolutely not. You're not even in your suit."

"As per your request," you say, flashing a plastic smile. "You're welcome."

"Don't get cute with me, you—hey!"

You dart past him and go straight into the factory. Hood shouts your name, which makes you pause, just for a moment.

But revealed identity or not, you need to clear the building. So you pull on your mask and run faster.

Your worst fear is confirmed when you check the upper level: someone was missed in the evacuation. It's a worker, and she's unconscious.

You don't think about how explosions come in pairs in Gotham. Don't think about how long it'll take to get to the exit.

You take off your mask and slide it onto her face. The smoke burns your throat immediately, but you ignore it and lift her in a fireman carry, just as you were taught all those years ago by Robin. He's the one who taught you how to save people without relying on brute strength or height.

You hope he's alright, wherever he is. You hope he's not too upset seeing you rush into a burning building.

That's your last thought when you see the entrance. Your face is covered in sweat and grime. The heat from the fires is exhausting. You can feel your eyes beginning to close.

"There's something seriously wrong with you," a decoded voice says in your ear, and then the woman's weight is lifted from your shoulders.

Hood grabs your hand, the woman over his opposite shoulder, and you make it out just as the second explosion goes off. It knocks you forward.

Hood puts the woman down just in time to catch you. His arm is around your waist, the other hand cradling your head. His gloved thumb touches your mouth, and you feel his dawning realization as he finally sees your mask on the woman.

"Don't tell Ba'man," you slur.

"Jesus fuck—" Hood starts to drag you. You feel lightheaded. He's moving, and you wish he'd stop. "You don't take off your mask. You never take off your mask. We taught you that!"

"She was unconscious, J'y..."

Arms tighten around you. Everything goes dark.

****

You wake up to the smell of scrambling eggs.

For a moment, you just bask in the smell. It smells like Alfred's breakfast scramble. Bacon. Butter. Golden potatoes.

Then you wake up further and realize that you're not in the Manor. You're in your apartment.

So who's cooking?

You get up quietly, slipping out of your room. You pause in front of the full-length mirror.

Honestly, you've looked worse. Your hair needs a wash, and you're in the same clothes you went into the building with, which are now a little charred. But your face is clean of soot, and your throat hurts only a little.

The kitchen sink runs. You slowly creep out into the living room, keeping your breathing even and silent.

The mess of black hair, you recognize. Sort of. You might've mistaken him for Bruce if you didn't know that Bruce has a lifetime ban from kitchens all over the world.

He's too tall to be Dick. Too skilled in the kitchen to be Bruce. Too nice to be Bruce, too—you can't imagine Bruce Wayne making you eggs. Especially when you disobeyed his orders. Again.

The red helmet on the kitchen stool turns your blood to ice.

You grab the letter opener from a drawer and wait a few seconds to see if Hood's heard you. Then you throw the letter opener with near perfect aim at his exposed shoulder.

He catches it without turning.

Your heart skips a beat. Every time you think you might get the drop on him, Hood reminds you just how competent he really is.

A mix of fear, aggravation, and something you don't want to examine too closely swirls in your gut.

"Impressive," he says. "Dami been training you? Mama Al-Ghul spent a lot of time on his knife lessons."

"Why are you in my apartment?"

Hood sets the letter opener down on the counter and turns off the stove. Then he serves the breakfast scramble on two plates, then sprinkles chives over them.

This is the weirdest kidnapping ever.

He sighs, back still facing you.

"You can't tell anyone it's me," he says.

"You make a lot of demands for a guy who just used the last of my eggs."

Hood laughs. It sounds wet. It sounds like grief.

"God, I've missed ya, honeylove."

Your heart pounds. You try to find another weapon, anything. Hood doesn't give you the chance.

He turns around.

The first thing you see is the stark white streak of hair and the curls you once loved. The curls that were near unrecognizable in the casket.

You were right: Batman was wrong.

pt 3

[wittyandobsessed]

𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 | Stiles Stilinski x Reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 | blood, injury.

𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘢 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘸𝘰𝘭𝘧 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘴, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦—𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘚𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘴, 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘮. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘭, 𝘚𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘻𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘰.

▸ Masterlist

𝗖𝗼𝗺𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗿𝗲𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗴𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗴𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗹𝘆 𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗶𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱! 𝗦𝗵𝗼𝘄 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘀𝘂𝗽𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗿!

The night was alive with chaos. Shadows twisted and contorted beneath the moonlight as the battle raged around you—a cacophony of growls, snarls, and shouts. The scent of damp earth mingled with the acrid tang of blood, and the air hummed with tension, thick with fear and desperation.

It had all gone wrong.

What was supposed to be a simple hunt had turned into a nightmare. Scott had tracked the rogue werewolf to the Preserve, and the pack had set up a careful perimeter, hoping to corner it before it could hurt anyone else. But the creature had been waiting. It was bigger than expected, stronger, faster—feral. It had torn through the plan like paper, scattering the group into a desperate fight for survival.

And now, you were watching it charge straight for Stiles.

He stood frozen for half a second, hazel eyes widening in realization. He was fast—but not fast enough. His baseball bat, his only means of defense, suddenly felt like nothing more than a useless piece of wood in his hands.

"Stiles!" Your scream ripped through the night, raw and desperate.

You didn’t think. There was no time to think.

One moment, your feet were planted firmly on the forest floor. The next, you were moving—propelled by pure instinct, by a force stronger than fear itself.

You collided with him at full force, knocking him to the ground just as the werewolf’s claws lashed through the air.

Pain.

White-hot, searing agony tore through your side. You barely registered the sensation at first, just a blinding explosion of heat before you hit the ground, the damp leaves cushioning your fall. It was only when you tried to move—tried to breathe—that the pain truly set in.

It was unbearable.

The world tilted. Your ears rang. Somewhere in the distance, you heard Stiles’ frantic voice, but it sounded warped, like you were underwater.

"No! No, no, no!"

Warm hands were on you, pressing, trembling. You blinked sluggishly, vision swimming until Stiles’ face snapped into focus above you. His hands—God, his hands were covered in blood. Your blood.

"Y/N, hey—stay with me, okay? Just—just stay with me!" His voice was cracking, breaking apart with panic, with something raw and terrifying.

You wanted to tell him you were fine, that you could still fight, but the pain was too much. The world was slipping, dimming, and Stiles—poor, reckless Stiles—looked like he was about to shatter into a thousand pieces right in front of you.

"Scott!" he yelled, voice hoarse. "Somebody help me! She—she's losing too much blood!"

Somewhere nearby, the battle still raged on—Scott’s feral growl, Lydia’s sharp cries, the snap of bones and claws meeting flesh. But none of it mattered to Stiles. His world had narrowed to you, to the way your fingers weakly curled into his sleeve, as if you were trying to hold on.

"You’re gonna be okay," he whispered, voice shaking. "I swear, Y/N, you’re gonna be okay. Just—just stay with me, alright?"

Stiles barely registered the chaos still raging around him—the snarls, the clash of claws, the shouts of his friends—because none of it mattered anymore. Not when you were bleeding out in his arms.

He couldn't think. Couldn't breathe.

All he knew was that he had to get you out of here.

With a grunt of effort, he slipped an arm beneath your shoulders, the other beneath your knees, and lifted you. You barely stirred, your head lolling against his chest, your breath coming in weak, ragged gasps. His heart pounded, drowning out everything else.

Scott was somewhere in the distance, fighting for his life. So was Liam. Malia. Lydia. And Stiles—he was abandoning them.

But he couldn’t stay.

"Hang on," he whispered, holding you closer as he stumbled through the trees. "Just—please, hang on."

His Jeep wasn’t far, parked just beyond the tree line. Every step felt agonizingly slow, the weight of you in his arms, the warmth of your blood soaking through his hoodie, searing into his skin like a brand.

He reached the Jeep and yanked the passenger door open with his foot before carefully easing you inside.

"You’re okay," he murmured, more to himself than to you, as he strapped the seatbelt across your limp form. "You’re gonna be okay."

Your eyelids fluttered. A soft whimper left your lips, barely audible.

Stiles' hands trembled as he shoved the keys into the ignition. The engine roared to life, and he slammed his foot onto the gas, tires skidding against the dirt as he tore out of the Preserve.

The speedometer climbed—40, 50, 60. He didn’t care about stop signs, didn’t care about anything except the fading rise and fall of your chest.

"You gotta stay awake for me, okay?" His voice cracked as he shot you a glance. Your head lolled to the side, your face pale and slick with sweat. "Y/N, come on. Talk to me. Say something."

Nothing.

He gritted his teeth and pressed the gas harder. The hospital wasn’t far. Just a few more minutes.

"Please, just hold on," he begged. "Just—just don’t leave me."

The Jeep barely stopped before Stiles threw the door open. He didn’t think—he just moved. His hands fumbled with your seatbelt, his mind a frenzied blur of fear and desperation. The moment it clicked free, he was pulling you into his arms again, ignoring the sticky warmth of your blood soaking into his shirt.

You didn’t react.

That terrified him more than anything.

He stumbled through the sliding doors of the ER, barely registering the blinding fluorescent lights, the sterile scent of antiseptic burning his nostrils.

"Help!" His voice cracked, raw and desperate. "Somebody help!"

His heart pounded in his ears as he carried you further inside, searching—begging—for someone to do something, anything.

A nurse snapped to attention behind the desk, eyes widening as she took in the scene—the blood, the way your body sagged against him.

"She's hurt! She's—" His breath hitched. "She’s losing too much blood!"

"Get a gurney!" the nurse barked, already rushing toward him.

In an instant, everything became a blur of movement. A stretcher appeared. Hands reached for you. Stiles hesitated—his arms wouldn’t let go.

"Sir, we need to take her," someone said, gentle but firm.

He swallowed hard, his body resisting. But he wasn’t helping you like this.

His arms shook as he laid you down on the gurney, his fingers reluctant to leave your skin.

The second you were out of his grasp, the hospital staff surged around you. Someone shouted for an IV. Another called for blood. A doctor was barking orders, rattling off things Stiles didn’t understand.

And then, just like that, they were wheeling you away.

"Wait—!" He lurched forward, but a nurse stepped into his path.

"You can’t go in there," she told him, firm but not unkind.

"But—" His throat closed up. You were disappearing down the hallway, and he was standing there, useless. "Please, I—she—"

"We’re going to do everything we can," she promised, her expression softening. "You should sit down."

He shook his head, hands gripping his hair as his body thrummed with restless energy, with sheer helplessness.

He had to do something. He had to fix this.

But he couldn’t.

So he stood there, blood on his hands, on his clothes, on his soul—watching the doors swing shut behind you, leaving him alone in the too-bright, too-cold waiting room, drowning in the worst kind of silence.

The waiting room had become a prison of silence and fluorescent lights, a place where time stretched endlessly. Stiles paced, sat, stood, ran a hand through his hair, paced again. His legs felt like they couldn’t stay still, but his body was running on nothing but adrenaline and fear.

Then, the doors burst open.

"Stiles!"

His father’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and commanding, and for a second, Stiles felt like he was fifteen again, caught sneaking out past curfew. But the second his father laid eyes on him, all of that melted away.

Sheriff Stilinski was still in "sheriff mode" at first, his stance firm, his jaw tight, taking in the scene with a trained, calculating eye. The blood. The way Stiles looked seconds away from collapsing. The way the nurses were glancing at him with that mixture of sympathy and wariness.

"What happened?" his father demanded, stepping right in front of him. The agent at his side, someone Stiles vaguely recognized from the station, lingered back, waiting.

Stiles opened his mouth—tried to form words—but nothing came.

Because now that his dad was here, now that someone who had always been a rock in his life was standing in front of him, the weight of everything hit at once.

His breath caught. His knees nearly buckled.

And then his dad's hands were on his shoulders, grounding him.

"It's okay, son. Take a breath," the sheriff said, his voice losing some of its sharpness.

Stiles still couldn’t breathe right. His throat felt tight, his body shaking without him realizing it.

His dad's expression softened, and before Stiles could process it, strong arms wrapped around him, pulling him into a tight, steadying hug.

For the first time since he had carried you into that hospital, Stiles exhaled.

"She’s going to be okay, Stiles," his father murmured, gripping him like he could keep him from falling apart completely.

But Stiles couldn’t bring himself to believe it. Not yet. Not until you opened your eyes again.

It took him a few minutes before he was able to find his voice, to force out a shaky, half-assed explanation about what had happened.

"We were—" He swallowed, shaking his head. He couldn’t tell the truth. "There was… an animal. In the woods. It came out of nowhere, and I—I tried to get her out of the way, but it got her."

His father’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't push.

"You were out in the woods? At this hour?"

Stiles shrugged helplessly. "We were just—Scott was—" He exhaled sharply, rubbing his face with bloodstained hands. "I don’t know. It all happened so fast."

The lie tasted bitter on his tongue. His dad knew there was more to the story—he always did—but right now, he let it slide.

Instead, he let out a long breath and said, "Alright. You’re not in trouble, Stiles. I just need to know you’re okay."

Was he okay?

Not even close.

But he nodded anyway.

The rest of the night stretched on in a blur. His father stayed close, watching him, occasionally stepping away to make calls. Eventually, he disappeared and returned with a bag of fresh clothes.

"You need to get cleaned up," he said, handing them over.

Stiles hesitated. The thought of leaving, of stepping away, of missing the moment the doctor came back—it made his stomach twist.

"Dad, I can’t—"

"You can," the sheriff said firmly. "You need to. You’re covered in blood, Stiles."

And he was.

Your blood was on his hoodie, his jeans, his hands.

That was what finally made him move.

The hospital bathroom was sterile and cold, the fluorescent lights making him look even worse in the mirror. He stripped off his hoodie, wincing at the sight of the dark stains smeared across the fabric. He scrubbed his hands under the scalding water, but even after the blood was gone, he still felt it.

Still felt the ghost of your weight in his arms.

Still saw the way you had gone limp.

When he came back out, wearing fresh clothes, his father was still there, waiting.

Stiles sat back down, hands clenched together, eyes fixed on the double doors leading to the emergency ward.

And then, he waited.

A dull, persistent beeping filled the air. The sterile scent of antiseptic burned in your nostrils. Something tugged at your arm—an IV. The weight in your limbs, the ache beneath your skin, the bandages wrapped tightly around your torso—it all screamed hospital.

Then it hit you.

Memories came in flashes—teeth, claws, glowing red eyes. The sheer force of impact when you’d pushed Stiles out of the way. The sharp agony of claws tearing into you. Stiles’ voice—raw, desperate—calling your name.

Your eyes flew open.

Your breath hitched as you gasped for air, body jerking instinctively, as if still trying to escape a predator. Your heart pounded in your chest, fast and erratic.

Before you could process where you were, a chair scraped violently against the floor.

"Y/N!"

Stiles was on you in an instant. His hand landed on your shoulder—warm, trembling. "Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re safe. You’re in the hospital. You're okay."

You blinked rapidly, trying to slow your breathing, your eyes darting to take in your surroundings. White walls. Machines. Dim lighting. And Stiles.

Stiles, who looked terrible.

The dark circles under his eyes were almost bruised-looking, his face pale with exhaustion. His clothes were different, but his hair was still a mess, and there was tension in his shoulders that told you he hadn’t truly relaxed in hours—maybe days.

And the way he was looking at you… like he still couldn’t quite believe you were alive.

Your chest ached—not from the wound, but from him. From the way his hands still trembled, from the exhaustion carved into every inch of him.

"Stiles," you breathed, voice hoarse. "You're okay."

Stiles blinked at you, his lips parting slightly, like he couldn't comprehend the words.

Then he let out a laugh—a dry, disbelieving sound, completely devoid of amusement. His hand, still on your shoulder, clenched slightly before he pulled away, running both hands through his hair.

"You—" He let out another incredulous chuckle, shaking his head. "Yeah, I'm okay, now."

You sighed and let your head sink back into the pillow, your body still heavy with exhaustion. Despite everything, you felt… not good, exactly, but better. The initial shock and panic had settled, leaving behind a strange numbness.

Stiles, after a brief hesitation, climbed onto the bed beside you, careful not to jostle you too much. He sat next to you, his knee bent, one foot still resting on the floor, his body angled so he could watch you closely.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, voice softer now, less frantic.

You swallowed. "Numb," you admitted. "I don’t feel my side at all."

"Yeah, they, uh… pumped you full of anesthesia for the surgery," Stiles muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "So you’re probably still feeling the aftereffects."

"Surgery?" You blinked at him, trying to recall anything past the moment in the woods when everything went black. "Was it bad?"

Stiles hesitated, his jaw tightening.

"Messy," he admitted after a beat. "But… you’re gonna be okay."

Something in his voice made you pause. There was still something weighing on him, something left unsaid. But before you could address it, a new thought struck you, one that sent a chill through your bones.

"Did it bite me?" you asked, voice quieter now, more urgent. "Am I gonna turn?"

That got Stiles' attention. His eyes widened slightly before he quickly shook his head. "No. No, you’re good. Just claws. Deep, bloody, very disgusting claws, but still—just claws."

Relief flooded you, and you exhaled, tension easing from your body.

But Stiles didn’t relax.

You watched him for a moment, noticing how his fingers curled into the bedsheets, how his knee bounced slightly like he was trying to contain nervous energy. His eyes weren’t on you anymore, but on some invisible point beyond you, lost in thought.

Something was bothering him.

Slowly, carefully, you reached out, taking his hand where it rested on the bed. His fingers twitched under your touch, like he wasn’t expecting it.

"Stiles," you murmured, squeezing his hand lightly. "What is it?"

He didn’t answer right away. He just stared at your joined hands, his thumb grazing over your knuckles absentmindedly. His breath was shaky when he finally spoke.

Stiles' gaze stayed locked on your intertwined hands, his thumb gently tracing nervous circles over your knuckles. His breath shook slightly when he finally spoke, voice strained and uncertain.

"Why did you do that?" he asked softly, the words tight in his throat. "Why did you throw me out of the way?"

You sighed gently, your voice quiet but steady, as if the answer was the most obvious thing in the world. "I couldn't let you be hurt."

He glanced up at you, eyes wide with disbelief. "Yeah, but… you knew it would hurt you instead."

"Yeah," you said simply, without hesitation. "And I still did it."

Stiles' voice faltered. "Why?"

"Stiles…" You squeezed his hand again, firmer this time, trying to ground him in your words, trying to make him truly hear you. "You've spent your entire life saving everyone. Ever since Scott turned into a werewolf, you've been everywhere at once, doing everything for everyone else. You helped Scott face the hunters, you saved him more times than I can count. You saved Lydia when Peter attacked her, you stood up and saved Derek—even when he was being a total douche—from the Kanima."

You paused, taking a gentle breath as you felt the ache of honesty in your chest. "You save everyone around you, Stiles, but who saves you when you need it?"

Stiles stared at you, stunned, like he'd never even considered the possibility. His breath caught in his throat, eyes glassy and raw. You saw him, really saw him—beyond the sarcastic bravado, beyond the nervous jokes and restless energy. Right now, you could see his heart, vulnerable and unsure.

You weren't entirely sure why the words escaped your lips—perhaps it was the anesthesia lingering in your veins, blurring the careful edges you'd spent years building, or maybe it was simply because you'd reached a breaking point, your heart finally tired of holding back, tired of quietly waiting.

"I don't want to live in a world without you, Stiles."

The words were soft, honest, fragile like thin glass, filling the quiet space between the two of you. Stiles froze, his mouth slightly parted, eyes wide and searching your face, desperately trying to understand. He opened his mouth once, twice, but no words came. For the first time, Stiles Stilinski, the boy who could fill hours of silence with endless chatter, was completely speechless.

You watched him quietly, your eyelids feeling heavier with every passing second. The lingering anesthesia was beginning to pull you down, back into the peaceful haze of sleep. You fought it for a moment, just long enough to hold his gaze, long enough to let him see the truth, the sincerity and love you'd hidden away in the quiet corners of your heart.

Stiles’ confusion melted into a softer expression—a blend of surprise, wonder, and something warmer that you couldn't quite read clearly through your drowsiness. You wished you had the strength to decipher it, to figure out if there was even a glimmer of hope there, but your eyes were already slipping closed, your body relaxing against the pillows.

"Y/N?" Stiles murmured softly, uncertainty coloring his voice, the gentle squeeze of his hand pulling your mind slightly back to the surface. But the warmth of sleep was strong, wrapping itself around you like a comforting embrace.

You had loved him for so long—since childhood, since those days when you played tag on the playground and whispered secrets beneath the plastic slide. You'd grown up together, side by side, holding each other up through the divorce of your parents and the unbearable loss of his mother. You had watched silently as he fell head over heels for Lydia, heart aching quietly every time he looked at her the way you longed for him to look at you.

It was always Lydia.

You had long ago accepted your fate—Stiles saw you as his best friend, nothing more. And yet, your stubborn heart refused to move on, refused to give up hope. Tonight, in that awful moment when the werewolf lunged at him, you'd acted without thinking. Because losing Stiles would mean losing yourself. Because love doesn't pause to think—it just acts.

And now you'd told him, spoken words you'd kept hidden away for years. Perhaps tomorrow you'd blame the anesthesia, claim you didn't mean it the way it sounded—but tonight, in this moment, your heart was open, vulnerable, honest.

Sleep drew you under gently, your breathing becoming slow and deep.

As your mind faded away, you vaguely felt Stiles' fingertips brush softly against your cheek. You heard the distant, gentle whisper of your name, filled with a sweetness you'd never heard from him before, as if he was seeing you clearly for the first time.

Stiles sat there, frozen, staring at you as your breathing evened out, your body finally succumbing to exhaustion.

His mind was a mess, spinning in endless loops, replaying your words over and over again.

"I don't want to live in a world without you, Stiles."

It rattled him.

Because it wasn't just something you said in passing, wasn't just a casual admission—it was the truth. A truth so raw and deep that it knocked the breath from his lungs. And now, sitting here in the dim hospital room, watching over you, Stiles realized something he should have known all along.

He had never been more scared to lose someone than he had been to lose you.

Not Lydia. Not anyone. You.

Lydia had never really seen him, not the way he had always hoped she would. But you? You had always been there. Always. Through every disaster, every sleepless night, every impossible, terrifying thing they had faced—you had been right beside him.

And he'd been so blind.

Of course, he thought. It’s been you all along.

His fingers lingered against your cheek for a moment longer, as if trying to memorize the warmth of your skin. His chest ached, not in the way it had before—not with fear, but with something else entirely. Something new.

Or maybe… maybe it had been there all along, buried beneath everything else, just waiting for him to see.

He swallowed hard, shifting slightly on the bed as he brushed a strand of hair away from your face. His heart thudded against his ribs, a little too fast, a little too hard.

"Sleep, Y/N," he whispered, voice soft, almost reverent. "I'll take care of you."

And he would.

From now on, he would never let you out of his sight again.

▸ Everything

@alexxavicry

𝗖𝗼𝗺𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗿𝗲𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗴𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗴𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗹𝘆 𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗶𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱! 𝗦𝗵𝗼𝘄 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘀𝘂𝗽𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗿!

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Rolling for Romance

Pairing: Poly 141 x Reader

Warnings: Chaos, swearing, nerd references, Johnny being Johnny

Author's Note: Just some D&D shenanigans with the boys. Hope you enjoy!

Summary: You finally convince your boyfriends to play Dungeons & Dragons, and it goes exactly how you expected.

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The dining table was a war zone of character sheets, dice, snacks, and four very skeptical yet secretly intrigued soldiers. You had been plotting this for weeks, convinced that if you could just get them to try D&D, they’d love it.

“Alright, my loves, welcome to Dungeons & Dragons.”

John, or as Johnny fondly called him, Old Man, raised an eyebrow. Arms crossed, he leaned back in his chair, giving you that familiar look of amused doubt. “This is that bloody nerd game you keep goin’ on about, yeah?”

“You say that now,” you teased, “but by the end of the night, you’ll be the one demanding another session.”

“I doubt that,” Simon muttered from the corner, his ever-present skeptical gaze locked onto his character sheet. Big Guy wasn’t one for unnecessary distractions—he preferred the battlefield to fantasy. But even he had a slight twitch of curiosity in his eyes.

“Alright, let’s go over your characters, you said, handing them their sheets. Gremlin, you’re a barbarian.”

Johnny cackled as he read his sheet. “Ohhh, hell yeah. Big, strong, reckless—so basically me in real life?”

“Exactly.”

“Oi!” Kyle scoffed. “There’s a difference between reckless and just plain stupid, mate.”

“Shut it, Pretty Boy,” Johnny shot back.

Kyle smirked but turned his attention to his sheet. “Rogue, huh? Stealthy, good with knives—yeah, I can work with this.”

“You’ll probably end up stealing from your own team,” John muttered, already predicting the inevitable.

“Not my fault if you’re bad at hiding your gold,” Kyle shot back.

Simon’s unreadable expression didn’t change as he looked at his page. “Paladin?”

“You get to wear heavy armor and smite things, you explained. You’re basically a holy knight.”

He tilted his head. “So… I hit things. And they explode with holy energy?”

“More or less.”

“Hm,” he grunted. “Alright.”

And then there was John.

He squinted at his sheet, brow furrowing. “You gave me a wizard?”

You grinned. “Yes, I did.”

He sighed, rubbing his temple. “You know I prefer things straightforward, love. Can’t I just have a sword and be done with it?”

“But Captain Fireball,” you cooed, leaning in, “think about it—you get to command pure destruction.”

That made him pause.

“…Go on,” he muttered.

Hook. Line. Sinker.

——

“You find yourselves in a dimly lit tavern, you narrated, setting the scene. The smell of stale ale and roasted meat fills the air, and the murmur of patrons drowns out the crackling of the fire. A barmaid passes by with a tray of drinks, and a hooded figure sits in the corner— “

“I flirt with the barmaid,” Johnny announced immediately, rolling his d20 before you could even react.

You sighed. “You what?”

He grinned. “Rollin’ for charisma, babe.”

Kyle leaned over. “Oh, mate, you got a natural 20.”

You groaned. “The barmaid is very into you.”

Johnny smirked, waggling his eyebrows. “What’s she doin’?”

“She’s batting her eyelashes and giggling like a schoolgirl,” you deadpanned. “She even offers you a free drink.”

Before Johnny could revel in his success, Simon cleared his throat. “I cast Divine Sense.”

Everyone turned to him.

“You… what?” you asked, already bracing for nonsense.

“Need to make sure she’s not some sort of … demon.”

Kyle was already laughing. “Simon, she’s just a barmaid.”

“You never know,” Big Guy muttered, arms crossed. “Can’t be too careful.”

John groaned. “Jesus Christ, Si.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Fine. She’s not a demon. Just a very charmed barmaid.”

“Good,” Simon said simply.

——

“You enter a dungeon filled with traps, you continued, getting to the action. The air is damp, and the faint glow of—“

“I kick the door down,” Johnny declared.

You sighed. “You… what?”

“KICK. THE. DOOR. DOWN.” He rolled his dice. Natural 1.

Kyle howled with laughter. “Ohhh, this is amazing.”

You grinned. “Your foot bounces off the door, you fall flat on your ass, and now your toe hurts.”

Johnny groaned. “This is rigged.”

“It’s called consequences, Gremlin.”

But the true catastrophe came when combat started.

“You see a group of goblins—“

“I cast Fireball,” John interrupted.

“You do realize you're in a wooden room, right?”

John hesitated. “…Can I take it back?”

“Nope.”

“Bugger.”

The entire room went up in flames. Goblins screamed. The party screamed. Kyle wheezed. Simon muttered a low, unimpressed, “Christ.”

“You just fireballed the entire building,” you said, struggling to breathe through your laughter. “Everyone inside is now running for their lives, including you.”

John exhaled slowly, rubbing his temple. “This is why I don’t play wizard.”

——

Despite, or maybe because of, the absolute madness, the boys had a blast.

By the time the session ended, they were still bickering over their favorite moments.

“I still think I should’ve been able to seduce the goblin king,” Johnny grumbled, crossing his arms.

“You rolled a 2, Gremlin,” you reminded him. He laughed in your face.

“I’m just sayin’, I think I deserved a second roll.”

Kyle smirked. “At least I didn’t get my ass kicked by a door.”

“Shut it, Pretty Boy.”

Simon leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “I’ll admit… that was actually fun.”

John sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Aye, love, I’ll give it to you. This was a good night.”

Johnny threw an arm around you, kissing the top of your head. “Best DM ever. We’re playin’ again next week.”

You beamed. Mission accomplished.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[surielstea]

Worried Mates

1k celebration request by @mira-says

Pairing: Poly!Bat Boys x Valkyrie!Reader

Summary: Reader gets badly injured and her three mates fuss over her.

Warnings: Light gore | canon-typical violence | injury | hurt/comfort | fluff | angst | happy ending

A.Note: This takes place during the war between humans and fae 500 years before the events of ACoTaR, Reader is a Valkyrie Commander.

2.1k words

"Gods—" I grunt, gripping my aching side. The war between mortals and fae was raging, and it seemed that it wouldn't be stopping any time soon.

When my half-sister, Miryam, had told me that she planned on fleeing with Prince Drakon once the war was over I thought she must've been insane. I only wanted joy for my sister of course, but it was foolish of her to think the two of them could have their happy ending after helping initiate this war.

But now, bleeding out and surrounded by enemies I was starting to understand the appeal of leaving everyone behind and escaping with my mates. I was at death's doorstep, too tired to even lift my sword, and I wanted nothing more than to be in the arms of the males I loved most.

I watched all my companions die off, my friends, Valkyrie's far better than me dying before me. It wasn't right.

I was the commander of the Valkyrie units, and now they're gone. Commander of no one because I failed them all by leading them into a war I knew we couldn't win.

An armed fae charged towards me, his sword held high as he screamed like a madman.

I tightened my grip on my shield and used his momentum against him, his sword clanging hard to the Illyrian steel of my shield as I pushed it back into him. He tumbled to the ground under the weight of it and with the sharp point of my shield I thrusted it straight into his chest. He fell limp.

A battle cry sounded from behind me and I groaned, every inch of my body protesting any further movement. I unsheathed my heavy sword while turning around to face a hulking male, lifting it up in challenge.

He swings first, his scarlet-covered blade meeting mine. He was much stronger than me, bigger too but he was slow. He pushed hard and my aching arms strained under the pressure. I steadied my breathing and pushed his blade away from me. He came back swinging with twice the force, going right for my head. I bent back, my spine screaming at me as his blade swung just above my nose, the sharpness of it slicing into a rogue hair that had strayed from its braid.

With the remaining energy I honed, I thrust my sword into the male's chest. He yelped, his sword clattering to the ground, and with one last attempt to gut me, he swung to grab me with his free hand. I screamed as I felt a searing pain in my side. I looked down to find a large knife embedded into my torso. When I looked back to the male he twisted the knife and I felt as if my entire body was set aflame. I clenched my teeth together as I plunged my sword into his chest again, and when I pulled it out he was already in the dirt, receiving the same fate as his comrades.

My knees buckled as I looked at my side again, blood pooling at my feet as it ran down my leg.

I dug my sword in the ground, using it for support so I could at least stay standing. My entire left side felt paralyzed as I continued to lose that precious scarlet liquid.

I squeezed my eyes shut before forcing them open, my vision bleary as I grew increasingly dizzy.

In the distance, I saw another armed soldier charging at me. For a moment I debated letting him have my life, it was soon nearing a close anyway.

But I hadn’t trained for years to be cut down by a measly foot soldier, hadn’t clawed and scraped my way through ranks to die by a stranger's hand. I curse, deciding that I wouldn't go out in forfeit, I would die fighting or I would not die at all. With only my right arm I lifted my sword up toward the sky, ready to strike.

But just as he was about to reach me a gleam of red flashed and the soldier's head went flying in the opposite direction of his body. Directly in front of me stood a male, glowing in red, my vision began to darken at the corners but I could recognize those wings anywhere. "Oh thank the gods," I sighed in pure relief, falling to my knees as Cassian ran forward to catch me before my head could hit the hard ground. He spotted the gushing wound in my side immediately, then looked at my dilated pupils.

“Hey, sweetheart,” He rasped, his voice raw from shouting commands at soldiers over the fields. “Cass,” I hum his name, the familiarity of it bringing me a warm feeling. I was glad to see he was unharmed. “Lean on me,” He says while gently brushing my stubborn hairs away from my sweat, and most likely blood, lined forehead.

"I'm going to get you out of here," Was all I managed to hear from him before darkness consumed me and my vision blackened entirely.

When I cracked my eyes open I immediately winced at the harsh light of the room I was being kept in. The sound of frustrated voices registered first, then the smell of lavender, and the softness of the pillow behind my head, and then finally my vision came. I spotted Rhysand and Cassian first, quietly bickering over something I couldn’t find in myself to care for. They were both changed from their armor, cleansed from the blood and dirt of the war. Even though they both looked clean and seemed how they always did I could tell something was off. Their wings were terse and the bags beneath their eyes were prominent.

It took a lot to mar the beauty of a Fae male, especially the two of them, and yet I don’t think I’ve ever seen them more distressed.

They continued their hushed argument, oblivious to the fact that I had woken up so I cast my eyes elsewhere, toward the third male in the room who had his head tilted downward, his scarred hands in his lap. He stared at those scars, his shaky hands making it seem like he’d done something wretched, so horrid he somehow didn’t think it probable that it was done with his own hands.

My brows creased, all three of them were in sorrow, and whether it was because I was bedridden or it was simply the after-effects of the war I was unsure.

“Good morning,” Is all I can think to say. It was casual, a little hoarse, but simple.

The room fell silent and all three heads snapped towards me. Their lips all formed tight straight lines as they bored their eyes into me.

I couldn’t tell if it was shock or relief, perhaps both.

A large smile cracks across my lips. “Were you guys worried about me?” I suggest, raising my brows accusingly.

“Gods,” A large figure crashes into me and I groan. Cassian clings to me tightly, hugging me into his warm chest. “Of course, we were worried,” He whispers, as if afraid he’d break this moment by speaking any louder.

“You’re crushing her, Cass,” Rhys says from behind him and I chuckle, looking at the violet-eyed male and giving him a gentle smirk which he matched. I pulled away from Cassian’s embrace first and he reluctantly let go of me.

“I’m sorry love,” Azriel sighed, his hand coming to intertwine with my fingers. “Sorry for what Az?” My brows crease.

“My shadows should’ve been with you, I could’ve stopped that soldier from hurting you—” The Illyrian starts but Cassian cuts him off.

“No Az it’s my fault, I should have been there sooner. I should have taken that dagger not her—” He tried but this time it was Rhys to cut him off.

“Both of you stop being ridiculous, I was the one that allowed her to fight, it was my mistake from the beginning,” The High Lord asserts, crossing his arms over his chest.

“My gods, do you three ever quit taking the blame for everything?” I looked pointedly at Rhys when I spoke. “I would’ve commanded the Valkyries to fight alongside you whether it was cleared or not,” I confess and Rhys subtly frowns at that, the unspoken question of me being the last Valkyrie was now answered with that expression. A wave of shame passed over me, but I pushed it aside for now, deciding to spend this moment with my three very paranoid, but very alive mates.

“I’m fine,” I give Azriel’s hand a squeeze.

“Madja said if the blade went even a fraction deeper it would’ve been fatal,” The blue siphoned male argued, and my brows bunch.

“But it didn’t,” I state.

“But it could have,” He snarled and I had never seen him so angry, so scared.

My eyes softened and I let a soft smile grace my features. “Az,” I whispered, attempting to bring him comfort to remind him I was alive and healthy.

Azriel was the first of the three that I bonded with, we’ve always had a different connection because of it. I’ll love all of them equally no matter what, but it left Azriel to be more protective of me than the other two.

He stands suddenly, our hands still tangled. “You nearly died, you nearly abandoned us for a place where we aren’t allowed to join you,” He snapped and my heart ached at the pained look on his face. I would’ve been furious too if it were him on the brink of death, I would’ve found a way to steal him back from death itself if that treacherous event were to come.

“Azriel,” Cassian snapped at the male but I held a hand up, waving him off.

I sat up, my side screamed at me in protest but I ignored it. I wore my softest white nightgown, only realizing it once I stood from the bed, slightly unsteady but upright nonetheless. I narrow my gaze at Azriel.

“I am here, I am alive,” I say. “A little scratched up but I don’t think Rhys will let me out in the field anytime soon,” I smile and Rhys shifts behind me.

“You heard that right,” The High Lord grumbled under his breath and I tossed him a glance over my shoulder.

I look back to Azriel, reaching for his other hand and holding them both. “See? I’m alright, I promise,” I look up at him lovingly and his shoulders dip in relief.

“Okay,” He nods, silently cursing himself for acting out so brashly. “You just, had me worried is all,” He excuses and I smile softly, letting go of one of his hands in favor of cupping his jaw.

“I know honey, I know,” I murmur before lifting up and placing a reassuring kiss on his lips, he returns it by bringing his free hand to my hip, pulling me closer.

“Is it just me or do you feel excluded too?” Cassian loudly whispered to Rhysand and I giggled against Azriel’s lips, pulling away and turning my head to cast a playful glare at the two piqued males, clearly attention-deprived.

“Then come over here already,” I give them an inviting smirk and they quickly scramble around the bed to reach me and it takes everything in me not to giggle at how desperate they were to be in my clutches yet again.

“One for you,” I placed my hand on Rhys’ jaw and gave him a soft peck, he barely had time to reciprocate it until I was rearing back. “And,” I grabbed Cass by his shirt. “One for you,” I gave him the same kiss.

“You taste like a coma,” The male murmured, smacking his lips and I rolled my eyes.

“You each got one, are you three satisfied now?” I arch a brow.

“Satisfied? Nowhere near it darling,” Rhys grabbed me by the waist and hoisted me up and over his shoulder.

“Wait! I’m still not fully healed yet!” I yelped, banging my fists on his back playfully.

“We’ll be gentle,” Cassian reassured with a gleeful smile. I looked at Azriel but he only smirked.

“No promises,” He shrugged and I groaned, letting my body go limp as Rhys carried me towards the High Lord's chambers.

“If you guys open my stitches I’ll give all of you stitches,” I threatened but none of them seemed to care, and to be honest nothing sounded better than the idea of being cradled by three tan, very large, Illyrians after such a long war.

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[gatorbites-imagines]

Merry Christmas!!!!

so since it’s Christmas for me rn I was wondering if we could get some cute scenario with Tim drake, like him and his bf ending up under a mistletoe, or a snowball fight

I’m a sucker for fluff and just want some cute Christmas time!!!

Tim Drake x Hero male reader

Headcanons

I had iceman from the x-men on my mind as I wrote this. How was everyones holidays? Did yall get what you wanted? I got a weighted blanket, some books and kitchen stuff. I also got blasphemous 2, I’m not that good at it.

Having to patrol Christmas night was always a bummer, but crime never sleeps. In reality, crime got worse around these times of the year since people got so easily distracted and so many things were put inside stores.

Luckily for Tim, you were invited to the manor for the holidays this year since you guys have been dating for a while. Last year Tim celebrated with your family, so now you were joining his.

This also meant you joined up for patrol, meaning the bats had a whole new surprise in their arsenal, seeing as you could control ice, cold, water, so on and so forth.

It made dealing with criminals easy, since none of the rogues were out and about. Two-face, killer croc and Firefry apparently weren’t in Arkham, but they all seemed to be more focused on the actual holidays than crime. This just left you guys with some everyday criminals.

For you and Tim, this patrol felt more like a date than anything else. Apparently, Red Robin dating one of the known heroes from another city was enough to make the people you passed feel giddy.

You had been staying with the Waynes for the whole week leading up to the holidays, so you had patrolled for just as long. This also gave the Gotham citizens enough time to set up mistletoes and little goody bags wherever you guys were patrolling.

How the hell did the locals even get a mistletoe all the way up on a specific gargoyle you two liked to sit under as you enjoyed your hot chocolate? Gotham locals scared you sometimes with how determined they were, but it did make Tim blush, if only a little.

Later on, hed blame it on how cold it was, and the fact that you were pretty much made of ice when using your powers. It didn’t stop you from giving him a small peck though, even though it leaves his lips completely pink, and his face flushed from the cold.

You end up getting scolded by some of the Gotham locals. Theres no real heat behind it. It’s more the fact that they didn’t know you were coming, so none of them prepared gifts for you.

The bats never asked for gifts, but you learn they always get some from the locals, even if they try to turn them away. You think its pretty damn neat, and you damn near cry when an older lady gifts you a scarf she stayed up all night to make. It’s even got your blues and Tims reds, since you guys are very obvious.

When crimes are as low as it can get in Gotham, you spend time making sculptures around town with your powers. Most of them are of the bats, and yeah, there’s about twice as many of Tim as everyone else. You never go into enough detail for their identities to be obvious, but it’s just your way of bonding with the city.

With Gotham having the weather it does, the snow also tends to be pretty damn sucky. Luckily for them, your powers are very useful in turning it into nice white snow, perfect for snowmen and snowballs.

Some people are weary of you because of Freeze, but seeing you hang around the bats gets people outdoors. You being as friendly as you are, supplying people with snowballs into their hands, also helps.

None of the bats are really the type to just come down and play in the snow like you, throwing snowballs after some of them does help. Soon Nightwing, Spoiler and Signal are mixed into the snow fight.

The others are too serious or weary to just let loose. You know the other bats are as vigilant as the ones watching from the roofs, so are you, but you do wish your boyfriend would join.

You get him back later by shoving snow down the back of his suit when he isn’t paying attention to you. Tim can’t get you back since you’re pretty much made of ice, but he gets you back one way of another.

The holidays with the Bats is a whole experience, since they come from so many cultures. Theres so many different traditions and food, and its all worked into the celebration somehow.

Even a couple of your own traditions are worked into the celebration, if there’s anything specific your family does during the holidays, that Tim picked up last year.

You guys all get together to watch a movie together as well, even if some of the bats argue and throw some punches. The normal animosity between some of them is put away for the day, if there is any. But with a family that size you wouldn’t be shocked if someone was arguing.

You and Tim cuddle during the movie, of course, and you’re also wearing matching Christmas sweaters. They’re Green Lantern themed, and you note that none of the family members are wearing Batman shirts. Later you learn that this is one of their traditions, since Bruce one year got broody about it. Now he joins the tradition by wearing a superman sweater.

Theres mistletoes all over the manor, mainly because of you and Tim, and whoever else is brought to the manor as a romantic partner if there are any.

Tim is not the most comfortable with kissing in front of his whole family, so instead it just becomes pecks on the cheek. You end up freezing Jason’s tea right in his mug after he makes enough jokes about it.

In the morning you and Tim share gifts in his room, just the ones meant for you two, before you guys go down to join the others, in matching pajamas, obviously.

Before you guys leave Tims room he gives you a kiss that’s almost enough to make you melt, as payback for the snow in his suit. You don’t mind too much, even if some of his family joke about your red face and how smug Tim looks.

[fanged-fanfics]

Hello! If it's not too much to ask, can you do the TFP Decepticons with a femme Cybertronian [(S/O) or platonic] that's like Rouge The Bat from Sonic? In terms of personality and her being a thief?

☆ Stolen Sparks — TFP Decepticons x Fem Reader HCs ☆

Genre: Fluff || she/her pronouns for reader || No warnings needed

A/N: There's more than just Megatron in the post I promise I'm just using him as the fic image cause I couldn't find a picture with all the Decepticons I included 😭

──────.𖥔 ݁ ˖˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ──────

Megatron:

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Despite his attempts, Megatron could never seem to track you down for long. You kept evading his notice, working as a rogue and stealing from whoever you please. It annoyed him at first... but he found his feelings shifting

ᯓᡣ𐭩 He was intrigued by you before long. What did you want for, were you working for someone else or purely yourself? A faction of thieves, maybe? He became determined to get to know you

ᯓᡣ𐭩 To your surprise, he could out-maneuver you. Turns and tricks that usually worked would get you caught, and you found yourself intrigued above all else. Though you loved to give up a chase, you couldn't resist humoring his conversation

ᯓᡣ𐭩 If he were being honest, it was more than just your efficiency to fulfill your own gain that pulled him in. It was the glances, the claws you'd trail against his plating, the flirting. It consumed his processor entirely, and he felt a drive to be close to you because of it, to experience it all over again every day

Starscream:

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Starscream was a bit harder to charm, he saw you as a direct threat to his reign and someone who could bring down what he's been working so hard to build

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Your cooing and little snarky comments made him irritated the most, and he was determined to find a way to stop your meddling. He talked about you constantly, always thinking about your next move, and always thinking of you over the littlest things

ᯓᡣ𐭩 It took some external prodding from Knockout for him to come to the sudden realization that he'd become infatuated with you. He couldn't help it, but he had no idea how it managed to sneak up on him. How you so effortlessly stole his spark like you'd done to countless treasures

ᯓᡣ𐭩 It wasn't long before you could pick on him about fumbling in battles and suddenly losing what little composer he had. He just couldn't focus anymore, because now when you got in his face to tease, all he could think of was the proximity of your frames

Soundwave:

ᯓᡣ𐭩 You thought it a fun challenge to see if you could get some sort of reaction out of the notoriously stoic Decepticon, but he never once spoke a word to you, no matter how many little jabs you gave him

ᯓᡣ𐭩 He spoke more with actions. He always knew your next move, and had plenty of Cassettes to set you back if you got out of line or threatened Megatron's cause. Other than that, he seemed more passive towards you

ᯓᡣ𐭩 You were surprised when you began finding trinkets and treasures being practically gifted to you. They were left out in obvious spots around your usual stops, and sometimes you'd catch a glimpse of the Officer warding off other bots who tried to pick them up before you

ᯓᡣ𐭩 You would start back up chatting at Soundwave, noting the little signs he gave in body language and his gifts that he'd been paying attention to your preferences. He didn't respond to any flirting outwardly, but definitely never shied away from your words

Shockwave:

ᯓᡣ𐭩 The logical but completely amoral, getting ahead of Shockwave was nearly impossible. He didn't rise to any of your bait, disabled any traps, and even mocked back when you goaded him

ᯓᡣ𐭩 With his unyielding stoicism, you were more than a little convinced that you were always the winner of your little play-fights, since he seemed to completely miss any hint you threw at him

ᯓᡣ𐭩 What you learned after he won a small scuffle between you two is you weren't the only one playing this little game. Intellectual challenges are where Shockwave excelled, and him letting you win was to prolong this habit you shared, of challenging the other into doing their best

ᯓᡣ𐭩 You both agree to mutually maintain this system for as long as possible, chasing each other in this friendly war of tactics that honestly has made you feel closer to the scientist than ever, especially when he reciprocates your sly remarks

Airachnid:

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Running into the spidery fembot was a dangerous bet— you'd heard plenty about what she was capable of, and you always tried to keep on your best wits when around anything she considered her territory

ᯓᡣ𐭩 When Airachid inevitably did catch you, she was surprisingly not keen on the though of tearing you apart. Instead, she told you all the potential she saw in you, and all the success you two could have when working together

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Whether you agree or deny, she's always in your plans from that day forth. Either by aiding your work and complimenting your efficiency, or by undermining your plans the same way you always do to others

ᯓᡣ𐭩 In cooperation or opposition, you two are evenly matched. Airachnid knows how to trip you up, and you know how to evade her fangs. No matter what you pick, she finds you alluring, and desires to someday have you as her own little treat

[urdreamydoodles]

Can you write bat villains x someone who use to be a psychologist? And gn please

Bat-Villains x Reader

You used to be a psychologist

Characters: Joker, Harley Quinn, Poison Ivy, Bane, Scarecrow, Two-Face, The Riddler & The Penguin

I hope I did what you hoped. Love you guys, bye ♡

The Joker

- You’ve always known that your choice to leave psychology behind wasn’t entirely your own. It became evident the moment you met him, the infamous Joker, during your stint at Arkham. You were initially his psychologist, drawn into his world by the challenge of untangling his chaotic psyche. But instead of understanding him, you found yourself caught in his web. Your analytical mind fascinated him—your attempts to “fix” him became his favorite game, one that always ended with him flipping the script and dissecting you instead.

- Your former training as a psychologist now feels like a double-edged sword in your relationship. On one hand, it’s the reason he respects you. You’re the one person who can spar with him intellectually, who can try (and sometimes fail) to keep up with the labyrinthine way his mind works. On the other hand, he sees your past profession as an ongoing joke. He’ll mockingly call you “Doc” or ask if you’d like to analyze him, knowing full well that any attempt would end in him exposing your own vulnerabilities instead.

- The Joker revels in pushing your boundaries. He’ll leave Rorschach test cards lying around the hideout, asking for your “professional opinion” with a maniacal grin. He’ll turn every fight or disagreement into a warped therapy session, making you question your own motives and sanity. Yet, there’s a twisted tenderness in the way he values your insight. When he’s planning his next big scheme, he’ll ask for your input—not because he needs it, but because he enjoys the way your mind works.

- You often catch yourself analyzing him even now, despite knowing it’s a futile exercise. But every once in a while, you’ll hit a nerve. When you call out the cracks in his façade, when you pinpoint the rare moments where his chaos feels less calculated and more personal, he’ll grow uncharacteristically quiet. Those are the moments when you see the man beneath the madness, even if only for a fleeting second.

- He loves reminding you that you’ve crossed a line no ethical psychologist ever should. “Falling for your patient, Doc? That’s against the rules,” he’ll say with mock horror. But there’s a glimmer of pride in his eyes because you didn’t just fall for anyone—you fell for him, the one person no one else could ever hope to understand. And in his own twisted way, that makes you his perfect match.

Harleen Quinzel aka. Harley Quinn

- Meeting Harley was like meeting a mirror image of yourself—if the mirror had cracks and glitter smeared all over it. You’d both been psychologists, both lured into the world of Gotham’s rogues by the thrill of understanding the incomprehensible. She was fascinated by the fact that you shared her background, though she couldn’t resist teasing you about being the “goody-goody” version of her.

- Your shared history in psychology becomes a cornerstone of your relationship. You’ll spend hours debating therapeutic techniques, discussing old case studies, or laughing over the absurdity of Freudian theories. Harley loves hearing about your time as a psychologist, often joking that you’re her “normal” counterpart—but deep down, she’s proud that you chose her world over your old one.

- Despite her playful nature, Harley respects your insights in ways few others do. When her insecurities bubble to the surface—whether it’s about her past with the Joker or her struggle to define herself outside of it—she’ll come to you for advice. She values your ability to articulate what she’s feeling when she can’t find the words herself. And while she doesn’t always follow your advice, the fact that she listens at all is a testament to how much she trusts you.

- You sometimes find yourself slipping into “therapist mode” when Harley spirals, but she’s quick to call you out if she feels you’re treating her like a patient instead of a partner. “I’m not sittin’ on your couch, doc,” she’ll say with a pout, before pulling you into a playful wrestling match to lighten the mood. Still, she appreciates your ability to ground her when things get too overwhelming.

- Harley loves that you chose her, knowing full well the risks involved. “You coulda stayed all boring and normal, but you jumped into the deep end with me,” she’ll say with a proud grin. And while your past as a psychologist may have shaped you, she loves that you’ve embraced the chaos of her world without losing the core of who you are.

Pamela Isley aka. Poison Ivy

- Ivy found your past as a psychologist both intriguing and amusing. “A former mind doctor falling for a plant lady,” she’d tease with a sly smirk. “I suppose it’s only natural—plants are easier to understand than people.” But beneath her teasing lies a deep respect for your intelligence and your ability to see the world in ways others can’t.

- Your psychological background often comes into play in your relationship with Ivy. She values your insight when it comes to understanding human nature, a realm she’s often detached from. You help her navigate her complex feelings about humanity—her disdain for their destructive tendencies versus her occasional, begrudging hope that they might change.

- Ivy’s cool, analytical nature contrasts with your warmth, creating a balance that neither of you expected. She’ll often challenge you to apply your psychological theories to her world of plants and ecosystems, delighting in your attempts to bridge the gap between the two. You’ve become her sounding board for her plans, helping her refine her ideas and temper her more extreme impulses.

- There are moments when Ivy grows frustrated with your attempts to analyze her, particularly when you delve into her trauma or question her motives. “Not everything needs a diagnosis,” she’ll snap, her walls going up. But over time, she’s come to appreciate your perspective, even if she doesn’t always show it.

- Ivy loves that you see her as more than just a villain or a force of nature. You see the layers of Pamela Isley beneath Poison Ivy, and that makes her feel truly understood. Your shared bond is rooted in a mutual respect for each other’s intellect and a deep, unspoken trust that neither of you takes for granted.

Bane

- Your relationship with Bane began with mutual curiosity. He was fascinated by your background as a psychologist, viewing your profession as a form of intellectual strength. You, in turn, were drawn to his disciplined mind and the way he combined brute force with strategic brilliance. “You dissect minds; I conquer them,” he’d say with a rare, genuine smile.

- Bane respects your intellect in a way that few others do. He sees your psychological expertise as a weapon, one that complements his physical prowess. He’ll often ask for your insights when planning his strategies, valuing your ability to predict human behavior and anticipate his enemies’ moves.

- Your past as a psychologist also gives you a unique perspective on Bane’s struggles. You understand the toll his dependency on Venom takes on him, both physically and mentally. While he rarely lets his vulnerabilities show, he appreciates your ability to see past his armor and offer support without judgment.

- Bane occasionally challenges you to analyze him, though it’s always on his terms. “Tell me, doctor,” he’ll say with a smirk, “what drives a man to seek strength at all costs?” These moments often turn into deep, philosophical discussions that leave you both with a greater understanding of each other—and yourselves.

- Your relationship with Bane is built on mutual respect and an unshakable trust. He admires your strength, not just as a psychologist but as a person who chose to stand by his side despite the risks. And while he may be the one known for breaking Batman, you’re the one who’s managed to break through his emotional walls, earning a place in his heart that no one else ever could.

Jonathan Crane aka. Scarecrow

- Jonathan Crane was both intrigued and suspicious when he learned of your past as a psychologist. “Another mind eager to probe into fear,” he’d remark, his tone dripping with both mockery and fascination. You, however, weren’t interested in analyzing him, at least not in the traditional sense. Instead, you saw through his bravado to the wounded man behind the Scarecrow.

- Your shared background creates a dynamic of intellectual sparring. Jonathan delights in challenging your understanding of fear, throwing hypothetical scenarios at you to see if you can unravel them. He respects your insights, though he’s quick to remind you that fear, in his eyes, is an art—something that transcends mere psychology.

- Despite his attempts to maintain dominance in your relationship, there are times when Jonathan allows himself to be vulnerable. You’re the only one he trusts to see the cracks in his armor, to hear the stories of his childhood torment without judgment. Your empathetic yet clinical approach soothes him, though he’d never admit it aloud.

- Jonathan often tests your limits, pushing you into scenarios meant to evoke fear. At first, it frustrated you, but over time you came to understand it as his way of sharing his world with you. When you show resilience or even appreciation for his experiments, he’s secretly proud, though his compliments are always wrapped in veiled insults like, “I suppose you’re not as naive as I thought.”

- Your past as a psychologist doesn’t just make you his partner—it makes you his equal. Jonathan loves that you don’t cower before his intellect or his fascination with fear. Instead, you challenge him, forcing him to confront his own insecurities and vulnerabilities, something no one else has dared to do. And though he thrives on fear, you’ve become the one person who doesn’t fear him at all.

Harvey Dent aka. Two-Face

- Harvey Dent was initially wary of your background as a psychologist, fearing you’d see him as just another case study. But your approach was different—you didn’t try to fix him or push him toward integration. Instead, you accepted both sides of him, recognizing the war within and respecting it as part of who he was.

- Your ability to navigate Harvey’s duality sets you apart. You’ve learned to address both Harvey and Two-Face as separate entities, treating them with equal respect. This earns you a rare level of trust from both sides of his fractured psyche. Harvey appreciates your kindness and understanding, while Two-Face values your refusal to dismiss him as the “bad” half.

- Your past profession comes in handy during Harvey’s darker moments. When he spirals, you use your skills to help him regain balance, though it’s always a delicate dance. You never push too hard, knowing that forcing him to confront his trauma could drive him further into chaos. Instead, you offer guidance when he’s ready to hear it, a patience he’s deeply grateful for.

- Two-Face often tests your loyalty, flipping his coin to decide whether you’ve earned his trust. At first, it unnerved you, but over time you came to see it as his way of coping with uncertainty. You’ve even convinced him to let you flip the coin once or twice, a rare display of vulnerability that leaves Harvey quietly amazed.

- Harvey loves that you don’t pity him or try to change him. You see the man he was, the villain he’s become, and everything in between, and you accept it all. Your background as a psychologist gives you the tools to navigate his complexities, but it’s your unwavering loyalty that makes you indispensable to him.

Edward Nygma aka. The Riddler

- Edward Nygma couldn’t resist testing you when he learned of your background as a psychologist. “A mind-reader, are we?” he’d sneer, throwing riddles your way to see if you were as clever as he hoped. When you solved his puzzles with ease, his skepticism turned to fascination. You were a challenge, and he loved every second of it.

- Your relationship with Edward revolves around intellect. He thrives on your ability to keep up with him, often dragging you into his elaborate schemes just to see how you’ll react. Your psychological training gives you a unique edge in solving his riddles, something he alternately admires and resents.

- Edward often uses your past profession as fodder for his own ego. He’ll mockingly ask if you’re trying to analyze him, only to turn the tables and psychoanalyze you instead. Yet, there are moments when he lets his guard down, asking for your insight on his compulsions and insecurities. He values your honesty, even if it stings.

- Your shared love of puzzles and problem-solving creates a bond unlike any other. Edward delights in creating challenges specifically for you, riddles designed to test your wit and emotional intelligence. When you solve them, he’s genuinely impressed, though he’ll grumble about needing to “up his game.”

- Edward loves that you don’t see him as just a criminal or a narcissist. Your past as a psychologist allows you to see the layers beneath his arrogance—the insecurities, the need for validation, the brilliance he feels the world constantly underestimates. And in return, he gives you his loyalty, a rare gift from a man who trusts so few.

Oswald Cobblepot aka. The Penguin

- Oswald Cobblepot was immediately intrigued by your background as a psychologist. To him, it was a sign of power—not physical strength, but the ability to control and manipulate others with your mind. He saw your potential as an asset, but what he didn’t expect was how deeply he’d come to care for you.

- Your relationship with Oswald is built on mutual respect. He admires your intellect and your ability to read people, often seeking your advice on how to handle rivals or navigate the treacherous waters of Gotham’s criminal underworld. You, in turn, appreciate his cunning and his ability to turn every disadvantage into an opportunity.

- Oswald occasionally uses your past as a psychologist to his advantage, asking you to “profile” his enemies or predict their moves. While you’re happy to help, you’ve set boundaries, refusing to let your skills be used for outright manipulation. Surprisingly, he respects this, though he’ll grumble about it being “bad for business.”

- Despite his tough exterior, Oswald has moments of vulnerability that only you get to see. He trusts you to understand the pain and rejection that shaped him, the insecurities he hides behind his bravado. Your psychological insight helps you navigate these moments, offering comfort without making him feel weak.

- Oswald loves that you see him as more than just the Penguin. Your past as a psychologist allows you to understand his complexities in ways no one else does, but it’s your unwavering loyalty that truly wins his heart. With you by his side, he feels invincible—both as a crime lord and as the man he is underneath.