He Is So. So. So

Do you do batfamily? I literally love your profile aesthetic and I think it would be really cool something like girly reader who is the youngest in the batfamily, I think it would be funny the boys dealing with her and everything. ily🤍

“I PRESSED HIDE ICONS BUT I CAN STILL SEE ME” ── .✦ DOLLISH ⋆. 𐙚 ˚

A/n: this literally made me laugh but tysm ily too, but literally i tried to balance this with sass + a girl who likes pink and other colors instead of stereotypical pink girly girl and etc but if this is not correct then sorry because i only have one sister and a brother and i’m oldest out of all of them.

tags: batfamily x girly!batsis

⋆. 𐙚 ˚

The manor is, of course, dark and filled with heavy, old-fashioned furniture. Meanwhile, you’re room is beautiful with subtle hints of pink decor and white, and a beautiful walk in closet, and your room is the only spot with cozy, neutral decor and soft pinks, which you somehow convinced Alfred was “tasteful and happy”

Bruce pretends he doesn’t notice the little decorative changes you make around the house, like the rose-gold lamp in the hallway or the fresh flowers on the dining table. Alfred, though, secretly loves it because it makes the place feel a little less like a ‘depressive episode’ (I’m convinced if someone suicidal went in that manor they would likely fucking commit at this rate).

“CINDERELLA ARE YOU FUCKING READY?!” ── .✦

When you go to family dinners or galas, the boys have come to expect that you’ll need at least an hour to get ready. They used to complain, but now they’ve just accepted it (even if it means sleeping while standing up waiting) And you’re always perfectly dressed, from your hair to your jewelry.

Tim once asked why you had to wear rings on your ring finger without being married, and without missing a beat, you responded, “Because I need to let people know I have style standards, maybe you can learn a or two about fashion, your dressed like a fucking caveman.”

“ITS EXPLAINABLE” ── .✦

Alfred has somehow become your unofficial shopping partner, knowing all your preferred stores and patiently sitting outside the fitting rooms. He’s the only one who will willingly go with you without complaint, and he even knows which colors you like best

Once, Bruce was caught off guard by a credit card alert because it was awhile someone spent THAT much money and asked Alfred about it. Alfred just responded calmly, “It was for necessary purchases, Master Wayne,” even though the “necessary purchases” included a ton of “designer” things.

── .✦

Damian once challenged you to a chess match, thinking he could beat you easily. Halfway through, you made a risky move, looked him dead in the eye, and said, “You’re about to see a queen move.” Damian lost, and he’s still confused about how it happened.

One morning, Dick said, “Isn’t it a little early for all the glam and glitter?” You just gave him a look and said, “Isn’t it a little late for you to be alive, your social security number is probably one.

YOUR BEAUTY PRODUCTS BECOMING A ATTEMPT ON PEOPLES LIVES ── .✦

Bruce has almost tripped on your eyelash curler twice. The family has also officially banned you from putting skincare masks in the fridge after Jason mistook your green tea gel eye masks for some kind of salad topping (the worse part is… he ate the whole thing and didn’t realize until he went shopping trying to find the exact one until he found it in the skincare aisle instead of the salad dressing aisle…)

Tim opened the wrong drawer in your room once, and it looked like a makeup frenzy had exploded. Lip glosses, nail polishes, tiny skincare samples, and sheet masks cascaded out, and he just stood there, baffled by how much one person could need, (he thought you ran a business for a few days after.)

── .✦

You also gave Bruce a mini heart attack when you told him you wanted a different laptop because “this one’s too boring.” The Batcomputer tech isn’t boring, but you wanted a rose-gold case and “a vibe,” so Bruce ended up ordering one in the exact shade you wanted.

The family group chat is complete chaos. You regularly send pictures of quotes from romance novels, and the occasional inspirational meme with sparkles. Once, you sent a photo of the living room and asked, “Could we get some lighter curtains in here? For my aesthetic and mental well being?”

Whenever someone’s late, you flood the chat with passive-aggressive texts like, “Jason, do you know what ‘be here at 6 PM’ means?” or “Dick, if you’re any later, I’ll be old enough to vote for Kamala at this rate.”

MOVIE NIGHTS ── .✦

You insist on watching rom-coms and dramas instead of the usual action movies. Even though the boys groan, you’ve noticed they secretly enjoy the movies by the end. Tim tried to deny it, but he was caught laughing at a scene in white chicks and you swore to never let him forget it.

Once, you convinced them to watch a “fall aesthetic” movie marathon, complete with hot chocolate and fuzzy blankets. Even Jason joined in, and you teased him the whole night, whispering, “Don’t pretend you don’t love a good blanket.

THE OFFICAL FASHION GURU FINALBOSS 💜 ── .✦

You’ve taken it upon yourself to occasionally “advise” the boys on their fashion. If Tim wears a hoodie that’s “two shades too close to ‘depression’ ” you’ll be the first to tell him. You even convinced Damian to try a collared shirt once, though he looked horrified.

Dick gets roasted the most. He walked out wearing cargo shorts once, and you deadpan, “Going for the ‘i’m so old i saw humans evolve’ look i see.” He didn’t change, but he was clearly a little self-conscious the whole day (he never wore cargo shorts ever again…)

SKINCARE TIPS ── .✦

You’ve taught the boys some random facts they never knew, like the importance of hyaluronic acid for skincare and the difference between ballet flats and loafers. They pretend to brush it off, but you’ve overheard Jason giving roy skincare advice using the tips you shared.

When Bruce had a minor scratch on his face from patrol, you casually handed him concealer. “Just dab, blend, and don’t tell anyone,” you said. He followed the instructions without a word (he used to do that before, just impressed you also knew)

THE BABY OF THE FAMILY ── .✦

As the youngest, you know how to work the “baby sister” angle like a pro. The boys are fiercely protective, and any time you need a ride, money for something “totally essential,” or help with homework, you can count on one of them stepping up.

Once, you asked Damian to grab something from a high shelf for you, and when he hesitated, you hit him with, “Guess i really am alone without a good brother..” He ended up grabbing it for you with a grumble, but you swear you saw him smirk.

@dollishbabess made by me, do not translate, or repost or copy.

Second divider: @cafekitsune, other dividers not sure I kinda forgot sorry

HEY GIRL i saw your comment but that hoe blocked me so i cant reply🙄🙄 ANYWAYS you’re so real for agreeing with me😘😘

UR SO REAL ILY

When they're drunk: Monster Trio, Ace + Law (sfw, fluff)

Summary: How do they act when they're drunk? What's their favorite drink? Do they get lovey-dovey? SFW fluff. Barely edited - will do more later! CW: Curse words/profanity. "Princess" used in Sanji and Ace's parts. Mentions of kissing, tiny bit of suggestive themes but nothing outright explicit (hence, sfw). A singular, mild nod to vomiting in Sanji's section.

Luffy: rowdy and hungry

He’s pretty predictable; he gets rowdy, eats a lot, and has horrible hangovers (one of the main reasons he abstains from drinking almost entirely).

Rarely drinks. One of the reasons in his mind for not over-indulging is that if he gets too drunk he won’t be able to remember all the meat he ate.

Literally no impulse control. So when he does drink, he racks up a HUGE tab (mostly bar food) and one of the crew has to pick up his bill because he forgets to close it out. You make sure to tip extra because it’s his tab.

Eats even more than usual because (obviously) eating good food while you’re drunk makes it taste even better. Chokes on his food more, too. It's kind of a pain in the ass.

Luffy is a MENACE about the food. He’ll gomu gomu his arm to the other side of the bar to swoop up some unsuspecting random’s food and he’ll shove it in his gullet in the blink of an eye. No evidence or crumbs. A monster.

He gets dehydrated because he doesn’t drink water when he’s drunk, and his salt intake is crazy, so he literally has to be reminded to do so. At some point you just start pushing a glass of water into his hands and rolling your eyes because you know he’s going to be the biggest complainer the next morning.

Luffy and Usopp egg each other on, it’s bad because sometimes they have drinking contests (or eating contests). They get scrappy sometimes and you have to tell them off because they cause a scene.

He won’t shut up about being king of the pirates. No one minds but, goddamn, how many times can one person say that in a night?

He’s endearingly sweet when he’s had too much to drink. He can’t stop staring at you when his face isn’t buried in a plate of food.

His eyes are glued to your face.

“Luffy, what? Why are you staring at me?”

“You just look so pretty.”

He even wants to hold your hand when you walk back to the ship at the end of the night. The whole crew thinks you make a cute couple, and they love how happy you make each other.

When you crawl into bed at the end of the night, he clings onto you like a sloth and then starts snoring in your ear. He wraps himself around you and conks out almost immediately.

Sure enough, the next morning he’s complaining so much it would be insufferable if you didn’t love him to pieces. He whines and you take care of him.

Luffy recovers from his monster hangover at a superhuman speed, which makes the whining not so bad—it’ll be less than an hour of complaining and whining and pouting, but when you’ve made him drink enough water and brought him enough food, he is as good as new in mere minutes. It’s uncanny.

Favorite drink?: Anything he can get his hands on, but he likes beer best (more volume). Will never do shots.

Zoro: over-indulges like clockwork

When he's drunk he generally does things he shouldn’t. Drinks too much and flirts too much. Eats way too much and runs his mouth too much, too.

He flirts with anyone he wants to, which is usually VERY out of character, but he doesn’t care at all when he’s drunk. He’ll flirt with you, with Sanji’s partner, with Sanji (?), the bartender, anyone and everyone he feels like.

It’s when he’s tipsy that the flirting starts. He’s deviously subtle about it at first. Zoro jokes and tease, but after coaxing so much laughter out of you one too many times, you start to wonder if he’s flirting with you (he is).

He gets a more blunt as the night goes on. The drunker he is the bolder he is. He manages to elicit more crimson, flushed faces in the bar than anyone on the crew, and this can be attributed to the fact that he’s strikingly handsome and he almost never says anything suggestive. But the liquor brings out his cheeky smiles. And it’s hard to look away from those muscles or flashing eyes.

Drinks wayyyy too much but has a super high tolerance, so he doesn’t usually act very drunk. He can drink the whole crew (and usually whole bar) under the table.

Always down for a drinking game and loves to bet on it because he knows he’ll win. He pouts when no one wants to participate because everyoje can only lose to him so many times before they start to refuse for good.

Generally just down for gambling in general, but when he’s drunk he goes balls to the wall with it. And he actually doesn’t lose very much. Almost makes enough to pay off his tab.

While he doesn’t act very drunk, if you know him well enough you can tell when he’s too far gone. His eyes linger, he smiles harder, his glass empties faster, and he turns his body towards yours more with each passing second. His knee or thigh rests against yours and you’re so intoxicated with his presence that it’s hard to pay attention to his words.

Zoro orders more than he knows he should, and more than he knows he can pay for. Somehow it always works out—one of the crew members bails him out (usually Nami, and when she does, she adds 300% interest, but Zoro is too drunk to care).

Surprisingly polite to waitstaff, maybe a little curt at times.

It’s no secret that he just loves a good glass of sake, beer, wine, anything and anything with alcohol. One of his favorite things is to just sit back, relax, and drink. It would concern you if you didn’t know how strict his discipline and self-control are.

He’s gets extra handsy when he’s drunk (and possessive). He never crosses lines with you, but since you started seeing each other in an intimate capacity, he can’t take his hands off of you, especially when he’s drunk. Doesn’t care if he’s in public, doesn’t care if people are watching. The rest of the crew is shocked when they first witness him getting a rough handful of your ass.

Zoro pulls out pet names, which you’d assume is out of character. Somehow the liquor makes him sweet. “C’mere gorgeous.”

But it also makes him spicier. “God, you’re so fucking hot.”

Loves sloppy make out sessions after he's had a few drinks. Also is prone to pulling you away somewhere and... well, you know. The man's a dog.

Zoro’s voice gets lower and huskier when he’s too far gone. It makes you feel some sort of way. And your blush does not escape him.

But when he’s wayyyy drunk, he just falls asleep. Like he’ll pass out at the bar. He makes it back to the ship by himself usually, but you’ve had to shake the sleepy swordsman awake a couple of times.

“Zoro, get up. We’re going back to the ship.”

You have no idea how he can sleep in such a loud bar, and the bartender has been glaring at him for a good 20 minutes at this point.

“Wha-?” He raises his head and blinks sleep out of his eyes while he instinctively reaches for his (empty) pint. “Oh hey, pretty.” He mumbles and your heart does a flip for the 100th time that night.

Zoro gets MONSTER, BRUTAL hangovers. Next level. He doesn’t complain, per say, but he’ll walk around squinting, shielding his eyes from light, wincing, muttering curse words, and hissing in air through his teeth the whole time. Forces himself to train through the hangovers and gets grumpy about it.

Favorite drink: sake. Really nice sake.

Sanji: as doting as ever

Ohhh Sanji. He’s adorable when he’s drunk.

His whole face gets red and his hair gets a bit ruffled. He blushes more than usual and you can practically see his eyes turn into hearts when he looks at you.

Sanji drunk flirts wayyy more audaciously than Zoro, and when he’s drunk he actually spits mad game.

He’s incapable of doing so when he’s sober, but when he’s drunk he literally attracts a crowd of women. But his eyes are only for you.

If the bar has music and people are dancing, Sanji begs you to dance with him. He loves to twirl you around, feel your hand in his, and let loose. And he’s surprisingly good at it.

Orders bar food even though he’s continually unimpressed by it.

He somehow manages to weasel his way into the kitchen every time he sets foot in a bar. He wants to see what’s going on in there—when’s the last time they cleaned the stove? Are the knives sharp? What’s the mise en place setup? What’s their speciality? Why are they using cabernet sauvignon to cook, instead of a pinot noir that would obviously be the better choice? God forbid they use frozen french fries.

Inevitably, he ends up cooking something and either getting along with or fighting with the cooks.

Sometimes he even ends up behind the bar. He isn’t just a spectacular chef, he’s also good at making drinks. Obviously his are better than the bartender’s.

Smokes so many fucking cigs when he’s drunk (because nothing trumps a drunk cigarette) >_>

When he isn’t fucking around in the kitchen or slinging cocktails, Sanji waits on you hand and foot. He gets you literally anything you so much as look at when you’re at the bar, and when you’re back home he asks you (and everyone else) what food you’d like.

“Princess, would you like another drink?” and “Have you been drinking enough water, sweetheart?”

If a creepy guy at the bar so much as looks at you, let alone puts an unwanted hand on your arm or small of your back, Sanji flips his shit. “Hey asshole, watch it. Do that again and I’ll kick your ass.”

This goes without saying, but Sanji loves to cook when he’s drunk and somehow his food is even better than usual—and that isn’t because you’re drunk, too. It’s just that good.

“What would you like me to make you, my love?”

If you don’t know what particular dish you’re in the mood for, he makes you a feast comprised of your favorite foods.

Even if you request something elaborate, he has no problems with it. Cooking is his love language, and he puts extra love into your food.

“God, you’re so beautiful. I can’t take my eyes off of you.” He praises you beyond belief, even when he’s at the stove cooking. “You’re perfect, my angel.”

Sanji smothers you in kisses and wants to entwine his fingers with yours. He’s a huge hand holder and cuddler.

If you get way too drunk, he carries you to bed, helps you into some comfy clothes and makes sure you’re sleeping on your side. He’ll pet your hair and watch over you carefully. He’d never let you get to the point of throwing up, but just in case you do, he brings you the necessary supplies.

He sets out everything he thinks you could possibly want in case you wake up before him, and when he is awake, he brings you whatever you ask for. He’s attentive, never overbearing, thoughtful, and darling.

“You somehow get more beautiful every day,” he tells you first thing in the morning when you feel like shit from your hangover and (objectively) look a damn mess. “So perfect, like always.”

Favorite drink(s): bougie and carefully curated glass of pinot gris. Even better if it comes with complementary accoutrements. Also enjoys a negroni.

Ace: charming and protective

When Ace is drunk, he’s smooth, flirty, charming, polite, and a bit forward. But he gets just as rowdy as Luffy. God forbid they’re at the same bar.

He loves it when a bar has pool. He’s crazy good at it and begs everyone to play.

When the situation calls for it, he either breaks up bar fights or runs his mouth so much that he starts them. He’s sassy in general but also talks big game (that he can back up). Especially if someone starts slandering or talking out of their ass about someone he knows.

Somehow manages to gain control over the music every bar he walks into. And he has good playlists too. He hates it if the vibe is off so he takes it upon himself to remedy or prevent that.

Also a big fan of drinking games.

Weirdly excited if there is any opportunity to grill meat. Thinks it’s fun to fuck around with his powers and show off (but it doesn’t get too cringey or anything).

Won’t smoke any drunk cigs (like Sanji) but will accompany people outside and give them a light if they need one (he’s just so thoughtful!!!)

He’s wildly protective over you.

Makes you blush nonstop and pays for everything. Making you blush is like a sport to him.

And while he’s obsessed with you, he doesn’t cling to you at the bar or demand your attention every second. He wants you to have fun with your friends, but he also wants you to be safe, so he keeps a watchful eye.

Sings random bar pirate songs with his friends and crew and gets super goofy.

When his cheeks are ruddy and his eyes are glazed over he looks painfully good. The flush makes his freckles pop and when he scrunches his nose up to laugh they’re emphasized even more. He looks ridiculously good. Like, squeeze your thighs together good.

Ace TEARS UP bar food when he’s drunk. Like, he’s a beast for it. Can put away plates of fries, wings, pizza, you name it. The man is a machine.

Loves to put a hand on your thigh when you’re sitting next to him. He does this sober but when he’s drunk it’s feels so much more intense.

Pulls out the sweetest pet names.

“How’s it going, sugar?”

“You drinking enough water, pumpkin?”

Among others: buttercup, darling, angel, princess, doll, etc.

His polite tendencies are multiplied by 1000 any time he gets a drop of alcohol in him.

Gets into sports (or strength) debates at bars.

Has a penchant for accidentally leaving stuff at bars, e.g. wallet. Gets embarrassed about it afterwards.

Ace’s body gets HOT when he’s drunk—his ability (or attention) to control his temperature slips a bit and he can sometimes forget to regulate himself (regarding his devil fruit). And while he’s physically hot, he doesn’t get sweaty or anything. And it’s nice to hold his hand when it’s warm, too. Super comforting.

He’s all hands (and lips) when he’s drunk, and when you let him/when neither of you are too wasted, but if you’re really drunk and try to initiate anything with him, he IMMEDIATELY puts a stop to it. He’s a gentleman (not implying that anyone mentioned here would do the opposite of this, just stressing it for Ace because I think he’d put a lot of intention and thought into this, along with Sanji).

He makes sure you don’t drink too much (and tries to do the same) because he hates seeing you miserable with a hangover. But if you do over-indulge, he’s there to bring you anything you need—ibuprophen, water, Pedialyte, more blankets, different clothes, food, literally anything you could think of.

When you’re out of bed the morning after, he literally chews people out for speaking too loudly around you when he knows you have a headache.

Favorite drink: whiskey or rum and coke. Beer guy, too, so might indulge in the occasional IPA and pretend like it tastes good.

Law: awkward, silly, and endearing

Frequently refuses to drink because he hates having his senses dulled in the slightest. But on rare occasions when he does drink, the whole crew has a blast.

His standoffish and cold disposition melts away when he has a few drinks in him.

The first time you witness his coldness melting away, you’re sitting around a table with the crew at a pub. He’s a couple drinks in, mean mugging like usual, deadpan and unamused. But someone says something ridiculously funny and he breaks into roaring laughter. You weren’t expecting that but everyone else is grinning because they love to see their captain happy.

When Law gets past a certain point he lets loose. It’s fun to see him mess around with the crew. He’ll laugh so hard he doubles over.

He's so sweet and tender inside. And that makes more of a prominent impression when he lets his guard down just a tad.

When he’s drunk he thinks Bepo is even cuter and goes a little overboard about it to the point where Bepo side eyes him >_> he thinks it’s weird to have his captain hang all over him sometimes. But Bepo is just so fluffy and cute!

When Law is intoxicated and you’re around, his face is covered in big, goofy, sweet smiles. Flashing eyes and lingering touches. He gets rosy cheeks and his hair gets messed up. Makes him look even better.

But he also has the tendency to make blisteringly intense eye contact. So strong and scathing that it makes you squirm in awkwardness if you aren’t used to it. He can’t help it though, he’s locked in on how beautiful you are.

Surprisingly a fan of drinking games (no gambling though), but what he likes best is if a bar has old arcade games (air hockey and pool will suffice, if not). He could play them for hours and gets super excited about them.

His ears perk up if he hears some nerdy shit. Did someone mention a comic he read when he was five? A commemorative coin that he has been on the hunt for? He’ll get to the bottom of it.

If he hears a bad take on his interests^^ he’ll sit down for a heated debate and he always wins.

Surprisingly cute when he’s wasted because he slurs the “-ya”

Watches the crew's water intake like a hawk. Reminds everyone to drink water and makes sure everyone has a glass of it at all times.

Will make sure the crew has enough bar food to eat family-style.

If you’re one on one, he can be persuaded to talk about deep and personal things, or rather, he’s more comfortable speaking about them when he has some liquid courage in his veins.

The first time he got too drunk and you took care of him was before you started seeing each other. You practically had to carry him back to the Polar Tang. He almost left his hat at the bar, too.

Law was being uncharacteristically sweet to you all night. When you got back to his cabin, you helped him get into bed and brought him water. He (drunkenly) thanked you profusely and called you beautiful (you didn’t expect that).

The next morning he blushed bright red and was painfully awkward when he said thank you. He had a massive hangover and tried to hide it but you could tell every time he winced.

Favorite drink: Espresso martini.

tysm for reading ヽ(>∀<☆)ノ

i'm back from my mini-hiatus! but i can't say i'll be posting regularly (or at all? idk) until mid december. (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ it's final papers and app season so i'm going to be getting it from all sides 😭 but holy shit i can't wait to go absolutely crazy when i'm free from those obligations!

😭😭 need Monster trio (separately) x pregnant reader. all fluffy

like their reaction and how would they be during it 😓

but if u dont want to just ignore this!

Pregnant 🫵

how would they react at your pregnancy?

characters: luffy, zoro, sanji

words count: around 0.5k - 0.8k each

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

── .✦ Monkey D. Luffy:

The sea breeze is warm as you stand on the Sunny’s deck, heart racing. Luffy is lying nearby, hands behind his head, smiling at the sky. His straw hat rests on his face, rising and falling with his steady breaths.

You swallow hard. This is it.

You walk up to him and poke his cheek “Luffy.”

His nose scrunches up, and he lifts his hat just enough to peek at you “Hmm?”

You sit down next to him. Your hands shake a little. He notices. His hat slides off his face completely, and he blinks at you “What’s wrong?”

You take a deep breath “I… I have something to tell you.”

Luffy sits up fast. His eyes are wide, full of curiosity “Oh! Is it something cool?!”

You let out a small laugh “Yeah… really cool.” You reach for his hand and place it gently over your stomach. “Luffy, I’m pregnant.”

He stares at you. Blinks once. Then twice. His fingers twitch against your belly.

Then— “WHAAAAAAT?!” he jumps up so fast that he nearly topples over. His hands flail before gently grabbing your shoulders “Really?! A baby?! OUR baby?!”

You nod, laughing at his reaction “Yeah.”

Luffy’s grin stretches wider than you’ve ever seen. He wraps his arms around you, squeezing tight “This is awesome!! I’m gonna be a dad?!” he pulls back, eyes sparkling “Wait, wait—does this mean there’s a tiny me in there?! Like—super tiny?!”

You giggle “Kind of.”

Luffy gasps dramatically “That’s so weird—but so cool!!” he crouches down and presses his ear against your belly, pouting “Oi, baby! Can you hear me? I’m your dad! Your super cool, super strong dad!”

You ruffle his hair “It’s too early for them to hear you, Luffy.”

He sits back, looking thoughtful. Then he beams again “I gotta tell everyone!!” Before you can stop him, he takes a deep breath and then—

“GUUUUYS! (Y/N) HAS A BABY IN HER BELLY!”

Footsteps thunder across the ship as the crew comes running. Nami facepalms, Zoro groans, Sanji faints, Usopp starts panicking, and Chopper yells something about medical checkups.

Luffy just sits there, hands on your stomach, grinning like he’s just found the One Piece.

Months Later

Luffy is… something else during your pregnancy.

He pokes your belly every day, fascinated by how it grows “It’s getting huge!!” he exclaims one morning, eyes wide “Are you sure there’s only one baby in there?!”

He steals extra food from Sanji’s kitchen and piles it on your plate “Eat! The baby needs to be strong, like me!”

He refuses to let you do anything dangerous “No fights! No running! No carrying heavy stuff! That’s my job now!” He puffs out his chest making you smile softly at him “Captain’s orders!”

At night, he talks to your belly in a serious tone “Okay, listen, baby. When you come out, we’re gonna have so much fun! I’ll show you how to stretch like me! And how to eat tons of meat! And we’ll go on super cool adventures!”

One night, as you lay in bed, his arms wrapped protectively around you, he mumbles sleepily “Love you. Both of you.”

Your heart melts. You smile, placing your hand over his “Love you too, Luffy.”

He grins even in his sleep, dreaming of the greatest adventure yet, being a dad.

── .✦ Roronoa Zoro:

The evening air is warm as you stand on the deck of the Thousand Sunny, watching the ocean waves. Your heart beats fast, but not from battle or danger, but from the words you need to say.

Behind you, Zoro trains like always. His swords cut through the air with sharp precision, muscles flexing as he moves. His brows furrow in focus, sweat dripping down his forehead.

You take a deep breath. Now or never.

“Zoro”

He stops mid-swing, turning to you “Huh?” His tone is rough, but his gaze softens when he sees your expression “Something wrong?”

You step closer, gripping the hem of your shirt. Your nerves make your fingers twitch, but you push through. You have to tell him.

“…I need to tell you something important.”

Zoro sheaths his swords, sensing your seriousness. He crosses his arms “Yeah?”

You swallow. Then, carefully, you take his hand and place it over your stomach.

“I’m pregnant...”

Silence.

Zoro doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. It’s like the words haven’t registered yet. His hand rests on your stomach, fingers barely pressing into the fabric of your shirt.

“…What?” His voice is quiet, actually too quiet for him.

You squeeze his hand “We’re having a baby, Zoro.”

His breath catches. He stares at you, eyes flicking between your face and where his hand rests on your stomach. His fingers twitch slightly. A baby. His baby.

Then, suddenly, you’re lifted off the ground.

“Zoro—!” you laugh as he picks you up effortlessly, holding you close. His grip is firm but careful, like you’re the most precious thing in the world.

When he finally sets you down, his hands linger on your arms, steadying you. His face is unreadable for a second, and then a smirk.

“Tch. Guess I really have to get stronger now.”

You raise an eyebrow “Why?”

Zoro’s smirk softens just a little. His thumb brushes your stomach lightly “To protect both of you.”

Your heart swells. He’s serious.

You press your forehead against his “You’re already strong enough, idiot.”

Zoro scoffs “There’s no such thing.”

Then, after a pause, he mutters “…Are you okay?”

The question is so simple, but the weight behind it makes your eyes sting.

You nod “Yeah. Just… nervous.”

Zoro’s arms tighten around you “Me too.”

You pull back slightly, surprised “You? The great Roronoa Zoro? Nervous?”

He clicks his tongue “Tch. This is different” he glances at your stomach “Fights, enemies, swords—I know how to handle those. But this?” His hand brushes your belly again, softer this time “This is new.”

You smile, lacing your fingers with his “We’ll figure it out together.”

He exhales, like a weight has lifted from his chest “Yeah.”

And for the first time in a long time, Zoro doesn’t feel lost at all.

Months Later

Zoro is the most overprotective person ever.

He watches you like a hawk. If you so much as sigh, he’s next to you in a second.

“You okay?”

You roll your eyes “Yes, Zoro. For the hundredth time, I’m fine.”

He grumbles but doesn’t stop hovering.

He always refuses to let you lift anything.

You reach for a barrel and then “Put that down.”

You try to carry plates from the kitchen and he goes “I got it.”

You bend down to pick up a book, Zoro glares and “What did I just say?”

He even walks with you everywhere.

“You don’t have to follow me to the bathroom.”

“What if you trip?”

“Zoro.”

“…What if an enemy attacks?”

You groan, but he just folds his arms and stays put.

He also naps closer to you now.

Zoro still sleeps a lot, but now he always makes sure to be near you. Some days, he dozes off with his head on your lap, his arm draped over your growing belly.

You run your fingers through his hair, feeling his slow, steady breathing. He won’t say it out loud, but you know he’s nervous, and this is how he comforts himself.

One time, you catch him talking to your stomach when he thinks you’re asleep.

“You better not kick too hard in there… Your mom needs to sleep” His voice is quiet but gruff. Then, after a long pause, he adds, “…Can’t wait to meet you, though.”

Your heart melts.

Later that night, you whisper “Are you scared?”

Zoro is silent for a moment. Then, he exhales “A little.”

You lace your fingers with his “Me too.”

He turns his head to look at you, eyes steady “We’ll figure it out.”

You smile “Yeah.”

Zoro presses his forehead against yours “Get some sleep.”

As you drift off, Zoro stays awake a little longer, hand resting on your belly.

For the first time, he’s facing a future he can’t predict, a battle he can’t train for.

But he knows one thing for sure—he will always protect you. And your child.

No matter what.

── .✦ Vinsmoke Sanji:

The smell of fresh bread and sizzling butter fills the Thousand Sunny’s kitchen as you sit at the counter, watching Sanji move. He hums to himself while stirring a pot, completely in his element. His blonde hair falls over his eyes, but he doesn’t seem to care.

You take a deep breath, heart racing. It’s time to tell him.

“Sanji...” you say softly.

He turns instantly, smiling “Yes, my love? Dinner will be ready soon.”

You shake your head “I… need to tell you something first.”

Sanji notices your serious tone and wipes his hands on a towel before walking over “What is it, sweetheart?” He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, concern in his ocean-blue eyes.

You take his hand and press it against your stomach.

“I’m pregnant”

Sanji freezes.

His fingers twitch slightly against your belly, his usual smooth confidence suddenly gone. His mouth opens, but no words come out. His cigarette almost falls from his lips.

“…What?” his voice is barely a whisper.

You smile nervously “We’re having a baby.”

Sanji stares at you, his eyes wide. Then—

THUMP.

His legs give out, and he falls to his knees in front of you. His hands stay on your stomach as he looks up, completely overwhelmed.

“You’re… serious?” His voice shakes “I—I’m going to be a father?”

You nod, tears prickling in your eyes “Yeah.”

A sharp inhale. Then, suddenly, Sanji buries his face against your stomach, arms wrapping around you so gently, as if he’s afraid to break you.

“Mon amour… I don’t even know what to say” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion. You feel his breath against your skin, warm and shaky “This is the greatest gift you could ever give me.”

You stroke his hair, heart swelling “So… you’re happy?”

Sanji pulls back slightly, grinning through tears “Happy? (Y/N), I feel like I just won the whole damn world.”

Then, his hands cup your cheeks, and he kisses you—soft, deep, full of love.

“Wait—!” He pulls away suddenly, eyes wide “You need food! Proper nutrition! I need to—” He rushes toward the kitchen, grabbing ingredients at lightning speed “I’ll make you something right now—no, I’ll make ten meals—no, twenty! The baby needs to eat too!”

You laugh, watching him run around in a panicked, love-struck frenzy.

Sanji is going to be the best dad.

Months Later

Sanji is the most devoted, doting, over-the-top partner ever.

He refuses to let you do anything.

You try to stand up? He’s already pulling out a chair for you.

You reach for a glass? It’s in your hand before you can blink.

You sigh in the heat? He’s fanning you immediately.

“Sanji, I’m pregnant, not broken” you groan.

“My love, you are carrying our child!” He places a dramatic hand over his heart “I refuse to let you lift a single finger!”

Sanji cooks nonstop for you.

“Here, sweetheart, eat this.”

“Sanji, I just ate five minutes ago—”

“The baby might still be hungry!”

He talks to your belly constantly.

“Hello, little one! This is your father speaking.” He presses a kiss to your stomach “I hope you’re nice and comfortable in there. When you come out, I’ll make you the most delicious food in the world!”

Then, more seriously, he whispers “And I’ll take care of you. You and your mother. Forever.”

Your eyes tear up every time.

At night, Sanji holds you close, his hand resting protectively over your growing belly.

“You should sleep” you murmur, noticing he’s still awake.

“I’m just… thinking” he admits.

“About what?”

Sanji sighs softly “I never thought I’d have this,” he says “A family. Someone to love… and now, both of you.” He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. “It’s like a dream.”

You smile, lacing your fingers with his “Then let’s make it the best dream ever.”

Sanji chuckles, pulling you even closer “Oui, mon amour.”

As you drift off, you feel his lips brush against your stomach once more.

And you know, without a doubt Sanji will love this baby with everything he has.

codename: nightingale- auld acquaintances

reference: young justice season 1 episode 26

wc: 10.3k

synopsis: well shit gets real, conner yeets ng and robin, all while, ng reminds us why she’s the best, and the otp(s) get their shit (collectively and respectively) together

main masterlist

codename: nightingale series masterlist

a/n: I CANNOT BELIEVE I DID IT. you guys and your support have carried me though this process and the many YEARS it took me to get to this point. I have loved writing this since the beginning and I still do. Thank you for loving this story and the characters as much as I do. Enjoy!

MOUNT JUSTICE

December 31st, 03:12 EST

The cave was quiet as you zeta’d in. You’d only managed a few hours of sleep before you woke up in a fit. Ollie’s penthouse was silent though. And a quick check through the security system told you no one but you was home, in fact no one had come home, since you had. The team had made the decision to host a debrief at 0730, the next day, allowing everyone (mostly you) to recenter.

Given that the penthouse was empty, you decided to head to the cave early, if you were lucky, you’d be able to check the logs and see if Ollie, Dinah, and Roy were still up in the Watchtower or not.

“Recognized: Nightingale b-14,” the computer’s voice echoed in the darkness of the cave, and a couple of light flickered on in response.

“Computer, pull Zeta logs for the last 24 hours to the Watchtower, Nightingale Access delta echo charlie zero six,” you call out your code after a brief look assures that you’re the only one around.

“Access Denied,” the computer’s response throws you off guard as you pull up a screen, but you’re treated to a red screen.

“Under who’s authority?”

“Designation 0-2.”

“Batman?” you whisper the answer to yourself, but you can’t understand why. You’ve had access to the Watch Tower logs since Ollie and Dinah told you about the tower. You couldn’t get there without them, but you could access the logs to see who’s there currently, and you could usually see the calendar to know when Dinah and Ollie were scheduled.

“Computer, Canary Override: charlie romeo yankee seven eight nine three,” you attempt.

“Override denied.”

“What? Why?”

“Override denied per designation A-0-4.”

“A-0-4? Who is A-0-4?”

“Access Denied.”

“Oh, fuck’s sake!” you shout.

“Perhaps yelling at our computer system is not the best use of your limited time to rest?” a new voice interrupts.

You frown as you turn to look at Kaldur, “it won’t let me access the Watch Tower logs,” you huff, pointing at the red message glaring back at you.

“Why are you looking to access the logs?” he asks, brows furrowed as he looks between you and the screen.

“No one came home last night, K. I needed- I wanted- I just need to talk to Dinah, after everything that happened? I just wanted Dinah or Ollie, and they weren’t home. I passed out on the couch waiting, and when I woke up, they still hadn’t come back. I just wanted to see if they were still there,” you explain.

Kaldur’s lips pull into a frown, “They may be pre-occupied, the League, as you know, better than most, can be demanding, even at the best of times, and with the best of offers,” he states.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you defend, sensing his double meaning.

“You mean to tell me, my King is but a liar?” he challenges.

You’re quiet for a moment, Kaldur knew better than anyone, just how much you respected King Orin, “what did he say, exactly?”

“That you were also accepted into the League, that you were by far the best candidate off all those who were inducted, and yet, you were the only one who has said no to date,” he admits.

Your voice is quiet as you look at your friend, before you sigh, “how long have you known?”

“Since the meeting in November.”

“You didn’t say anything…”

“Neither did you, I decided it’d be best to follow your lead. You would have said something when you were ready to,” he shrugs.

“I’m not ready. I don’t feel ready, to be there, at that level,” you explain.

“You owe me no explanation, old friend. I have always had faith in your decisions, I won’t start questioning them now,” he assures you.

“Thanks, K,” you sigh. “Did he really say I was the best candidate?”

Kaldur smiles knowingly, and gently places a hand on your shoulder, “Come, M’gann stress baked cookies last night upon our arrival. We can indulge in those while we watch something?”

“Yes, please.”

You both got settled on the green sofas with a plate of cookies on the coffee table before you, and two mugs of tea. You were flipping through the available options when Kaldur spoke up again.

“I watched when you were barely in double digits trying to learn how to sort through your feelings and emotions,” he began and your grip on the mug tightened, while your hand with the remote dropped. “I watched as you turned it into a motivator, a strength. I watched how you learned to center yourself and be objective, even with only a decade beneath you. What you feel now, how you feel now, might be stronger, but you know how to utilize that, you know how to sort it. But until you can, until you’re able and ready, I hope you know I will be here to temper it. Just as I was before,” his tone is firm, as he expresses himself.

Slowly your gaze moves to him, and you take him in. This Kaldur was nearly an adult, he had given up the Conservatory, and trained with King Orin. This Kaldur taught you Atlantean, he helped you learn how to open yourself to magic.

“Kaldur…”

“We used to spar, do you remember? You were so full of rage and I remember the Queen sending me to spar with you one day. Garth and Tulla thought it would be unfair, they thought that with my age, my size, my magical and home advantage, you would be unable to compete. Fitting, that you knocked me down in mere minutes, despite being slowed by the water, despite being in a new place, despite your age and size. It was then that we all realized that you hold so much raw power, much more than you ever seemed to realize yourself.”

“You’d think you would’ve learned your lesson after Wally,” you scoff, sniffing to yourself and recalling the first time you met the boys.

“Oh, I did. Which is why I asked for you to be included in our studies, it’s why you studied with me, specifically, at the conservatory. You needed an outlet, then. So, you studied with us, trained with us, and despite not being naturally adept at magic, despite being out of your element, you held your own, you beat us several times. You mastered skills quicker than we ever did. You needed the distraction, to let go of all that you had been forced to carry at such a young age. I just hope you can trust me to help you with that again.”

“You were my first true friend, Kaldur’ahm. I had Roy, but he had always been introduced as a brother, you were a friend. You saw me, the realest version of me, rageful, angry, upset, scared, all of the negative emotions and you still decided that you would help me. You have always looked out for me, and you have always had my trust,” you’re resolute in your answer, no one had supported you through the hard parts like Kaldur had, because he was right. He had seen you at your angriest, he’d watched you fight as an outlet, seen you train yourself to the brink of exhaustion just to be free of the rage, even for a minute, and instead of telling you that you were wrong for your methods, he instead offered you new outlets, new opportunities. He lent you his strength and stability when you had none.

“I am honored to hold that title, my bird. We made a promise, you remember? A piece of our histories intertwined,” he states, smiling at you as he tugs a gold chain from under his shirt. Your gaze lingers on it for a moment before dropping to the ring you’d been subconsciously fidgeting with.

The ring that had allowed you to breathe underwater, the one that allowed you to live in Atlantis as if you were an Atlantean yourself, it was obviously special. But what made it so treasured was not the gift it gave, it was the who the gift was from. The ring had belonged to Kaldur’s mother. It had been she, who when King Orin asked for a volunteer, a home for the girl from the dry world, had stepped forward. She had opened her home, and had offered the ring to be enchanted for you. She became your advocate while you lived in Atlantis, she treated you like you were one of her own. When it was finally time for you to return to your home, over a year later, she had told you to keep the ring, “I’d always hoped to pass this ring to a daughter,” she’d said, and you cried as you hugged her one last time.

On Kaldur’s first trip to visit you, merely a month after you’d gone back to Star City, you’d given him a chain. It had belonged to your father, and he’d worn it his whole life. Something that had been gifted to him when he was young from his father, who got it from his father before him. There’s a small pendent that hangs, your family’s crest, just like on your ring, they were a set technically.

You’d managed to enchant the item with your limited ability just in time for Kaldur’s first visit. “It’s meant to be passed to sons. I’d really like it if our histories were intwined. If I’m going to carry such a meaningful part of yours and your mom’s history, then I’d really like if you were to carry this of mine.” As far as you know, he hadn’t taken it off since you gave it to him almost three years ago.

The frown reappears on your lips as you look at the chain, and then at Kaldur. “Sometimes… I wish I was still there. It was easier living with you. There were no secret machinations, just you and me, and Garth and Tulla. I- I was hurting, I know that, but-”

“I understand,” he promises and you can’t help but let out a watery laugh.

“Of course you do. You’re Kaldur’ahm, no one ever seems to understand me as well as you do,” you smile.

“Rest, my friend, you have earned it. Our debrief with the Batman is 0730, however, I suspect he will be here early.”

“0700?” you ask.

“See you then,” he promises, tossing you a pillow and a blanket.

“Thanks, K, for everything,” you smiled, plopping back.

“Anytime, my friend, anytime.”

MOUNT JUSTICE December 31st, 06:30 EST

When you wake up again, it’s to Conner staring down at you with a quirked brow.

“Shit, Conner, why are you just staring at me like that?” you groan rubbing at your eyes.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you yet,” he admits, one hand rubbing at his neck.

“Yeah, I came earlier this morning. Canary and GA were at the Tower all night long. K, sat with me for a while.”

“Well, since you’re here… maybe we can talk about-”

“About your dad?” you ask, staring up at the roof of the cave.

“Don’t. Please don’t call him that. There's so much to figure out, but he’s not… not my dad,” you haven't turned back to him yet, but you can hear the tension in his tone.

“Genetic Donor then?” you offer turning back to him with a lazy smirk before adjusting yourself to lean against the arm of the sofa, tucking your legs beneath you.

“Genetic Donor works,” he sighs, sitting down in the now empty space on the sofa with you.

It’s silent for a minute as you both process, and then you're giggling. Conner’s eyes blow wide, as he stares at you. You cant help yourself though. Your giggles soon turn to full blown laughs, tears forming in your eyes.

“NG… nightingale… (y/n)!” Conners tone grew increasingly harried with each call to you.

“I’m sorry, I- I just… he killed my parents. I’m an orphan… be-because of Lex fucking Luthor, and he’s the only reason you're even here. He’s the reason I’m here!” you’re still laughing.

It has to be some sort of break, your mind finally deciding it's had enough.

That's when the laughs trail off, and you're left with tears.

You stop heaving and you take a deep breath, everything grows silent, you shut your eyes and center yourself. When you open your eyes you're staring at Conner again.

“I don't know how to fix this,” he admits.

You offer him a weak smile as your shoulders droop, “you can't,” you relent and Conner sags back into the sofa too.

“What now?” he asks.

“We be honest with each other, and the team. You and me, we're bonded by something now. I didn't realize it when we freed you from your pod, or when you helped us escape, but we are.”

“Allies against Lex?” he offers, holding out his hand.

“Allies against Lex,” you confirm, shaking his hand.

A not so innocent piece of you takes advantage and reads his emotions. You're reassured by the feelings of honesty, compassion, and belonging. You stare at Conner for a moment before letting go of his hand.

“What time is it?” you ask, stretching out a bit.

“You have about 15 until debrief.”

“Okay, thanks,” you sigh, standing up.

“I’ll see you in the cortex?” he asks, standing up as well.

“Yeah,” you confirm before heading to the locker room.

You're all standing in a line when Batman finally zetas in. You hadn’t had a chance to talk to Rob, or anyone else from the team about yesterday before he arrived.

He starts by asking for a rundown of events. Which we oblige. We explain everything from start to finish, the reveals, the truths, the plan for Santa Prisca. Everything leading up to the moment of Lex Luthor’s escape.

And when all of that is said and done you swallow your fears down hard before stepping forward, “Additionally, after defeating Bane with Robin and Zatanna, when I became aware of Luthor’s escape-”

“She was a little upset, which I’d argue is completely warranted considering everything we found out yesterday,” Wally cuts in, interrupting you before you can admit to how you lost control.

“Yes, but-” your second attempt is interrupted as well.

“Which is why we would like to request that the development of a case against Luthor be a Team priority,” Robin’s the one to cut in this time, proffering an official request on behalf of the team.

You risk a glance at the Team, and you don’t need M’gann’s abilities to understand what they're trying to say. So you shut up, and step back in line, waiting for Batman’s response to the debrief as well as the request.

He doesn't say anything for a minute, and then Kaldur is stepping in, “We have reason to feel proud of yesterday's victories. But one thing has not changed,” he alludes.

“Somehow, the bad guys are still getting intel about us,” Robin offers.

“Yeah, but at least we know none of us are the mole,” Wally counters.

For the first time that morning Batman finally speaks up, “That's correct,” he confirms, and he does so with serious conviction.

You want to be reassured by his confirmation, but something about the whole briefing was throwing you off, and it wasn't the discussion of Luthor.

“The mole,” he begins again, “was Red Arrow.”

Theres a brief silence as Roy’s image is displayed before everyone explodes.

“Roy?” Robin repeats disbelievingly.

“No way!” Wally’s voice had pitched up in his rebuttal.

You on the other hand, felt as the first of the strings holding you up snapped. Kaldur places a hand on your shoulder as if he knew, before turning back to the Dark Knight, “Batman, that cannot be. He was Green Arrow's protégé. We have all known him for years.”

“Unfortunately, the Roy Harper we have known for the last three years is another Project Cadmus clone,” Red Tornado explains.

You have to fight to catch your breath, this couldn’t be happening. You’d known Roy longer than that, you would've realized!

“We've learned the real Speedy was abducted and replaced soon after becoming Green Arrow's sidekick,” Batman explains and you finally step forward.

“No,” the seriousness of the word echoes in the cave. “I’ve known Roy longer than that, its been way more than three years! I would have noticed if CADMUS had substituted my own brother in front of me!” your argument is urgent, something had to be wrong.

“Unless they took a self fabricated opportunity to substitute the clone in a time of chaos. Where Speedy’s patrol partner and closest confidant was… gone?” Batman paints a picture but you're so hyper-focused on the Roy of it all you miss what he’s hinting to.

Theres a sharp intake of breath behind you, when you turn you see Kaldur, his eyes wide as he stares at you, “You came to Atlantis almost four years ago, you were gone from the surface world for over a year…” he reminds you, and you feel another string snap.

“No.”

“You said everyone seemed different, you were different, you were re-adjusting, it’d be reasonable to assume you wouldn't have noticed,” Kaldur’s tone is soft.

“No! Don't you understand?” you shout, turning to the team. “If that's true, it means the riot where they escaped was planned, they meant to cause a distraction, to throw us off guard so that they could switch-”

“Switch their Roy for ours,” Wally finishes, green eyes full of remorse on your behalf.

“And they waited almost year to put that into action, capitalizing off of the disarray of Star City's heroes,” Artemis tacks on.

“I would have noticed!” you argue, voice cracking as you try to reign in your emotions.

“The clone was pre-programmed with a drive to join the Justice League,” Batman intervenes, continuing to provide the information he had at hand. “Which is why he was so angry over any delays to his admission and why he refused to join the Team. This Roy Harper had no idea he was a clone or a traitor. And his subconscious programming drove him to become League-worthy. So he struck out on his own as Red Arrow.”

Your head was spinning, heart beating so fast and loud in your ears, it was a miracle you were still standing up. Something was wrong, something had to be wrong. Where was Dinah and Ollie? If this were true they’d come to tell you in person, they would. How could Ollie have not noticed? How could Dinah? Something had to be wrong.

“When he was finally admitted, his secondary programming kicked in and he attempted to betray the League to Vandal Savage.”

Your stomach flipped, Savage?

“Fortunately, I had already deduced Red Arrow was a clone. We were prepared.”

He had what?!

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” you whisper, Conner and Kaldur seem to be the the only two who hear you as they offer you mildly concerned expressions.

“Savage was subdued but Red Arrow escaped. He is now a fugitive, armed and dangerous,” Red Tornado continues.

“If you guys hadn't rescued me from CADMUS...” Conner trails off, eyes jumping from me to Kaldur.

“What happened to the real Roy?” Rob’s the one to voice the question and your heart stutters. Real Roy as if the one you'd known since your return wasn't real in some way. They were both real, at least they were to you.

“We don't know. He isn't at Cadmus. We have to face the possibility that the real Roy Harper is dead.”

You can't stop it. The bubble of grief, pain, and guilt. It bursts out of you, and of course Kaldur’s the one to catch it. His hand lands heavily on your shoulder, and you take deep breaths to center yourself. They don't know, you remind yourself. He could be alive and on ice somewhere, you repeat. You're forcing thoughts of hope down your own throat, hoping something will be digestible.

The last thing you're expecting is for Robin to grab ahold of your hand, not in front of Batman, and not after yesterday’s incident. Today, however, he doesn't waver or flinch back like he had the day before, so you can't tell if he can feel what you are right now. He simply snags your hand and tightens his grasp, until you're squeezing back.

“The clone Roy. The Team will find him,” Kaldur decides, his tone leaves little space.

Yet, somehow, Batman blows it wide open, “Negative. Red Arrow's a member of the Justice League now. Leave him to us.”

There's an argument forming on your lips, but a beep from his comms forces you to shut up.

“I'm needed on the Watchtower. Tornado, stay with the kids,” Batman decides and Robins hand slackens a bit. Kids? Since when did Batman call you kids?

The zeta lights up a second later, “Recognized, Batman, zero-two.”

You turn and run to the closest bathroom, you can hear as a few people shout after you, but you’re focused on making it to the bathroom. Your knees hit the ground hard as you all but collapse and then your heaving up the little that’s in your stomach. The protein bar and cookies that Conner had swiped from the kitchen for you, the orange juice Kaldur had poured for you, and the the blueberries that you’d scarfed down as well.

There’s a hand on your back, another keeping your hair back. “Wally?” your voice is a hoarse whisper.

“It’s me,” he affirms.

You nod and close your eyes for a second before you’re heaving again.

“I got you,” he promises, gently rubbing circles into your back.

You knew that, Wally’s always got your back. You know he probably didn’t hesitate to chase after to you, and that he most likely told everyone else to stay back. “I would have noticed,” you repeat.

“(Y/n)…”

“I should have noticed,” you say, sliding back, wiping at your mouth and leaning against the wall before turning to your friend.

“That’s not on you,” Wally argued.

“He’s my brother, my responsibility,” you shoot back.

“C’mon, let’s get you back before Rob starts panicking,” he huffs, pulling you up.

“I need to bru-” before you can finish Wally disappears and reappears with the toothbrush from your locker and a tube of toothpaste.

“Your teeth?” he asks cheekily.

You shake your head before quickly brushing your teeth. When you and Wally get back it’s to Kaldur’s awaiting stare. You offer a nod and he turns to face the rest of the team before looking back at you. He gives you a look signifying that it was your move this time, your call. Your stomach’s still unsettled but you swallow down your nerves and confusion before addressing the team.

  “Clone or no clone, Red Arrow was one of us. For three years, he was ours. We will go after him, and we will figure this out, on our terms,” you decide.

  You had planned to say more, but the sudden sounds from Red Tornado force you to stop. He freezes about a foot and a half away from you. Then, it's like he shut down. A sound as if he was being powered down, as the entire armor freezes, and his head tilts down.

  “Tornado!” M’gann’s shout is slightly panicked.

“What happened?” Conner’s squinting.

“He's powered down,” Wally notes, tone slightly curious.

“All functions off-line,” Robins got a frown as well, analyzing Red Tornadoes stats on his wrist-computer.

“Something doesn’t feel right,” you note, staring between the stats as well as Tornado.

“Guys, I'm sensing a low-level mystic force at play. I don't know if it caused his shutdown, but… now that I think about it, I was getting the same buzz off Batman,” Zatanna admits, and your frown deepens.

“Batman,” Robin repeats. “He called us kids. He never does that.”

  You step forward, analyzing every aspect of Tornado that you could, Wally comes up behind you and does the same.

  “Look,” Wally’s call pulls your attention. When he straightens up you can see something in his hands, “One of those bio-tech chips we confiscated off Cheshire.”

“Nightingale is right, something is not right,” Kaldur agrees. “Robin, Kid, Zatanna, Rocket, see if you can get Tornado back online,” he directs. “The rest with me to find Ro... Red Arrow.”

  The team pauses despite Kaldur’s clear instruction, and slowly they look from him, to each other, and then to you. You know why they paused, even Kaldur seems frozen as he stares at you. His decision would put you into the field, it would allow you to look for Roy, to be there when the Team finds him. Going with them would also separate you from both Wally and Dick.

  You must’ve stayed silent too long, “Birdy,” Wally’s voice seemed to echo as he called out your name.

“Sorry,” you mutter, looking up. “Kaldur’s right, we.. uh, we have to split up.”

  Wally and Dick look at each other and then they look at you.

  “It’ll be okay,” you tell them. “I have to find him, my brother, my responsibility. Plus, who knows him better than me?”

  No one has an answer and you nod.

  “Suit up,” you confirm once more before the team nods, and disperses accordingly.

  Wally, Dick, and Kaldur hang back. The three of them don’t speak, but they’re exchanging looks with each other and with yourself. No one says a word, but you offer a look of your own, and then roll your eyes at them. They pause and as always, Wally’s the first to crack. He throws his hands up looking at the two other boys and then gesturing to you. When that doesn’t get the response he wants, he throws his hands up again, waving them around.

You smile softly, hands coming to Wally’s shoulders. You offer a forced lopsided smile, tilting your head to the side. Wally responds by shaking his head, and you tighten your grip. You give him a pleading look, Wally’s face scrunches but he finally stares at you head on. You nod, gently and he sighs before nodding back.

You pass along a feeling of comfort, trying to make him understand that it’ll be okay.

“Yeah,” Wally confirms, before walking off.

Kaldur offers you a nod of his head and you nod back, before he walks toward the bioship.

You pause for a second and take a breath, and then there’s a hand on your shoulder and you’re hit with concern, longing, and a need to protect. You take another breath and turn to face Dick. He’s staring at you for a second, he opens his mouth and then closes it. In the end he stares at you making a closed fist with his right hand and rubs little clockwise circles on his chest. Your ASL was passable, a skill that Dinah and Ollie thought was important to learn for the streets, it seems like Bruce thought the same for Dick. Sorry, that’s what he was saying.

You know what he’s sorry for, you knew it the second he grabbed your hand. You take your right hand, rub a circle with your palm against your chest, and then with a flat hand swipe above your temple with your fingertips, I know.

He shakes his head, the barest of a smile on his lips.

You offer a soft smile at Dick one last time before walking towards the locker room. You’re quick to grab your gear, and you’re silent until your in the bioship, and in the air.

“Old friend,” Kaldur’s voice is soft inside the bioship, but you’re forced to pay attention to him regardless.

“I know what you’re going to say,” you sigh.

“Oh?”

“It’s not your fault, you couldn’t have known,” you trail off.

“Wrong,” Artemis interrupts.

“Am I?”

“Yeah, we were all going to say it,” Conner scoffed.

You soften at that.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” you say sadly.

“How so?” M’gann’s voice is as soft as it has always been.

“Because I did know, a piece of me did, at least,” you tell them, gaze focusing on the clouds as you pass them by out the window.

“What?” Conner’s accusation cuts clear.

“I knew something was wrong. I could feel it. Ever since my abilities… he would get angry, over things he never used to. I just wrote it off, I- I knew it was wrong, it felt wrong, it didn’t feel like natural anger, it was sudden, it was triggered but not by anything I could see. I should’ve said something, should’ve told someone,” you admit to them.

“You had no reason to suspect ulterior machinations,” Kaldur countered. “And though I know it bothers you, you both had grown apart since the foundation of the team.”

“Yeah,” you nod, fingers tracing over the ring dagger you’d been fidgeting with, “maybe.”

WASHINGTON, D.C. December 31st, 09:06 EST

“Logs indicate Red Arrow zeta'd to the Hall from the Watchtower,” Artemis stated, “But he could be anywhere by now, I also was only able to read the Hall logs, the Watchtower ones have been classified,” she adds on.

Kaldur clears his throat and turns to you expectantly, “So, I kind of didn’t appreciate how Roy tried to cut ties with everyone when he went solo, so I might’ve done some digging…” you trail, typing in new coordinates.

“Digging?” Conner asks.

“Okay, fine, investigating, and tailing, and the whole package pretty much. I found his main apartment, and discovered that he had installed equipment caches in several major cities,” you relent.

Conner coughs out, “stalker,” before clearing his throat, and you roll your eyes.

“One is here,” you continue as the bioship comes to a stop over an apartment complex.

“So… who’s going down, because, uh… not it,” Artemis muses weakly.

“I am,” you assure her.

“We are,” Kaldur corrects.

You nod and you both stand, you readjust your utility belt and pull a sweatshirt over the top of your suit, and then you pull your leather jacket on as well. It looks inconspicuous enough, at least as much as it would ever for your needs.

You and Kaldur drop to the roof, the access door was unlocked and you made your way down one floor. Roy had gotten an apartment on the top floor. When you come upon the door you crouch down with your lock picks, but between your latent anxiety, and the need to find Roy, your focus is slightly skewed.

“Perhaps, this is not the time for stealth?” Kaldur offers sagely.

You sigh and hang your head, hiding your lock pick tools in their place under your sleeve once again, “yeah.”

“Shall I? Or, would you like to?” he asks, gesturing to the door.

“I will,” you nod, standing back up.

You take a breath and stare at the door, and then with a heafty amount of force you kick down the door, you manage to put in enough force to rock the door off a hinge, and when it clears your vision you’re greeted by Roy holding up his bow with two arrows notched.

You notice the way his hand dips a second as he realizes it’s you he’s got an arrow focused on, “How’s it hanging, Roy?” you ask, but there’s a tough edge to your tone.

“You know, business as usual, Birdy,” he huffs out, but he retrains the arrows on you both.

“We have not come to harm nor apprehend you,” Kaldur cuts in. “But the Team requires answers-”

“Me first,” Roy interrupts. “Tell me something you haven’t told anyone else… tell me who broke your heart.”

Your jaw drops, “Roy!” your tone is more chastising than it was before. You know why it’s necessary, but it’s a low blow for Kaldur, a very low blow.

Kaldur places a hand on your shoulder, “Tula. The girl I loved chose my best friend Garth over me,” he answers, and you can hear the fight to keep his voice level. “While the man I consider by best friend on the surface world aims an arrow at my chest.”

Roy moves and suddenly both arrows are pointed at you.

“Roy-” Kaldur’s tone turned dangerous, but to your credit your eyes narrow and you tilt your chin up at him daringly.

“E.T. phone home,” Roy says, and you don’t need to touch Kaldur to feel the confusion rolling off of him.

There’s a pang in your heart, Roy, this Roy, was pulling on one of the earliest decisions you all made, code phrases. Methods to promise sanity, self, but also a warning when necessary. They were all movie phrases, famous enough to remember, but mismatched enough that no one would be able to guess. You’d both decided on them after you’d returned from Atlantis and Dinah let you return to patrol.

“Toto, I’ve got a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore,” you whisper.

Roy’s entire body sags. The bow and arrows clatter to the floor as he drops to his knees, and you’re quick to drop with him. You land on your knees right in front of him.

“You’re killin’ me, Smalls,” you whisper once again to him.

“As if,” he shoots back, and you crush him in a hug.

The both of you clutch onto each other, you grip him tight just for the minute being. You hug him tight and he hugs back, and you revel in it. In it’s familiarity. He might have not been the Roy that was brought home to you, but he is the one you spent the last three years with, he is still your Roy. The one who helped you readjust to being back in Star City, the one who would drive you to school, and would tap you gently when you’d accidentally slip back into Atlantean. The one who would reassure you that life was going to be okay, who would sit beside your bed, who would hold your hand, who watched your back, he was your brother. Your brother, your responsibility.

Slowly you both re-centered, and then you hauled him up to the roof, and then all three of you were pulled back up into the bioship. It’s quiet when you’re all back.

“We’re clear,” you say quietly and there’s a collective breath let out.

Everyone settled into their seats and soon enough we were back in the air.

Kaldur doesn’t waste any time, “We were told you were the mole,” he explains and Roy puffs out a breath.

“But we have reason to doubt,” you quickly inserted.

“Forget doubt. I was the mole,” Roy states, and you let out an audible groan, staring up at the roof of the ship.

“Batman and Tornado said you’re a CADMUS clone, like me,” Conner admits.

Roy turns to look at you, and you offer a slight nod, “That explains it,” he nods with a sigh that makes him seem more tired than surprised. “I was a sleeper agent, pre-programmed to infiltrate the League…. I think Sportsmaster was my handler. He had a key-phrase, Broken Arrow… that could shut me down, put me in a hypnotic state to steal secrets for his superiors, or incorporate further programming. I'd then carry out all orders subconsciously completely unaware of what drove me.”

Roy paused and you stared back at him, “take me back?” you whisper to him and he shut his eyes and nodded once more before turning back to the rest of the team, specifically the three seated behind you.

“I think one of those orders was to focus suspicion on the three of you. I'm sorry,” he adds on.

“How did Batman discover this and prevent you from betraying the League?” Kaldur asks.

Roy pauses, and looks at you, “He didn't.”

“Fuck,” you sigh.

“Birdy,” Kaldur’s voice is level, and there’s a request in it to make sure you remain so as well.

“So what happened?” you ask, pulling yourself together.

“The entire League’s been put under mental domination via those chips you guys found,” Roy sighs, scrubbing at his face.

“The ones we got off Jade?” Artemis cut in.

“Yeah, he called ‘em Starro-tech, an alien bio-organism infused with nanotechnology and magic,” Roy explained.

“Nanotechnology and magic?” you repeat. “Artemis, in the Bayou, you said you saw-”

“Klarion, the Brain, Gorilla Mallah, and Professor Ivo,” she answers.

“If there was ever a trust that could pull something like that off…” you trail.

“What do they do? The chips?

“It shuts down the mind’s autonomy, allows the controller to reprogram the individual to suit their needs,” Roy explains.

“Wait…” Conner calls interrupting. “You said He called them, who’s he?”

Roy grimaces, looks around the ship and then straight at you, and you already don’t like where this is headed, “Savage,” he says and you don’t even make it a second before you explode.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you shout. “VANDAL SAVAGE? WHAT THE FUCK!”

“Language,” Roy says automatically, and then he twitches, like he hadn’t meant to say it. “And I knew you weren’t going to like that.”

“But this chip, it affected everyone?” M’gann asked, and you had no doubt she was thinking about her uncle.

“This Starro-tech, it worked on super-powered humans, four flavors of alien, an android, even Doctor Fate,” Roy explained.

“Defeating all of you without a fight?” Conner asks.

“Indeed. A remarkable achievement. One not easily countered,” Kaldur points out.

“I'm sorry, but how is it that you are no longer enslaved?” M’gann’s the one to ask and your body tenses up.

“No Starro-tech, for starters. Just my CADMUS programming, and once I had satisfied its last parameter, my mind began to clear,” Roy admits. “I'm sure Savage planned to Starro-tech me, but he paused to bask… I escaped.”

You turn in your seat and look back at M’gann, urging her to understand, and luckily, she does. She nods at you with a gentle smile, “I promise, I can clean any residual programming from your mind,” M’gann says, reassuring you, despite the intention being directed at Roy.

  “Linking both squads and de-camouflaging,” M’gann’s voice suddenly echoes in your head and you spot the super cycle as it moves into docking position.

“Great. Because we really need to compare notes,” Robin’s voice has an edge, and as you come face to face with him and the other half of your team, you spot Wally’s frown and notice Dinah.

“What the fuck?” your voice takes on it’s own lethal edge as your gaze jumps from your unconscious and tied up mentor to the rest of the team.

It took some time but eventually both halves of the team had been caught up, now the only think left was to figure out the next move.

  “What if we reverse engineer the starro-tech?” Wally’s the one to make the suggestion and it has all of you pausing.

“Great idea, but how?” Artemis’ tone is dry but she makes a valid point.

  It goes quiet and that’s when you have an idea.

  “ti tha ginótan an rotoúsame ti vasílissa?" (what if we were to ask the queen?) the question echoes across the link but only one person can understand.

Kaldur blinks slowly and in a hesitant tone asks, “*Rota tin gia ti akrivos?*" (ask her for what exactly?)

Your lip quirks a bit, “*an boroúme dioikitís Giatrós V?*" (if we can commandeer Doctor V?)

You’re not sure what you were expecting but you’re not sure why you were surprised, Kaldur’s always backed your plans, “Pistévete óti o Red échei akóma ton arithmó tis Roquette?" (Do you think Red still has Roquette’s number?)

You offer a lopsided smile, “**Tha chreiastoúme óli ti voítheia pou boroúme na pároume**." (We’re gonna need all the help we can get.)

“Would someone like to clue those of us not fluent in Atlantean in?” Conner’s tone cuts through your conversation.

  You share another look with Kaldur.

  “It’s your plan,” he prods.

“Wally has the right idea, we have to reverse engineer the chip. We don’t stand a chance if we don’t,” you remind everyone.

“But you have a plan that will address that,” Robin realizes.

“Of course she does, when it comes down to it, our girl’s always got a plan,” Wally snorts, but by the way he scrubs at his face you realize he’s on edge.

You nod, “what do we know about the staro-tech?”

“Alien bio-organisim infused with nanotechnology and magic… what are you thinking?” Roy trails.

“I think you have the number for a nanotechnologies expert who owes us a favor, and I happen to know a few individuals who specialize in magic and science, in fact they run a whole conservatory, that teaches kids like us, well, like Kaldur,” you hint to everyone else.

“Doctor Roquette and Queen Meera,” Robin realizes.

“Alongside Doctor Vulko, who runs the Atlantean Science Center, he’s the Minister of Science for the kingdom,” Kaldur adds.

“Doctor Spence too,” Connor adds, “She worked for CADMUS, she probably can help reverse engineer the chips.”

“Which means there’s also three people we need to pick up, ASAP,” you point out.

  Another silence fils the ship, Wally’s already shaking his head, and Rob’s still staring straight at you.

  “We have to split up,” Rocket’s the one to state the obvious.

“Again?” Zatanna’s voice wobbles a bit.

  You bite down hard on your lip to keep yourself focused.

  “We have to, the quicker we get them, the quicker we fix this. We have to fix this,” you say, voice level.

“How do you want to handle it?” Robin’s the one to ask, his own voice level, but you can see the twitch in his hand.

Your lips tug down as you prepare to answer, because there’s only one possibility, “Superboy and Miss Martian will pick up Dr. Spence. Kid Flash and Robin will escort Red Arrow-” you don’t mean for your voice to crack but it does. “Will escort Red Arrow and retrieve Dr. Roquette.”

“You’ve got to be joking,” Wally’s scoff, clearly depicts what he thinks of your decision.

“Dude,” Robin’s quick to cut him off.

“And Aqualad and I will take the super cycle to go to Atlantis,” you finish. “Artemis, Zee, and Rocket will play support, and keep tabs on Canary. Please do not lose my mentor. Plus they can run background with RT.”

  You’re met with silence.

  “This is the plan, if someone has a better idea, speak up now, otherwise, you know what you have to do,” you swallow back the anxiety, and focus your gaze on Kaldur, you can’t look at anyone else, not right now.

  You remember his words from earlier, to lean on him, and to allow him to support you. It was all so overwhelming, it’s all too much, but staring at Kaldur reminded you of the little girl who was barely 10 when she was dropped in Atlantis. The girl so full of rage she couldn’t sort through her own emotions. Kaldur knew how to help that girl center herself, taught her how to cope and handle things.

  “Well if no one else is going to say it; I have some thoughts,” Wally scoffs again.

“Trust me, we know you do, Wall-Man,” Artemis’ dry tone actually puts a smile on your lips, a small quirk of a thing, but it works.

“I’m only taking constructive criticism at the moment,” you tag on, and your gaze finally flickers to Wally who is simply glaring at you.

  You offer a shrug in response, and you can feel the heat of Wally’s glare, the discomfort radiating off of Dick, but you don’t have it in you right now to address it.

ATLANTIS December 31st, 13:13 EST

“Our friends are… displeased,” Kaldur notes cautiously once it’s just the two of you on the supercycle.

“I know,” you nod, and you did, you felt it in the air, rolling off your teammates, your friends, as you and Kaldur geared up to split off.

“What are you thinking, poulí?” the question weighs heavy on you.

“I am thinking that this is my only plan, K. I don’t have a back up if we should fail this time around,” you admit.

“Then it’s good we trust in your planning, old friend. Your plans have never led us astray thus far,” he muses.

“Define astray,” you scoff back, Kaldur lets a smile slip, and then a hand lands on your shoulder comfortingly.

“They believe in you, and so do I,” he reassures you. “This idea, utilizing our resources, it is a good plan.”

“Vandal Savage, Kaldur, it’s a big play we’re chancing at here,” you sigh, twisting your rings nervously.

“Yes, and we are making the most educated choices we can. Believe in yourself, poulí, just as we do.”

You nod silently doing your best to absorb Kaldur’s reassurances. Soon enough the Super-cycle begins to descend. It pauses part way submerged, and you reach out with the ring clad finger to touch the water. Kaldur is silent beside you as you ground yourself. You feel the current, the pull of the ocean, and firmly you say, “anapnéo,” the ring made from atlantean metal glows, and then with a tap to the Super-cycle it submerges completely.

The first breath is always a bit nerve wracking, it feels like you’re entirely out of practice, and therefore not prepared to breathe. But you do. You cautiously, slowly breathe in, and when it feels as normal as it does on land your body relaxes.

“pos niótheis poulí?" (how do you feel, Birdy?) Kaldur’s question jars your wandering thoughts back into the present.

“étoimo na cheiristeí ó,ti prépei na cheiristeí ,” (ready to handle what needs to be handled) you assure him and he nods.

Minutes pass and then you are confronted with the city of Atlantis, beautiful in all its glowing magic and technology. You smile at the city fondly and catch the wanting in Kaldur’s eye, this was him home, and for a year it had been your own. The two of you had developed your friendship in this city, it will always, without a doubt, be a very special place for you.

As the cycle passes through the gates and toward the conservatory, you push the melancholic nostalgia away, and do your best to focus in on the mission at hand, there was too much as stake to be distracted by memories of the past. As Kaldur disembarks, you follow, and the two of you make your way into the Conservatory of Magic.

MOUNT JUSTICE

December 31st, 15:42 EST

“So you need us to develop something that will work against, whatever magicked up alien technology that Mr. Big Bad, Vandal Savage is using against the Justice League?” Roquette’s tone was the same as it was when you first encountered her, and you share a look with Kaldur when you both notice it.

“The heroes have come to us for help, should we not so long as we are able?” Dr. Vulko, ever the voice of reason, and forever on the side of progress is the balm you didn’t realize you’d need.

“I agree, this is an opportunity to do good with the knowledge we have acquired over our years,” Dr. Spence’s agreement catches you off guard, but the pride and satisfaction rolling off of SB tells you this is exactly what he’d hoped for.

“It’s simple, Kaldur’ahm and Poulí told us what’s wrong, you’re either here to help, or they can show you the door,” Tulla’s blunt and to the point, and you have the choke down the snort as you stare appreciatively at the redhead, you notice that Kaldur’s doing the same, some things, you imagine, would never change.

You’d all regrouped at the Cave, scientists and specialists in hand. Tulla had been Queen Veera’s contribution and envoy as she could not leave Atlantis without a sane monarch, and especially not in a time where the King had been compromised. Each recruit had been given the details during their travel, but once they were all together, the gravity had seemingly begun to set in. Dr. Rouquette was as vibrant as she had been when you’d first met, despite that though, they had begun a prompt discussion on how the chip works, and a prefatory analysis on the confiscated chip.

  “So do we think this is gonna work? Or should we be considering a back-up plan?” Rocket’s voice echoes though the open link and while the specialists continue their discussions, the team sends knowing looks to each other.

“this is the plan, the only plan,” you tell them seriously.

“Wait, seriously? You always have a back-up?” Artemis’ surprise is evident, and your lips twist down in response.

“Figures, considering her go-to has also been compromised,” Wally’s judgement is clear and your eye twitches in response.

“Sorry about that,” Zatanna’s voice is meek in response, and you catch the way Artemis, punches Wally in the arm, and his accompanying wince.

“So not your fault,” you finally cut in. “And I don’t hear you offering something else up, Wall-Man?” you state bitingly, shooting him a glare at which Wally winces again.

“To be fair, this was originally his idea,” Conner cuts in.

“Semantics,” Robin disagrees, “plus, Birdy’s the one with the connections to make it happen.”

“Gee, thanks, Rob. My genius and l feel so appreciated,” Wally scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“Right, so… back-up plan?” Rocket asks again.

“I don’t know! Short of contacting any non-affiliated heroes, or intergalactic organizations, I’m not sure what else we can do,” you sigh, a hand coming up to pinch at the bridge of your nose, while you work to secure your emotions and constrain your frustration.

“Intergalactic organizations?” Rocket repeats.

“OA,” the response is echoed by Wally, Rob, Roy, and Kaldur, you can’t help but notice this is the first time Roy was participating.

“OA,” you confirm, and then catching the confused look, on Rocket and Zatanna’s faces you add, “The Green Lantern Corps.”

“Oh,” Zatanna’s understanding is soft, as her eyes widen.

“We have a line to them?” Rocket asks, surprise evident.

“…We have potential avenues,” Robin supplies, defending your point while making eye contact with you.

“We do?” Artemis’ question is fair, and you hesitate, but your eyes lock with Roy, and then with Dick.

“Earth has another Green Lantern,” You remind the team.

“Is he not a part of the league?” Zatanna squints.

“…There were some concerns about his attitude and maturity,” Dick supplies cautiously.

“But they let Roy in?” the dig slips from Artemis’ thoughts, and by the look on her face you know she didn’t mean to project that particular thought.

  You can’t help the very audible snort, and a hand comes up over your face in embarrassment as everyone turns to you.

You catch the small smirk on Dick’s face, and Wally’s chuckling a little bit too. And when Roy turns to you, betrayed, you can’t help but start to giggle, and when your avert your gaze, they land on Wally. Which really was the worst move because then you’re both laughing.

“Okay!” Roy huffs. “Laugh it up, Birdy,” he scoffs.

“Sor-” you try but burst into another fit, until you’re practically leaning on Kaldur to stay upright.

When you finally get control, you catch the small smile on Kaldur’s face, and even Roy’s scowl has faded a bit.

“Sorry,” you say seriously, bitting your lip and straightening up.

  “Should we be worried?” Rocket asks, wide eyes on you.

“No, sorry, I just… whew, I needed a laugh, thanks Artemis,” you smile.

Artemis blushes a bit in response, “What were you going to say about the other Lantern?” she prompts, pushing the conversation back on track.

“Right, Guy Gardner,” you share. “Kind of a bully based on Canary’s files, it’s the reason he hasn’t been inducted. But he is a Lantern, and the ring did choose him. He’s based out of Baltimore, Maryland. If we fail here, we just need to get word to him, hopefully he’ll take it seriously,” you shrug.

“Reassuring,” Rocket laments flatly, and all you can do is shrug again.

  “Kaldur’ahm, Poulí, I think we may have come to an understanding,” Vulko’s voice booms across the room, and your head snaps to him immediately.

“What do you need?” you ask, setting your shoulders, as the rest of the team turns to face the brain trust.

THE WATCHTOWER December 31st, 23:16 EST

Infiltrating the Watchtower was not something you’d ever thought you’d have to do. However, somehow, you really can’t find it in you to be totally surprised.

Dinah, now freed from Starro-Tech’s control, along with Roy and Red Tornado had gone in as a distraction, allowing the team to handle the rest. Part of you had been hesitant to let Roy out of your sight after finally finding him. Not to mention Dinah. You’d twitched a little too violently, when she volunteered to go back, and Roy and Dick had both given you cautious looks as a response.

The waiting was the worst though.

You watched as M’gann, Kaldur, and Connor broke through the wall where the Bioship had docked. Robin kept an eye on the alarms and scanners the entire time, covering the Team’s tracks as he went.

Eventually, it was time.

  “RT did it. Wirelessly bypassed security for us as soon as he arrived. Savage shouldn't know we're here,” Robin confirmed, once we’d all regrouped inside the watchtower.

Aqualad nodded, before casting a quick glance at the rest of the team, “move out.”

“Currently tracking five League members between us and Savage,” Robin shares as you and Kaldur begin leading everyone though.

“Which ones?” Artemis’ tone is dubious, even through the link, and you can’t really say you blame her.

“Plastic Man, Hawkman, the Atom, Captain Atom, and… well,” Robin pauses on the last one and you turn back to look at him. “Green Arrow.”

  The team pauses, as they wait for the next move. There were nine of you, which meant almost everyone could double up, almost.

A quick glance at Kaldur tells you he was thinking the same thing.

  “Here’s the plan…” you speak first, “We work quietly and quickly. Take every opportunity to knock as many of the Leaguers out as we can before Savage and his cohort baddies realize what’s happening. Artemis and KF, you two take Plastic Man. SB and Rob, Hawkman. Zatanna and Miss M, the Atom. Aqualad and Rocket, Captain Atom. Leave GA to me,” the team nods, but once again you notice their hesitation.

“What?” you press.

“Are you sure you want to handle GA? One of us can do it,” Wally offers tentatively.

“No. He’s mine. But Rob, I could use a favor…”

  Armed with one of Robin’s recording birdarangs you split off from the group. You’re following your map to where GA’s icon is moving, and periodically you get updates from the rest of the team.

First it’s KF and Artemis.

  “Plastic Man in gassed, and chipped,” you can practically hear Wally’s smirk as he reports in.

  You turn another corner.

  “Hawkman’s chipped too,” Robin reports.

“Probably going to be out for a bit. I might’ve hit him a little too hard,” Superboy admits.

  You pause when you hear Oliver’s footsteps. Spotting the crates, you launch yourself up. Walking on the balls of your feet, you climb up, silently.

  “We got the Atom,” Zatanna confirms.

  You catch sight of a support beam, a few feet above you, and launch yourself up with as much strength as you can muster. You manage to grab hold, and then you pull your body up, until you’re balanced on your feet, walking the beam.

  “Captain Atom is incapacitated, but chipped,” Kaldur’s the next one to confirm, which just left you.

  You pull the chip from your belt, as well as the birdarang. Following Oliver’s path ahead, you toss the birdarang, it lands solidly in the wall.

A beat passes.

And then a second.

And then-

  “Ha, Ha, Ollie, over here!”

  Your giggle echoes down the hall, and Oliver’s quick to turn to the sound.

  “NG, status?” Robin’s voice rings through the link but you ignore it.

  You take your grapple line and wrap it around the support, making sure it’s snug in place, before attaching the line to your belt.

  “Birdy, you copy?” Wally this time.

  Oliver’s almost in position, and so you count.

one.

two.

three.

  You hold your breath as you lean back.

For a second you’re falling, and it’s so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Luckily, the speaker starts again.

  “Ha, ha. Ollie, over here!”

  The recording covers the sound of the grapple going taught.

  “Nightingale, report in!” Kaldur, and he’s serious.

  You get about two seconds before Oliver realizes the birdarang’s what’s making the sound, and you’re suspended in the air, halfway between the ground and the support beams of the Watchtower.

The chip, which you’d been flipping around your finger’s is poised between your index and middle fingers, and right as Ollie turns, baring the side of his neck, you toss it. You throw it the way Dinah taught you to throw a shuriken.

The balance had practically been the same.

It hits Ollie and there’s a second when he turns to you, arrow drawn.

And then he collapses.

You tug on the grapple cord and it slackens. You land on your feet, twisting the cord back into your grapple as you walk up to the downed Green Arrow.

  “GA’s chipped,” you finally say, tuning back into the link.

“We’re not splitting up anymore,” Wally says quickly.

  You roll your eyes.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, KF-”

“You didn’t answer us!” Artemis cuts in.

  This time you scoff.

  “They have to realize by now,” Robin speaks up.

“He’s right, we need to move. Zatanna and Miss Martian, you two head for the dock Zeta, Rocket and I will join you,” Kaldur decides. “The rest of you head up.”

“On the way,” Zatanna confirms.

  You’d started making your way back up, sticking to the support beams as much as possible, so far, you’d avoided any further League interactions.

  “That’s Dr. Fate, Icon, and Captain Marvel taken care of,” Zatanna speaks up, and you pause for a second.

“Too bad Cure-tech doesn't work as fast as Starro-tech. We could use these guys,” Rocket huffs, and your lips quirk up, she’s not wrong.

“It is a small miracle Queen Meera and Doctors Roquette, Spence, and Vulko were able to re-engineer a cure and vaccine at all,” Kaldur reminds her.

“And their combined 8 PhDs,” you muse.

Before anyone can respond to your joke, KF interjects, “If you guys aren't busy...”

Your breath catches, but Kaldur’s already on the move, “On my way. You three rendezvous with Robin and Superboy.”

  You pick up your pace as well, and are only partially paying attention when Zatanna gives her confirmation.

  “Uh, I'll be right behind you,” she offers.

  You manage to arrive at the main deck in time to Batman hit Robin.

  “I am so not turbed,” is how you announce yourself, as your jump down from the level you’re on, using your grapple to loop down to the one where Robin is.

“Yeah, me neither,” he promises.

  You’re on your feet in time to fall in step with both Superboy and Robin, both seem to be smarting a bit after taking on Batman and Superman, understandably.

  “We're not gonna beat them one-on-one,” Robin finally announces.

“Plan B, then,” Superboy confirms.

“And I thought my contingencies were drastic,” you manage to joke out before taking Connor’s hand.

  Conner grabs a hold of you with one hand, and Robin with the other. Using his strength he spins you both, before launching you one after the other at Batman.

You land first, grabbing a handful of his cape to pull him with your momentum.

Robin’s body crashes into you both a second later, and then the three of you go into the wall. You can feel your bones rattle from the impact, but when you slide down, you manage to grab a hold of a chip as Robin hold’s Batman steady.

You place the chip, before changing your stance to drop into a roll. You pop up on one leg, escrima sticks in hand, and Robin lands crouched beside you.

You barely have a second to catch your breath before you hear Superman and Superboy go into a wall of their own.

You both take off and you hesitate when Robin reaches to his belt.

“You sure about this?” you ask as you both run up to them.

Superboy manages to grunt out a, “Just do it!” as he strains to hold Superman in place.

You grab hold of another chip while Robin opens a box.

The green light reflects off their faces, and you watch as it seems to drain them both. Conner and Superman both start sliding down, neither of them fighting anymore as they go.

As soon as Superman falls, you’re quick to place the chip, and once you do, Robin’s shutting the lead lined box tight.

You sit back on your ass and let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding, turning back to check on Conner, who was pulling himself up to sit against the wall beside you.

He lets out a groan, looking at you and then at Robin, “Ugh. Kryptonite… hurts,” he admits, and you can’t help the scoff that slips past your lips.

It brings a smile to Robin’s face though.

“Which is why,” he begins, offering a hand to Conner. “Batman keeps it in an overwhelmingly impenetrable vault at the Batcave,” he explains, pulling SB back to his feet.

“Overwhelmingly impenetrable, huh?” you smirk up at the two.

Both boys smile down, offering you a hand.

“Well, more like a whelmingly penetrable vault,” Robin corrects.

You snort, taking their hands, and they’re quick to put you back on your feet as well.

“Let’s go. Vandal Savage awaits,” you remind them, and the two nod at you, before the three of you take off toward’s the main viewing deck, where the main Zeta point was for the Watchtower.

Unfortunately you get there just in time to watch Vandal Savage, Klarion, and his familiar, Teekle, disappear through a portal. Wally skidding into where they had been not even a second before.

You redirect yourself over to where Dinah and Roy are unconscious on the floor.

Wally whizzes up to you and grabs your spare de-programing chips, placing them on the leaguers who were up here, before sliding back up to the rest of you.

“Congratulations, Team. You have won the day,” Red Tornado announces, and you let out a tired chuckle at the thought.

None of you have an opportunity to respond though, because in the next second, a holoscreen appears.

“Happy New Year, Justice League,” the computer announces.

You don’t catch what Wally said, but when you turn to him, he’s holding Artemis, and they’re kissing.

Your lip twitches up, and then Connor and M’gann too.

“I’m liking this Team more every day,” Rocket decides, smirking as she kisses Kaldur’s cheek.

You roll your eyes and gag at Robin and Zatanna, both of whom smother their laughs. Zatanna looks away as she tries to keep her composure, but Robin stares back at you.

“Milkshakes?” you mouth to him while no one’s watching.

“Definitely,” he mouths back.

“Human customs still elude me,” Red Tornado announces in response to the kissing, and you can’t hold back your snort.

THE WATCHTOWER January 1st, 00:42 EST

It took some time, but eventually the Leaguer’s began to wake up, and slolwy they all arrived back in the entry deck.

“Everything I thought I knew about myself was a lie. I'm not a hero or a sidekick. I'm a traitor, a pawn,” Roy’s tone was low, dejected, in a way you’re not sure you’d ever heard it.

Dinah reaches out, placing a hand on his arm, “Roy, it'll be all-”

You wince when you watch Roy pull back from her. Bitting too far into your lip and tasting blood.

“I'm not Roy! I don't know what I am. All I know is I need to find the real Roy. I need to rescue Speedy,” he counters.

You’d been too anxious to sit when everyone else had. electing instead to stand across the table from Roy while Ollie and Dinah took the seats on either side of him.

“We’ll help you. The team I mean. And if not, then I will. We’ll find him,” you cut in, licking over your split lip.

“Guardian is already searching Cadmus,” Batman add, reassuringly.

Ollie had been unusually quiet.

“We should take Ro- Red Arrow, home, at least, for now,” Dinah decides.

You caught her slip up, everyone at the table probably did, but no one commented.

“Of course, all four of you can go,” Batman nods.

You catch the tonal shift, and you hesitate.

You’re not sure you would’ve noticed it if not for the rest of your abilities, but you know there’s something else.

“I’d like to stay,” you announce and everyone turns to you. “Just for a bit,” you backtrack, “I want to make sure the Team’s set, and I need to speak with Aquaman about how we deconstructed the chips,” you expound.

Roy looks like he wants to bolt, not that you balme him.

Ollie’s holding himself stiffly.

Dinah looks a little queasy at leaving you here on your own.

“I’ll be fine,” you reassure them.

“I’ll escort her, to Arthur, and then back to the Zeta’s,” Batman offers, and you notice as Dinah realxes, but only a little.

“Not too long,” she adds, though it’s perfunctory, you can tell.

“Promise,” you nod.

She smiles once more at you, weak and strained, before she and Ollie take Roy toward the Zeta’s

You wait until they’re through before you turn back to Batman. Robin and Kaldur had taken the seat on either side of him, and the four of you were the only ones left in the room.

Your hands land on the table with a loud smack that echoes thorough the room, and all three sets of eyes shift to you.

Yours, however, are focused on Batman, “Something else is wrong,” you say.

You’re not asking, you’re not, because you know.

Batman hesitates, looking to Robin for a second before turning back to you, and then nodding.

“The entire League was under Savage's spell for just over a day,” Robin begins, sharing a holoscreen with you. “We've accounted for most of that time. But these six went missing for a full 16 hours we can't account for.”

You stare at the screen. Batman, Superman, Green Lantern; John Stewart, Hawkwoman, Wonder Woman, and Martian Manhinter.

Powerhouses, all six. Each in their own right, different skills, different tactics. It’s terrifying to think what they could have accomplished for Klarion and Vandal Savage in sixteen hours, the implications were limitless.

“Sixteen hours,” Batman repeats, “what did we do?”

STAR CITY January 1st, 02:04 EST

It’s another hour or so by the time you make it back to Star City. You’d talked with King Arthur, shared with him how you and Kaldur had gone to Atlantis, and that Queen Meera had been appraised. And then you’d circled back to the cave to shower and change.

It’s two in the morning when you make it home, and frankly, you’re surprised to see Roy still up.

Dinah and Ollie weren’t around so you assumed they’d gone to bed. They probably thought he had too.

“Hey,” you greet lamely.

“Hi,” is all he offers back.

You drop your gym bag down by the door, and replace the lock before walking over to the sofa. You drop down beside Roy, but you leave a healthy space, not wanting to crowd him. You turn, tucking one leg under you, so that you can face him better.

“I know it’s a stupid question, but I’m going to ask anyways,” you begin, but he doesn’t look at you, focused instead on something just past your head. “How are you?”

He lets out a snort, but it’s dry, and sad, and you can hear it for what the answer it offers. Stupid question.

“I don’t know…” he says after a minute of silence. “But… I don’t really know anything anymore,” he adds on.

You bite on your lip again, wincing when your teeth make contact with the split lip you’d forgotten about.

“Fair,” you offer, agreeing.

“It’s fine,” he huffs, shrugging you off.

Your eyes narrow at that, it was a lot of things, fine isn’t one of them.

“Roy-”

“Don’t call me that!” he hisses, and you pause.

“Okay,” you concede, swallowing thickly. “What should I call you?” you prompt instead.

“I- I.. I don’t know, just.. I’m not Roy Harper, I’m not!” the last words come out as a sob, and you flick the piece of you that wants to give him space the recesses of your mind, scooting closer and wrapping an arm around his middle the best you can.

“How about Red, at least until we figure it all out?” you offer instead.

“Stop,” he cries. “Stop being nice, and understanding, I replaced him!” Roy’s voice is low, and sad, and you know he wants to make his point, but seems not to want to wake up Dinah or Ollie.

“She’s asleep so I’m going to say the bad words she tries to keep me from using,” you begin, delighted when it gets a wet snort out of the redhead. “But fuck that,” you say seriously, and he snorts again.

Finally turning to look at you, though he’s stuck with it, seeing as you’re practically pressing into his side.

“Look, I’m not blaming Ollie but I’m sure as shit not blaming you either. And I think it’s okay to acknowledge the fact that what you went through in the last few days has been harsh. That it was thirty-one flavors of traumatizing. God, Red! I’d be a fucking mess if it were Dinah coming after me, but it’s not your fucking fault or theirs!” you huff out.

“You owe Dinah at least $20, for just the last minute alone,” is all he says in response.

You scoff.

“Look, Roy or not, you’re my brother too. You have been for the last three years, and just because you’re a clone, it doesn’t make it less true,” you say seriously, and he goes quiet.

You let out a long sigh.

“You should get some sleep, tomorrow’s gonna be a long day,” you finally offer after the silence stretches.

“Yeah,” he huffs, standing up.

You stand after him, tugging him into a tight hug, that he doesn’t seem sure of how to respond to.

“Goodnight, Red,” you say gently.

“Goodnight, (y/n),” he whispers, before peeling you off of him, and walking away.

STAR CITY January 1st, 10:22 EST

You slept horribly.

The worst ever, actually.

Okay probably not, but it was still pretty bad.

The light at the end of the tunnel where the two hours of no questions you’d managed to wrangle out of Dinah.

You were already in a booth when he walked in.

Sat with your eyes closed, leaning against the linoleum seats, and when the overhead bell of the entry door rings, you blink them open in time to see Dick find you.

You offer him a muted lazy smile, and he gives you one in return.

“Hey,” he greets.

“Hey,” you say, sliding down.

He takes the invitation, settling down beside you instead of across from you.

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence. It seems you both were talked out after the events of the previous day.

Eventually, Mrs. Lenetii brings out a milkshake for you both, cooing over you, before siappearing to take care of another table.

Your head lands on his and his fingers interlace with yours.

“Bad night?” he asks after you’d both been ignoring your milkshakes for too long.

“yeah,” you nod.

“Yeah,” he repeats.

Slowly you lift your head.

You’re close, the two of you. His face is right there, his lips.

He’s staring at you with the wide blue eyes, and you wonder if he’s suddenly as nervous as you were.

You thought of Wally and Artemis at Midnight, of M’gann and Conner, even Rocket. But they were all older. You and Dick were the youngest on the team. It had never felt like it more until right now.

“Um-” he stutters out. “I… uh.. Can I?” he trails off.

“Have you.. ever?” you question back.

Neither of you have moved apart though.

“No,” he admits. “You?”

“No,” you share.

He offers you a shy smile, and it’s the first one in almost forty hours that doesn’t feel strained.

When he tilts down, you move up. There’s no fireworks. And your noes’ bump, and you giggle. And then your teeth clack, and he laughs. It’s awkward and kind of strange, and not at all what the movies make it sound like it’ll be, but it was your first kiss, and it was his too, and it tastes a little like the chocolate and strawberry milkshakes you’d both been sipping on, and all of it together makes it kind of magical in an of itself.

No matter what happened next, what came next, you had Dick, and you knew he had your back.

everything tags: @butterfly-skinnylegend

dc taglist: @batarella @loninctzencarat @escapenightmare @uh-oh-howd-i-get-here

cnng taglist: @babymango-writes @smile-more19 @bruiscdlikeviolets @truly-dionysus @farfromjustordinary @sometimeseverythingsucks @dweeb-central @lucy-roo @casedoina @cipheress-to-k-pop @anonomano @seninjakitey @whelmedparker @officiallydarkgeek @midnxghtblue @unini @blackwhiteandshadesofgradient @dontmesswithbeebo @raggedyoldwitch @bouqet-of-gay @duckmylife18 @kendallambrosio @notslaybabes @torchbearerkyle @cynthiarose07 @mono--moonchild @emo-space-tea @notsostraightweeb @sassyspanishartist @ahyeonah @acceber1313 @onepieceformeplease @whatislifeandhowdoidoit @luvelyxp @lovelyartemisa @evermoore580 @mischiefmanaged71 @cryingnotcrying @aces-tattooartist @we-flower-fan @awkward-youtube-trash @laurcad123 @sanovr @feverish-dove @lolsnacks

Pairings. M.D.Luffy- R.Zoro- V.Sanji - shanks - T.Law - P.D.Ace - E.Kid

summary. Fav part on your body

— (a/n): DARLING!, every inch of you is perfect. Plus request are open (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

Monkey D. Luffy – Your Hands

Luffy is fascinated by your hands. Whether they’re soft, calloused, or adorned with tattoos, he loves them because they’re yours. He’s constantly grabbing them, playing with your fingers absentmindedly, or holding them against his cheek. He especially adores when you feed him—his eyes light up every time you bring food to his lips, and he sometimes playfully nibbles on your fingers just to make you laugh. And when you ruffle his hair with those same hands? He melts.

But Luffy’s obsession goes beyond just holding them—he finds comfort in them. If he’s sleepy, he’ll take your hand and press it against his cheek, his lashes fluttering as he hums in contentment. If he’s excited, he’ll grab both of your hands and swing them around, his laughter ringing through the air. And if he’s feeling extra affectionate? He’ll kiss your palms, grinning up at you before pressing them against his face dramatically. And when you cup his face in your hands, gently stroking his cheek with your thumb, his usual playful energy softens. His lips part slightly, his expression suddenly unreadable. He stares at you—wide-eyed, almost mesmerized—before he suddenly grins, rubbing his face even further into your touch like an overgrown puppy. “Heh, your hands feel nice,” he mumbles, before promptly biting your finger again, his laughter echoing through the air as you scold him.

Roronoa Zoro – Your Back

Zoro has a thing for your back—he won’t outright say it, but his actions make it obvious. Whenever you wear something that exposes even a hint of skin, his eyes linger. He finds something undeniably strong yet elegant about the way your back curves when you move. If you have scars, he respects them deeply, running his fingers over them with quiet admiration. If you have tattoos, he studies them in silent appreciation, perhaps even tracing them when you’re resting together. And when you stretch, arms raised above your head, your back arching slightly? He has to physically stop himself from pulling you into his arms.

But if he’s feeling bold—or maybe just a little tipsy—he’ll step up behind you, fingers ghosting over the bare skin of your spine, his breath warm against your ear as he murmurs, “You’re showing off, aren’t you?” His voice is low, teasing, but there’s a rough edge to it, like he’s holding himself back. “Knowing you’re what man need”. If you turn to face him, expecting him to retreat, he doesn’t—he just smirks, eyes locked onto yours, before running a calloused hand down your back with slow, deliberate intent.

Sanji – Your Neck

Sanji worships your neck. It’s his personal sanctuary, a place where his lips constantly find their way. He loves to nuzzle into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent as his hands settle on your waist. His kisses are slow and lingering, sometimes teasing, sometimes desperate. He whispers sweet nothings against your skin, praising you like you’re the most divine being in existence. If you wear something that exposes your neck—off-the-shoulder tops, delicate necklaces—he’s doomed. He’ll place kisses there absentmindedly, even in public, murmuring, “Mon amour, you’re making it very hard to behave.”

If you wear something that leaves your neck exposed—whether it’s an elegant dress or just a loose button-down—Sanji is done for. He’ll run his fingers over the delicate skin absentmindedly, his touch featherlight, his breath hitching slightly. And if you so much as tilt your head, offering him more space? He’s pressing his lips against you instantly, But his favorite? When you’re cooking together and he sneaks up behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder, arms wrapping around your waist. His lips graze your neck as he murmurs something about how beautiful you look, and before you can even react, he’s already pressing a lingering kiss to your pulse. He lives for the way you shiver under his touch, and you can feel the satisfied smirk against your skin.

Shanks – Your Breasts

Shanks is shameless. He doesn’t try to hide his admiration—he fully embraces it. He loves resting his head against your chest after a long day, sighing contentedly as you run your fingers through his hair. He’s the type to slip his hand under your shirt absentmindedly, not necessarily with ulterior motives, but just to feel your warmth. If you wear something that accentuates your figure, expect him to tease you endlessly. He’s the kind of man who smirks, takes a sip of his drink, and drawls, “how god create something perfect like you” before pulling you into his lap.

He’s convinced that anything can make your breasts look even sexier, and once the idea enters his head, it stays there. One day, in that deep, playful voice of his, he casually suggests, “You know, a piercing right here—” his finger traces between your breasts, his touch featherlight yet purposeful, ”—would look absolutely stunning on you.” If you decide to tease him back, tilting your head with a smirk and saying, “How about nipple piercings instead?”—his reaction is immediate. His grip on your waist tightens, his pupils darken, and he exhales sharply through his nose, as if he’s just been hit with a vision too tempting to handle. He leans in, voice rough with amusement and something deeper, “get ‘em, I’d love to feel them on my tongue.”

Trafalgar Law – Your Collarbone & Shoulders

Law is a man of precision, and there’s something about your collarbones and shoulders that drives him crazy. Maybe it’s the sharp elegance of them, the way they peek through when you wear certain outfits, or the way his fingers trace over them absentmindedly when you’re lying together. He appreciates the way they flex subtly when you move, the strength hidden beneath softness. If you have tattoos here, he’s even more obsessed—he studies them with sharp, quiet interest, his fingers brushing over the ink as he asks about their meaning. And when he’s feeling particularly possessive? He marks you with slow, deliberate kisses, leaving faint traces of his touch behind.

When he’s feeling possessive, he won’t just admire—he’ll mark. His lips will graze over your collarbone, pressing slow, deliberate kisses, his grip tightening on your waist. He’s not one for open displays of affection, but the moment you’re alone? His hands are on your shoulders, his mouth tracing along your collarbone.

Portgas D. Ace – Your Hips

Ace has a love for your hips, and he’s not shy about it. His hands naturally settle there, whether he’s pulling you closer, steadying you after a stumble, or just holding you while talking. He likes the way they move when you walk—so much so that he often ends up staring without realizing it. He’s the type to hook a finger into the waistband of your pants or skirt, tugging playfully just to see your reaction. If you have dimples on your lower back, he’s obsessed, pressing kisses there whenever he gets the chance. And when you straddle his lap, resting your hands on his shoulders? He swears you’re going to be the death of him.

He loves how easy it is to tease you when he has his hands on your hips. He’ll grip them suddenly, just to see you react, and his grin only widens when you give him a playful shove. And if you’re straddling him, hands braced against his chest? He’s gone. His fingers tighten instinctively, his voice rough as he chuckles, “you make me feel like a dream”

But the real kicker? If you jokingly sway your hips while walking away, knowing he’s watching. He’ll groan dramatically, running a hand down his face, before catching up with you, tossing an arm around your waist. “You can’t just do that and expect me to hold on,” he huffs, but the way his fingers flex against your hip tells you he’s not complaining.

Eustass Kid – Your Thighs

Kid is obsessed with your thighs. He loves the way they feel under his hands, whether they’re soft or toned, and he often absentmindedly grips them when you sit close to him. He’s the type to pull you onto his lap with zero hesitation, his metal hand resting heavily on your thigh like a silent claim. If you wear something that shows them off—shorts, skirts, anything that accentuates their shape—he’s staring. And if you dare to tease him, pressing your legs together in a way that draws his attention? He’ll lean in, voice low and full of challenge, “you wanna play bad bitch role ~ hmm?”

If you wear something that shows them off—shorts, skirts, anything that accentuates their shape—he’s staring. He won’t even try to hide it, his red eyes dark with something dangerous. And if you catch him looking, raising an eyebrow at him in amusement? He just smirks and shrugs, completely unashamed. “Not my fault you look this divine.” But his absolute favorite? When you’re sitting with your legs draped over his lap, and he gets to absentmindedly trace patterns along your skin. His touch is rough yet oddly tender, and if you tease him about it, he just grunts, “Shut the fuck up,” but doesn’t stop. And if you so much as playfully squeeze his waist with your thighs? He growls, his grip tightening as he leans in, voice low and taunting, “they will look perfect spread, don’t you think?”

†  date night : various.

♦ request: yes; domestic fluffy things ♦ beta’d: nope ♦ a/n: oh and you can pry the tim drake glasses thing out of my cold dead hands. co written.

𝑫𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝑮𝒓𝒂𝒚𝒔𝒐𝒏 – "𝑳𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔, 𝑳𝒂𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒆𝒓, 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆."

⇝ Date Night Headcanons:

spontaneous & playful – dick loves to keep you on your toes. you’ll get a text hours before: "wear something comfortable, trust me. 💙" and then suddenly, you’re on a rooftop picnic, at a carnival, or taking impromptu salsa lessons. no two dates are ever the same.

he lives for shared laughs – whatever the date is, laughter is guaranteed. he’ll tell ridiculous stories, crack jokes, pull you into dances when there’s no music—anything to hear your laugh in the night air.

big on physical affection – he cannot keep his hands off you. he’ll hold your hand at all times, spin you in the middle of the street, kiss you like you’re the only thing keeping him standing. the world disappears when he’s with you.

nostalgic heart – sometimes, he takes you places that mean something to him. old blüdhaven diners, childhood circus memories, a ferris wheel overlooking the city. he lets you into pieces of his past without hesitation.

sunset or midnight dates – if it’s evening, it’s vibrant and full of life - city lights, live music, neon glow. if it’s late-night, it’s something quiet, sacred, where it’s just you and him against the sleeping world.

the prince of rooftop dates – some nights, it’s just blankets, takeout, and city lights from above. there’s something poetic about gotham stretching beneath your feet while he holds you close.

always ends the night right – whether it’s stumbling home tipsy from laughter, slow-dancing in the kitchen, or falling asleep with you in his arms, dick makes sure the night never ends without making you feel like the most loved person in the world.

the carnival hums around you, a whirlwind of neon and laughter, the scent of popcorn and sweet, warm summer air wrapping around you like a dream. the world is alive tonight; lights flickering against the skyline, people moving like currents through the fairground - but all you can focus on is the man beside you.

dick’s hand is laced with yours, fingers threading together effortlessly, like they were always meant to fit. his smile is wide, eyes glowing in the golden light of the carousel before him. there’s something soft in his expression, something unguarded, like he’s letting the moment settle deep into his bones.

"i told you this was a good idea," he teases, nudging his shoulder against yours.

you laugh, rolling your eyes, but you can’t deny it. it’s one of those nights that feel eternal, weightless, something worth remembering forever. the ferris wheel looms ahead, the final piece of your evening, and dick pulls you toward it with an excited grin that makes him look younger, freer.

the ride lifts you above the carnival, the noise fading into a distant hum. the city stretches out before you - blüdhaven’s skyline blinking in the distance, gotham’s shadow beyond it. and in the middle of it all, dick grayson is looking at you like you hung the stars specifically for him.

"you know," he murmurs, arm draped over the back of your seat, body angled toward you, eyes locked onto yours like you’re the only thing that matters. "i think this is my favorite date yet."

you raise an eyebrow. "you've said that for every date."

"and every time, i mean it." his smile softens, something quieter, something deeper. the wind ruffles his dark hair, and he looks at you like this; like home, like warmth, like love.

the ride slows to a stop at the very top, the city breathing beneath you, the carnival lights flickering like fireflies below. dick shifts closer, his forehead resting against yours, his breath a warm whisper in the cool night air.

"stay with me here," he says softly, his fingers curling around your wrist, anchoring himself to you. "just a little longer."

and as the world spins on below, you do.

𝑻𝒊𝒎 𝑫𝒓𝒂𝒌𝒆 – "𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑵𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝑩𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝑻𝒐 𝑼𝒔."

⇝ Date Night Headcanons:

drives to nowhere – when the city feels too heavy, he picks you up in his car and just drives. no destination, no rush, just empty highways and quiet music playing through the speakers.

library dates at midnight – not public libraries. his personal one. he lets you curl up with books in his apartment, old texts and mystery novels spread out between you. there’s no pressure to talk—just existing together in the glow of dim, warm lamplight.

cooking something together – tim is terrible at cooking. but if you suggest it, he’ll suffer through it for you. and if it goes wrong? you’ll end up sitting on the kitchen counter, eating takeout, laughing at the disaster you made.

hidden lookout spots – there are places in gotham only tim knows. rooftops with the best view of the skyline, secret corners of the city where the stars are still visible. if he shares them with you, you’re one of the few people he trusts completely.

long games of chess or cards – it’s not competitive—it’s intimate. he doesn’t just play with anyone, but with you, it’s different. it’s slow, full of teasing and quiet moments where he watches you more than the board.

movie nights done right – tim is notoriously bad at actually watching movies. you’ll start one, but half an hour in, he’s leaning against you, mumbling half-asleep observations until he eventually dozes off on your shoulder.

letting the city sleep without him – some nights, he decides gotham doesn’t need him. some nights, he just needs you. those are the nights he lets himself stay. lets himself be yours, fully and without hesitation.

the streets of gotham stretch endlessly ahead, neon lights flickering in the distance, but none of it matters - not when the road belongs to the two of you.

tim’s hands rest easy on the steering wheel, his fingers drumming against the leather in time with the low hum of the radio. it’s late; the kind of late that makes the city feel like it exists just for you, where the world is quiet enough to breathe. the engine purrs beneath you as he takes another turn down an empty road, the streetlights flashing in intervals through the windshield, painting his face in gold and shadow.

he’s not in a hurry. there’s nowhere to be.

one of your legs is tucked beneath you in the passenger seat, your body angled toward him, watching the way his shoulders relax, the way exhaustion lingers in the shape of his mouth. it’s rare for tim to look at ease. even now, you can tell his mind is still too full, always turning, always running.

and yet, here he is.

"you okay?" you murmur, breaking the comfortable silence.

tim hums softly, his eyes flicking toward you for half a second before returning to the road. "yeah. better now."

the night air filters in through the cracked window, cool against your skin. tim’s jacket is tossed over the center console - he had shrugged it off earlier, mumbling something about you needing it more than he did. you glance at the dashboard clock. nearly 2 am.

"we should probably head back soon," you say, but there’s no real insistence in your voice.

tim smiles, small but real. "five more minutes."

you don’t argue.

you lean your head against the seat, letting the city blur past, the hum of the car and the steady rhythm of his breathing lulling you into something warm, something peaceful. five more minutes becomes ten. ten becomes twenty. but neither of you say anything about it.

eventually, tim pulls the car into a quiet overlook, one of the secret places he never shares with anyone else. a place where the city looks almost peaceful, where gotham is just a sea of blinking lights instead of a battlefield. he shifts the car into park, exhales, then leans back in his seat, tilting his head to look at you.

"you ever think about just leaving?" he asks, voice soft. "just… disappearing for a night. no responsibilities. no alarms blaring at three in the morning."

you tilt your head, watching him. "you mean like we’re doing right now?"

his lips twitch. "exactly like we’re doing right now."

there’s something almost vulnerable in the way he says it—like this is the only time he truly feels weightless. not red robin, not wayne enterprises’ heir, not gotham’s sleepless protector. just tim.

you reach for his hand, threading your fingers through his. he lets you.

"you could’ve been out there tonight," you murmur. "but you’re here."

his thumb brushes absently over your skin, a quiet affirmation.

"yeah," he says, and there’s something in his voice that sounds like relief. "i think i needed to be."

and as the city flickers below, as the clock creeps further into the night, tim lets himself stay.

𝑪𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒓𝒂 𝑪𝒂𝒊𝒏 – "𝑨 𝑫𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝑩𝒖𝒊𝒍𝒕 𝑭𝒐𝒓 𝒀𝒐𝒖."

⇝ Date Night Headcanons:

cass struggles with words, but she understands gestures. she notices effort more than anything. when you plan something specifically with her in mind, she understands it means ‘i love you’ without you ever saying a word.

she enjoys sensory experiences more than standard dates. things she can feel - the wind rushing past her on a rooftop, the vibration of music through her chest, the quiet warmth of your hand in hers.

action over words - always. cass doesn’t always know how to talk about her feelings, but she knows how to show them. and when you take the time to show her love in return, she glows in a way that few people ever get to see.

she enjoys movement, but not always in a high-energy way. something like a nighttime roller-skating date, dancing in an empty parking lot, or even just a quiet walk where she can exist in the world without worrying about danger.

she has never been pampered before. she’s used to people training her, using her, expecting something from her. but when you set up a date where it’s just about her - where she can breathe, where she can just be - it leaves her speechless.

she loves closeness, but in subtle ways. leaning against you, pressing her forehead to yours, fingers brushing against your wrist - it’s her way of asking for more.

cass doesn’t need grand gestures. she just needs to feel safe. and when you give her that, she holds onto it like it’s the most precious

thing in the world.

the city hums in the distance, but here, everything is quiet.

a rooftop, high above gotham’s restless streets, bathed in the soft glow of string lights you set up just for her. a picnic blanket is spread out beneath you, the food simple, the effort everything.

cass sits cross-legged beside you, her body relaxed in a way that she rarely allows in the field. the wind tugs at her dark hair, and for a long moment, she just looks around. at the view. at the small setup you arranged. at the details - the things that show you did this for her.

"you planned," she says simply, her voice soft but full.

you smile, nudging your knee against hers. "of course i did."

cass tilts her head, her eyes studying you with that same keen intensity she always carries. but tonight, there’s no wariness behind it. just something warm, something grateful.

she reaches for your hand, running her fingers along the back of it—tracing, memorizing, appreciating.

"i like when you plan," she murmurs.

you squeeze her hand in return. "i like doing things for you."

she doesn’t reply right away, but she doesn’t need to. instead, she shifts closer, resting her head against your shoulder, her fingers still laced with yours. the city may be alive with noise below, but here, in this small, quiet moment, cass is finally at peace.

𝑱𝒂𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝑻𝒐𝒅𝒅 – "𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆, 𝑶𝒖𝒕 𝑶𝒇 𝑺𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕."

⇝ Date Night Headcanons:

jason isn’t a ‘traditional’ date night kind of guy. he won’t take you to five-star restaurants, but he will take you to a hidden, hole-in-the-wall diner at 2 am, where the food is messy and the coffee is burnt, but it’s just you and him.

he loves quiet places - where the world doesn’t demand anything from him. abandoned libraries, late-night parks, the fire escape outside his apartment. anywhere he can just exist with you.

he does not like being around rich socialites. a high-end gala date? hell no. but a cozy, dimly lit bar with live blues music? a drive down backroads with nothing but the sound of the radio? perfect.

jason reads to you. not in a romanticized, ‘let me recite shakespeare’ way - but in a, ‘i found this used bookstore and grabbed some old poetry books. want me to read you something?’ way.

he’s a natural at late-night drives. he doesn’t rush. he just lets the road stretch on, windows cracked open, your legs kicked up on the dashboard as the stars blur past.

he cooks, but never follows recipes. if you let him make you dinner, prepare for something incredible - if not entirely chaotic. he makes the best comfort food, and he’ll playfully swat your hands away if you try to help, saying, "hey, this is my thing. you just sit there and look pretty."

he does things for you without announcing them. there’s no ‘look at what i did’ moment - he just fixes the leaking sink in your apartment, keeps extra sweatshirts around because he knows you’ll steal them, and quietly makes sure you’re always safe, even when he’s not around.

the small, tucked-away restaurant is nearly empty by now, the last customers drifting out, the flickering neon ‘open late’ sign humming above the door. the place is nothing special—a hole-in-the-wall joint that doesn’t even show up on google, where the food is greasy, the coffee is strong, and nobody asks questions.

and yet, jason loves it here.

he leans back in the worn-out booth, one arm draped along the backrest, the other loosely curled around a half-empty mug of black coffee. his leather jacket is slung over the seat beside him, his sleeves pushed up, exposing the scars along his forearms.

the soft glow of the tabletop lamp casts golden light across your face, and he watches you like that’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

"you’re staring," you murmur, poking at the last few fries on your plate.

jason smirks, unabashed. "yeah? sue me."

you roll your eyes, but there’s no real bite behind it. just warmth. just the comfort of knowing that this—him, here, like this—is something rare.

he tilts his head, exhaling slow, as if he’s memorizing the moment. the distant hum of an old jukebox, the rain tapping against the windows, the low murmur of the staff closing up for the night. the way you’re just here, across from him, existing in his space like you belong there.

like you’re something he gets to keep.

"this is nice," you say softly, breaking the silence.

jason snorts, tilting his coffee mug at you. "what, eating at a place that probably fails every health inspection?"

you huff a laugh. "no. this. you. the quiet." you tilt your head, watching him the way he watches you. "i like being here with you."

jason stares at you for half a second too long before clearing his throat, shifting slightly. you do that to him—say things so casually, so effortlessly, like it’s not some kind of miracle that he’s still here, still breathing, still being loved.

he taps a slow rhythm against the mug, considering, then shrugs. "yeah," he murmurs, voice softer than before. "me too."

and as the city breathes outside, as the streetlights cast lazy shadows through the windows, jason todd lets himself have this.

𝑫𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒂𝒏 𝑾𝒂𝒚𝒏𝒆 – "𝑰 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒆. 𝑬𝒙𝒄𝒆𝒑𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖."

⇝ Date Night Headcanons:

damian is precise with his time. if he sets aside a night for you, it is intentional, carved out of a schedule that few people are allowed to touch.

he doesn’t enjoy crowds or noise. most of your dates are quiet, exclusive, just the two of you. private gardens, late-night museum access, hidden places where the world cannot interrupt.

art dates are his favorite. he takes you to galleries after hours, pointing out hidden techniques in brushstrokes, low-voiced explanations that turn into long discussions.

he is highly competitive, but he lets you win (sometimes). chess matches, fencing lessons, horseback riding- if it’s a skill, he will teach you. and if you struggle? he’ll hover behind you, hands guiding yours, murmuring corrections close to your ear.

damian remembers everything you like. if you offhandedly mention an author you enjoy? a signed edition of their book appears in your hands a week later. favorite dessert? it’s on the menu, no matter where he takes you.

he rarely says ‘i love you,’ but he says it constantly in other ways. he walks on the street-side of the sidewalk, adjusts the temperature of the room for your comfort, makes sure your favorite tea is always stocked.

at the end of the night, he doesn’t let you go easily. whether it’s a long drive home in his car, his hand resting over yours, or a lingering moment at your door, he makes every second last.

the museum is empty.

at least, it is for everyone except you and damian.

a private arrangement, locked doors, the city outside reduced to nothing more than a distant hum. the grand halls stretch around you in perfect silence, the air thick with the weight of history, the dim lighting casting soft, golden glows against priceless art.

but damian is not looking at the paintings.

he is watching you.

you stand before a renaissance-era canvas, eyes scanning the fine, intricate strokes of oil paint that have survived for centuries. damian steps closer, the sound of his dress shoes against the marble floor barely audible, but you feel him before you see him.

his voice is quiet, low and smooth in the hush of the museum.

"do you see the brushwork?" his fingers barely lift, gesturing toward the curve of a painted figure’s face. "the layering? it creates depth. almost imperceptible, unless you know what you’re looking for."

you tilt your head, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. "like how you see people?"

damian pauses, then huffs a quiet breath—not quite a laugh, but close. he steps beside you, hands clasped neatly behind his back, posture effortless and composed. "observation is a necessary skill."

you hum, shifting your weight slightly. "and yet, you brought me here instead of going to a gala tonight."

his lips twitch at the corners. "a necessary skill also includes knowing what is a waste of time." his gaze flicks toward yours, something unreadable, something softer than his usual sharpness. "they bore me. you do not."

there it is.

the way damian does not share his time lightly.

you glance back at the painting, but his presence at your side is far more distracting. his cologne lingers in the air—clean, sharp, the scent of warm leather and something deeper, something uniquely him. his fingers twitch slightly where they rest at his side, like he is considering reaching for you. considering, but not yet acting.

you make the decision for him.

your fingers brush against his, slow, deliberate, barely there. and yet, the response is immediate. his hand closes around yours—not urgent, not possessive, but solid. real.

his grip does not falter.

the weight of it lingers, the warmth of his palm against yours, the simple, uncomplicated act of holding you here with him.

you let the silence stretch, comfortable, familiar. then—

"i don't want the rest of them," damian murmurs, his voice low, meant only for you. "i want you."

and in the quiet hush of the museum, you squeeze his hand in return.

𝑺𝒕𝒆𝒑𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒆 𝑩𝒓𝒐𝒘𝒏 – "𝑨 𝑫𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑮𝒆𝒕𝒔 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝑰𝒏 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒃𝒍𝒆."

⇝ Date Night Headcanons:

steph is all about fun. if your date doesn’t include something spontaneous, something ridiculous, something that will absolutely make you laugh until you cry=then what’s the point?

she loves arcade nights. not just casual arcade nights - fierce, competitive, ‘we are not leaving until i beat you at skee-ball’ arcade nights.

most of your dates involve food. late-night waffle houses, gas station snack runs, making a complete mess of her kitchen at 3 am because she swears she can make pancakes better than you.

she gets you into trouble on purpose. climbing fences to sneak onto rooftops for a better view, making you run from security after getting caught somewhere you shouldn’t be - it’s all part of the fun.

steph is an absolute menace when it comes to dares. if you say “you won’t do it,” she’s already doing it. and if she gets in trouble? she’s dragging you down with her.

she is outrageously flirty when she wants to be. she’ll wink, bite her lip, lean in like she’s going to kiss you - and then steal your fries instead.

at the end of every date, she looks at you like you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to her. because, in her eyes, you are.

it wasn’t supposed to end like this.

your date had started with waffles and milkshakes at a 24-hour diner. then, a casual late-night stroll through gotham’s quieter streets—until steph spotted a ‘do not enter’ sign on a construction site and immediately decided to ignore it.

which is why, twenty minutes later, the two of you are standing on the unfinished beams of what will eventually be gotham’s newest skyscraper, looking out at the city like you own it.

steph’s grin is wide, wild, her blonde ponytail swaying in the night breeze as she spreads her arms out. "see? best view in gotham. you just have to break a few rules to get it."

you shake your head, but you’re smiling. "one day, this is going to get us arrested."

she smirks, stepping closer, arms looping around your waist. "yeah, but imagine the mugshots. we’d look hot."

before you can respond, the blaring wail of a security alarm cuts through the night.

you both freeze. steph’s head whips toward the source of the noise, then back to you, eyes wide, lips twitching like she’s trying not to laugh.

"we should run, right?"

you don’t have time to answer—because she’s already grabbing your hand and pulling you along with her, laughing breathlessly as the two of you take off across the beams, adrenaline singing in your veins.

and somehow, despite the chaos, despite the fact that this is absolutely a terrible idea—

you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

𝑩𝒓𝒖𝒄𝒆 𝑾𝒂𝒚𝒏𝒆 – "𝑰 𝒅𝒐𝒏’𝒕 𝒅𝒐 𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒇-𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒆𝒔."

⇝ Date Night Headcanons:

bruce isn’t extravagant just to show off. if he goes all out for a date, it’s not because he wants to impress you - it’s because he genuinely wants to give you something special, something worthy of you.

privacy is everything to him. whether it’s a reserved table at a restaurant, a late-night rooftop dinner at wayne tower, or a weekend getaway to a secluded house outside the city, bruce values moments where it’s just you and him.

he is observant to a fault. if you mention wanting to try a certain food? he makes sure it’s on the menu. if you casually mention a book you love? he gets a first edition. if he knows you’ve been stressed? the entire date is built around giving you relief.

he does not rush time with you. bruce is constantly on a tight schedule, always balancing his responsibilities - but when he’s with you? the world can wait.

he loves jazz lounges, candlelit dinners, slow-dancing in empty rooms. it’s the quiet elegance of old-fashioned romance that makes him feel like a man, not a myth.

he doesn’t say “i love you” often, but when he does, it’s a moment that stays with you. low, quiet, something meant only for you to hear. something true.

at the end of the night, he always walks you to your door. even if you live in the manor. even if he’s coming inside with you. it’s an old habit - one that reminds him that he has something worth coming home to.

the city stretches far below, a blanket of flickering lights and restless motion, but up here, the world is quiet.

bruce sits across from you at an open-air rooftop restaurant, the exclusive kind that no one steps into unless their name carries weight. tonight, yours does.

the table is lit with the glow of a single candle, silverware catching the light, the soft hum of live music drifting through the space. but none of it holds your attention the way he does.

bruce wayne, in an all-black suit, the top button undone, his gaze fixed solely on you.

his hand rests near his glass, fingers curled loosely against the stem, but you know the posture—always controlled, always measured, even when he relaxes.

"you’re quiet tonight," you murmur, studying him over the rim of your glass.

bruce’s lips twitch slightly. not quite a smile, but close. "i’m enjoying myself."

the response is simple, but it holds so much more.

you tilt your head, watching the way the candlelight flickers against the sharp planes of his face. "you know, you didn’t have to go all out like this."

bruce exhales, slow and deliberate, before reaching for your hand across the table. his fingers are warm when they lace through yours, his grip solid, unwavering.

"i don’t do half-measures," he says, voice low, meant only for you. "not with this. not with you."

your chest tightens, warmth unfurling slow and deep. this is how bruce loves. without hesitation, without reservation.

with everything he has.

and as the city hums below, as the night stretches on, he makes sure you know it.

Lane from Heaven's secret: requiem. Romance club game.

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤA GENTLEMANㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Robin Damian Wayne x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : When he have a puppy crush (obsession).

☆⁠ NOTES : Teenagers in love. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

Damian had always been certain of one thing: he was superior to everyone around him. But when it came to you, something shifted in him. He didn’t understand it at first—it was something unfamiliar, something that made his heart race in ways that made him deeply uncomfortable. He would never admit it, of course, but there was no denying the way his eyes lingered on you when you weren’t looking.

From the moment he noticed you in class, you were a source of obsession. Not just because you were incredibly intelligent—far more than most people gave you credit for—but because you were different. You weren’t intimidated by him like everyone else. You didn’t flinch when he looked at you with his piercing eyes, and worst of all, you were kind to him. You smiled at him, genuinely, and asked him how his day was when no one else did.

At first, Damian didn't know how to process it. He hated how much he cared about what you thought. He hated how his chest tightened whenever he saw you laughing with friends or when your eyes briefly met his from across the room. He couldn't help but become... protective. Territorial, even.

His obsession grew, but it wasn’t obvious to you. To you, he was just the enigmatic, brooding boy who sat at the back of the class and barely spoke. To everyone else, he was the unsmiling prodigy who made the rest of Gotham's elite children seem inferior. But to him, you were different. You weren't afraid to speak to him, to challenge him, even when you didn't know his full story.

He’d sneak glances at you when you weren’t paying attention, his gaze lingering for just a second too long. When you walked into a room, his eyes would immediately track your every movement. He didn’t mean for it to happen, but every time you laughed—whether it was at something funny or just something absurd—his heart would pound. Every soft word you spoke, every time you brushed your hair behind your ear, or when you studied so intently in class, it drove him wild. He felt... protective. Possessive, even. But mostly, he felt a desperate need to be the one you relied on, the one you turned to.

He never had a normal crush before. His emotions were all twisted up, almost like he was terrified of it, yet drawn to it. His pride kept him from ever admitting how much he cared, but his actions always betrayed him. If anyone made the mistake of speaking to you for too long, or worse, making you laugh too much, they’d feel the weight of his glare. He didn’t trust anyone around you, didn’t trust that they wouldn’t hurt you, use you, break you like so many others had tried with him.

If you ever had a problem, Damian would be the first to solve it. He didn’t need to be asked. He noticed the little things about you—the way you tapped your pencil when you were nervous, the way you’d tug at your sleeves when you were stressed. He memorized them all, cataloging each detail like an obsessed detective, all while maintaining that cold, stoic expression. But if you ever needed help, even just to ask for notes from a missed class, his voice would become so soft, so eager to please, that it would catch you off guard.

But he was never obvious. If you ever mentioned something in passing, a book you liked or a subject you were interested in, Damian would get it for you. It wasn’t that he thought you needed him—it was that he needed you to need him. He wanted to be the one you thought of when you needed something, even if he didn’t let you know just how far he would go for you.

He’d never say it out loud, but when you laughed at one of his rare jokes or smiled when he helped you with something, it felt like the whole world was aligned. The idea of you wanting him, of you seeing him as something more than just the brooding, serious boy who sat in the back of class, became his driving force. He’d stalk your social media in the dead of night, not to look for anything inappropriate, but just to see you—see your face, your thoughts, the things you liked.

Sometimes he’d catch himself imagining what it would be like to kiss you, to be the one who could make you smile when no one else could. He’d catch himself thinking about how he would protect you—how, in his mind, no one else was worthy of you. You were his. He’d never let anyone else take you from him.

If you ever caught him staring at you—caught him in one of his moments of weakness—he’d look away, almost defensively, as though nothing had ever happened. But deep down, Damian couldn’t hide the feeling that grew every time you were around. A feeling that, for the first time, made him question what it meant to be truly vulnerable.

You were his weakness. But that was something he could never let anyone see.

As time passed, Damian’s obsession with you only deepened, but so did his longing for your attention. His pride and sense of superiority might’ve prevented him from being straightforward, but that didn’t stop him from showing his affection in subtle ways. Every once in a while, when you weren’t looking, he’d steal a quick glance at you, his eyes softening, as if savoring the moments when you were close.

It was the small things that made his heart race—like when you’d accidentally brush his hand as you passed him a pencil or when you’d ask him for help on a particularly difficult assignment. The way your voice sounded when you said his name, the way your eyes sparkled when you were excited about something—Damian didn’t even realize how much it was affecting him until it was too late.

One day, during lunch, you walked up to him at his usual spot by the wall, the one he always sat at, trying to be as unnoticed as possible. “Hey, Damian,” you said, a little shy, “can I borrow your notes from last week’s class?”

Damian looked up at you, and for a moment, his breath caught in his throat. The way your hair fell over your shoulder, the way your eyes sparkled under the soft glow of the cafeteria lights—it was almost too much for him to handle. He had to force himself not to let his emotions show.

Without a word, he handed you his notebook, his fingers brushing against yours for just a second. He didn’t pull away, though—he lingered, just a little longer than necessary. His eyes met yours, and for the first time in ages, a flicker of warmth passed across his usual cold, calculating gaze. He couldn’t help the small, almost imperceptible smile that tugged at the corner of his lips.

“You… You’re welcome,” he muttered, trying to sound aloof. But there was an underlying softness in his tone, something you hadn’t heard before. It was the way he said it—like he was pleased to help you, like you mattered to him more than anyone else in that moment.

You smiled at him, making his heart stutter in his chest. It wasn’t a big smile, just a small, genuine curve of your lips, but to Damian, it was everything. It felt like the world had shifted into place.

“Thanks, Damian. You’re a lifesaver,” you said, eyes lighting up with appreciation.

His chest tightened. “It’s nothing,” he replied quickly, not wanting to sound too eager, but his voice faltered just a bit.

You turned to leave, and as you walked away, you glanced back once, catching his eyes before he quickly looked away, face flushed. The moment he was sure you couldn’t see, he exhaled, the softest, happiest sigh escaping his lips. You’d never know it, but he had a soft spot for you—a part of him that didn’t want to be so cold and distant. A part of him that wanted to just be… normal for once.

From then on, he found himself watching you more than he should. Sometimes, he’d catch you looking at him, and he’d quickly avert his eyes, pretending like he hadn’t been staring. His heart would beat faster in his chest, and it almost made him angry that you could have this effect on him. But then, just as quickly, he’d find himself grinning, not able to help it. It was you—you made him feel things he hadn’t felt before.

It became a little routine: he’d see you in the halls, and sometimes, if you needed help with something, he’d find a way to be there. He’d stand a little too close to you when you talked, but it was never in a way that made you uncomfortable—it was more like he just wanted to be near you. He never told you why, of course.

One afternoon, while you were studying in the library, he walked in, glancing around until he spotted you, sitting by the window, scribbling away in your notebook. His heart skipped a beat when he saw you like that—so focused, so determined. You looked so… cute.

He hesitated for a second before walking up to you, his usual confident stride faltering just slightly. “Do you need any help?” he asked, trying to sound casual, though the nervous energy was palpable in his voice.

You looked up, surprised to see him standing there. “Oh, Damian! Um… yeah, I could use some help with this math problem,” you said, motioning to the page in front of you.

Damian sat down next to you, closer than necessary. His heart pounded as he explained the problem to you, his hand occasionally brushing yours as he pointed to different equations. He tried not to notice how his skin tingled each time it happened, or how every time you smiled and thanked him, it felt like the entire world brightened. He wasn’t used to feeling this way, this vulnerable, but somehow, he didn’t mind it when it was you.

“Got it?” he asked, his voice a little softer than usual as he watched you carefully.

You nodded, a soft smile spreading across your face. “Yeah, I think I do. You make it sound so easy.”

Damian’s eyes softened, and for the briefest of moments, he allowed himself to smile back at you—genuinely, without any pretenses. It was a rare moment for him, but when it came to you, he didn’t feel the need to hide everything.

“Good. I’m glad,” he said, his voice almost tender.

You packed up your things, still smiling. As you stood, you gave him one last look, your eyes meeting his, and for a second, Damian felt like the entire world had come to a stop. There was something in your gaze—something that made him feel like maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to hide how he felt.

“Thanks again, Damian,” you said as you turned to leave, a soft wave following behind you.

And as you walked away, Damian stood there, watching you, a small, secret smile tugging at his lips. Maybe one day he’d tell you how he felt, but for now, he was content with these little moments. He was content with the idea that, for once in his life, someone saw him for who he truly was—not the perfect heir, not the deadly assassin, but the boy who was hopelessly in love with you.

For weeks, Damian wrestled with the idea of asking you out. It wasn’t like he was afraid of rejection—he was Damian Wayne. Fear was beneath him. No, this was different. This was you. The thought of putting his feelings into words, of making himself vulnerable to you, made his stomach twist in ways he didn’t like to acknowledge.

But at the same time… the thought of anyone else asking you out, of anyone else standing beside you, laughing with you, touching you—it was unbearable. The mere idea of it set his blood on fire. He had to make a move. You were his, even if you didn’t know it yet.

So, like everything else in his life, Damian devised a plan. It had to be perfect. He would not fail.

The first thing he did was eliminate all competition. Subtly, of course. Any boy who looked at you for too long? Suddenly, they found themselves tripping over conveniently placed obstacles. Anyone who flirted with you? They’d mysteriously lose their confidence after a single, bone-chilling glare from Damian. He made sure that by the time he approached you, no one else would dare think they had a chance.

Next, he had to find the right moment. Timing was everything. He refused to make a fool of himself by asking you out in a setting that wasn’t optimal. He studied your habits—when you were most relaxed, most receptive. He knew you liked to sit by the windows in the library during study hall. You liked the way the sunlight hit the pages of your books. That would be the perfect place.

The day of, he was completely composed—or at least, that’s what he told himself. He approached your table with his usual confident stride, pulling out the chair across from you without asking, as he often did.

You glanced up, surprised but not unwelcome to his presence. “Oh, hey, Damian.” You smiled at him, and his heart stuttered.

“Hello,” he replied, voice smooth, but slightly more clipped than usual. He was trying to keep his emotions in check. “I require your time this Saturday.”

You blinked. “Uh, what?”

Damian inhaled slowly. He could feel heat rising to his ears. His grip tightened on the book he brought, knuckles white. This was not how it was supposed to go. He had rehearsed this in his head a hundred times, but now, sitting in front of you, he felt like an idiot.

He quickly corrected himself. “What I mean is… I have taken the liberty of arranging a date for us this Saturday. I will pick you up at noon. Wear something suitable for the occasion.”

There. Perfect. No room for rejection. No awkward stammering. Tt. Why was he nervous in the first place?

You blinked again, then tilted your head, processing his words. “A date?”

“Yes,” Damian confirmed, keeping his tone even, as if this was the most logical thing in the world. Because to him, it was.

Your lips parted slightly in surprise, but then—then you smiled. And not just any smile. It was soft, warm, genuine. And it was for him.

“You’re asking me out on a date?” you clarified, amusement lacing your tone.

He bristled slightly at your wording. “Obviously.”

You chuckled, and for a moment, he thought his heart might actually explode. He had never wanted anything more than to be the reason you smiled like that every day.

“Well,” you said, propping your chin on your hand, watching him with something unreadable in your eyes, “you sure don’t waste time with subtlety, huh?”

“Subtlety is for those who lack certainty,” Damian replied smoothly, lifting his chin. “And I am certain.”

Your cheeks warmed, and that small reaction sent a rush of satisfaction through him. “Alright, Damian,” you finally said, “I’d love to go on a date with you.”

For the first time in his life, Damian stopped thinking. He just… felt. A warmth spread through his chest, foreign yet addicting. He nodded once, as if sealing an unspoken pact.

“Good,” he said, voice steady, though his pulse was anything but. “I will text you the details.”

Then, without another word, he stood up and left. Just like that. Because if he stayed a second longer, he knew he would either start grinning like a fool or do something completely irrational, like kiss you right there in the middle of the library.

As soon as he rounded the corner, out of your sight, Damian exhaled, pressing a hand over his chest. His heart was hammering. Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.

But he didn’t care. Because you said yes.

And he will make sure it was a date you’d never forget.

The day of the date arrived. Damian had meticulously planned every detail, not leaving anything to chance. No, this wouldn’t be a “let’s grab coffee and see where things go” type of outing. This was his date with you.

He arrived at your house right on time. He didn’t need to check his watch—his internal sense of timing was precise, down to the minute. He knocked firmly on your door, his hand steady, even though he had spent the last few hours agonizing over the finer points of the evening in his mind. When you opened the door, his breath caught for a fraction of a second.

You stood there in a simple, yet elegant dress that was both understated and beautiful—just like you. The soft fabric clung to your figure just enough to highlight your natural grace, and the way your hair framed your face made his pulse quicken.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice steady, though his gaze softened as he took in your appearance.

You smiled, your eyes bright, and for a moment, he thought his heart might beat out of his chest. "I’m ready."

As you stepped out of the door and joined him, Damian offered his arm with a small, confident smile that was so different from his usual intense expression. He had plans for this evening, and he was determined to follow them through.

The car ride was smooth, quiet, but not uncomfortable. He drove with precision, each movement calculated and controlled, but there was something different in the air tonight. Something lighter. Every time he glanced over at you, you caught his eye, and he had to resist the urge to smile. It felt almost surreal—this quiet, sweet moment between the two of you. You’d spent time together before, but never like this.

You asked him where you were going, but he only gave you a cryptic smile. “You’ll see,” was all he said. You didn’t push him, curious to see where he had decided to take you.

Eventually, he pulled up to a small, secluded restaurant, one of Gotham’s more refined and hidden gems. It was quaint but elegant, with outdoor seating overlooking a picturesque garden. The soft light of lanterns danced around the patio, giving the place a warm, intimate atmosphere.

He opened the door for you as you stepped out, and offered his hand to you. You took it without hesitation, feeling the warmth of his touch seep through your skin. There was a kind of unspoken respect in the way he treated you. It wasn’t rushed or impatient—just an easy calmness that made you feel like you were the only one in the world to him.

Damian led you to your table, which was set for two, tucked away in a private corner, draped with ivy and soft fairy lights. It was the kind of place where the world around you seemed to fade away. As you sat down, he carefully pulled out your chair, ensuring you were comfortable, before taking his own seat across from you.

There was something so different about Damian tonight—something that made you realize, in that moment, just how special this date really was. He wasn’t like the other boys your age, with their offhand jokes or their self-absorbed chatter. No, Damian Wayne was something entirely different. He had this quiet intensity, but underneath that, a care that he wasn’t always quick to show.

The waiter came and Damian ordered for both of you with an air of confidence, speaking in fluent French, making you chuckle softly at how effortlessly he handled everything. But what made you laugh more was the glint of satisfaction in his eyes when he said, “The wine selection here is impeccable. I trust you’ll enjoy it.” It was like he was proud to share his tastes with you.

As you ate, the conversation flowed naturally. Damian asked about your interests, your thoughts on various books you had been reading, and he listened so intently, as though every word you spoke was a treasure to him. It wasn’t just idle talk—there was genuine curiosity in his voice. And when he did speak, it was always with purpose, never just to fill the silence.

You were beginning to see another side of him. A side that was almost... gentle.

You told him about your love for horses and how you dreamed of riding across the open fields someday. Damian’s eyes softened, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. “I can take you to the stables at Wayne Manor sometime,” he said with an easy confidence. “There’s a ranch not far from the estate. You’d like it.”

You blinked, a little surprised. “You have horses?”

“Yes. I do,” he replied, his smile more sincere now, like the idea of sharing something personal with you had softened him further. “Perhaps you could teach me a thing or two. I’ve never been particularly good at it.”

That was the thing about Damian. He wasn’t afraid to show his flaws when it came to you. In fact, he seemed to crave your approval, though he’d never openly admit it. But it wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t needy. It was simply him, wanting you to know who he really was.

As the evening wore on, the conversation became more relaxed. You found yourself laughing more freely, your initial nerves completely gone, replaced by an easy comfort that felt like you had known him forever. Damian was still Damian—intense, sharp, but there was a tenderness to him tonight that made him seem... normal. Human. Not just the son of Bruce Wayne, not just the little assassin.

Finally, after dessert, the night began to wind down. Damian stood and offered his hand once more. You placed your hand in his, and together, you walked out into the garden. The soft hum of the night air and the occasional chirp of a cricket filled the silence between you.

As you approached his car, Damian paused. He turned to face you, and for the first time that evening, his expression was serious—not cold, but thoughtful, as if he were gathering his thoughts for something important.

“You’re...” He cleared his throat, looking down at his shoes for just a brief moment before meeting your eyes again. “I have enjoyed tonight... more than I anticipated.”

You raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile pulling at your lips. “More than you anticipated? So you did expect it to be bad?”

He stiffened for a second, realizing the unintended implication. “No. That is not what I meant.” He hesitated, looking at you for a long, quiet moment. Then, in a voice quieter than before, almost soft, he added, “You’re... different. In a way I didn’t expect.”

You blinked, feeling the weight of his words settle in the air. “Damian…” you started, but before you could finish, he reached out and gently took your hand in his.

His thumb brushed over the back of your hand in a way that felt intimate, but not in a rushed or inappropriate way—more like he was savoring the moment.

“I would like to do this again,” he said, his voice earnest, but not without the usual confidence. “Whenever you’re ready.”

And with that, he took your hand and, with a deep breath, lowered his head and kissed the back of it. The touch of his lips was soft, respectful—gentle, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to blur into the background.

When he pulled back, his gaze remained locked with yours, almost searching, as if to make sure you understood just how much that small gesture meant to him.

“I’ll walk you to the door,” he said quietly, straightening up and offering his arm again, as if nothing had changed—except, of course, that now you both knew something had. Something deeper than either of you had expected when you started this evening.

You smiled, heart fluttering in your chest as you took his arm. “I’d like that.”

From the moment you officially became Damian’s girlfriend, your life changed—not in the dramatic way people might expect when dating the son of Bruce Wayne, but in the way that everything suddenly felt different. Like the world had shifted slightly, aligning perfectly in a way it hadn’t before.

Damian wasn’t like other boys your age. He didn’t do the whole awkward teenage romance thing. He wasn’t overly flirty, nor did he stumble through his words or second-guess himself. If he wanted to hold your hand, he did. If he wanted to tell you he liked the way you looked in a certain outfit, he said it, blunt and without hesitation.

His affection wasn’t loud or showy, but it was constant—always there, woven into everything he did.

Damian is, above all else, a gentleman. He treats you with the kind of respect that most guys your age wouldn’t even think about. Holding doors open for you? Always. Walking on the side of the street closest to traffic to “protect” you? A given.

If you ever carried anything heavier than a book, it was suddenly his burden. He didn’t even ask—he just took it from you with a simple, “Tt. You shouldn’t be straining yourself.”

He makes sure you never have to worry about anything. If you so much as mention feeling cold? His jacket is around your shoulders before you can finish your sentence. If you’re tired? He’s finding the closest place for you to sit, even if it means him physically leading you there by the small of your back.

But most of all, he listens. He pays attention in a way no one else does. If you casually mention something you like—your favorite flowers, a book you’ve been dying to read, a little café you want to try—Damian remembers. And soon enough, you’ll find a bouquet of those flowers waiting in your locker, that book sitting on your desk, or him showing up outside your house on a Saturday morning, saying, “Get in. We’re going to that café you won’t stop talking about.”

Because to Damian, caring means action.

Damian isn’t very verbal with his affection at first. He won’t say sweet, flowery words or write you poetry (even though you swear he has the soul of an old poet somewhere deep inside him). Instead, he shows his love through actions.

He’s always near you. Always. If you’re walking through the halls at school, his hand is resting against your lower back, gently guiding you. If you’re studying together, his knee is touching yours beneath the table. If you’re out somewhere, he positions himself slightly in front of you, instinctively shielding you from the crowd.

And while he doesn’t do PDA in public (besides holding your hand or the occasional brush of his fingers along your arm), when you’re alone? That’s when he lets his guard down.

Soft touches. He’s always touching you in some way—running his fingers over the back of your hand, tucking a stray hair behind your ear, resting a hand on your knee when you sit next to him.

Forehead touches. Whenever he’s feeling particularly soft (which he would never admit out loud), he leans in, pressing his forehead against yours. It’s a silent way of saying I’m here. You’re mine. We belong to each other.

Hand kisses. He does this a lot. If you ever feel sad? He takes your hand, kisses your knuckles, and simply says, “You have me.” And that’s enough.

Damian is not someone who tolerates threats to what’s his.

He’s not loud about it, not the type to start fights over jealousy, but his presence alone is enough to keep people in check. If another guy even thinks about flirting with you, Damian is already there, standing a little too close, his green eyes sharp and possessive as he stares the poor guy down.

His hand will tighten on your waist, and his voice will drop an octave as he says something like, “I assume you have nothing important to say. If so, leave.”

And just like that, the threat is gone.

If you ever tease him about being jealous, he just crosses his arms and scoffs, Tt. “I am simply ensuring that no one wastes your time with their nonsense.”

But the way his hand subtly tightens around yours says otherwise.

At first, Damian struggles with vulnerability. He’s used to being the strong one, the one who handles everything without needing help. But with you? You see past that.

There are nights when he sneaks into your room through your window, not as Robin, but just as Damian. Those are the moments when he talks to you about things he’d never say to anyone else.

About his mother. About his father. About the weight of his family name and how, sometimes, he feels like he has to be perfect to live up to it.

And you listen. You always listen. You don’t try to fix him, don’t tell him that he’s wrong for feeling this way. You just hold his hand, stroke his hair, and whisper, “You’re already enough, Damian.”

And those words stay with him longer than he’ll ever admit.

Bruce: At first? He’s skeptical. Protective. But when he sees how much Damian genuinely cares for you—how you make him softer, more grounded—Bruce actually starts to approve.

“You keep him... balanced,” Bruce admits to you one evening. “That’s not an easy thing to do.”

(Which, coming from Bruce Wayne, is probably the highest compliment you’ll ever receive.)

Dick: “Oh my god. Damian has a girlfriend.” He’s so smug about it. Constantly teasing Damian, constantly referring to you as his soft spot.

He also makes sure you know that if Damian ever hurts you (which he won’t), you can definitely call Dick to handle it.

Alfred: Alfred adores you. Treats you like family from the moment he realizes you make Damian happy. Always makes extra tea and snacks whenever you visit Wayne Manor.

“You keep Master Damian in check, Miss. I quite appreciate it.”

Dating Damian isn’t easy. He’s intense, overprotective, sometimes way too serious for his age. But at the same time?

He loves deeply.

Once you’re his, you’re his forever. There’s no in-between, no uncertainty. Damian loves you with the same ferocity that he does everything else in his life.

And one day? When he’s older, stronger, even more sure of himself—he won’t hesitate to tell you:

“You are mine. And I am yours. Always.”

And that is what loving Damian is like.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, repost or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

︵⏜ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤㅤ𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃ㅤ𝅼ㅤ𖥦ㅤ۫ㅤ⏜︵

¡ㅤ ֗ㅤ ๑ㅤ 𝅼 ㅤ꒰ㅤ𝙈𝙖𝙧𝙠 𝙂𝙧𝙖𝙮𝙨𝙤𝙣 𝙭 𝙁𝙚𝙢 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧ㅤ꒱ㅤ ۫ ㅤ𑁤ㅤ 𖥧

♥︎ 𝙃𝙀𝘼𝘿𝘾𝘼𝙉𝙊𝙉 : 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥?

♥︎ 𝙉𝙊𝙏𝙀 : 𝘌𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦. 𝘏𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺!

Mark falls for you hard.

It’s not gradual. It’s not slow. It’s instant.

One second, he’s just a normal guy.

And the next? You’re all he can think about.

At first, it’s sweet.

He’s nervous around you, fumbling over his words.

He texts too much, calls just to hear your voice.

When he’s with you, he’s so happy—happier than he’s ever been.

But when he’s not with you?

It’s unbearable.

His mind races, his chest tightens.

He starts needing to know where you are, what you’re doing, who you’re with.

And that’s when the obsession starts to grow.

Mark has lost too much.

His father betrayed him. His world turned against him. Everything he thought was stable, everything he thought he could trust—was ripped away.

But you?

You’re different.

You’re not like his father, not like the world that constantly demands more from him.

You’re safe.

And after everything he’s been through, he refuses to lose you.

No matter what it takes.

Mark is desperate for something good in his life.

Being Invincible means constantly fighting, constantly bleeding—constantly losing.

But when he’s with you? It all stops.

With you, he’s just Mark. Just a normal guy who can laugh, who can breathe.

At first, it’s normal.

He loves you deeply, intensely, but that’s just who he is.

He’s a good boyfriend. Protective, affectionate—always putting you first.

He never lets you feel alone. Never lets you feel unloved.

But then the fear sets in.

What if you leave?

What if something takes you away from him—like everything else has?

What if one day, you realize that you don’t need him?

That thought? It breaks him.

And once it takes root?

It never goes away.

Mark’s possessiveness is almost sweet at first.

He always wants to be around you.

He texts you constantly, asking where you are, what you’re doing.

He flies you to school, to work—anywhere you need to go.

And at first? It’s flattering.

Who wouldn’t want a boyfriend who’s always there for them?

Who wouldn’t love someone who drops everything to make them happy?

But then it escalates.

You mention a male coworker? Mark’s jaw clenches. His fists tighten.

You go out without telling him? He finds you.

You start pulling away? He notices.

And suddenly, his protectiveness doesn’t feel so sweet anymore.

It feels suffocating.

Because Mark doesn’t just want you.

He needs you.

Mark has superpowers.

He doesn’t need cameras to track you.

He doesn’t need to ask where you are.

He just knows.

His super-hearing picks up your voice from miles away.

He listens to your conversations—even the ones you don’t think he can hear.

He memorizes your schedule, your habits, the way your heartbeat changes when you lie.

And when you go somewhere unexpected?

He follows.

He stays out of sight, high above the city, watching.

And if he sees something—or someone—that he doesn’t like?

It’s handled.

Quietly.

Permanently.

Mark doesn’t mean to be controlling.

He just wants what’s best for you.

And sometimes? You don’t know what’s best for yourself.

It starts small.

A concerned look when you talk to another guy.

A casual “Maybe you should stay home today” when he hears about trouble in the city.

A soft, worried “I don’t like how they treat you” when you mention a friend.

And then it gets worse.

The people in your life start drifting away.

Your friends don’t call as much.

Your job starts feeling unstable.

And through it all, Mark is always there.

Holding you.

Comforting you.

Telling you that he’s all you need.

And you believe him.

Because when he looks at you?

When he holds you like you’re the most precious thing in the world—

How could you not believe him?

Maybe you start to notice.

Maybe you start questioning him.

And Mark?

He doesn’t snap. He doesn’t yell.

He begs.

“Please don’t do this,” his voice shakes, his eyes desperate.

“I can’t lose you. Not you too.”

But if begging doesn’t work?

His expression hardens.

His arms wrap around you, strong, unyielding.

“I don’t want to do this,” he murmurs. “But I will.”

And before you can react—

You’re in the air.

The ground disappears beneath you, the wind rushing past.

Mark holds you tight, flying higher, higher—until the city is nothing but a blur below.

And then he looks at you.

Soft. Loving. Unshakable.

“You don’t have a choice.”

When you wake up, everything is different.

The doors are reinforced. The windows don’t open.

And Mark? He’s there.

Waiting.

“I know you’re upset,” he says gently, brushing your hair back.

“But this is for the best.”

His fingers tighten around your wrist, just enough to remind you.

“You’re safe now.”

“And you’ll always be mine.”

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, repost or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆