Disarray ✢ Jason Todd

Fleeting Moments ✢ Bruce Wayne

Synopsis: Y/N and Bruce Wayne share quiet moments of love amidst the chaos of Gotham. In rare stolen hours between nightfall and dawn, she clings to the man behind the mask, not aware of the double life he leads. She watches as bruises form across his skin and holds him through his restless nights, grateful that, for once, he is by her side. Bruce Wayne x Reader, female pronouns. This piece is not plot-specific, so any iteration of Bruce will work. Though, I wrote it with Christian Bale in mind.

Warnings: A sprinkle of angst. Masterlist

Disclaimer: This is essentially a prequel to another Bruce Wayne one-shot I wrote (here is the link if you're interested), though you by no means have to read it; this works as a stand-alone, too. However, the other one-shot goes into detail on how their relationship progressed from here. Words: 1,726k

Rain pattered softly against the glass, a rhythmic rap that filled the quiet, ornate expanse of Wayne Manor. It was late, too late for her to be awake, but Bruce lay beside her, his breath steady and deep, his warm frame pressed snug against her side. Y/N could not sleep, her mind restless despite the calming comfort of his presence, a presence that so often eluded her. Absently, her fingers traced the ridges of his knuckles, ghosting over the faint scars that marred his otherwise perfect skin.

She wondered, as she always did, where they had come from. He never spoke of them. Never told her of the fights, the injuries, the pain that lingered and simmered beneath the surface of his carefully constructed mask. He was Bruce Wayne, the prince of Gotham, a man of charm and effortless grace. But in the silence of the night when, in his solitude, this façade was brought down, Bruce was something else entirely. Something weary, something worn.

He stirred slightly under her touch, his fingers twitching before they caught hers, enclosing them within his grasp. A small, lazy smile flickered across his lips as he blinked away his stupor.

‘You're awake,’ he murmured, voice thick with lassitude.

Y/N hummed in response, shifting closer, her head nestling against his shoulder. 

‘Couldn't sleep.’

He exhaled slowly, his free hand coming up to stroke along the curve of her spine, soothing and unhurried. 

‘Bad dreams?’ She shook her head against him.

‘No dreams at all,’ she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. ‘Just thoughts.’

Bruce did not push her to divulge in what kind. He never did. He knew her well enough to understand that sometimes, silence was safer, preferred. 

Instead, he pressed a kiss to her temple, lingering there for a moment before pulling her impossibly closer. ‘Get some rest. I'm right here.’

But that was the problem he was blind to; he was here. She could not convince her mind to rest when there was the impending, almost certain possibility that he would leave again, that a time was coming when he would not be around; when he would not be anywhere.

But for now, he was right; he was here. He was with her when this night was still, when the city outside could wait. But Y/N knew, deep down, that the nights like these were borrowed moments, fleeting and precious. They existed in the spaces between his concealed duty and sacrifice, in the hours when he let himself be nothing more than a man who loved her.

She did not ask him to stay awake with her. She did not ask him about the bruises forming on his frame. She simply closed her eyes and let the sound of his heartbeat lull her back to sleep.

Morning came with a soft glow of dawn seeping through the sheer curtains; it cast a golden hue over their space and a warm, rouge gleam through her closed eyelids. Bruce was already awake, as he often was, standing by the window with a cup of coffee in hand. He was bare from the waist up, the morning light tracing the contours of his back and highlighting the scars that stood scattered across his physique.

Y/N opened her eyes and watched him for a moment, drinking in the quiet beauty before her. Though, eventually, she was compelled to speak. 

‘What catches your eye?’ Y/N got up from their bed and moved to stand behind him. She looked past him to the sprawling murk of the Gotham City skyline, the view that held his gaze. She draped her arms around his waist and rested her chin upon his shoulder.

His head tilted ever so slightly in responce, until his cheek made light contact with her forehead. She could feel the smile that played at the corners of his lips. ‘This city… It never sleeps.’

‘Neither do you,’ she murmured sardonically, shifting so her face nuzzled into the base of his throat. 

‘You should, Bruce. You need to.’ He felt her words hum against his skin.

He said nothing, taking another slow sip of his coffee. He yearned to explain, to tell her why he was always unaccounted for, he felt the words swell at the edge of his tongue; he swallowed them back, and they burned in their descent. Y/N sighed, she sensed his hesitation, his unwillingness to speak, to disclose his worries. She gently pushed away and returned to the bed to sit amongst the ruffled sheets. 

‘Do you ever wonder what it would be like if we left? If we went somewhere far away, at least for a little while?’ Y/N did not know everything, but she knew this: it was Gotham that kept him tethered here. 

She did not know why that was; she could not understand it. Was he clinging to the memory of his parents taken too soon? She stared begrudgingly at the Metropolitan cesspool before her and concluded that must be the case; she could not see why else he would want to stay. There was beauty here; Y/N was not blind to it, she saw the Gothic architecture, the intricate ironwork and the towering cathedrals. There was beauty in its darkness, haunted yet elegant. 

But Gotham’s old-world charm stood in vast juxtaposition to its modern decay; the underbelly was a twisted mirage of its grandeur. Every crevice held murmurs of brutality and corruption, from alleyways to corporations. In Gotham, shadows were not merely cast by the towering buildings but by the weight of its crime, greed, and betrayal. Murk clung to its surfaces like a second skin, and the light, if it ever shone through, felt fleeting.

Bruce turned to face her fully, leaning against the windowsill; his face contorted, if she did not know him better, she would have thought he was in pain. 

‘I can’t.’

‘I know,’ she whispered, nodding slightly. ‘But I wish you could.’

He strode over, set his coffee down on the bedside table and sunk into the mattress beside her. His hands found her face, thumbs grazing her cheekbones as he studied her, his eyes unreadable. 

‘Would you? Leave Gotham? Leave all this?’

She swallowed. ‘I would be leaving something behind, something I couldn’t live without.’

Bruce knew she spoke of him; he considered this fact, felt the way it twisted his stomach and burnt like acid in his throat. She would be better off without him, safer. Maybe he should send her away; she should live in sunlight, not his shadow. Instead, he pulled her to him, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that spoke of everything he left unsaid, everything he kept shrouded behind his distasteful second life. Y/N melted into it, her fingers threading through his hair, anchoring herself to this sporadic moment.

Then he pulled away, his forehead resting against hers. ‘I can’t leave. Just know that I love you. That, I’m sure of.’

And for now, it was enough.

There were nights when the world felt too heavy, when the weight of his self-inflicted responsibility bore down upon him until he was engulfed by it, until it pulled him under. These were the times when he came to her in the dead of night, his body weary, his hands unsteady as they reached for her, craving her embrace.

She never asked where he had been. She never asked why his knuckles were raw. She never asked why an affliction lingered behind his gaze, a torment that refused to leave. Instead, she took him in, let him press his forehead against her shoulder, let him expel his unspoken burdens into the quiet space between them.

‘I hate this city,’ he once confessed, voice muffled against her skin. ‘I hate what it does to people. What it does to me.’

She carded her fingers through his dark hair, a soothing motion meant to ease the tension in his shoulders. His declaration had stunned her, he never spoke of these worries, never gave too much away.

‘Then leave.’ She tried to keep her tone light, unburdened. 

He let out a hollow laugh. ‘You know I can’t.'

‘I know,’ she whispered. But the truth was, she did not know; she did not understand.

Bruce lifted his head and searched her face as if trying to memorise it, commit it to his memory. 

‘I don't want to lose you.’

‘Then don’t,’ she whispered, a smile turning her lips as her fingers continued to pass through his hair. ‘Stay. At least for tonight. Stay for me; I’m not going anywhere, you know?’

They perpetually followed the same cycle: love, longing, and the insatiable pull of his unwavering, cumbersome duty. The few, yet treasured, nights they spent wrapped in each other’s arms, the stolen kisses in the dimly lit atrium of Wayne Manor, the whispered exchanges in the wake of the morning.

And then there were the other nights, the dreaded junctures. The ones where she woke to find the space beside her cold, sheets untouched. The vestige of his presence an aching reminder of the life he led, the life she was not acquainted with.

She told herself she could live with it. That as long as he came back to her, she could endure the waiting, the worrying, the never-ceasing fear that one day, he would not return at all, that he would be reduced to a memory, a phantasm of her past.

Though deep within her, Y/N knew. She knew that love and hope alone could not fix the fractures and fissures forming between them. That try as she might, one day, the burden of it all would become too much, and it would crumble under the pressure.

However, in the fleeting moments of his caress, she could not allow herself to fret this fact. She pressed herself even closer, savouring the way his arm tightened around her waist in his sleep, how his breath fanned, warm against her neck.

For now, she would seize these tranquil moments. The transient seconds in which the world outside ceased to exist, where Bruce was merely Bruce, and she was simply the woman he loved.

Because Y/N knew that, when all was said and done, the night would beckon him once more and draw him from her grasp.

Every comment and piece of advice is welcomed and appreciated <3

ｒｅｖｅｎａｎｔ －ｆｏｕｒ

PART FOUR OF 'REVENANT' SERIES Damon Salvatore x Winchester!Sister!Hunter!Reader  The Vampire Diaries x Supernatural Mini-Series Synopsis: Y/N Winchester was tired of living in her brothers' shadows; she needed to do something for herself for a change. When she heads to Mystic Falls, a town she was always warned to stay away from, she finds she may have taken on more than she can handle. Will she be able to eradicate the supernatural from the uncanny town? Or will she find herself tangled amongst it? WARNINGS: Descriptions of a dead body. Mentions of Murder. Words: 2,724k Blog Masterlist / Series Masterlist <Previous Part | Next Part >

The faint light of a street lamp shone through the limpid drapes of the modest motel Y/N Winchester had called home for nearly four months. Upon opening her eyes, a feeling of apprehension settled in her stomach; today was the day of The Founder’s Ball, and the idea of Damon being her date both thrilled her and left her stricken. She had still not shaken the possibility of Damon being a vampire, albeit trying desperately not to entertain the thought.

She had hoped to sleep in this morning, though it seemed her body had other plans. Sighing, she turned over and glanced at the cheap alarm clock on her bedside, squinting at its bright red glow.

It was 3:46 a.m. 

She wanted nothing more than to roll over and go back to sleep, but she knew she had better things to do with her time. Icy air pricked her skin as she heaved the heavy canvas quilt off her body. As her hands abraded over her bare arms, trying to create some form of heat, Y/N shuffled over to the thermostat, involuntarily shivering when the temperature of the room, glowing blue on the small screen, met her eyes. She bumped it up five degrees, cursing the extra cost it would induce on her already unaffordable room tab. 

To successfully lead a life of hunting, financial fraudulence and deceit were a necessity. Usually, this would not have been an issue; Y/N possessed many fake cards with false names. However, quite suspiciously, she recently discovered that each of these cards, one by one, had become unusable and ceased to work. Y/N concluded, quite disgruntled, that this would have been her brothers' work. She supposed they were trying to draw her out of hiding. 

Luckily, obtaining false money was not a foreign practice for her; her brothers did not know this. The small sum she had managed to acquire would have to do for now. 

Y/N drew back the sheer drapes enough for her eyes to peer through, beside her building shone an old flickering neon sign, proclaiming the service station adjacent to her was open. Satisfied, the corner of her mouth turned up; she had wanted a coffee very much and there was no time like the present. While shrugging on her hoodie, which she had permanently borrowed from Dean, Y/N noted dejectedly that its smell of gunpowder and motor oil left her feeling homesick. Maybe she missed her brothers more than she let on. But she knew now was not the time to wallow in sadness. 

She collected her keys and walked out of the door, locking it behind her. 

The thunderstorms Mystic Falls had experienced in the previous three days had been bordering apocalyptic; Y/N, much to her vexation, had spent the entirety of the storm boarded up in her quaint motel room, wishing uselessly that she had not been rained in.

The young hunter had found herself restless. A 19-year-old girl named Amelia had gone missing in the area. Although the circumstances surrounding her disappearance were labelled as suspicious by authorities, apparently, it had not yet been long enough to presume her dead. Y/N wished her assumptions were not always so grim, but her uncanny pastime forced her to be pragmatic.

Realistically, going missing in this town meant she was most likely dead or hidden away as a blood-thirsty monster. 

Y/N could not decide what was a better fate for the poor girl. 

The Winchester thought that she at least deserved to have someone look for her, to make sure she was not still out there, even if what she expected to find was a harsh caricature of who Amelia once was. And the town authorities did not seem to think their services were necessary. 

Y/N knew what she was attempting to do was nearly impossible. Alone, she could not search the area needed to uncover a hidden corpse, and it was not exactly a chore where she could enlist the help of her friends. Nonetheless, she found herself trekking through the tenacious sludge the rain had left in its wake; her socks damp and toes stinging from the cold. She understood that she did not have all the time in the world; the impending doom the evening’s ball left looming over her shoulders had her shivering deeper than the frosty morning ether. However, she persisted anyway. 

Two and a half hours had passed when Y/N spied something out of the ordinary, and she could not believe her luck. 

The young girl cringed slightly; she knew thinking of it as "luck" was a bit distasteful. 

A rectangular concave of sodden earth could be seen under a scattering of leaves. Its shallow trenches with water congregating inside told Y/N the sunken ground had been caused by the rain, though its distinct shape still clashed with the surrounding natural terrain. A feeling of uneasiness settled in her stomach; she was almost sure of what she would find underneath. The burial probably would have been well concealed had it not been for the unbridled downpour of water.

Another half hour had passed before Y/N had completely uncovered the body from its prison of earth. Her nose wrinkled; the pungent smell of decay, now swarming the air. The young hunter had experienced no shortage of death in her lifetime, but the sight of the girl before her, lying bloated and green had Y/N staring through glassy eyes. This girl was younger than her. Her parents, no doubt, would be waiting, in anguish, for her to return home. Desperately anticipating a reunion that will never occur. Y/N quickly swallowed against a lump in her throat. Trying not to let her tears spill. 

The most wicked part of this, Y/N thought, is that they will never get any closure. Mystic Falls’ authorities, so closely entwined with the vampire-aware council, already knew she was a lost cause. That is why they were not looking for her.

She reached out with a shaking gloved hand and tried to turn her chin gently to the side, the rigour mortis had not yet subsided, making it more difficult. However, she found what she wanted. Two little puncture marks barely visible on the slimey distended skin confirmed what she already knew.

This girl was murdered by a vampire right under her nose. How were they eluding her so effortlessly?

Y/N decided she would not rebury her, but rather send a message to the negligent authorities. She was confident that they were completely infiltrated by the town council and knew her message would reach the right ears. 

She opened her backpack and got the supplies for a note; she knew she was acting both rashly and carelessly, but something needed to be done. 

With her still-gloved hands she tore a page she knew she had never touched from her notebook and began to scribble  

Dear whoever reaches her first,

I’ve decided to take responsibility for these “animal killings” myself. Given no one seems as if they are capable or care enough to do the right thing.

Y/N weighed her note down with a nearby stone a couple metres right of the burial, she then grabbed her golden lighter from her pocket and some accelerant she had in her backpack. The dampness of the area made for a difficult task, but eventually, the macabre burial was engulfed in roaring flames. Y/N tossed her shovel on top as well as her notebook and pen, knowing it would not do for any of this to be found and watched satisfied as the items crumbled to near nothing. 

After her belongings and the girl were burnt beyond recognition, she gathered some green leaves and piled them onto the blaze. She did not have much time to leave given any moment the leaves would begin to smoulder and billow up into the sky. She did not want to be anywhere near the area when the suspicious smoke was investigated. With tears still thick in her eyes she turned and hurried away.

The short drive to Caroline’s house in the early afternoon had been nerve-racking, never before had she experienced an event of this stature, and to say she was nervous would be a gross understatement. Caroline had been safekeeping her gown, neither girl thought the ornate garment should have spent its time hanging in the dingy motel Y/N currently called home. Caroline also insisted on doing the young Winchester’s makeup, declaring that Y/N’s modest gathering of supplies simply would not do.

The Winchester had spent a good hour scrubbing her body vigorously from head to toe. She had been covered in a thick layer of grime from her early morning escapade, and she had to make sure she was pristine and perfect for Caroline’s audience. 

She stalked tentatively up the front steps, and with barely enough time to lift her hand to knock, the door had already begun to swing open, a grinning Caroline on the other side, with pearly whites on full display. Her smile almost sent a shiver down Y/N’s spine. 

‘You don’t know how much I’ve been looking forward to this.’ Caroline reached out and grabbed her wrist, pulling Y/N along with more force than she thought her capable of. Finally, they halted in front of a mirror and Caroline had Y/N by the shoulders impelling her into a vanity chair. 

‘So… What's the plan?’ Caroline spoke causally once Y/N stopped struggling against her and settled into the seat. 

‘Well… Caroline… I don’t know…’ She rolled her eyes at Y/N’s lacklustre response.

‘Why did I see that coming from a mile away? Don’t worry, I’ll handle it.’ Caroline spoke as though she were burdened by this fact, but Y/N knew that she would love the opportunity to use her as a real-life doll. 

Y/N decided very quickly that she did not like people doing her makeup. She sneezed when her face was dabbed with powder. Her eyes prickled and watered uncontrollably when Caroline attempted to coat her lashes in mascara and ended up having to put it on herself only to be scornfully slapped when she got it on her eyelid that Caroline had spent ten minutes blending colourful eyeshadow to perfection.

If she had a dollar for every time Caroline had scolded her, she could afford a luxurious holiday across Europe.

Nevertheless, by the time Caroline had finished with her, not only was her face veiled in a modest yet flattering coat of makeup, but her nails glistened in a deep blood-like crimson; Y/N was fortunate that they already had a decent length to them albeit needing some desperate shaping. Caroline had Y/N sit completely still with her hands placed before her on the table, she was not going to let anything like the mascara fiasco occur again. Meanwhile, Caroline had also taken the time to place Y/N’s hair in an elegant coiffure. She looked simply stunning. 

‘You've done brilliantly’ Y/N’s smile was earnest,

‘Well, I’d take all the credit, but you don’t look half bad on your own’

Y/N ducked her head, feeling betrayed by the burning in her cheeks.

‘Thank you’ She muttered.

As Y/N waited the rest of the time needed for her nails to cure, Caroline put herself together so quickly it was astonishing. And now, she too, looked drop-dead gorgeous. After checking if her polish had set and nodding when satisfied, Caroline spoke up,

‘We haven’t got ages, Damon will be here to get you soon.’ Y/N could tell Caroline was trying to play nice but she could not completely hide her resentment as she voiced his name.

‘I suppose it’s time for our dresses!’ She continued, quickly leaving the room and entering again, holding garment bags above her head.

Y/N would be lying if she said she was not excited, she had not seen her dress since Caroline had whisked it away to her house. Y/N grabbed the dress and fled for the bathroom. 

As she zipped back the bag, careful not to snag any fabric, she was once again taken by its beauty. The crimson skirt of chiffon flowed like a sea of blood, the expensive velvet bodice holding tiny details of flowers barely visible to the human eye. The gown, while contemporary, held hallmarks of an old Victorian frock; Y/N’s memory had not done it justice. A smaller bag next to the dress held her accompanying gloves and jewellery. 

She slid the gown over her body with unparalleled care and spent a good few minutes bringing the zip up to her mid-back, it was a harder task than she had anticipated and she considered asking Caroline for help, though, she could hear a hushed conversation from the room she had just left. Y/N was certain Damon had arrived and she was not about to walk out half-dressed. After fasting her necklace and pulling the gloves to reach just over her elbows, she smoothed out the ornate fabric of the skirt while taking a deep breath. 

She looked at her profile in the mirror.

The woman casting back in the reflection looked like a stranger to her. She seemed as though she came from another world; a better one. Y/N never could have guessed that this lady spent her time hunting monsters, eating cheap, greasy takeout and sleeping in dilapidated motel rooms. Never would she have fathomed this woman had spent the earlier part of her day burning the corpse of a murdered girl. 

The lady before her should belong to a lavish home with every sumptuous possession she could dream up. If only that were the case.

This time Y/N looked at her reflection critically.

This would be the first time she had seen Damon since investigating the town’s archives and she had not completely convinced herself that Damon was not a vampire. On the other hand, she knew there was absolutely nothing that could be done at this moment, so she inhaled deeply in a redundant attempt to quell her nerves and exited the bathroom. 

She could swear her heartbeat would be heard for miles.

In the middle of the living room, he stood in a fitted black suit, with a rose of deep crimson attached at the collar. It matched her dress so perfectly she considered for a moment that it was not a coincidence. When she reached his eyes she spied that his jaw was left agape. Though quickly, as if attempting not to look caught by surprise he twisted his mouth into a lopsided grin. She tried not to appear smug at his obvious admiration, though she was sure her expression betrayed her. Suddenly, she was quite aware she no longer felt nervous.

‘Y/N, you look stunning.’ He spoke fervently, she felt her complacent expression rapidly shift to one of abash and when she said nothing he continued,

‘I brought you these, I thought they would suit your dress’ He held up a bouquet of the same flowers on his suit jacket and looked at Caroline, who had been lurking in the corner, knowingly. They had not been a coincidence.

‘Thank you, Damon, they’re lovely.’ 

Caroline offered to place them in a vase to keep them fresh while they spent the night out, when she left for the kitchen Damon stepped closer. He grabbed both her hands and stared intensely into Y/N’s eyes. She was sure he was trying to dazzle her, and it was working.

‘We can leave now, Caroline’s getting a lift from Elena.’ Y/N only nodded, her mouth agape, just as his had been. He began to draw her towards the front door and she barely had enough time to pull herself together and call over her shoulder,

‘See you soon Caroline. Thank you for your help!’

Damon opened the passenger door of his 1969 Chevy Camaro and gestured for her to take a seat. He ended up needing to help shove the fabric of her puffy skirt into the foot space, Y/N giggling as it continued to billow out from the door. After what seemed like ten minutes, Damon finally settled into the driver’s side and started the engine. 

As they sped down the street leading to the lavish venue of the ball she realised that in Damon’s presence she no longer worried about vampires, hunters and missing persons. She could not have foreseen the effect he had on her considering her unwelcome suspicions of him.

TAGLIST:

@venomsvl

@serenity-fujakante

✢ The Vampire Diaries ✢ Masterlist ✢

Just a little disclaimer, all my works use female pronouns for the reader. Besides this, I keep the reader undescribed, the only filler I use being 'Y/N' <3

D A M O N S A L V A T O R E

One-Shots:

The Day Before |Part 2 ✢ The reader knows she is dying, and to save Damon from the pain of her death, she makes an extremely difficult decision. However, the aftermath of this decision takes a great toll on Damon and the people who know him.

Series: Revenant ✢ Y/N Winchester was tired of living in her brothers' shadows; she needed to do something for herself for a change. When she heads to Mystic Falls, a town she was always warned to stay away from, she finds she may have taken on more than she can handle. Will she be able to eradicate the supernatural from the uncanny town? Or will she find herself tangled amongst it? (This is a supernatural crossover)

Drabbles:

Coming soon...

Headcanons:

Coming soon...

E L I J A H M I K A E L S O N

One-Shots:

Ephemeral ✢ Elijah Mikaelson reflects on how knowing Y/N L/N has transformed his centuries-old existence. As he battles his deep feelings for her, he grapples with the stark reality of their pivotal difference: he is an immortal vampire, and she is a fragile human.

Drabbles:

Coming soon...

Headcanons:

Coming soon...

S T E F A N S A L V A T O R E

One-Shots:

coming soon...

Drabbles:

Coming soon...

Headcanons:

Coming soon...

Enjoy <3

Enigma ✢ Bruce Wayne

Summary: Bruce Wayne has a secret that he has been keeping from the reader for over two years, fearing his vigilante escapades will only draw her away, completely unaware the reader holds a secret of her own.

This piece is not plot-specific, so any iteration of Bruce will work. Though, I wrote it with Robert Pattinson in mind.

Bruce Wayne x Reader, female pronouns.

Warnings: Slight Angst

Masterlist

Notes: I’ve seen this movie in cinemas 3 times now, and I’m going again this week, I seriously need help.

Words: 2,056

Every time he sees her the feeling of guilt low in his stomach is sickening, everything he does is to make Gotham a safer place, for the civilians; and for her. So she can walk down the street and not have to worry about the evil lurking in the shadows, the people who would hurt her. Never again.

Though his job is dangerous, it would only be too easy for someone to find her in the event of his identity being revealed. And the thought of any harm coming to her kills him.

He likes to believe that he is keeping her safe by holding information from her, if she knows nothing, the information cannot endanger her, though his better judgment knows it is his selfishness. Once the truth is out, she could very well want to leave him; and Bruce could not handle any more loss.

He hates to deceive her, always making excuses for his frequent absence, leaving her alone in his bed at night, hoping he will make it back before she wakes to his cold, empty side. He wants to spend the rest of his life with her, but the likelihood of such a thing becomes less and less believable every time he leaves his home clad in the suit of the caped crusader.

He already feels her becoming more distant, when he returns home it is often to an empty bed. Though he tries to believe she is only staying at her apartment, the idea is unlikely, it had been months since she started staying with him. And when he intends to leave a note explaining his sudden disappearance, he realises with a sinking heart that she herself is already gone.

She had not been answering her phone, he could feel his panic settling in as he scrolled through all the missed calls, Y/N had been quite distant as of late but he could always rely on her to respond. An uneasy feeling fell in his gut as he came to the conclusion that something must be wrong. It was as if he turned on autopilot, his body beginning to move without the intention to; robotic as he dressed in his suit and mounted his bike, speeding from the bat cave without a second thought.

His dread fell further when he reached Y/N’s apartment, the silhouette of a hooded figure climbing from her window and expertly making their way down from the fire escape. They withdrew quickly into the shadows. He knew he should follow them, if they had done anything to her he fears all sense of morality would be out of the window; they would not live to tell the tale. But at this moment he only had eyes for Y/N, he had to know she was safe. His thoughts were hollow as he rushed to her apartment window, climbing frantically up the fire escape the figure had just gone down. 

When he reached the window the sight halted him, not a single thing was out of place, the view no different from every other time he had been there. Though even without the signs of struggle he expected to find, he still stalked quietly through the apartment looking for the girl he loved. It felt wrong, she was neither at his house nor her own, and she was not answering her phone. Not knowing where she was or if she was okay unsettled him as nothing had before. Who was the figure? Were they the key to her sudden disappearance? 

Bruce believed he knew Y/N better than anyone, and one thing he knew for sure was her inclination of having everything in place, so when he spotted a single book pulled further than the rest, contrasting vastly with the picture-perfect view of her home, he decided to investigate.

Upon pulling the book, the shelf broke its seal from the wall, slowly turning to reveal more storage behind it. Bruce sighed at the revelation, there was nothing more obvious than a secret passage within a bookshelf. Though what he found was shocking, the walls were lined with weapons and in the middle, stood a bare mannequin, one which could easily have been holding the cloak of the figure he saw earlier. Bruce remembered news articles and stories describing the work of a new vigilante prevalent within Gotham, known only as Enigma. 

It could not be her, he would not believe it; the thought of her deliberately putting herself in danger horrified him. He pictured all the ghastly things he had seen behind his Batman façade, the idea of her seeing these things too making him sick.

He decided to follow them, to confirm the figure he saw wasn’t her, he feared they would already be too far gone; but he found himself climbing from her window and following their path anyway. His fears were confirmed true when he drew deeper and deeper into the shadows of the dank Gotham street, but no traces of the uncanny vigilante could be found.

He mounted his motorcycle once more with a sense of helplessness, with no way of finding her his only option was to make his way back and wait harrowingly for her return. It was not like Bruce to stand aside, he felt powerless. He hoped to find her sitting on the settee watching the television or laid in front of the fireplace reading a novel, but he knew this was just wishful thinking. It all seemed far too correlated, the secret storage compartment, the unknown figure stalking from her window, her frequent unexplained absences… 

Bruce had thought she was drifting away, that he was losing her. But was it possible that it was her; that Y/N was the Enigma rampant within Gotham’s media?

He derided the thought, but it was hard to dispute. He knew he was being incredibly hypocritical. Every night as his symbol shone through the murky clouds of Gotham’s night sky, he lurked in the shadows, taking it upon himself to decide the punishment for Gotham’s most heinous criminals. So why did the prospect of Y/N doing the exact same thing trouble him so much? Bruce knew it was because he could never ensure her safety, every time she would leave dressed in her alias, the possibility of her never returning home was large; it terrified him.

He entered the hidden basement of Wayne Manor Estate, a place he had reconfigured into the bat cave just over two years ago, immediately changing from his suit and wiping the makeup from his eyes. On his way to the exit, he was met with the stricken appearance of Alfred, who began to speak,

‘You haven’t seen Miss L/N by any chance? She left in a hurry earlier, and she hasn’t been responding to my calls’

‘She hasn’t been responding to mine either, Alfred, I’ve just returned from her apartment; she is nowhere to be found’ He responded curtly, careful to hide the distress in his voice.

Bruce considered telling Alfred about the silhouette he saw leaving her window, and the theory he had comprised. But quickly decided against it, he was not certain she was Enigma. He did not want to say anything in the event it all amounted to nothing.

Bruce’s eyes rested on his security footage, his heart giving a leap when he saw the face he had been looking for all day, she was using the elevator heading towards the main living space.

‘Speaking of which, will you excuse me, Alfred? I believe I should go and ask about these missed calls, see what she has been up to all this time.’ And without adding anything further he swiftly exited and made his own way to the living area.

Y/N sat reading a book on the brown chesterfield settee beside the fireplace seemingly unaware of the distress she had placed Bruce through the past few hours. She continued to read, fully engrossed in her novel and completely oblivious to his presence. He cleared his throat.

‘Jesus Bruce! How long have you been standing there?!’ Her expression was startled, her hand held above her heart.

‘Not long, I’ve only just gotten home’ 

‘Why haven’t you been answering your phone?” Bruce continued before Y/N had the chance to respond. Her eyebrows furrowed as she pulled the small device from her front pocket, 

‘Sorry Bruce, I didn’t realise you had been trying to call me… Oh, and Alfred too… I must have had my phone on silent’ She looked sincere as she spoke but Bruce knew there was more to be said.

‘Where have you been all night? You had me worried.’ He prompted, hoping she would be forthright.

‘I was at my apartment’ It was the answer he had been expecting but not the one he wanted to hear.

‘I know you weren’t there, Y/N, when I couldn’t find you and you weren’t answering my calls, which is very unlike you, I went to your home, you weren’t there 

She looked hurt, and opened her mouth to dispute.

‘Bruce, why couldn’t you have waited for me to come home? Don’t you trust me?’ Her voice was offended.

‘Trust you? I trusted you completely. But you have to understand that I have a high profile, I’m often the target of attacks by the Gotham anarchy. And our relationship isn’t exactly secret. When you weren’t responding I was terrified, I thought someone had hurt you…’

‘I went to your apartment because I needed to know you were okay. Trust me, I knew I was being irrational. But you weren’t there and you’re telling me you were, and now you’re asking for my trust?’ 

‘I don’t expect you to tell me everything, Y/N, I don’t need to know everything. But I do need to know you’re safe, can you at least give me that much?’

Y/N was taken aback, it was obvious he loved her but he had never been this outspoken before. She didn’t know what to say, she could not lie again, he would know; she hated to lie. He continued when she failed to respond.

‘Y/N… Are you the Enigma they have been talking about…?’

A small intake of breath turned into a gasp, her eyes set wide on her face. It was the only answer he needed. They continued to stare at each other, the air tense, as though it would snap at any moment. Once again Bruce spoke,

‘Please… Y/N…’

‘How?… How could you possibly know?… I was always so careful…’ She spoke softly, her tone incredulous.

‘So it’s true then? Why must you do this? It’s dangerous, you could get hurt…’ Bruce’s eyes softened as he spoke.

‘For months after I was attacked and those men got away, all I could think about were the people being hurt in my place. It’s unlikely they would have just stopped after my encounter with them. I had to do something, they weren’t the only criminals out there, the streets of Gotham is riddled with them.’  

Bruce wanted to be upset with her, but he knew he could not be, after all, was he not doing the exact same thing? Once again he thought about all the times he had left her in the night, all times he had missed her calls with no explanation as to why. He knew it was time to tell her, it simply could not wait any longer, it had been eating away at him for over two years now. But she still trusted him after all of it, it was time to test that trust. 

For the first time all evening he felt a sense of relief, he had always been worried she would want to leave him, that the revelation of this most secret pastime would be too much. Though the likelihood of that occurring now seemed doubtful.

‘Y/N… There is something I should say…’ He averted his eyes, he did not want to see her face as his hypocrisy registered with her.

‘I am The Batman…’ 

Tether ✢ Jason Todd

Synopsis: When a battered Jason stumbles into an alley and finds unexpected refuge in a stranger’s kindness, it sparks a fracture in the walls he’s built to survive. Trust was never a luxury he could afford, but as survival blurs into something more, Jason is forced to confront the most dangerous risk of all, love.

Jason Todd x Reader, female pronouns.

Warnings: Descriptions of injuries and scars. Hurt with comfort.

Masterlist

Notes: A couple of weeks ago, I posted a pair of headcanons, 'when he realised he loved you' and 'when he admitted he loved you'. A few people were interested in an extension of Jason's parts, and this is the result. So, if some moments sound familiar, that is why. It follows Jason as he meets, gets to know, and, eventually, falls in love with the reader.

Words: 5,992k

The air was thick with the acrid scent of oil and looming rain. The Gotham sky threatened a storm, as it always did, the kind that lurked but never quite arrived, it pressed down upon her shoulders; she huddled against it. Y/N did not intend to be outside long. It was just the rubbish, nothing more than a trip down two flights of stairs to the alley behind her apartment, a chore too mundane to warrant much forethought. But that is when she saw him.

At first, Y/N was not sure what she was looking at. Just a shadow, too still, too broken at the base of the brick wall. Then it moved, a sharp, pained shift, and the outline resolved itself into something unmistakably human. 

He was bleeding. Not in the way of scrapes and gashes; this was deeper, darker. New wounds layered atop old scars. She froze, bin bag clutched within her grasp, knuckles white. For a moment, neither of them spoke. He did not look at her. He was watching the mouth of the alley, just past the corner, breath coming fast and shallow. Voices echoed from somewhere beyond. Sharp. Searching.

‘Where the fuck did he go?’

‘Check the rooftops. Check the damn dumpsters. He couldn’t have gone far.’

His eyes flicked up, just barely, only enough to register her. His shoulders fell slack, ever so slightly. She was not a threat. Just a girl.

Jason Todd had been in more confrontations than anyone should survive. He had bled in them, broken in them, died in one. There was a pattern to this kind of moment, the hush before pain returned, the liminal space where adrenaline gave way to his collapse. He had learned to expect nothing from strangers. No mercy. No help. Just the turning away of eyes and the closure of doors. So when she stepped forward instead of flinching, when her voice did not falter or fill with fear, something within him stalled.

‘My place is just there,’ she said, nodding toward the fire escape tucked beside the alley’s edge. 

‘You can’t stay here. They’ll find you.’

He did not react, nor move; he simply watched her.

‘You need to get off the street,’ she added, lower now. ‘You won’t make it five minutes if they come back this way.’

Still, he hesitated. His whole body was coiled with his refusal. She could see it in the set of his jaw, the way his fingers hovered near his belt, ready to draw, to run, to die fighting. She dropped her gaze, it fell to rest on his boots.

‘I’m not trying to trap you,’ she said, voice quieter now, nothing more than a whisper. ‘I’m trying to help.’

That was the part he could not understand, would not let himself believe. Why would anyone help him? Especially like this, so suddenly, without demand, without recognition. She did not know who he was, not really. If she did, would she have still reached for him?

Another voice rang out nearby. Closer this time.

She stepped forward and reached for his arm without thinking. He flinched, not from pain, but reflex. The kind born of being mishandled too many times. But he did not pull away. She guided him to his feet, shocked by how heavily he leaned once upright, how much weight he was carrying in silence.

And he followed.

All the while, Jason could not make sense of it. A thousand voices in his head, Bruce’s warnings, Alfred’s caution, his own brutal sense of realism, all shouted at him to resist, to stay low, to get out. But this woman, this stranger, offered him nothing but quiet resolve. And something in him, something tired and long frayed, gave in.

Her apartment was small, neat, yet well-lived-in. Warm lights, blankets strewn unceremoniously over the couch, a kettle still warm upon the stove. He stood in the centre of her living room, stiff and vigilant, akin to a stray dog unsure if the hand reaching for it would offer food or a harsh blow.

He should not have come. He knew this was a mistake. He did not belong in spaces like this. Every breath of its domestic warmth grated against the sharp edges of his being, reminded him of everything he had lost and all he had ruined. And yet he stayed, frozen beneath the soft lighting, the aromatic scent of bergamot and quiet calm surrounding him like a haze.

‘You need a hospital,’ she muttered, though her tone already bore traces of defeat; she knew this sentiment would be futile.

He turned immediately, preparing to leave.

‘Or not,’ she amended quickly, voice grim, and stepped into his path. ‘You’re not going back out there like this. At least sit down.’

He halted. Only because the pain had lanced through his ribs like a warning. He hated this, the helplessness, the imbalance. But she did not look upon him as a burden, but simply as someone who needed help.

Reluctantly, he eased himself onto the edge of her worn armchair, its leather creaking beneath him. His mask remained on, armour still clinging to him; blood was now beginning to seep through the layers. He shifted his weight, conscious of ruining her chair.

She returned with a first aid kit, unassuming, but well-stocked. He did not stop her when she knelt beside him, did not flinch when she pulled back the material of his jacket and placed it aside, though his hands twitched at every passing sound beyond the apartment. When she reached for his armour, the woman hesitated, not wanting to overstep, though Jason understood and quickly pulled it back in parts, revealing only what was necessary.  

She did not ask questions. Not the ones he had expected when he followed her here. She was not probing for his name or what he had done to deserve this, what had happened for him to pursue it. She just worked, focused and calm. Her touch was gentle, but not tentative. She bore a steadiness he had not expected, not from someone who should have recoiled, who should have been scared.

Jason found himself watching her, not with suspicion, but with something near disbelief. Why? Why was she doing this? Did she think she was helping some misguided hero? Did she see something redeemable within the blood and ruin of him?

Did she not care who he was? Did she not care about what he does?

These thoughts gnawed at him more than anything else. It bothered him that this kindness may not be the fallacy of a skewed perception, but rather a simple resolve to help, despite everything he was.

When she finished, she offered him water. He took it, fingers brushing hers. It grounded him more than he cared to admit.

‘There’s a spare bed in the study,’ she said. ‘You can rest there tonight.’

He did not answer. But he followed again as she walked away, grabbing his clothes that lay discarded on her floor. Something about her voice, soft, steady and undemanding, made resistance feel pointless.

Then she opened a door. It was a small room, books lined the shelves, and a narrow bed was tucked into the corner, with clean sheets and a folded quilt.

‘There’s a lock,’ she said, gesturing to the inside of the door. ‘If you need it. You can take your mask off. I won't be able to open it from the outside.’

He looked at her then. Truly looked. Not for weakness. Not for a motive. But for the truth. And what he saw left him stunned, not simply because it was unfamiliar, but because it was real. There was no pity within her unrelenting gaze. No awe. Just, quiet offering.

He did not say thank you. He could not. Jason could feel the words billow on the edge of his tongue; he yearned for her to understand his gratitude, and though he could not utter them, she nodded as though she had heard them anyway. His relief was palpable. 

Then he stepped inside as she hovered in the doorway. For the first time, he spoke up,

‘What’s your name?’ He wanted his voice to come across as gentle, but there was a gruffness he could not quite quell. She did not seem fazed by it.

‘Y/N.’ She murmured, and when it became clear to her that this conversation would not expand beyond this simple query, she closed the door.

He remained there for a moment longer, staring where she had just been, before shifting the latch of the lock. Jason peeled back the remaining layers of his ensemble until he was left in nothing but his boxers. It was not ideal, but he could not bear the notion of crawling beneath her covers in his grimy, blood-uncrusted getup. The bed was small yet inviting, his frame hardly fit, though he could not recall the last time he had been this comfortable. He was not sure if it was the sleeping arrangement or the soft snores of the girl across the hall that acted as a reminder of someone who had been so unusually kind. Regardless of the catalyst, he fell into a quick slumber as a foreign warmth bloomed within his chest.

By morning, the door was open.

Not just unlocked, but wide and unoccupied. The bed was made, the quilt folded precisely. The only trace of him was a faint indentation left upon the pillow; if she had not known better, if she had not just thrown away his bloodied gauze, she could easily believe he was never there. 

She stood in the doorway for a prolonged moment, unsure if she was relieved or disappointed. The quiet lingered around her, louder now, and she caught herself wondering if he would ever come to fill it once more.

Jason should have known better.

The notion built upon him slowly, like bruises forming beneath his skin, invisible at first, until the ache settled and colour bloomed. The morning he slipped from her apartment, he had told himself it was nothing more than a fleeting refuge. He left nothing behind. He would not burden her with the aftermath of last night’s choices. But it was not until he had cleared the block, boots light, breath even, body stitched back into shape, that the thought hit him like a bat to the ribs.

He led them to her.

Not intentionally. Never that. But reckless all the same. The alley had been a haven born of desperation, not strategy. He had not known where he was going, he only knew that he had needed to get away. And when she opened that door to him, he walked through it without so much as a second thought. Without calculating the risks.

And now the calculation was catching up with him. This kind samaritan was in danger because of him.

He returned that night. However, Jason did not allow himself to venture too close. He perched three rooftops down, crouched low in the shadows, eyes locked on the slow hum of the street outside her building. The fire escape remained still. Lights flickered softly inside.

She was fine.

But that did not soothe him.

He stayed longer than he meant to. Hours passed. Long enough that the shadows stretched and yawned, long enough that his body reminded him it had not properly healed. Still, he waited. Not for her. Not really. That is what he told himself, at the very least. He was not watching her. He would never do that. He never allowed his gaze to touch her window. He was not here for her.

He was here for them.

The ones who had chased him. The ones still searching. If they had half the sense he wielded, they would retrace his escape route. They would check for kindness. They would look for open doors and cracked windows and people foolish enough to help. He hated how plausible it was.

And so he came back again the next night.

And the one after.

It became routine, though he refused to admit that to himself. This was a stakeout. A surveillance effort. He was not lingering. He was not tethered. He certainly was not attached.

But even in the silence, even with his gaze anchored on the street, he could sense her behind that wall; he pictured her reading in that chair, sipping from the chipped mug he could envision near the sink. She did not know he was out here. She could not. He would never be that careless.

Yet, somehow, it still felt like he was trespassing, even though he had not so much as looked at her in all this time. That strange warmth she had offered him, freely, like it had cost her nothing, haunted him more than pain ever had.

He told himself he would stop. Every night, he told himself it would be the last. 

He was so very close to relenting when he laid eyes on her for the first time since that night, she was not in the hazy warmth of the apartment, but under the jarring clarity of daylight. Mid-morning. A street corner in Park Row. She had a velvet bag slung over her shoulder, a paperback in one hand and half a pastry in the other. Casual and effortless.

He nearly walked past her.

Jason knew he should have.

But the moment he registered her, truly saw her, without the fog of blood loss and alleyway silence, something happened. Something ridiculous. His stomach flipped. Not in fear, but... something worse. Something more dangerous. Something soft. A breathless kind of jolt that made his chest feel too tight.

Butterflies.

He scoffed aloud at the word.

Ridiculous. Juvenile. Weak.

But they were there, fluttering behind his bruises, beating against ribs that had withstood so much worse. And the worst part? He did not hate the sensation.

Though he certainly did not trust it.

She did not recognise him. How could she? They were meeting in a new context. She stood before a different version of him. No mask, no blood, no warning in his eyes. Just a hoodie, dark jeans, hair still mussed from too little sleep. He looked... normal. That was the trick of it. That was the danger.

He could speak to her now, and it would not be an invasion. This was not some rooftop vigil. It was not surveillance steeped in adrenaline and exhaustion. This was his chance.

A chance he should not take. Though Jason felt the butterflies once more and spoke anyway.

‘Hey,’ he uttered, too rough, the word catching against a throat unused to casual conversation.

She turned. Eyed him.

No recognition.

‘Sorry, this is probably strange,’ he added quickly, stuffing his hands into his pockets, as though that could hide the nervous itch crawling under his skin. ‘You just looked like you could use a second cup of coffee. Or company. Or both.’

She blinked. Then, a slow, small smile.

‘Is that your way of asking me out?’

He froze. Not because she was wrong. But because she was direct. Unflinching. Just as she had been before. Could it really be that easy?

He laughed. A low, surprised sound that felt foreign against his tongue.

‘Yeah. I guess it is.’

She studied him for a breath longer, then nodded, easy as anything.

‘Alright. But I’ll take a tea.’

He wanted to ask her name again. Wanted to tell her his.

But instead, he fell into step beside her, quiet, casual. Just another face on the street, a casual trip to a café. He felt a blush creep onto his skin, and he turned away from her, fidgeting hands buried deep in his pockets.

It was not love at first sight. Jason did not believe in things like that, not anymore.

If anything, it was suspicion at the first conversation. Interest at second. Uncertainty for the next dozen or so. She had no idea who he was, and he preferred it that way. There was a freedom in this anonymity, in being seen without history clawing at his heels. She did not look at him like she was waiting for something to fall apart. She did not glance at his hands like she expected them to be bloodied. She saw him for who he truly was, it felt like the rarest thing of all.

And so he kept showing up.

Cafés became a habit. A tether. Once a week, then twice. Never planned, always on a whim, or so they liked to pretend. They visited bookstores and late-night markets. Together, they would walk past the same food trucks where Y/N would consistently order the wrong thing as though it were a rule, never complaining. Though she would smile sheepishly when Jason offered his much more appetising selection. 

Y/N would ask him about books. Music. The kinds of questions he had not been asked in years. He did not always answer. Sometimes he just watched her talk, let the cadence of her voice steady the parts of him that threatened to fray.

She had looked different in the daylight.

Less shadowed. Still sharp, still grounded, but without the weight of the tension that had hung between them that night. She had laughed once, and the sound had startled him. It was unguarded. Open. He had not heard anything that unafraid directed at him for a long time.

He had to stop himself from reaching for it.

Jason tried to keep it casual, whatever this was. Whatever they were circling. He made sure never to cross certain lines. He would not stay too long. He would not text first. He would not touch her unless she touched him. There was an instance where she had brushed her fingers over his knuckles on the edge of a café table, he had stared down at the spot as though it had caught fire.

She did not comment. Just went back to sipping her tea, Earl Grey. He could smell the bergamot wafting from it, as he had in her apartment that first night. 

He could not define when it changed. When the space between them stopped feeling like distance and started feeling like an invitation. Maybe it was the first time she made him laugh, not a small chuckle, not one of those scoffs of disbelief, but a genuine, gut-twisting kind of laugh that left him breathless. She had just looked at him with raised brows, like she was not sure whether to be proud or concerned.

Maybe it was the night she found him again, bleeding, no more than that first time. A busted lip, bruised jaw; he had already changed into his regular clothes and considered turning around. He should not allow her to see him like this. But before he could bring himself to move, she opened the door and ushered him inside without question. 

Did not so much as blink. Just helped him again, only her touch was familiar and welcome now. Still careful, still steady.

And when she looked at him, saw past the blood and the scowl and the silence, she reached up and brushed his hair back from his face, her thumb resting at the corner of his temple. Nothing more. How could she accept him so willingly, without question? How could she not demand the catalyst of his newly mangled face and bloodied knuckles?

Jason had kissed her then. He had not planned it. It was simple instinct, or rather an impulse, or some failing of his exhausted restraint. But she did not flinch. Did not push away. She just leaned in, met him halfway, soft and certain.

After that, there was no use pretending.

It was not some grand explosion, not as books had made him believe. There were no bold declarations, no breathless confessions. Jason did not see romance the way others did. He did not show up with flowers. He did not call just to say he missed her. He barely knew how to say what he felt, let alone trust that it would not crumble in his grasp.

But she understood him in a language he had not known he was speaking. When he disappeared for three days and came back with split knuckles and a haunted look, she did not demand an explanation. Just held his gaze for a moment too long and set a cup of tea on the table beside him.

He would never deserve her. He knew that. This concept was stitched into every part of his being, the sense of ruin, of fracture, of being too far gone to love or be loved back. But she never asked him to deserve her. She just asked him to show up. And over time, he did. More than he thought he could.

Eventually, she saw through him.

Not all at once. But in pieces. The subtle way he scanned every room before they entered it. The half-second delay before he ever turned his back. The scars he never explained, the exhaustion he carried within his shoulders.

He realised he could not lose her, the very thought of it left him asphyxiated, left him gasping and sputtering for air. It terrified him more than anything ever had. It was worse than the crowbar, worse than the vestige of the green glow left shimmering behind closed eyelids. He remembers how he had met her, how she had helped him so unflinchingly, how he had been bewildered by her lack of fear. And he realised this actuality left him horror-struck. What if she helped someone in this manner once more? What if they were not so kind? 

This is how he justified his need to remain in her orbit: that his vigilance was the only way to keep her safe from all lingering dangers, but even as the words circled his mind, a deep, gnawing doubt took root. Was he truly only here to protect her? Jason knew better, a heinous selfishness had been sown, and he stayed because he could not bear the notion of parting with her. Could he ever atone for how these mistakes had already placed her in harm’s way? The weight of that guilt threatened to crush him, but he could not walk away now; he was in too deep.

It happened with a shift of fabric. A flash of his skin. A scar.

They were in her kitchen. She had been making him breakfast. Jason, barefoot and groggy, was pretending not to enjoy the way she fussed over the frying pans. He had reached for something on the top shelf, muttering under his breath about her terrible organisational choices. Y/N had laughed and leant against the counter, trying not to watch the way the muscles in his back shifted beneath the thin cotton of his shirt.

Then the hem lifted.

Just a little. A second, maybe less. But time had a strange way of stretching in moments like this, in moments that mattered.

The scar was thin and brutal, a memory carved into his flesh. Indented above the waistband of his jeans, angled on his side. She remembered it too well. The jagged line. The way this shiny white mark had gleamed underneath blood-soaked skin, beneath dour body armour…

Her breath caught.

She did not mean to gasp. It was soft. Barely audible. But it was enough.

Jason froze.

Then, akin to a fiend caught suspended within a spotlight, his hand dropped from the shelf and yanked the shirt down with quiet, desperate precision. He met her gaze.

But it was too late.

She had seen it. And more than that, she recognised it; he could discern familiarity as it flooded her perception. 

He moved toward her, slow and measured, but stopped over a metre short. He already knew what was written across her face, he had no choice but to meet it head-on.

Their eyes locked, though neither of them shifted.

Silence bloomed between them, vast, tense and electric. Though not empty. It was full of all the acts and secrets he had not disclosed to her. Visions of the alleyway, of blood and heavy breaths, the weight of him leaning against her to stay upright, and her hands pressing gauze against the cuts that circled that familiar scar.

‘You remember.’ He spoke quietly.

It was not framed as a question, it was a statement, an observation. 

She swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. ‘That night,’ she whispered. ‘The one in the alley.’

He nodded once. Just once. Nothing theatrical. Nothing dramatic. But it felt like the earth beneath them had shifted.

Red Hood.

It all slotted into place, the bruises, the silence, the way he would flinch ever so slightly when she would reach for a part of him he did not want seen. She had known he carried secrets. Had made peace with the fact that some parts of him were locked behind years of pain and choices she might never fully comprehend.

But this… this was different.

‘You should’ve told me,’ she murmured, not out of anger, but the truth felt heavy against her tongue. Like it had waited too long to be spoken aloud.

Jason’s jaw flexed, a muscle twitching in his cheek. ‘I didn’t want to lose this.’ He motioned around them, motioned towards her.

‘This?’ she echoed, almost hollow.

He looked upon her as though she were deserving of reverence, as though he could scarcely believe she was his to hold, yet, even now, his manner was crumpled with wretched trepidation. Jason awaited her outburst, anticipating the command to leave; he could not bear the weight of her silence.

‘You. This place. The quiet. The version of me that you know.’ He added. 

She stared at him, truly stared, and realised something terrifying: she had known. Maybe not consciously, not in the way of facts, names and alter-egos, but within her bones. In the way he moved. The way he disappeared. In the weight he bore like a shroud, constricting him with every breath.

And she had loved him anyway.

The hood, the violence, the vigilante beneath her kitchen light, none of it overwrote the man who made her tea when she could not sleep. The man who listened to her gush about books and could recall her favourite lines. Who kissed her like she was something he did not think he deserved, and treated her like she was the only real thing in a world full of spectres; Y/N was sure this was what he told himself. 

Her voice was soft when she finally spoke again.

‘You didn’t have to be someone else to be wanted, I hope you know that.’

He closed his eyes, and she watched as something in him fractured, not like breaking glass, but like old tension unravelling; she could see his apprehension flow out from beneath his skin.

‘I know,’ he said, barely above a whisper. ‘But I didn’t know how to be him… and still be this.’

She stepped forward. One pace. Two. Slow. Careful. As if approaching something transient.

Jason flinched, not quite pulling away, not quite reaching out. A lifetime of rejection was hardwired into his muscle memory. Though he caught himself before he could move away, standing rigid as she closed the space between them.

Her hand found his, warm and steady. He looked down at their entwined fingers. Jason could not believe that something so simple could feel so profound.

‘You’re simply you, boyfriend by day and regrettably, vigilante by night. Knowing this won’t change how I think of you,’ she affirmed. Then she tilted her head, thoughtful, and spoke once more.

‘Though… it may just heighten my anxiety levels. Knowing you’re out there.’

And for the first time since that fateful night in the alley, Jason let himself believe that maybe this could work. 

Jason felt it before he understood it, like the first rays of sun on his back after a winter that had lasted far too long. A warmth he had not asked for. Had not expected. It crept into his system uninvited, compelling and unfamiliar, thawing places he had long since numbed for survival.

It struck him suddenly, not like a realisation, but like a tempest. He thought he had not wanted it. He did not trust it. But it was there all the same, pressing against his ribs, blooming beneath his skin.

Love.

It was not loud. It was not cinematic. It was not even convenient. It arrived in the middle of a quiet evening, while she was brushing her teeth, half-asleep, one of his old shirts covering her frame, bare legs beneath the hem, humming something tuneless under her breath. A song he did not recognise.

The bathroom door was ajar. Lamp light filtered in behind her, soft and pale, painting the air gold. She was swaying gently where she stood, oblivious to the weight of his stare. And Jason, standing there in the threshold, rooted to the spot, watched her like she was something too precious for this world. As though she might flicker and vanish if he exhaled too harshly.

And in that moment, watching her in that domestic stillness, he could believe, even just for a breath, that the world was not a place of carnage. That outside the window, it was not broken. That pain was not inevitable. That this could last.

But the thought brought with it a sharp, biting panic.

It was in this moment that he knew he loved her.

His body tensed, his mind retreating into old reflexes. Not to run, not literally. He could never leave her. But something within him tried to pull away, to armour up, to prepare for the moment when this would inevitably be ripped from him.

Because that is what always happened. Moments like this, soft, perfect, undeserved, were fleeting in his world. They were the eye of the storm, not the end of it.

He did not deserve this. And even if he did, the world had a cruel way of taking beautiful things and turning them to ash.

She caught his reflection in the mirror, stilled, and turned toward him. Her eyes met his. Sleepy, soft, utterly unguarded. A small smear of toothpaste clung to the corner of her lip, and yet she looked at him like she could see through him. Not with fear or judgment, just mild concern and a gentle curiosity.

‘You okay?’ she asked, voice thick with sleep, amused by the way he loomed in the doorway like he had stumbled into a scene too fragile to touch.

It disarmed him. Utterly.

Jason swallowed hard. After everything he had seen, everything he had survived, the Lazarus Pit, the alleys, the gunfire and betrayal, he was not sure he had ever been less okay. And yet, standing there in her bathroom doorway, heart thundering like he had just survived a firefight, all he could do was step forward.

He did not speak, not at first. He just reached for her and kissed her temple, soft and fleeting, like the moment itself. It was not meant to answer her question. It was not meant to fix the chaos unravelling inside his chest. It was just the only thing he could offer that was not ruin.

‘Yeah,’ he said quietly. ‘Just tired.’

But it was a lie.

He was not tired, he was reeling.

That night, he did not sleep. Not because he was unable, but because he would not. He lay in her bed, curled beside her, her breath slow and even against his collarbone. One of her arms was draped across his ribs, anchoring him with a kind of warmth he did not dare disturb.

He memorised it. Every part of her.

The cadence of her breath. The shape that her hand made against his chest. The way she murmured in her sleep. He memorised her like a man convinced the morning would seize her from his grasp. Like this was all a dream and he would wake back in Gotham’s dirt-streaked alleys, alone, masked, and untouched by her grace.

But she was real.

And for now, it was enough.

Y/N was stitching him up again, hands steady, breath shallow, a routine so familiar it hurt. Nothing fatal. Nothing new. His form was half-draped in shadow, his skin cold under her touch. She sat cross-legged before him, knees meeting his.

‘You’ve got to stop doing this,’ Y/N murmured. It was not the first time she had said this, and it would certainly not be the last. Her sorrow clung to her like a second skin; he would never stop hurting himself and, by extension, hurting her. Her fingers twitched, and she forced them steady. 

Jason did not answer her. What would he tell her? Definitely, not the truth; she would not want to hear it. Every stitched-up wound felt like proof that she cared; he could not resist the temptation. It was how they had met, it was why he had allowed himself to grow close to her. Jason did not believe she could love a man like him, but when he felt her gentle fingers work over his skin, he let himself consider it; he let himself yearn.  

‘I’d die for you, you know?’ he muttered. Off-handed. As though it were the most obvious thing, as though it were as easy as breathing.

A frown turned her face. ‘That’s not comforting, Jason.’  

And then, something unspooled. It was akin to a thread that had been pulled taut for too long, it snapped under the tension. Jason sighed.  

‘What I was trying to say… What I meant was… I love you…’ He looked into her eyes, gaze piercing, willing her to see the truth of it.  

The words had flooded out like a barrage breaking open. 

‘That’s all I’m trying to say. I’d die for you because… I can’t picture a world without you in it. I wouldn’t want to.’ He shivered at this, at the concept of a sphere she did not grace; the very notion made him ill.  

She stilled. Hands held suspended above him, pausing their work. He was not looking for a response, only a release; he had needed this off his chest. But she gave him one anyway.  

‘I love you, too.’ She had uttered it so softly, had Jason not already been watching her lips, he might have missed it. His breath caught, not in fear, but in awe, as though his lungs had momentarily forgotten their most natural function.  

Her words felt like electricity brimming beneath his skin, like every nerve had been awoken at once. A new fullness bloomed within his chest, as though the ribs could no longer host his heart; as if it had suddenly grown too large to contain.  

He spoke up again, softer this time, ‘I’ll try to live for you too. That part’s harder. But believe me when I say I want it. More than anything.’ He gave her one of his rare smiles, and her heart jolted.  

She silently placed the first aid materials to the side and leaned in, placing her head against his shoulder. After a short while, she shifted, leaving scattered kisses across his fading scars, lingering on each for a moment. He felt that same electricity once more, humming under her touch. 

Her hands ghosted over him like he were something precious, as though the ruin of him was worth loving, and that was the message she was trying to convey, what she was trying to have him understand.  

Once again, Jason did not sleep at night. Not out of pain or panic, but because he was afraid it had been a dream. That peace, for someone like him, was more fragile, more fleeting than any reverie; and he could not stand the idea of waking up.

We saw small glimpses of domestic Jason here. Why is it everything I want in life? Every comment and piece of advice is welcomed and appreciated <3

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This is seriously the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. Thank you 🙏

DC ✢ When he realised he loved you

Characters: Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian and Clark.

B R U C E⠀W A Y N E

The moment had been a quiet revelation, in a silence so profound it frightened him. The kind of silence that followed the first crack of thunder, one moment loud and undeniable, the next building with tension, waiting for it to strike again. 

You were sitting in the library of the manor, an arcane book resting open upon your lap, the fire crackling softly behind you. He had just returned from patrol — broken, bloodied, and defeated.

You looked up, eyes wide, alarmed at his state and asked, ‘Bruce?’ You had spoken as if he were not the Batman, not an emblem of vengeance and grit, but a man, just a man, whose hurt mattered.

Something in him gave out. Not in an ostentatious, cinematic collapse, but in the subtle yielding of defences too long held taut. His mind, a fortress of rationale and boundaries, fell silent.

She sees me, for all I am, it whispered. And yet she stays.

He had not believed in unconditional love since the alleyway. But in that moment, with the stench of blood from his suit and the leaden weight of the city upon his back, he saw love for what it was — not a sanctuary, but a quiet understanding, and a choosing. And she had chosen him.

It terrified him. Because now he had yet another thing to lose, to protect, something that was not abstract. It had a name. A voice. A laugh. It sat in his home and softened his world.

He had never been the same since.

D I C K⠀G R A Y S O N

It crept up on him — not a wave, but rather a tide. Quiet and constant and utterly irreversible.

You had fallen asleep in his bed, still holding a game controller, your brow furrowed even in your unconsciousness. He watched you in the blue glow of the screen and thought, God, I’d die for her.

And then came the laugh — low, bitter, surprised. Because of course he would. He was always ready to die for someone.

But this felt different. This was not a compulsion, a sense of duty. It was not about legacy or guilt. It was about you. And the way your presence grounded the part of him that had always been just suspended above the world, half-grieving, half-trying.

He remembered kissing your forehead before leaving for patrol that night. Slow. Lingering. The kind of kiss that was not about want, but reverence.

That was when he knew.

Love was not a thrill. It was a weight. And he had never wanted anything to anchor him, to tether him to this sphere, more than you.

The realisation made him smile. And then it made him ache.

J A S O N⠀T O D D

Jason felt it like the first rays of sun upon his back after a piercing winter, it flooded his system, warm and compelling. It struck him all of a sudden — new, unfamiliar, and… unwelcome. He did not want it. He had not asked for it.

You were brushing your teeth, half-asleep, wearing one of his old shirts, humming a song under your breath as though nothing was wrong in the world, as though it were not in a state of disrepair just beyond the window. And while watching you, he could believe it for a moment too.

Jason stood in the doorway, paralysed. Because he had seen too much tragedy, too much carnage. He could hardly believe that a quiet instant of peace, like this, could even exist, let alone in his reality.

His first instinct was to run. Not literally — he could never leave you. But to emotionally retreat, to steel himself for the moment this fleeting softness was stolen from him.

But you looked at him. Just looked — toothpaste foam and all — with a kind of amused concern, and asked, ‘You okay?’

After everything he had been through. He was not sure he had ever been less okay.

He loved you. He loved you with a passion that made him feel unworthy, as if he had tainted something holy.

A voice in him protested — said it was weakness. Said this would end in catastrophe. But he ignored it, just this once. He stepped forward and kissed your temple.

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Just tired.’ But he was not. This was a lie. His mind was reeling.

He did not sleep that night. He lay awake memorising your breathing.

T I M⠀D R A K E

It was a question you asked that did it. Something ordinary, like, ‘Did you eat today?’

Tim wanted to laugh because it was such a cliché, wasn’t it? But clichés exist because they are true. No one ever asked him that, not like you had, not like it genuinely mattered. 

Then you brought him a coffee, one of those orders so tailored it was essentially an identity. You did not need to ask what he wanted. You simply knew.

He blinked down at the cup, then at you, and suddenly the task he was completing meant nothing.

He felt the world tilt. Quietly. Like the axis of his orbit had shifted. And it had.

Love, to Tim, had always been a puzzle he did not have time to solve. A thing for normal people, with normal lives, for people who lacked the responsibility he had garnered.

But there it was — simple, unassuming and irreversible.

He did not tell you. Not for a long time.

But he began cataloguing what made you smile. The way your face changed after a laugh, crinkled and carefree. He noticed the way your eyes sparkled just a little brighter when you spoke of things that made you passionate, and how the corners of your lips turned up when you were lost in a quiet thought.

This love became his sustenance, it was the first time in years he feared forgetting something.

D A M I A N⠀W A Y N E (Aged up as Batman)

It had infuriated him. The sheer idiocy of it.

Love was chemical, juvenile, a distraction. Or so he had been taught. So he had believed.

And yet there he stood — across from you in the garden, where you were speaking to a stray dog as if it were royalty, and something in his chest pulled.

At first, he mistook it for contempt — annoyance at your softness in a moment where he was attempting to be serious. But then you looked up, grinned, and said, ‘I think she likes me.’

And the words caught in his throat. Not because he did not believe them, but because he liked you. Against every grain of his upbringing.

He wanted to scold you, retreat, build walls. But instead, he asked the cat’s name.

That was the beginning. The fracture.

He loved you. In an old, mythic sense. In the way poets spoke of their love — fierce, unyielding, as though it could bend the very fabric of time. 

And that it did, time slowed every time you entered his concentration.

He began to dream of futures — a concept once as foreign to him as mercy.

He has not told you. But he will. In his own time. For now, he will continue to relish in it, and continue in this alluring descent. 

C L A R K⠀K E N T

He did not realise. Not at first. Because what he felt for you was too immense, too intrinsic, to label with as small as a word as love.

It was not until you fell asleep in his arms, mumbling about a stressful day, completely unaware of the god you were held by, that it hit him.

You did not see him as Superman. You saw him as Clark Kent. You simply saw him. The man. His hope. His grief.

And he realised then — you are his tether.

He thought of Krypton. Of its loss. Of the gaping emptiness it had left as soon as he had learnt of it. And for the first time in years, he did not feel hollow. He felt… full. He realised, that the planet could never have been home to him like she was. 

You snored softly. He laughed. Then cried.

Love, he realised, was not loud. It was simply your hand over his heart. It was your laughter in the next room. It was your body next to his.

He had not fallen in love. He had found it, unexpected and irrevocable, and for all the power he had been bestowed, this force had left him helpless to resist.

And now he guards it with everything he is. Because you are not just his world.

You are his home.

I'm going to post a follow-up called 'When he admitted he loved you' sometime soon, if you want to keep an eye out. Every comment and piece of advice is welcomed and appreciated <3

ｒｅｖｅｎａｎｔ － ｆｉｖｅ

PART FIVE OF 'REVENANT' SERIES Damon Salvatore x Winchester!Sister!Hunter!Reader  The Vampire Diaries x SupernaturalMini-Series Synopsis: Y/N Winchester was tired of living in her brothers' shadows; she needed to do something for herself for a change. When she heads to Mystic Falls, a town she was always warned to stay away from, she finds she may have taken on more than she can handle. Will she be able to eradicate the supernatural from the uncanny town? Or will she find herself tangled amongst it? WARNINGS: Descriptions of violence. Words: 3,127k Blog Masterlist / Series Masterlist <Previous Part | Next Part > A/N: I am so sorry this part took so long to come out.

Dusk set over Mystic Falls as Damon and Y/N made their way to the founder’s ball, the street lamps they passed under casting a golden hue against them. Y/N could feel her heart beating in her throat. Three times she had attempted to take a peek at Damon on the sly and three times he had already been looking her way. She did not know what scared her more; his lack of attention for the road ahead, or the fact he was seemingly staring at her. Y/N’s heart leapt as she discerned Damon’s hand lying open-palmed beside the handbrake, she knew he meant for her to grab it, but she could not force her suspicions out of her head. The calmness his presence brought her could only be short-lived. What if her unwilling intuition was right? What if he was a vampire? Once again, she thought back to the archives in the civil hall, one of the documents, dated 1864, had displayed both his and his brother's names.

Y/N swiftly quelled this concept, she was being ridiculous. Damon was a Salvatore, one of Mystic Fall's most cherished founding families, she had spied him with Liz Forbes working to eradicate vampires; she had known all this since the day she met him. 

But she also recalled her original assumption, from their first meeting at the grill; she had thought he was one of them. But no, he could not be.

For a town so engrossed with tradition and heritage, would it be so outrageous to assume he and his brother were named for their late ancestors? And besides, a hunter could not love a vampire; it would go against her very nature. Her very reason for existing.

Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat after this internal admission; love. She loved him. Warmth unfurled in her body like the first summer day after a most grim winter. She was in love with Damon Salvatore; everything about him. 

She loves his stupid jokes, his dark hair and crystal blue eyes, and the way he looks at her with them. She loves the things he says, and everything he does and every time they part she loves knowing she will see him again.

She took a quiet breath and placed her hand in his, fingers entwining. When she peeked at him once more his lips were turned into a smile that creased his eyes, and she realised abruptly that she also loved his smile; more than she had ever loved anything. No, she did not believe he was a vampire.

Y/N let her love for Damon settle into every alcove of her being, she felt it from her fingers to her toes. But most of all she felt this love proliferate in her heart. It was something she had been so sure she understood. She loved her brothers, and although it had always been harder to admit, she also loved her father. But this was different, it was all-consuming, so insufferably intense, yet despite all this; calming. She had never felt she belonged anywhere, never found her place in this world. And somehow, in this uncanny town that she had only planned to inhabit briefly, she had found a home in the comfort of Damon's presence. 

She could not believe, after everything she had been through and everything she had witnessed, through all her short-lived stays in unfortunate towns, that she would fall for someone so easily. For the longest time, she had held herself aloof from relationships; as though she was above them. Y/N understood that any bonds she formed would never amount to anything more than ephemeral, fleeting. But Y/N had also known falling in love with Damon would be as easy as the phrase proposed; as effortless as falling; and fallen she had. Her love for him was now as certain as the sun rising in the east and setting in the west, and she did not want to believe it.

‘You know, I thought you’d never take the hint’ He said, smirking now, and brought her hand first to his lips and then to rest upon his knee. She felt a blush flood her cheeks and she was sure they glew vermillion. His affections had never been this blatant before.

‘I love how easy that is.’ He continued when she did not speak and with her most recent revelation fogging her thoughts, she realised suddenly that she had no notion of what he had meant.

‘How easy what is?’ Her breath came in quickly as she tried to function normally. To behave as though she had not just become aware of the certitude with which she loved the person sitting beside her. Though when his smile faltered, she knew she had failed, and she wanted nothing more than to see him smile again.

‘It’s easy to make you blush, it’s become a pastime of mine… something I’m very good at.’ He said this earnestly, though there was an air of jest to his comment. Her cheeks felt hot again, this time in embarrassment; after all, she did blush a lot. 

He removed his hand from hers leaving it feeling cold and vacant, and lifted it to her face, reposing the back of his fingers against her cheek. He stared ahead at the road, with one hand on the wheel and an expression seemingly far away, and just as she dared thought he would mutter something profound, he opened his mouth to whisper,

‘Exhibit A, you’re blushing again. I get it though… I’m charming.’  He turned to her again, his smirk returning, and this time Y/N smiled with him. He always had something stupid to say.

The rest of the drive to the venue had been silent, though Y/N's thoughts had never been more deafening. She loved him. She loved Damon. She ran away from home and fell in love with the first man she saw. Y/N suddenly felt sick. If Dean were here right now she knew she would never live this down, she supposed that would mean her brothers could never find out. They pulled into a car park.

‘Y/N, are you alright, you’ve been acting strange.’ Her performance had not been as foolproof as she had thought.

‘Yes, I’m fine, it’s just… I’ve never been to anything like this before.’ She was surprised with how natural the lie came across, she could tell Damon believed her. He rolled his eyes and grabbed her hand again.

‘You don’t have to worry, I won’t let you embarrass yourself.’  He lifted her hand to his lips and gave a sweet kiss, never breaking eye contact. Heat flooded into her cheeks for the umpteenth time that day and she wondered if she had gotten it all wrong, maybe this supposed love was nothing more than a school-girl crush; she was certainly acting like a school-girl. 

Damon let go, got out of the car, and began making his way to the passenger side. Y/N knew what he was doing and quickly rushed to get out of the car herself, despite everything that had happened and everything she realised about him, she was not going to let him dote on her; she was too proud. 

‘Won’t you let me be a gentleman for once?’ He groused in fake chagrin.

‘But Damon, that would be unlike you…’ She smiled easily like everything was right in the world.

‘Why must you always offend me?’ He admonished, as he linked his arms with hers. Y/N’s attention quickly shifted to the sound of music and chatter coming from the ornate Lockwood mansion. She breathed in deeply and closed her eyes, only now becoming aware she had not lied before, Y/N was nervous; socialising had never come easy for her. 

‘Don’t worry Y/N, you’re fine.’ Damon used his free hand to lift her chin, and he smiled at her encouragingly,

‘If we stand around any longer, we’re going to be late.’

The ball was already in full swing as the unlikely couple, arms linked, made their way through the grand doors. Y/N gaped in awe at the opulent chandeliers and sweeping floral arrangements adorning the sumptuous room; she had never beheld anything like it. For a moment she allowed herself to ponder all the period dramas she had watched in dingy motel rooms depicting such scenes, standing in this grandiose setting made those childhood evenings seem a lifetime ago. 

The dulcet tone of one of Chopin’s many waltzes flowed from a piano standing in the corner of the makeshift ballroom and Y/N observed as gowns twirled in a beguiling amalgamation of colour, she shuddered at the thought of joining them; she would not be caught dead dancing. 

‘May I…’ Damon unlinked their arms to instead hold his hand up in an offer, he wanted to dance,

‘No… Absolutely not…’ Y/N gasped, ‘I need to have at least 20 more drinks in my system before I do something like that.’ 

‘Come on Y/N, you’re at a ball, live a little.’ Damon’s mouth turned into a lopsided grin, she assumed he was happy to discover something that unsettled her, her responding look was scathing.

‘I wasn’t kidding about the drinks.’ 

The Winchester grabbed his still outstretched hand and guided him to the bar she had spied opposite the dancefloor. Already placed upon an embellished silver platter sat countless glasses of champagne, she grabbed two, and turned toward her dark-haired date.

‘Champagne is crucial for a great evening’ She said mirthfully, handing him a glass, 

‘I suppose we better have some then’ Damon's voice turned grave, his change of tone startling her. She gazed up at him in shock, Damon looked over her shoulder, eyebrows furrowed; she followed his line of sight. A man had just walked into the building, he had dirty blond hair that sat in curls upon his forehead. She was bemused to realise she had never seen him before; was he new in town? 

Damon grabbed both their glasses, eyes lingering on the man and placed them back on the platter.

‘We’ll have some later… May I?’ Finally breaking his gaze, he held his hand out for her to grab, his tenseness unsettled her, she could tell he was making an effort to remain calm. She took his hand and together they walked past the make-shift ballroom and towards a hallway, Damon leading her away by the small of her back, but when the enigmatic man from moments earlier turned the corner behind them, his grasp shifted further around her waist,

‘Klaus… What a nice surprise.’ Y/N noticed the way Damon’s tone turned ever so slightly at the word ‘nice’, as though it left a bad taste in his mouth. She wondered who this man was, and why his presence had Damon tightening his grip on her waist, pulling her closer. She watched in trepidation as his stance became more guarding, shifting forward marginally so that he was now standing between them. Her stomach dropped, Damon was scared of this man, and that scared her.

‘My date… was just leaving, going to get us drinks.’ He lied easily, gesturing to the bar the way they had come, now letting go of her completely to instead stand between them.

‘Damon… I…’ Y/N started, 

‘I would like a bourbon, neat.’ He turned to face her fully, eyes pleading, she had never seen him this timid.

‘She can get drinks in a minute, I don’t believe we’ve been introduced, my name is Klaus Mikealson.’ 

Klaus held out his hand for her to take, and if Damon had not been acting so strange she would not have thought twice about taking it. He was perfectly charming. However, he also gave the impression that this introduction was not merely optional, so with a deep breath and one last look into Damon’s beseeching gaze, she connected her hand with his.

‘Y/N Walker.’ She said simply, not wanting to grant Klaus any more than this.

‘You look lovely this evening, Y/N.’ 

She felt his eyes look her up and down, measuring her and when his gaze promptly halted on her upper left arm dread washed over her being like a torrent. He lifted his hand once more, moving the fabric of her sleeve upward. The body tape she had carefully placed had seemingly come undone.

‘An interesting tattoo…’ He spoke his words inquisitively, though a divergence in his tone told the young Winchester that he knew exactly what it was. Klaus’s grip shifted to above her elbow as he turned to Damon, 

‘A hunter… you brought a hunter into our midst.’ Damon took a step back from him, a feeble attempt at getting closer to the girl, but it was redundant. After months of no detection, Y/N could hardly believe her cover could be thrown so easily, by something so negligible. Klaus quickly pulled Y/N towards him and placed his hand under her chin as if in a caress, but the seething look in his eyes told her it was anything but.

‘This isn’t personal, love, consider it housekeeping. I prefer to keep my town hunter-free.’ 

His other hand cut into her chest, like a hot knife through butter, a feat she did not believe possible. She looked down at her body, her stunning crimson gown growing a darker red beneath his hand and acknowledged what she had known from the moment he had seen her tattoo, Klaus was a vampire, and she was going to die. He had chastised Damon for bringing a hunter with him, and she could think of only one reason why. All along, her intuition had been right and she had deluded herself into thinking otherwise; all because she loved him. As she looked into the harrowed expression contorting his features, she considered for a moment that maybe he had loved her back; but none of it mattered now.

The taste of blood on her tongue was accompanied by the appearance of a searing white-hot pain now strewing through her chest. It was agony like she had never known. Pain she would not wish on her worst enemy. 

Y/N knew she could not survive this. Dark spots replaced all colour as her vision began to recede, and her knees collapsed beneath her. Before the world could fade completely the pressure of Klaus's hand disappeared, followed by a crash opposite them; she imagined Damon must have torn him from her, as she was now being held up by his shaking arms. She opened her eyes long enough to spy all her closest friends making their way towards them, the commotion must have caught their attention.

Their faces were grim but unsurprised, and she wondered dejectedly how many of them were in on this secret. How could she be so out of touch? To not suspect her own friends? They made their way straight to Klaus, to restrain him, she presumed.

The world blurred fast around her and for a fleeting moment, she let herself believe that this was the end. But with the feeling of a cool breeze shifting her hair, she realised she was being moved. Towering trees enwreathed her peripheral and her rapid breath turned to white vapour in the air. Damon, hands quivering, placed Y/N delicately on the damp forest floor as though she would break at the slightest touch.

‘No… Y/N…’ Damon winced, it was the most dreadful sound she had heard. He was hurting. She forced her eyes open to look at him and immediately wished she had not. 

Black veins appeared beneath the eyes she had come to adore, but they were no longer the pale blue shade she loved, the whites had turned red and inhumane. He lifted his wrist to his mouth which, to the young hunter's horror, had formed fangs and made a small gash. Y/N pressed her eyes shut again; she did not want to believe it. She felt Damon clutch onto her jaw, and despite forcing it open, his touch was benign, as though he worried she would disappear under his grasp. 

She tried to close her mouth, she understood what he was doing, but her attempt was futile; he was too strong.

‘Please Y/N… You need to drink this… Please. ’ He shook her shoulders in desperation and she felt her whole body moving with his disruption, the pain in her chest intensifying. She told herself the pain was a good thing, it meant she was alive. He forced her jaw wider trying to force down his blood; she was not cooperating. Sobs quaked in his chest as he persisted in his pleading,

‘Please Y/N, I’m trying to help… Please.’ His weeps were gut-wrenching, and despite everything she had learned, what she now knew about him, she still did not want to hear him hurt like this. She stopped struggling and let the awful, hot, liquid pass her lips. 

Her affliction receded and the relief was beyond anything she had ever experienced. The heavy state of stupor Y/N had just been under seemed to subside immediately. She lifted her hand to examine her chest and its stark bareness unsettled her; as though everything that had happened since she met Klaus had been nothing but a horrendous nightmare. But then she discerned that blood had defiled her stunning gown, beneath where his hand had been. Klaus had tried to take her heart, but no such wound was in sight; she felt sick.

Damon had healed her; he was a vampire.

‘Damon… you…’ She started but Damon grabbed her head and pulled her in for a desperate kiss, his tears mixing with the blood on her cheeks. All at once, the world fell away and the sole thing she cared about was the blue-eyed man before her. But all too soon, with a relieved exhale, he broke their kiss and placed his forehead against hers holding either side of her face tenderly.

‘You’re okay… you’re okay…’ The words were directed at Y/N but it sounded like he was reassuring himself, like he was trying to convince himself she was truly there.

‘I thought you were… I thought…’  He mumbled, she cut him off,

‘I’m fine Damon, I’m okay… I promise.’ She whispered.

It was at this moment that the full events of the day struck her. She recalled all her late father’s lessons, everything she had learnt from him to make her the hunter she is today. And despite all these lessons, and all his warnings, she loves Damon; she loves a vampire.

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One Little Difference ✢ Draco Malfoy

Synopsis: Draco and Y/N had been friends as children; their families were of high status, and it looked like they would spend the rest of their lives together. But all of this changed when Y/N was sorted into Gryffindor and became estranged. Worst of all, she fraternised with the enemy. 

Draco Malfoy x Reader, female pronouns.

Warnings: There aren't any unless you consider silent pining bad. And angst, of course.

Words:  1,475

Masterlist

Draco knew he could never have her; his family would never allow it. Y/N was a blood traitor with her mud-blood friends and a lack of respect for her pure ancestry.

He yearned to return to the days of chasing each other through the old ornate manor, their laughter echoing through the tall chambers. They had always been close, attached at the hip. But as they grew and their parents bestowed their prejudice and hate upon them, Y/N rebelled whilst Draco conformed. 

This difference acted as the catalyst for the decay of their friendship.

She had never seen the world like they did; she gazed upon muggles and their innovations in wonder and awe. Draco tried pleading with her to understand the importance of her status but to no avail. Y/N was an embarrassment to her family’s name and a stain on their bloodline. It came as no surprise to anyone when she was sorted into Gryffindor. 

‘It’s better this way, Draco.' His father, Lucius, had said over an issue of The Daily Prophet one morning of his summer holidays, 

‘Her family, your mother and I had been discussing an arranged marriage once you were older. It is good Y/N's true colours were revealed before we could have made that mistake.’

Draco’s heart had sunk at his father’s words. Her true colours did not matter to him; he wanted her anyway.

As Draco sat alone in a compartment of the Hogwarts Express, he thought of how his life would be different if that wretched sorting hat had placed Y/N in Slytherin. He would not have to hide his reddening cheeks when she spoke and avert his eyes as she looked his way. He would be free to love and be with her, have children and grow old with her. 

It had been the longest Draco had gone without seeing her. In the last few years, domestic life had not been easy on Y/N; her parents finally kicked her out early in the summer. From what he had heard, she had stayed at the Weasley’s. He bet she had hated imposing herself on them. 

That was the worst part about her being in Gryffindor; in their first year, she very quickly became friends with people Draco considered his enemies: Harry, Ron and Hermione. There were many reasons why Draco did not like these three, though he was too proud to admit that the main reason was that he was bitter; they got to be her friend, to know and love her without pressure from their families. 

When he gazed out the window of the immobile train, he saw something that made his stomach contort in pain as though an unseen force was twisting his insides.

Her hands were intertwined with someone he hated more than anybody.

Harry Potter.

When had this happened? He thought they were only friends. Though the longer he watched them, the more the opposite seemed true. 

They were together; Harry and Y/N were in a relationship. 

As the aftershock of the pain he felt echoed hollowly in his stomach, he drew the blinds of the compartment shut; he could not bear to watch them any longer. But shutting them out had not been as easy as Draco had foreseen. Everywhere he looked, he saw her with him. In every corner of the castle, they stood, smiling at each other, holding hands and leaving small kisses on each other's cheeks. Draco saw them sit together in his classes, staring into each other's eyes in the great hall over meals. And though Draco tried not to let it bother him, he could not help but imagine himself in Harry’s place; she was supposed to be his.

It had been years since Draco could call Y/N his friend, and although he pined for her from a distance, he accepted that they were estranged. But the reality of her loving someone else rattled him to his core, and just like a spoiled child whose toy was being played with by another, he wanted her back, to snatch her from Harry’s arms and never return her. 

He needed to speak with her, beg her to see reason. Surely, all those days of laughter and fun as children would amount to something; surely, she would remember the person he used to be. 

He decided to speak with her after charms class; he noticed she was usually alone then, her friends heading to different lessons.

As Professor Flitwick called the end of their class, Draco watched as Y/N quickly collected her things and exited the classroom; he had to rush to put his belongings together and follow her. 

But by the time he left the room, she was halfway down the grand hallway. 

‘Y/N! Wait up!’ Draco could not remember the last time he spoke her name out loud; it felt strange on his tongue, as though it shocked him on its way out. She turned, skin creased between her brows, her face donning a bewildered expression. She, too, seemed shocked that he had called out for her,

‘Y/N, I need to speak with you; it’s important’ he pleaded,

With surprise still evident on her face, she opened her mouth to speak,

‘Draco, I don’t have the time, my next class is in ten…’ He grabbed her elbow and began pulling her to an empty classroom; despite her protest,

‘Draco… What are you…’ she trailed off, instead staring at him, eyebrows furrowed once more. Draco stood back and nervously scratched the nape of his neck, realising for the first time that he had no idea what he was going to say,

‘What is this about? I thought you didn’t talk to me anymore.’ 

Draco cringed, remembering how he had given her the cold shoulder in their first year. She had still wanted to be his friend, and he had pushed her away.

‘Look, I’ve noticed you’ve been a lot closer with Harry this year…’ Y/N's eyes sharpened, daring him to say more, 

‘And?…’ she spoke carefully, with a warning; she already knew where this was headed,

‘I just think that… that,’ his words cut short; he knew he was out of line and had no right to have an opinion on the matter. He took a different route.

‘I just can’t believe you chose to be friends with him, let alone partners; you could have picked anyone in this school, and you chose him.’ His words made Y/N gasp in shock, but he continued nonetheless, 

‘Did our friendship mean nothing to you? Did the fact I loved you mean nothing?’ 

Although Y/N looked angry, her eyes softened slightly,

‘Draco, did you ever stop for one moment and consider that this has nothing to do with you? You and I are not friends, Draco. You saw to that… I loved you once too, no, I loved a kind, sweet boy by the same name… but he died a long time ago, quelled by his very own father.’ Y/N's voice rose and trembled; Draco could see that talking about this upset her; once again, he felt the twisting pain in his chest. 

‘None of this would have happened, though, if you were sorted into Slytherin…’

He continued, but Y/N interrupted, 

‘But I wasn’t, was I? Don’t you see that our houses have nothing to do with this? You’re hiding behind them; you’re too scared to admit that we grew apart because you were a bad person.’ She took a deep breath,

‘Good people don’t bully and belittle first years and think people are lesser because of who their parents are. Good people don’t bully anyone; they’re kind and compassionate. And they’re selfless; not everything that they do is for themselves. And that is not who you are anymore.’

Draco could no longer see Y/N before him; she became shrouded by his tears, the truth of her words leaving him feeling winded, like blows to the stomach. Everything she had said was true. Of course it was; she had just unknowingly described herself. 

Kind, compassionate, selfless.

Y/N was a good person; she was the best person in his life. 

And he pushed her away because of one little difference.

As Draco stood in silence, unwilling to respond, Y/N’s frustration grew, 

‘You know what? Forget I said anything; you won’t change.’ She muttered, ‘I need to get to class.’

She pushed past him to get through the door, looking back as though she were going to speak again, but decided against it. She shook her head and left.

Draco did not try to speak with her again; he knew nothing he could say would change her mind because she was right. He was a bad person, and she deserved better than him. 

That is what she had with Harry Potter.

And as much as it killed him to watch, he could admit that.

Every comment and piece of advice is welcomed and appreciated <3

ｒｅｖｅｎａｎｔ - ｏｎｅ

PART ONE OF 'REVENANT' SERIES Damon Salvatore x Winchester!Sister!Hunter!Reader  The Vampire Diaries x Supernatural Mini Series Synopsis: Y/N Winchester was tired of living in her brothers' shadows; she needed to do something for herself for a change. When she heads to Mystic Falls, a town she was always warned to stay away from, she finds she may have taken on more than she can handle. Will she be able to eradicate the supernatural from the uncanny town? Or will she find herself tangled amongst it? WARNINGS: Drinking, Descriptions of Violence. Words: 2,257k Blog Masterlist / Series Masterlist Next Part>

Y/N Winchester’s brothers always warned her to stay away from Mystic Falls; if a hunter crossed its border, they may as well have been signing their death certificate, but, of course, she did not listen. Y/N wanted to prove herself and show them that she was not second-rate. And besides, would it not be immoral to allow these killings to continue unchecked?

Y/N glanced down at the evidence she had gathered about the town; it was apparent that the area was plagued with vampires, and the authorities had an abominable habit of covering it up. Coroner reports were sprawled across the small motel table in front of her, all claiming the same thing: that its victim died of an animal attack. However, reports of punctured necks and bloodless corpses affirmed otherwise.

The vampires of Mystic Falls were careless yet evaded scrutiny effortlessly.

Speaking to the locals achieved little, and she always walked away empty-handed. They had no accounts of antisocial behaviour or people who only seemed to make appearances at night. When speaking to witnesses, they stood unsure and dubious, as though blank spaces riddled their memories. Something else was at play here, and Y/N would uncover it, no matter the cost.

Her phone's small screen flashed again, accompanied by its trilling ring for what seemed like the umpteenth time that day, vibrating and moving against the table it lay upon. The name ‘Dean’ was written in large letters across its display. Y/N sighed and lifted the device to her ear.

‘What do you want?’ She grilled in annoyance,

‘Oh, she finally answers,’ His voice heavy with the sarcasm the young Winchester had grown accustomed to over the years.

‘Yes, I finally answered, though that didn’t answer my question, what do you want?’ Y/N reprised

‘Y/N, you know exactly what Sam and I want. We haven’t seen you in weeks, and we have no idea where you are and if you’re safe; before you picked up the phone, we had no idea if you were even alive. You need to end this stupid kamikaze mission and come back to the bunker. It’s stupid to hunt alone; you could be killed; don’t pretend that’s not what you’re doing. We aren’t stupid.’ His lecture rolled off his tongue hot and fast, Y/N rolling her eyes in response, wishing for a moment that he was there to see it.

‘No need to worry about me, brother. I can handle myself, and you know it.’ She countered,

‘Y/N…’ But before he could continue, she hung up, putting her phone on silent and shoving it into her jacket pocket.

Only two seconds passed before it began to ring again, though she ignored it just as thoroughly as all his previous calls. Typically, Y/N’s brothers would have just tracked her down, though she was smart enough to disconnect all means of GPS location and give them and everyone they knew a wide berth. She even had precautions in place that prevented them from finding her by means of magic, reducing them to countless feeble attempts of merely asking her for her location, and she would never waver. 

If Y/N had a dollar for every time Sam or Dean rang or texted, she could stop all the credit card fraud she was committing and live the lavish life a hunter could only dream of.

Once again, she looked down towards her incongruous evidence; she had reason to believe the town council was an inner circle of people in Mystic Falls responsible for the lazy cover-ups and the nugatory upkeep of the town’s safety. The council consisted of members from a group called ‘The Founding Families’, and her research showed they had occupied the small Virginian town since its forming in the mid-1800s, and it seemed to her Mystic Falls has been having occasional run-ins with vampires ever since. Suddenly, both of her brothers' warnings began to make more sense.

Y/N sighed and wrapped an overcoat around her jacket. She could do with a drink; besides, it wouldn’t hurt to try and gather more information about this uncanny town.

The door of the grill whined as she pushed it open, the crowded chatter of the busy Friday night meeting her ears immediately. She forced her way through the traffic of the locale and straight to the bar, deciding to sit next to a dark-haired man clad in a leather jacket with his shoulders hunched over a glass of whiskey. She looked toward the young bartender cleaning out a crystal glass with a towel he had just pulled from his shoulder; the sound of her stool being dragged from under the bench brought his attention to her. 

‘I’ll have a double shot of Jameson, neat, please.’ She asked sweetly, hoping the boy would not ID her. She was already 21, though the nature of her pastimes meant she only had fake identification, and any excuse not to use it was excellent in her eyes. Much to her relief, the boy placed the glass in his hands before her and began to pour her drink. She pulled her phone from her pocket, a feeling of exasperation making itself known as she gazed upon the nine missed calls from Dean and the four from Sam. Answering the call earlier had only made them worse. She had barely brought the glass to her lips when the dark-haired stranger spoke up,

‘I can’t help but notice you’re a new face around these parts; what brings you to Mystic Falls?’ His accompanying smirk was flirtatious, and though only an idiot would overlook the apparent sublimity of his features, she was in no mood for mucking about. She returned the smile regardless, hoping to scour him for more information. 

‘What makes you think this is a new face?’ She asked, using the same sweet tone she used with the bartender.

‘Trust me, I’d recognise a face like yours if I’d seen it before.' She wanted to ignore the cheap pickup line, though she could sense a blush creeping onto her cheeks. Y/N could hardly believe that this man she had only just met could affect her so quickly, 

‘Well, I’m not exactly new; I’ve been visiting for around a month.’ Y/N didn’t want to say too much; she had not yet developed a backstory. He raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to continue,

‘I was thinking of moving here permanently, though, now I’m not so sure with all these killings… by animals, of course…’  

Y/N decided it was best to get straight to the case; she was not here to waste time. Average eyes would not have noticed how his eyes tightened ever so slightly when she mentioned the animal attacks.

‘And now, why would that concern you?’ He used a light tone, though traces of accusation lay beneath. This did not go unnoticed by her; was it possible he was one of them? Her chest clenched; she had just met the man, though the idea of him being a monster saddened her in a way she could not have anticipated. She smiled nonetheless and made sure it reached her eyes.

‘I’ve made a hobby of hiking, and I think it would be unfortunate to have my cortical artery torn from my throat, wouldn’t you say?’ She did not know what possessed her to speak these words; could she have been any more obvious? He leaned closer, his piercing blue eyes adhered to her. Her breathing halted.

‘Yes, very unfortunate…’ he leaned back again before chuckling and exclaiming loudly,

‘How rude of me; I just realised I never introduced myself. I’m Damon Salvatore.’

Suddenly, it all made sense; he hailed from one of the founding families she had read about, Salvatore. Y/N felt a peculiar sense of relief. He was not a vampire like she initially suspected but rather part of the secret council hellbent on eradicating them, albeit not successfully. He held his hand out expectantly, and when she connected her own with his, she noticed a very conspicuous lapis lazuli ring adorning his fingers. It resembled that of an ancient family heirloom.

‘I’m Y/N, Y/N Walker.’ She thought it was best not to use her real surname; her family had gathered quite the reputation within the supernatural community, and this was the name printed on her fake ID anyway.

‘I think you’re quite right not to hike in the woods, Y/N, but I hope that won’t deter you from remaining in this town; it would be sad to lose a pretty face like yours.’ Y/N could feel her heart beating; she was sure the whole room could hear it. Y/N quickly looked down when she felt another blush forming. Damon turned to the bartender and slid her empty tumbler back over the bench,

‘She’ll have another Jameson, this time on me.’ 

From then, the conversation moved on to trivial topics, and Y/N found it difficult to proceed in her inquiry, given she was posing as an oblivious newcomer. A little while later, a woman clad in a sheriff uniform approached the pair, donning a solemn expression.

‘Sheriff Forbes…’ Damon nodded in acknowledgement; this was another name Y/N recognised from her research of the town, another founder. Y/N studied her face; she looked unsettled and nervous, as though she wished to speak with Damon but refrained in case of eavesdroppers.

She sent a pointed glare towards Damon and nudged her head ever so slightly in Y/N’s direction. Damon took this as an opportunity for introduction,

‘Liz, this is Y/N, she’s new in town.’ Liz smiled and sent Y/N a small wave,

‘It’s nice to meet you, though; I’m sorry to barge in like this. Do you mind if I borrow your friend for a moment?’ She spoke kindly, though her nervousness was present in her voice.

‘No, not at all; I should probably be heading off soon anyway.’ Y/N smiled at the sheriff before pulling her phone from her pocket and trying to seem engrossed in something displayed on the small screen. Though her attention was drawn entirely to the whispered conversation between the two founders

‘There was another body found earlier, ruled as an animal attack again; of course, though, there is only so long before people begin questioning these reports.’ Y/N could feel Liz’s eyes glancing toward her spot on the barstool; Y/N was careful to continue scrolling through her phone aimlessly until the sheriff looked away.

‘Liz, you know I’m doing everything I can to find these culprits; soon enough, they’ll make a mistake, and we’ll be able to make our move against them.’ Damon also looked at Y/N from the corner of his eyes before very deliberately looking back to Liz. Was it possible they could be suspecting her? She was new in town, after all. For the first time, it occurred to Y/N that maybe Damon had been investigating the ‘animal killings’ this evening as well, and now Y/N found herself in the middle of it. She took this as her leave,

‘I should probably head off now; it was lovely meeting you both.’ Damon and Liz smiled in response, traces of their secret conversation disappearing behind amiable façades. 

Her brothers’ phone calls continued; Y/N was kicking herself for answering the previous day; she should have seen it would make them so much worse. Sam’s name illuminated the screen of the vexing device, and for a moment, she considered crushing it under her foot just to silence the inconsequential piece of plastic and metal. Though reason returned to her just as quickly as it left, and instead, she lifted the mobile to her ear,

‘Hello, Sam.’ She sighed into the phone. She knew the calls would not stop either way now; she may as well entertain them. She heard Sam give a subtle gasp as though the sound of his sister’s voice shocked him, and that was probably not far from the truth.

‘Y/N, hear me out before you hang up, okay?’ She stayed silent, waiting for him to continue,

‘Dean and I really need to know where you are; we’re supposed to look out for you, and before you give me that “I can look out for myself” crap, it’s irrelevant, we know you can look out for yourself, but you don’t need to, whatever hunt you’re on Dean and I can help you, we’ll do it together.’ Sam spoke sincerely, 

‘It’s a kind offer, Sam, but seriously, I know what I’m doing, and besides, inviting you and Dean on the first hunt I’m attempting by myself defeats the whole “I’m going off on my own for a little while” scenario, wouldn’t you say?’ 

‘Please, Y/N, just tell us where you are,’ Sam implored. Y/N could hear the low grumbling of the eldest Winchester in the background, pleading for the phone she imagined. 

‘I’m sorry, Sam, but I think I should do this alone’. She said, ‘I’m going to hang up now, okay?’

‘Wait! Y/N’ But before Sam could say anything more; she disconnected the call; Y/N closed her eyes and sighed. She hated going behind her brothers’ backs, but she was sick of her abilities being overlooked. 

Going on hunts with them meant staying behind in the motels, researching, while her brothers went out and got their hands dirty, returning triumphant from defeating the monsters Y/N had helped them discover. What good was all the combat training and exercise she did if she could never put it into action?

No, she would not invite her brothers; she would do this alone.

A/N: I designed my own page break for this series; what do you think? 

Next Part >

Late-Night Escapades ✢ Dick Grayson

Synopsis: Blüdhaven, well past dusk, is irrefutably no place to wander. Though, Y/N ventures out regardless, in need of a few essentials. She knows it is irresponsible, she knows what Dick would say, but the store is just a few blocks away...

Dick Grayson x Reader, female pronouns.

Warnings: Angst (if you squint). Protective Grayson (I'm swooning).

Masterlist

Notes: This is my first piece for him, it was only supposed to be a drabble, but I'm incapable of reining myself in. So now it's a short one-shot.Words: 1,306k

Blüdhaven was a city steeped with shadow, each alleyway shrouded by the kind of darkness that seemed to linger with the ascent of dawn, draped in a silence thick enough to feel unnatural. The streetlights flickered intermittently, casting fractured beams across the pavement that glistened with rain newly passed by. The lanes stood like deep chasms, swallowing anything that dared venture too close. The city cast a gloom that made shadows feel like sentient beings, as though it were watching, waiting.

Y/N had no business being out here. She was well aware. Dick had made it inimitably clear on more than one occasion how much he hated her wandering the streets alone, he had just about forbidden it. She could hear his voice in her head, edged with frustration, laced with a quiet fear he never dared voice aloud. He viewed the notion of her travelling alone with abhorrence, never to mention her travelling alone past dusk. The city was his hunting ground, his burden to bear, and she was meant to be kept safely beyond its reach.

But it was just a quick stop at the corner store. A few things she needed for work the next day. Three blocks, in and out. Nothing more. Nothing dangerous. 

And yet.

A stir sat leaden in her chest, coiling there like an instinctual warning. It arose as a quiet unease, an itch beneath her skin; it deepened with every step. The air shifted behind her, subtle, nearly imperceptible. A presence. A weight.

Footsteps. Measured. Too measured.

She forced herself to breathe evenly, to keep her stride steady, but her heartbeat betrayed her. It was faster now. Louder.

The steps behind her matched her own.

She turned sharply, body instinctively dropping into a defensive stance, fists raised, ready. Her pulse roared in her ears, adrenaline surging.

And then... A laugh. Low, familiar. Yet tense, and bitter.

'Relax. It’s me.'

Her breath left her in a sharp exhale, the tension in her limbs unravelling all at once.

'Dick,' she muttered, willing her hands to lower.

'Oh, good, it’s just you,' he drawled, tone edged with something unreadable. ‘That’s what you were thinking just then, wasn’t it?’ He stepped closer, the neon glow of a distant sign catching on the sharp angles of his face, the tension in his jaw.

She tilted her head, eager to brush off the mistake, to drown the moment in indifference, she opened her mouth to speak but his voice halted her. He held his finger up,

‘I’m not done. Let’s visit the fact that instead of running, you were about to fight me.'

She stilled.

Her stomach dipped, shame threading its way through the dying remnants of fear still left clinging to her ribs. He was not wrong. She should have run. But instinct had ruled, and her instinct told her to stand her ground.

'I was not... ' The words felt hollow, and he did not wait for her to find something better.

'Do you not get it?' His voice was quieter now, but no less sharp. ‘It's reckless, Y/N. Choosing defence over evasion? What the hell were you thinking? And I’m not even touching on the fact that you were out here in the first place. Alone.’ 

He did not speak with anger. Not really. It was something deeper, something more ingrained. The undercurrent of frustration was just a thin veil over what he really felt. Fear. The kind of dread that could only be harboured from past trauma, from ceaseless, restless nights.

'I can take care of myself,' she said, but the words felt weak as she conveyed them. She knew she was in the wrong.

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. ‘That's not the point. Not alone. Not without me.’ His voice turned gentle, pleading.

The finality of his tone settled heavily between them.

Guilt gnawed at her chest, its grasp unrelenting. Y/N had not meant to make him worry, had not intended to be yet another weight on his already overburdened shoulders.

'I didn’t mean to scare you,' she murmured.

His jaw clenched, his hands finding his hips in a familiar stance, a telltale sign of his fraying patience.

'You didn’t mean to scare me,' he repeated, voice quieter now, but not diminishing in intensity. His eyes locked onto hers, searching, holding.

'You think it’s nothing, but it’s not. It’s everything.' He let out a breath, something breaking in his tone.

'I can’t... ' The words faltered before they could fully form. He inhaled sharply, grounding himself, pulling himself back from something he would rather keep unspoken.

He straightened. ‘I'm taking you home.'

She wanted to protest. She wanted to tell him she did not need to be coddled. But she saw it in his eyes, this was not control. This was not about power. It was about his fear. About the onus he already sustained, the burdens he was far from willing to add to.

So she walked. And he silently moved beside her.

The city pressed in just as it had before, dark and perpetual, but with him by her side, the weight of it felt different. Lighter, somehow. He was right, of course he was; she should not have been out here.

They reached her doorstep too soon, the moment suspending between them, heavy with everything they had left unspoken. He lingered, his presence filling the space, his gaze softer now, something unguarded settling in the depths of his eyes.

‘You're safe now,' Dick said, his voice a hushed murmur, full of something she could not quite name. For the first time that night, his mouth turned up into a half smile.

And then, before she could think, before she could breathe, his lips were upon hers. Brief. Certain. A silent gesture, conveying everything he had left unsaid.

She melted into it for just a second, just long enough for her heart to falter, for the world to still.

He pulled away slightly, forehead lingering against her own, as his fingers circled her cheek. And then he stepped back, taking his warmth with him. She mourned its loss, his touch too fleeting.

‘I'll be back soon,' he murmured, voice rough, but brighter now. Then, he pointed an accusatory finger toward her, a brief flash of his hallmark charisma surfacing.

‘No more late-night escapades, alright?’ 

And then he was gone; as if he had never stood before her, suddenly taken by the murk of the city.

Y/N stood there, for a brief moment, the vestige of his presence lingering within the ether as she peered out into the vacant night.

The following morning, sunlight crept in through the sheer curtains, golden and soft. She blinked against it, stretching. Y/N became aware that her desk beside the window, now bore an unfamiliar shape, a paper bag. She was certain it was filled with everything she had set out for the night prior, the logo it exhibited being that of their corner store. It sat neatly at the edge and beside it, she discerned her shopping list, the creases in the paper smoothed as though someone had taken the liberty to flatten them. 

She exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking her head. Y/N wondered dubiously how he had managed to sneak it from her bag the previous night. She rolled over, gaze coming to rest on the man beside her, she had not heard him come home. Dick slept soundly, the usual, lingering tension in his face now softened, his breath steady, unhurried. Without thinking, she curled into him, laying content within the warmth of his body. He stirred only marginally before instinct prevailed, in his slumber, his arms wreathed around her frame. He pulled her flush against him, lips finding their place against her temple, his breath dispersing warm against the skin of her cheek.

Every comment and piece of advice is welcomed and appreciated <3