Let me be lonely, but not invisible

gotta be a little crazy to keep from goin crazy • currently obsessed with dc comics • I am an adult!! • nsfw

[dawningrobes]

This is a writing blog about kissing fictional dudes, dames, and beyond

My name is August, I'm in my late 20's, and I want to write more as a hobby, so what better way than to post the most self-indulgent bullshit I barely edit in my notes app to the larger internet.

Current Obsession: DC Comics

I like reading all sorts of literature and I'm free to talk about that on top of the fan stuff!

[froggibus]

— girl, so confusing

Pairing: Stephanie Brown x fem! reader

Summary: When Barbara and Cass start training a new Batgirl, Stephanie isn't sure what to think. You're perfect, everything she wants to be and everything she could never have, and your arrival forces Stephanie to confront whether she wants to be you, or be with you

Word Count: 3.7k

Content/CW -> f! reader, jealousy, fear of replacement, multiple povs (reader + steph's), competition, canon typical violence, harsh words/arguing, lowk toxic yuri

froggi yaps -> lowk this has been sitting in my drafts foreverr because i know it won't do as well as my other dc fics and that made me sad >.< but i love steph and hopefully the other 12 steph enjoyers will like this <3

If you asked Stephanie Brown who Batgirl was, she’d say it depends. 

Barbara’s Batgirl was strong, brave, and cunning. A pathfinder, a wonderful hero who saved countless lives and gave everything she had to the life. She was a pioneer, a champion who pathed the way for the rest of them.

Cass’s Batgirl was different, a fresh take on an old hero. Though she’s quiet, though she’s vicious in her fighting, she’s still heroic.  She brings a calm sort of comfort wherever she goes. 

But if you asked her about herself, she’s not sure what she’d say. She’s a civilian amongst gods, someone dressed in a knockoff costume playing pretend while the others do the real heroic work. A cheap imitation of the real thing.

As far as hero-ing goes for her, she already feels that she doesn’t have much going on. Not that she needs the reminder.

Entering the Batcave, already exhausted from her lack of sleep and the incredibly long day she’s had, she’s not sure what to expect. Maybe the usual arguing amongst Bats, Tim and Damian trading insults like a normal day while Cass sits quietly and reads in the corner.

Definitely not the scene that comes to play out in front of her—Barbara and Cass teaching someone new to spar, someone she’s never seen before who is very much dressed in a rendition of the Batgirl costume. She blinks, rubbing her eyes like the scene will disappear when she does.

It doesn’t.

Her lips purse into a frown. Another Batgirl? Something ugly twists in her chest. She’d fought like hell for this mantle, had done it all on her own against the will of pretty much everybody, and here’s someone new, wearing it with the support of both her predecessors.

She shakes her head, blonde hair bouncing. No, that’s not fair. She forces a smile, stepping up to the mat to watch.

She watches quietly for a few minutes while you trade blows with Cass, watches you fight as hard as you can to keep up with Cass who’s very clearly restraining herself. Cass sweeps a leg, taking you down to the mat easily, your mask bouncing off your face.

You squeak, sitting up and rubbing the back of your head where it hit the mat. 

Steph’s eyes widen slightly. You took that hit like a champ, and now, seeing you without the mask, she can’t help but think how pretty you are. That twistiness inside of her only grows heavier. 

“Hey, good timing,” Babs calls, waving her over.

Steph tugs down her hood and mask. “Hey, guys.” She strains to keep her voice as cheery as usual, “who’s this?”

Cass introduces the two of you, and Steph can’t help but note the way she already seems warmed up to you. How long has this been going on? 

You smile and step forward, offering her a hand. “I’ve heard so much about you!!”

“Hi.” She takes your hand, that same strained smile on her face, and shakes it. “It’s really nice to meet you.”

She can’t help but notice the softness of your palm against hers—not yet calloused by night after night of hard fighting and acrobatics—and the purple sheen on your nails, almost perfectly matched to her costume. Her hand lingers just a moment too long.

“She’s helping us with this drug trafficking operation at the docks,” Barbara explains, and Steph wonders if she can see through the facade she’s putting on. “Cass and I are helping her brush up on her fighting skills.”

She nods thinly, “right.”

“The Batgirl thing is just temporary,” you explain. “I just needed something to conceal my identity and Babs—”

Stephanie winces at the way the nickname rolls off your tongue, like you’ve always been friends.

“—just had this one laying around.” You finish.

You do a little twirl in the costume, the long cape splaying out as you do. Steph can’t help but look you up and down, examining the way the costume seems to fit and accentuate every curve on your body. Her eyes widen slightly. It fits you like a glove.

The three of you get back to your training, leaving Steph to watch on the sidelines. Slowly, she edges her way out until she’s back outside in the Gotham rain.

If you asked Stephanie now who Batgirl was—her version at least—she could only tell you one thing: replaceable.

The Batgirl thing, it seems, is not just temporary, and Stephanie can’t seem to escape you.

She’s gotten used to your presence now—the way you linger nearby on missions, the way you spend more time with Cass than without, the way your eyes occasionally meet hers only for you to look away quickly like it never happened. She’s never quite sure if you’re judging her, or trying to get her attention, or some other third thing she hasn’t thought of yet. 

It would almost be sweet, if it didn’t have her feeling so self-conscious. 

It’s after patrol one night, the summer sun just beginning to kiss the horizon of Gotham City, when you catch up with her.

“Steph, hey, Steph, wait up!” 

She’s tempted, if only for a moment, to speed up and pretend she hasn’t heard. And yet, for some reason, she can’t. You’ve never been anything but perfectly nice to her, and this jealous mean girl act of hers is so high school.

She tugs down her mask, turning to face you. “What’s up?”

“I think Cass and I were going to this cafe this morning for breakfast, do you want to come?” You smile awkwardly, tilting your head to the side, “they have amazing coffee.”

She considers it for a moment, gears whirring in her head. Some coffee and breakfast would be amazing right now, as well as some time with Cass. But you’ll be there, like a constant reminder of everything she isn’t, and she knows she won’t be able to keep up her positive mood the whole time.

She flashes you a weak grin, “I think I’m just gonna go to sleep.”

“Oh,” disappointment flashes behind your eyes. “No worries, sleep well.”

You turn on your heel to leave, approaching the edge of the old warehouse rooftop you’ve been standing on, when suddenly you look over your shoulder. The golden light of the rising sun reflects off your skin, making your eyes glow and your skin shimmer. You look so pretty like this, Steph can’t help but be a little grateful she only sees you at night.

“I’ll get Cass to text you the address,” you say, that familiar hope back on your face, “y’know, in case you change your mind.”

“Thanks.”

Despite what she said, an hour later Steph finds herself freshly showered and digging through her closet. 

She pulls out a casual pink sundress and tries it on, standing in the mirror and examining herself. She frowns at her reflection, smoothing her hands over the dress like that’ll make it fit better. It doesn’t.

Discarding it in the growing pile of clothes on her bed, Steph goes back to the drawing more. She pulls different garments out, trying them on only to drop them back in the pile. She always never struggles this much getting ready, least of all for a casual breakfast with friends.

Sighing, she lets herself flop onto her bed, sitting on her mountain of clothes. It’s just a casual outing, Steph, she tells herself. Just pick a damned outfit,

But she can’t, because all she can think about is what you’re going to be thinking. Are you going to look at her with those eyes like you usually do? She wonders what you’ll be wearing, if you’ll be dressed casual or cute or comfortable. Knowing you, it’s probably some perfect combination of the three.

Her eyes flutter closed as she pictures it. You, wearing some comfy practical outfit, hair perfect, sipping on some fancy drink from the cafe. She thinks about how your face will light up when she walks into the cafe, the way you’ll smile and wave at her when she approaches the table.

“Glad you can make it,” you’ll probably say, or some other line of the sort.

Her heart speeds up at the thought, stomach doing a whirlwind. You’re so…perfect, and here she is, sitting in her mess of a room, unable to pick a damned outfit. It’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair. 

Tears prick at her eyes. One minute, that’s all she asks. One minute where you’re not constantly on her mind, where she’s not constantly wondering about what you’re doing, who you’re with or how you’ll replace her next.

She doesn’t end up going to the cafe.

Steph’s not sure how she ended up here.

The two of you, trapped in a burning warehouse, surrounded by low level lackeys. She’s not even sure who they work for, their outfits a mess of colours and patterns that she can’t quite make out through the steadily thickening smoke.

Your back is pressed to hers, the warmth of your body seeping through both of your costumes, acting as a comfort. At least, it would be a comfort, if the two of you were in any other situation.

The masked men close in, the roar of the distant fire burning gets louder. Steph’s nerves catch fire, buzzing with the impending promise of action. She bounces on her heels, loosening up her muscles just like she was taught. One more step, one more step and she’s ready.

The heel of the closest man inches forward. Steph pounces. All hell breaks loose.

It’s a blur of action, of fighting her way through the seemingly neverending wave of goons. Her muscles ache, every punch and kick only making the burning under her skin worse. The warehouse gets hotter, the smoke rises, clogging her senses.

Behind her somewhere, the sounds of your own violence echo off the walls. You’ve always been a good fighter—probably better than her—but something in the back of her mind buzzes with worry. Like something bad is going to happen, like she needs to look out for you.

She shakes it away, diving back into the action, trying to ignore the constant nagging in the back of her mind.

She finishes off the last of her men, freezing at the sudden silence. She can’t hear you fighting anymore, can’t see you through the smoky haze. Her heart hammers in her chest. Where on Earth could you have gone?

One second. That’s how long she’s distracted for, maybe less. But one second is all it takes for someone to come up behind her, a forearm pressed over her throat and a leg hooking over her ankles. She’s taken quickly to the ground, back thudding hard against the hard ground.

Stars explode behind her eyes, the wind knocked out of her. Through the haze, she just manages to make out the masked goon above her and the gun barrel shoved inches from her face. She cringes, bracing herself to duck and roll, to do anything but lay here and take it.

And just like that, he’s gone, slammed into the ground by a familiar figure. You’re breathing heavily above Steph, eyes wide behind your mask as you reach a hand to help her up.

She grabs you, letting you tug her to the feet, and the way your hand lingers on hers reminds her of the day you met. Your jaw is slack, worry written across every feature. Steph blinks, letting the air come back to her lungs.

“T-thanks,” she gasps.

“We need to get out of here.”

Steph nods curtly, letting you tug her after you as you search for the exit, only dropping her hand when you brace yourself against the emergency exit and shove hard. Cold night air greets her, filling her burning lungs with sweet relief. 

She’s dizzy from the smoke, dizzy from the hit she took. Her lips purse into frown. It’s surely going to leave a big, ugly bruise. Goodbye sundresses.

Standing on the rooftop of the burning warehouse, she watches you approach the edge, scoping out the ground below for any sign of the goons who almost overwhelmed you.

You turn to face her. “Tim called the fire department, they’re on the way.”

She braces her hands on her knees, still lightheaded from the fall. The fall. She forces herself to stand up straight, peeling off her mask and hood. “Where did you go back there?”

“Huh?”

“You—you disappeared, it distracted me. Where did you go?”

She cocks a hand on her hip, waiting for an explanation. She was too busy worrying about you, about your safety, to take care of herself. If it weren’t for your impromptu disappearance, she wouldn’t be coughing her lungs up like an amateur right now.

You scratch the back of your neck awkwardly. “One of them tried to get away and—”

“You couldn’t have told me that?” She snaps, walking towards you, closing the gap until you’re inches away. “We’re partners, you’re supposed to tell me these things.”

“I didn’t think I had time!”

“Or you just wanted the glory for yourself,” she spits bitterly.

You pause, lips parting in confusion. She tugs at her hair. Even now, a slight cut on your cheek and sweaty from battle, you still look perfectly cute. She’s sure she must look a complete mess, sweaty and dirty and bruised.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She tucks a sweaty strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “Nothing, just—nevermind.”

You shake your head. “No, what did you mean?”

“I mean it’s—it’s—” Frustration bubbles up in her chest, muscles pulling taut like she’s about to enter another fight. She’s not even sure where she’s going for it, what word vomit she’s about to shove in your face now. You’re inches away, staring at her like a deer in the damn headlights, and she’s the lone car on the road with the choice to hit you or not.

“It’s what?”

“It’s you! Always being so—so perfect about everything, being everyone’s favorite, having everything come naturally to you and—and—”

And that urge buzzes beneath her fingertips, that urge she’s always felt just beneath the surface. The one she felt that day you met, when she’d had that fear you’re replacing her. The one she’s felt every day since when you’re around, the same one she gets before a big fight.

She raises a hand and you don’t even flinch, looking up at her with those damn wide eyes. She’s not sure who’s more confused by what she’s doing—you, or her.

And then she’s kissing you, the taste of smoke heavy on both of you. Her hand reaches to cup your cheek, thumb swiping over the length of your cheekbone. It’s hot and tense and she feels more that she’s trying to eat you alive than kiss you.

She pulls away, taking a big jump back like she’s been burned.

“Steph,” you breathe her name.

She shakes her head, closing her eyes. “No.”

“Stephanie—”

“No, okay? I don’t—I don’t want to talk about it.” She’s shaking slightly, her voice breaking on the words, “I don’t even—I don’t want to see you right now. Okay? Just…just forget it.”

She spins on her heel, bolting over to the far end of the rooftop. She can still taste you on her tongue, like smoke and leftover chapstick and something else buried beneath. She wipes at her mouth and the taste still lingers, follows her down the fire escape at the edge of the roof, chases after her on the way home.

It’s only when she’s in the shower, desperately trying to wash it away, that she feels she can breathe again. What on Earth was that?

Your soap isn’t enough to wash away the smell of smoke on your body, or the taste of Steph’s chapstick lingering in your mouth. You stand under the water for what must be an hour, scrub every inch of your body twice, and still, it doesn’t help. Stephanie’s voice still rings in the back of your head.

You disappeared, it distracted me.

You just wanted the glory for yourself.

Always being so perfect about everything, being everyone’s favorite, having everything come naturally to you.

I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to see you right now.

Coming from Steph of all people, someone you’ve looked up to, pined after, tried to forge a friendship with, the words hurt. They leave you cold and numbed, a new weight in your chest that wasn’t there before the mission.

She’s always been the sun in your eyes, warm and scalding, bright and beautiful, painful to look at. You’ve always gravitated closer to her, done your best to accommodate her, and this is where you end up. With a bitter kiss and more distance between you than there was to start.

You blink the thoughts away, staring into the steam rising from your kettle on the stove. Your phone buzzes, an unfamiliar number popping up on your screen.

Hey, it’s Steph. Can we talk?

You pick up your phone, contemplating opening the message and answering, and yet you can’t. What do you even say to her right now?

You turn off your phone. Let her sit with it for a while.

A while turns into a week. A week of unanswered texts and calls, of attempts by Barbara and Tim and Cass to get the two of you to talk. You shirk your duties as Batgirl, spend as much time as you can locked away at home, far far away from your double life.

Still, Stephanie isn’t one to give up.

The knock at your door comes early in the morning, so early, it rouses you from your sleep. You rub the sleep from your eyes and sit up in bed, the pink hue of the rising sun greeting you.

Another knock at your door sends you stumbling down the hall, slippers barely on your feet. You squint through the peephole, stomach syncing when you see who it is.

Steph stands there, dressed in low rise jeans that suit her just a little too well and a baby tee. Her hair is still wet, curling slightly at the ends where it’s started to dry. She must have showered and ran over here right after patrol.

You sigh, turning away from the door, fully intent on ignoring her.

“I can hear you,” she calls.

You stop in your tracks.

“I know I screwed up,” she says, “please just hear me out.”

“I thought you didn’t want to see me.”

“You know that’s not what I meant, I almost just died, c’mon.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, taking a deep breath. Deep down, you know she has a point. You almost wish she didn’t, if only so you could stop seeing it from her side.

Despite yourself, you turn around and unlock the door, inviting her in.

She looks sad, undereyes sallow like she hasn’t been sleeping properly. She steps on the backs of her shoes, peeling them off before falling you inside.

“Do you want something to drink?”

She shakes her head, blonde strands falling into her face. You settle in on the chair in your living room, Steph settling in on the far end of your couch—the distance between you hurts, but you’re not sure you could take it right now if she was sitting any closer.

“I’m sorry,” she starts.

You nod, tight lipped.

“About everything.”

Everything. She doesn’t say it outright, but you can hear what she hasn’t said: I’m sorry for kissing you.

“I shouldn’t have—I shouldn’t have said what I said, I was scared and-and frustrated, and I took it out on you and it wasn’t fair.”

You always take it out on me, you’re tempted to say. It lingers on your tongue like her lipgloss from the other night, heavy and toxic and yet filled with something sweet.

“It’s hard, you know?” Her voice cracks on the word, pretty eyes brimmed with tears, “I’ve been Batgirl a while. I-I fought to be Batgirl even when nobody wanted me to be.”

You remember Barbara telling you about that, heard whispers about it from Tim. It was strange to you, you couldn’t possibly imagine a world where Steph isn’t Batgirl. Someone as wonderful and capable as her.

“But then you show up and it’s like, what’s even special about me anymore? And you do everything so well, you’re so—so perfect all the damn time, and everyone loves you and it’s like…what’s even left for me?” Tears brim at your lashes and Steph’s face drops. She frowns, reaching forward like she can stop them from coming. And then you’re laughing, the sweet feeling of relief flooding your chest.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make yo—”

“Do you think I don’t feel that way?”

Her lips part, shock clear on her face. “No,” she mumbles out.

“Do you think I don’t find you perfect and capable and honestly, really fucking intimidating?” You shake your head, “you left some big shoes to fill, Stephanie and—and it hasn’t been easy.”

She laughs, equally as wet and filled with emotion as your own. “You really think so?”

You rise to your feet, shuffling over to the couch and sitting down next to her. She’s so close, you can smell her strawberry scented body wash and the vanilla lotion she put over top of it. 

“Yes, god.” You giggle, and it tastes like relief, “I wish you would’ve just told me this before. We could’ve had this talk a long time ago.”

And she laughs with you, the sound like heaven and sunlight and everything you thought you could never reach, and her laugh makes you laugh more. You let your eyes flutter closed, leaning your head back on the couch, ribs starting to ache from the laughing you’re doing.

And then she’s cupping your face and kissing away the laughter, vanilla flavoured chapstick heavy on your tongue. She moves against you, body pressing to yours and pressing you further into the couch.

She pulls away, cheeks flushed. “Does this mean you forgive me?”

You press a hand on the small of her back, pulling her in again. “You might need to do that a few more times.”

dc masterlist | navigation

thanks for reading & have a wonderful week /ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡

[dawningrobes]

Gotta dabble more with dc readers in other superhero families.

Thinking about an arrowfam!reader and I just knoooow Ollie and Roy are annoying about whoever you end up dating.

[dawningrobes]

While i love pride and prejudice i would like to see fic authors expand on Jason’s literary collection. I think he’d really like The Outsiders by SE Hinton and The Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro

[dawningrobes]

writing today because I’m sick so I actually have free time 🌈❤️☀️

I am not paid for my sick time off unless I pay to get a doctors note for missing literally only 2 days of work 💣💥🔪

[dawningrobes]

The Way to a Vigilante's Heart is Through His Stomach

Jason Todd/Civilian!reader Gender neutral reader T rating Lowkey a comedy, you're just trying to do your job, Jason is a menace 1,636 words

Nobody told him there was a stupid event today.

In retrospect, it made sense why Bruce reconvened at the Batcave and ended his patrol so early tonight. Everyone was also used to Jason going off on his own once those brief meetings were done, so naturally, when Jason turned back around to grab a snack from upstairs, no one had stopped him.

The manor has tons of secret ins and outs— one in particular leads to a hidden doorway right outside the kitchen. Entering, he sees a couple of trays and little pastries laid out. Perfect. Alfred was practicing his baking again and he knows that the butler wouldn't mind him tasting some of his work. Taking off his helmet and placing it on the table, he digs in on the finger food.

That's when he realizes he's not alone.

There's shuffling at the doorway to the kitchen and he's about to give a quick explanation to one of the many snitches around the house when he finds himself caught by...

someone.

You look back at him, freezing at the doorway of the kitchen like a startled deer about to get hit by a car.

Slowly, he picks up his helmet, and moves it back onto his head.

You recognize him instantly.

Everyone in Gotham knew who Red Hood was. A vigilante in the most basic of terms. One night he might be saving someone from a shooter, another night he could be bombing the city. And tonight? You just saw his face.

A million thoughts run through your head in this moment. You curse god, berate yourself for thinking you were safe moving from a diner job to a supposedly bougie catering company, wonder if you were gonna be able to see your cat tomorrow, wonder if your roommate remembered to feed your cat tonight...

By instinct you run. That was obviously the wrong choice, because he sprints after you, and quickly catches up.

In a situation like this, your catering tray means nothing to you, company property be damned. You take the silver platter and toss it at him like an Amazon and her discus. Except you're no Amazon, and the cheap tray doesn't do much but clatter to the ground with a loud metallic ring when he dodges.

"What do you— mmph!"

You find yourself pinned between him and the dark wood panel of the hallway as he places a hand over your mouth.

"Don't even think about scream— fuck! Did you just bite my hand?" He hisses, shaking said hand out to the side to mitigate the pain.

"Help! Someone help me!" You don't hesitate. Maybe it's a death wish, but considering he hasn't even whipped out a gun yet, you're taking any chances of survival you can.

That's when you feel it. Cold metal wrapped around your wrist, then a tug. You stumble forward, into him, as he places a rag he grabbed from your apron into your mouth to gag you again as he pulls you away from the kitchen entrance.

You can hear one of your coworkers walk upstairs, calling for you.

Inside one of the many rooms of Wayne Manor is where he takes you, turning the lock. It's empty, because again, it seems your luck was absolutely shit today.

He turns looking down at you.

"I'm gonna take the gag out of your mouth, and as long as you don't scream, I'm not going to hurt you."

You look back at him, clear doubt on your features, but you nod.

Despite the fact you’re stuck in a room with a masked lunatic, you stay silent. Mostly silent. You attempt to spit out some of the cloth fibers stuck on your tongue.

"Who are you?" He asks, because apparently this was now an interrogation.

"Who am I?" You hiss, "Who are- what the hell are you doing here?"

"I was trying to get a snack, until you showed up."

Your eye twitches.

"Snack? At Wayne Manor? Can't you get takeout like a normal person?"

He pauses, and even through the helmet you can tell he feels called out by your observation.

"...I like the way the butler here cooks."

Why was that so specific?

"So what? You sneak into a high profile party just to grab some cookies?"

"I didn't exactly know there was a high profile party tonight!" He argues back at you.

You know you're pushing your luck right now, but come on. This guy is completely ridiculous, violent vigilante or not.

"Do you have a list of all socialites butlers and private chefs, or something? Do you break into St Cloud's penthouse too?"

"Maybe I do."

What! The! Hell!

"Well, I hate to tell you this, but none of those puff pastries were the butler's! It was my company's! So you didn't even get a bite of Bruce Wayne's butler's cooking!" Survival instincts be damned, you just wanted to spite this guy at this point.

"Really? They're not bad," he says, a pleasantly surprised tone running through his helmet's voice filter. It was something you definitely didn't expect because you're not sure how to take the compliment.

"Well. Thanks. I actually helped cook some of those."

"It's good that you can cook, because you definitely don't have any talent in running."

If this asshole wasn't built like a brick wall and armed to the teeth, you'd smack him right now.

"I'll make a deal with you, if you give me an entire tray to go, and you don't tell anyone I was here, I'll let you go."

Your eyes narrow at him in suspicion.

"You're smart not to take my word for it, but you don't have much of a choice right now. Either you let me walk away or I knock you out and make you look like an idiot who tripped over the hallway runner."

Because of course adding a hurt ego on top of a hurt body added to his threat.

"Fine, but I'm not gonna enjoy it."

"Of course you won't."

He keeps to his word though, and unlocks the door. Quietly, more quiet than you expected a man of his frame to move, he ushers you towards the kitchen. There's a small crowd of your coworkers just around the corner, probably looking for you and what happened to you.

You feel his hands on your shoulders, and the low sound of his voice close to your ear.

"I've uncuffed you. You're going to walk over to them and blame your accident on the dog dragging you off. Then you're going to ask for a quick break where you'll bring me the goods."

Then he pushes you forward.

You turn around to find him, but the bastard disappeared.

The sound of your shoes padding against the floor cause the group to turn towards you.

"We were just looking for you! Someone heard a scream, are you alright?"

You think, just for a second, before opening your mouth. You could tell them everything that happened. That the Red Hood was here. That he gagged you. That they should call GCPD and turn on the bat signal.

You open your mouth.

"Sorry, I got spooked by the dog here. Then it tugged me down the hallway to play. He's... surprisingly friendly."

A few of them laugh at that.

"Yeah, apparently the youngest one owns like 50 animals."

"Oh I heard about that, guess you can have that many pets if you're a rich kid."

They devolve into chatter before your manager reminds you all that now they know you're safe, they need to get back out there and serve and cook for the party outside.

You're not quite safe yet though.

True to your word, you exit out the back door of the kitchen, into the open night air.

Wayne Manor's backyard was more like a personal park. There was a well maintained lawn and garden that stretched out into the darkness. It seems as though it wasn't open to the party tonight though, the lights that lined the pathway off blending into the night.

"Took you long enough."

You jump at the voice.

"Careful, you have something I'm interested in."

He points to the little baggie of spanakopitas in your hands.

"You're making this feel like a drug deal."

He snickers at that.

"If this were a drug deal I would've shot you."

Maybe that should've scared you, but at this point, you're a little over his bullshit and ready to get back to work.

He lifts the helmet off of him again, and you can see his face.

He's fit, not that you couldn't see that from his actual build, but the chiseled jawline certainly doesn't let you forget it. There's a few scars running across his face too. Some of them more faded than others. Instead of feeling repulsed, you can't help but think it sort of... suits him.

You shake that thought.

He opens the baggie, lifting one of the pastries to his mouth and chews, getting crumbs over his chin and his dark shirt.

"Not bad, maybe I'll have to hire you myself."

"Please don't."

He lets out a dangerously loud cackle at your immediate response and seems to humor in the way you look around like a paranoid criminal. As if feeding him made you an accessory in his other crimes.

"Thanks, and don't forget, you might've seen my face, but I know where you work."

He jabs a finger at your very clear nametag.

Then as suddenly as he appeared, he vanishes into the dark lawn.

You could try to keep track of him, report where he was headed now that he's gone, but your gut instinct tells you that's more trouble than it's worth.

Besides, what are the chances you're ever gonna meet him again?

[dawningrobes]

How I think the Batfamily would fumble you

Bruce:

Either he is too busy or you may not be making it out of this one. If you do somehow make it out of the circumstances surrounding Bruce Wayne alive, you've become a Gotham Rogue. Sorry champ, I hear the Arkham food is better than Blackgate at least.

Dick:

He is mentally fighting through twelve layers of emotional repression about whether he should allow himself to be happy with you, and just when he finally shows you a straightforward sign of interest, DC editorial decides he should sleep with one of his exes.

Barbara:

She's funny, cute, and brilliant. Your first couple of dates are perfect, until she starts spending less time with you. She has work. She needs to watch over her colleague tonight. Another colleague wants to talk to her and she needs to see them- she's practically her daughter! Slowly her life goes back to duty, and you don't want to settle for second place.

Jason:

He's trying his hardest to disappear as you try to flirt with him. He eventually decides to give it a shot. You're wonderful and patient, and the sex is great, but he still ghosts you after. Despite him being the one who leaves, he considers you 'the one that got away.' DC editorial kills him again.

Tim:

He’s putting you in a limbo of should I tell them about my secret identity or not? Additionally, do you really think either of you are going to be written with a shred personality if you’re dating modern comics Tim?

Steph:

She makes her interest in you straightforward. She goes for what she wants, and you're it. You two flirt a little, and get somewhere decent, but through a series of miscommunications you've somehow both ended up believing you're not interested in each other. DC editorial kills her again—

Cass:

She can read your body language perfectly, but she still can't read your mind. She tries to give you exactly what she thinks you want, despite the fact she keeps disappearing in the middle of your dates and doesn't answer her phone. In the end it's easier for you both if you're just friends.

[dawningrobes]

Meet-Cutes are No Match for the Socially Inept

Jean-Paul Valley/reader Gender neutral reader Pre-Azrael Takes place in the 90's 730 words

You’ve seen him before.

Long, shaggy blonde hair. Circular glasses that don’t fit his rather large frame. He sits in the corner of the university’s computer lab.

Two other students are here, but they’re more focused on chatting with each other than getting any actual work done. Unwise considering you had to reserve a place in advance. In a few minutes, their hour was up. It was going to be just you and tall, blonde, and nerdy.

You attempt to focus on your work, maybe in an insecure way, to try not to look like the other two. Especially since your crush was always diligently typing away at whatever class work he was doing.

The two other’s computers log out at 5:30 and they notice. Picking up their bags and leaving, continuing to chat away. It seems their misuse of a study session didn’t matter much to them. You stand up as well, though not to walk towards the door.

“Hey.”

You engage first. He doesn’t budge.

A flash of irritation hits you from being seemingly ignored, but you continue. Maybe he was just in the zone from studying.

“Hey, uh, blondie?”

His body tenses up, then slowly he looks behind himself and up towards you.

His expression looks… confused. It’s only a for a moment before he ‘steels’ himself. It’s not a serious expression. You think, instead, he’s trying to (poorly) feign a neutral one. His eyes can’t seem to land on you, flickering between you and the wall.

“Hey?”

It’s less of a question and more of an unsure response

He turns his head to scope the room, and realizes you two are the only ones in here. Your irritation from earlier disappears and settles into something more… excitable.

“I see you in here a lot.”

“Oh uh, yeah?”

Awkward pause.

You inwardly sigh. It’s okay.

Maybe he sucks at talking but it just makes you want to push him harder. You introduce yourself and ask him a simple question.

“I was wondering… what’s your major? Not everyone here needs to use the lab this much.”

He seems to relax, but only slightly. He must have realized this is just small talk. That’s how you wanna start it, at least.

“I’m Jean. It’s uh, computer science, I’m studying it, I mean,” he answers much too hastily. His sentence stilted in bursts of short information. The slurred combination of words sound more like ‘commuter-since.’ You stand there a bit confused, but eventually you can figure it out from the context clues. Plus, you finally got a name!

“Ohhhh, that makes so much sense. That’s really cool, not everyone gets how computers work yet. People think it’s all just one button and the machine does the rest, but there’s a lot of logic put into it.”

“Oh, thanks.”

Another pause of silence.

Despite how dry he is, you still want to push things along.

“Yknow, I’m trying to get into medical coding myself.”

The common ground makes Jean’s eyes soften just slightly behind the thick lens of his glasses.

“That’s- really cool. And helpful.”

He takes a moment to look away from you before continuing, as if staring at you too long was like looking at a bright light.

“Youd probably be set after university too. I have no idea what I’m doing.” He cringes.

“Hey- that’s okay. That’s what college’s for, right?” You attempt to reassure him, and he eases again. Alright, perfect, time to make your move.

“You know, I’ve been having a bit of trouble studying some languages, maybe you can help.”

You look at Jean expectantly, which he responds to with a red face and wide eyes. Cute.

“Me? I don’t know, I’m not a good teacher-“

“No really!” You insist.

“I think it would benefit the both of us if we could study together. Here’s my AIM,” you pass him a sheet of paper ripped straight from your notebook. Okay, maybe you were being too eager now, but you only asked for a study session.

He takes it between his fingers and eyes the slip of ripped paper like it’s got the world’s deadliest secret on it.

“Uh-“ he sits up, pocketing the paper quickly, “thank you. It was nice meeting you!”

Jean walks out of the computer lab hastily, the time reserved on his computer not even finished.

Did you come on too strong?

[batwngs]

omg im so in love with this and i love how absolutely awkward of a sopping wet kitten you write jpv and just the dynamic you have at play here!!

the sparing dialogue in this though is genuinely so perfect omg i love how it's paced and how seamlessly it exposes both jpv's character and the reader's:

“I’m Jean. It’s uh, computer science, I’m studying it, I mean,” he answers much too hastily. His sentence stilted in bursts of short information. The slurred combination of words sound more like ‘commuter-since.’ You stand there a bit confused, but eventually you can figure it out from the context clues. Plus, you finally got a name! “Ohhhh, that makes so much sense. That’s really cool, not everyone gets how computers work yet. People think it’s all just one button and the machine does the rest, but there’s a lot of logic put into it.” “Oh, thanks.” Another pause of silence. Despite how dry he is, you still want to push things along. “Yknow, I’m trying to get into medical coding myself.”

like god this dialogue is so dry and awkward, it really captures his entire disposition to a conversation like this😭 and how he very clearly doesn't know how to navigate it! and i just love how accurately you're able to capture this deep-rooted sense of discomfort through the dialogue alone (and ofc how you embellish that feeling with his even awkwarder movements, paired with the reader's unsure and awkward reactions at his dry responses made not out of disinterest but almost out of panic); it feels so incredibly tangible and just lingers so heavily in the air of this scene that it feels like im choking on it along with them in this uni computer lab

also the detail of him pretty much running out of the comp lab is everything to me i love when jpv just. runs away from any romantic-coded interaction he's so so sooo awkward it's so charming im obsessed with this!!!!!

[dawningrobes]

Thank you so much!!!! 🥹💕💖

I’m glad people still read what little I’ve posted here but YES! Omg I love JPV so much. Such an awkward messed up guy. I wanna push his buttons lol. I’m glad the dialogue came out sufficiently awkward! I dredged up memories of my first experiences dating for it so I’m glad something could come out of it.

[dawningrobes]

I don’t even find Slade Wilson that hot if I’m being honest but I LOVE writing ppl who always come up with a justification so he’s a bit like catnip in that sense

I’m almost done with my weirdo Drabble that I decided to keep x reader instead of oc (now he can justify being weird to YOU!)

And then after that a fluffy Connor Hawke fic bc I’m surprised that guy has nothing (he’s a handsome guy and seems so chill??? Swoon over him more)

[deathstrokemypussy]

So many Slade x Reader fics have the Daddy kink and I just can’t get into it. When I imagine calling Slade Daddy like that he just looks at me like this

[dawningrobes]

idk if too many people care about Respawn (Damian’s kind of brother that Ra’s made to do evil science experiments on) but I kind of want to like. Re-write his character. Like he’s kind of cool in concept.

First off I feel like Ra’s doesn’t have to be ridiculously evil for his existence to be justified. I like the Al Ghul’s being more morally gray than downright evil, so I’d adjust Respawn’s origin.

Ra’s is already interested in immortality. Let’s say he took Slade’s DNA to re-grow organs because Slade Wilson is KNOWN to have regenerative abilities. And then maybe he can add some al Ghul genes in the mix for the simple reason of matching blood types. Except the regeneration worked overtime and now oops! New baby.

So Ra’s is like well I guess we can have another assassin in the League, whatever. But ppl start looking at Respawn funny cause well, dude is starting to look a little too much like Damian if he bleached his hair Snow White.

Maybe Talia even finds out this time and is understandably a little disturbed by him (she did not agree to having an experiment son with Slade Wilson, eugh). So while Respawn has a significantly better childhood here there’s still a level of isolation that makes him leave the League in search of his genetic father.

He can still be bitter about Damian (I imagine Ra’s, Talia, and other acolytes under them talk about Damian much better than they talk about him). And I think at the point Damian generally meets Respawn he’s develops his morality enough to feel somewhat responsible for sorting out a relationship with a brother/mistake of his grandfather’s.

[smllvlle]

kent vs. ikea table.

summary: your boyfriend decides to build the new coffee table you picked out from ikea on his day off, little did he know that the process would be harder than fighting an intergalactic space threat (549 wrds).

notes: fluff, established relationship, reader is called "hon," you can tell i wanted takeout writing this, idk what else to put just know that this 6'5 kryptonian freak is very dear to me, i tried my best to make the reader as gender neutral as possible, enjoy everyone <3 (navigation here).

you and clark finally had the day off from the office tonight. no late-night articles, no eye-popping headlines or news trends to keep track of, just you and your boyfriend spending time with oneanother. clark decided to start putting together the new coffee table you picked out from ikea a few weeks earlier, as your current one has a major dent in one of the legs from your kryptonion boyfriend stubbing his toes into it one too many times. even though you insisted on trying to help him with his coffee table building, clark refused and told you to take the day off to “truly rest,” even though he’s the one fighting aliens and corrupt ceo’s on the side of being a stressed out journalist.

while you’re looking through different takeout restaurant flyers in the kitchen debating on what to order for dinner, you hear clark call for you in the living room, slight concern lacing his voice. “hey hon, if you’re able to, do you think you could give me a hand in here? because i know for a fact i’m not following these instructions right.” as you peek your head out of the kitchen and into the living room to see what’s happening, you witness a supposed “coffee table” look more like an abstract art piece that would be found in a museum.

there are far too many screws missing from the wooden mass in front of your boyfriend, and one of the table’s legs isn’t even on properly. clark looks up at you from his sitting position on the floor, eyebrows furrowed with confusion. stifling a chuckle, you walk over and bend down next to him, taking the instructions for the table in your hands. “oh come on clark this shouldn’t be that hard to under-"

the rest of your sentence dies quickly on your tongue as you look at the jumble of pictures and random icons strewn in all different angles on the paper in your hands. not only were there so many different screws needed for the thing, but there were no written instructions!! you turn your head to look at clark, face morphed with pure and utter confusion. “is this supposed to be easy? because i can say for sure that doesn't look it” you state, looking down at the instructions and then back at your boyfriend repeatedly.

clark lets out a sigh himself while shaking his head with a slight smile on his face, mumbling about how helping the league fight some space threat last month was easier than this. letting out a huff, you stand up and reach out your hand to help up your boyfriend, annoyance flowing through your veins. gripping the sides of clark’s shoulders, you look up at him, trying not to scream about the night that the both of you were now about to face. “alright, we’re taking a break from that and you’re gonna help me decide what we should order for dinner!” you blurt out, essentially manhandling your boyfriend to the kitchen.

were you guys expecting to have your day off be spent trying to put together a coffee table? hell no. but were you at least going to eat greasy takeout and spend time with your 6'5 kryptonian hunk of a boyfriend regardless? totally.

⭑.ᐟ © smllvlle ²⁵｡𖦹°‧

[lilmarshie]

Imagine Jason Todd fixing your gear for you…

He sits on the couch, gloves off, twirling a screwdriver between his fingers while you stand there watching him patch your busted comms. He doesn’t look up, just mutters,

“You really gotta stop getting hit so close to the mic, sweetheart. You sound like a warzone every time you call in.”

You roll your eyes, but then he glances up, that little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t worry, though. I got you.”

And something about the way he says it, so casual, so sure, makes it sound a lot like a promise.

[dawningrobes]

Your Blood's Worth Bottling

Jason Todd & Vampire!Reader Gender neutral reader Canon typical violence, blood, and horror themes-- nothing too gory This was supposed to be for Halloween but yk. Life happens. 1,135 words

“Awww, come on, you’re putting your grimy fangs over my fucking strips?”

You side eye Jason, bringing the slab of meat back down to the plate with a squishy ‘plop!’

“I brush my teeth just like anyone else," you say, pointing at your fangs, "besides, it’s not that big a deal. Now it’s just… halal.”

“Halal my ass— I’ve seen you drain corpses with those things.” He points an accusatory finger at you.

“You should thank me really. A lot of people are worried about blood diseases. Plus beef’s so gamey compared to human. I only drained it cause I made a deal not to do that to you.”

He met you back when the Red Hood was more revenge motivated than anything else. It was like most nights in Gotham: dark and smoggy. He was starting to figure out which men for hire he could trust and which ones loyalties lay elsewhere- or rather, which ones would sell him out.

You were part of his cleaner crew.

You didn’t look like you could fight. In fact, you looked more like literal cleaning staff than a cleaner for a crime scene. Tired eyes, lazily styled hair tucked under a hat, and a complexion that could use more sun.

It all should’ve been red flags now that he thought back on it.

He’s experienced the supernatural before! He climbed out of a bubbling green pit from the brink of brain death, but still, vampire wasn’t the first thing that came to mind.

Not until he gave you an impromptu visit.

A test. That’s what it was supposed to be. To see if the men he had hired were trustworthy. If they were sneaking evidence behind his back, letting the other players in on his operation. He had already taken out three of them. And then you.

His face grimaced in disgust, seeing you bite and suckle at the cold flesh of the corpse. Motivated by a mix of fear and vitriol, he points the gun at your head and shoots.

He’s ready to leave you at the scene of the crime. The blood smeared at your mouth was enough incrimination to pin the bloodbath (or lack thereof) on you. A cannibalistic freak.

Though, he quickly learned that description wasn’t quite right.

You get up. A dawning terror fills his chest, his heart thumping with adrenaline. Your eyes, reflecting the street lights like an alley cat, catch him.

You can hear him, smell him like a predator senses its prey. And you lunge.

Undead, got it. The thick leather of his jacket are decent arm guards against your fangs. You latch onto him like a rabid dog, and he tries to shake you.

"Get your ass off me--!"

Jason manages to knock you against an alley wall, making you retract. He runs, trying to buy him some time to find something to off you with, since bullets weren't doing the job.

Climbing over a fence, he finds himself in a narrow back lot of an apartment building. There's an attempt at a vegetable garden, but it'll have to do.

"Come on, come on." He kneels at the dirt and reaches for- aha!

His time runs out, you, clearing the wooden fence with ease.

"There's no point in running, I can track you down and hunt you for- oof!"

In a quick motion, Jason takes the garden stake and drives it into you.

You look shocked, eyes wide, as your hand moves to your chest over the brown stake driven into your chest. As you slowly pull it out, dark ichorous blood oozes out of you, staining the stake. You look it over.

"...this is plastic."

A beat.

"Fuck."

You pin him down with a strength unfit for someone his frame, let alone yours. He can already feel his shoulder bruise against the pavement.

“If you just keep quiet, this can all work out,” you hiss at him.

“I’m not letting you take bites out of my fucking victims—“

“So you admit they’re victims!”

Despite your strength, he takes you by surprise. Smoke bomb. It wouldn’t do any lasting damage but you still find yourself knocked back by him amongst the commotion.

“Point is,” he presses a solid boot down into your side, it would’ve snapped an ordinary man’s bone by now,

“How do I know you’re not gonna bite me in the neck next?”

“Oh please, you think I want your blood? I could have taken it sooner if that was my plan.”

He presses his boot down further with you clawing at his boot. You could knock him off his balance, but he presses some kind of device, assuredly explosive, and holds it as it beeps.

You sneer, “there’s something wrong with your blood— along with so many of the other enhanced humans in this city. Your victims are much better supply. A better deal.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I’m offering you a deal. I continue working as your cleaner and I don’t feast on your men. It’s practically going back to the way things were!”

Yeah, except now he knows you’re a supernatural bloodsucker of the night. Though, you did have a point. It turns out being vampire-repellant was one actual boon from being brought back to life.

He trusts you as far as he can throw you, which he assumes isn’t that far knowing your abilities, but he reluctantly agrees.

“Fine, but if I see one bite mark on my men I’m trapping you in a greenhouse.”

He raises his foot from your abdomen, and you stand up, brushing your uniform off.

Looking you over, maybe you could be a useful asset. He hates dealing with supernatural bullshit, but he’d prefer not to be the one on the sharp end of your fangs.

That's right, you were a useful, stupid vampire.

"Next time you should invite your friend over,” you tell him, shamelessly sucking the blood out of another strip.

"My friend?"

"The hunky one, the red head! Wears hats indoors-"

He takes a moment to think, before realizing who you meant.

"Are you talking about Roy?"

"Roy! That's his name," you snap your fingers at the answer, "I've always wanted to taste a redhead."

"You're not biting Roy.”

"How are you so sure he wouldn't like it?"

"He-" Jason pauses. That's a fair point, but still, he'd rather not get his cleaner mixed up with his vigilante contacts.

"He loves garlic," Jason makes up on the fly. Unfortunately, the excuse doesn't perturb you.

"Everyone likes garlic, it's not running through his blood. Let me taste him." You push.

"I told you, you’re not biting my allies.”

You whine, but he ignores you, taking the now dry steak and grilling it. Hopefully the heat kills whatever germs can be found on vampire fangs.

[velinxi]

Wedding night

(Part 1) (Part 2)

[dawningrobes]

AAAAAH- I just realized the Stephanie Brown oneshot I wrote was very cis normative even though i tagged it a general wlw :[ I will try to tag and describe the readers I'm writing better! Or make other versions in the future 🤔 I apologize! This is a trans inclusive blog and I'm so down to write stuff that's more general or specifically for trans readers in the future

[dawningrobes]

Praying you drop that JPV x Reader fic

Here you go anon <3

It's not too long but maybe I'll follow it up and take pity on the poor reader that expects to get anywhere with JPV