Or: The one where you text your bf because you need ransom money
Includes: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Wally West, Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent and John Constantine
Warnings: No real warnings // Requested here by anon <3
Morph's thoughts: had so much fun making these. Just so you know Bruce's is the shortest just because i feel like being kidnapped would happen all too often lol just your usual wednesday afternoon.
Comments and reblogs are welcome and encouraged <3 Do not copy, repost, plagiarize, translate or feed any of my work into ai / Š gothamorphosis 2026 all rights reserved
The following series will have a total of 5 chapter, co-written by me and @vianawaits!
But thereâs a twist. None of us know what the other is writing about until itâs posted. Confusing? For example, I start us off with chapter 1 but I donât tell Ana anything about it. It could be set in regency or it could be isekai, but Ana will not know until the chapter itself is posted. Similarly, Ana will continue it on with chapter 2 without telling me anything! She could add plot lines, flashbacks, or change the course of the story and I wonât know till itâs posted! Finally, we work back and forth until the last chapter, where we actually collaborate to make it.
.ââąÂ   NOTE   ââ the chapters i write will be posted on my blog, the chapters ana writes will be posted on her blog.
.ââą CHAPTER 1 â @starr-jazz
(coming soon...)
.ââą CHAPTER 2 â @vianawaits
(coming soon...)
.ââą CHAPTER 3 â @starr-jazz
(coming soon...)
.ââą CHAPTER 4 â @vianawaits
(coming soon...)
.ââą CHAPTER 5 â @starr-jazz & @vianawaits
(coming soon...)
áŻâ 's P.S. YALLLLL IM SO EXCITED FOR THISS AHHHH
don't forget to comment and reblog if you enjoyed!
â ămasterlist â¸â¸.áâ
taglistęŠ .á NO SPECIAL TAGLIST FOR THIS EVENT. EVERYONE ON MY REGULAR TAGLIST WILL BE TAGGED!
Steve Rogers/Reader, Frank Castle/Reader, Peter Parker/Reader, Roy Harper/Reader, 1.8K
a/n: in response to an ask i received hehehe
cw: smut/implied smut/18+ONLY, nudity, public sex, ambiguous genitalia, gn!reader (features/clothing/genitalia not specified)
masterlist ao3 requests
PREVIEW:
Your partner discovers that you have a tattoo with interesting placement.
Marvel/Reader, DC/Reader (18+)
Steve Rogers:
You know that Steve's a traditional guy, even if time has opted to finagle with his chronological meter. That's why you were a little worried to undress in front of him the first time, to allow him to see what lie under the waistband.
You worried to see shock or disgust dart over the span of his face as he peeled the hem of your pants down. But you're not sure how to qualify this.
As his eyes drink in the words scrawled in calligraphic ink on the slope of your abdomen. With his hands knuckling over the tender flesh of your waist, his thumbs digging into the ample skin that is his to hold.
His eyes look with such dogged intensity over the words; surely he must have gleaned comprehension as to what it says. But still he remains silent. His eyes in intensive focus, his brow knitted, the color rising to the apple of his cheeks.
"Steve?" You ask, your voice in meeker fashion than it might usually be. "Is everything okay?"
He chuffs out a breath in drastic measure, one locked tightly away in the real estate of his ribs. When his eyes dart up to you, it's an act of restraint to keep your jaw from dropping open.
His pupils are so dilated in manner you've never seen beforeâhis nostrils flared, his shoulders broadened as he leans over you. His broad fingers seem to curl in ravenous means over you, as though allowing you to escape is unthinkable right now.
"Eat me?" He asks, without any heatâhis voice is tight with need, his eyes seem to draw wider in something dark and hungry. You can't help but squirm under that implacable grasp as he instinctively grinds against you, feeling the way that the bulge tenting in his pants rocks against you.
"Yeah," you respond, feeling far more vulnerable than you assumed nudity would offer. But the verbalization of the tattoo marked under your belly button usually inspires a variety of reactions.
And thisâas Steve's eyes draw up to you, raking over the ink once moreâthis is certainly a reaction.
"I got it in college," you confess shyly as his eyes seem to go glassy as he surveys you; slinks his eyes down to the promised land. "Do you like it?"
"Do I like it?" He asks, and his voice is gentle but rugged with a heat that you don't know you've heard him use save in combat. His thumb soothes into you, but the action isn't entirely reassuring considering he looks like he's considering the message of your lettering.
"Yeah," you reply as you appraise him. As his hands urge down your thighs, summoning tactile afterimage as he sinks between your legs.
"Well, it wouldn't be gentlemanly if I didn't follow instructions when they were given to me," he answersâhis breath over that sensitive spot that is roiling with need makes you gasp open-mouthed.
"Don't you think?" He asksâyou have to knuckle your forefinger against the full of your lips to stifle the shudder.
"I agree." You say, teasing cant to your voice. And Steve smiles as he looks to get to work on the assignment you've given him.
Frank Castle:
You should have known better, wearing a shirt with such a high cut to the gym. But you hadn't known that he was watching youâeven though you should have expected it.
The two of you were the only people in the room, and it was so every like him to keep an eye on someone he had a hankering for making out with after certain hours. You just hadn't made it to the stage where clothes came offâyet.
This is why you didn't expect him to come and find you after you'd hustled your way off the stairmaster, to ask for a moment of your attention in the lockers. This is why you're absolutely, entirely flummoxed when he turns you around, and with a shove neither gentle nor rough, pushes you up against the wall.
"Frank, what the fuckâ"âIs all that you begin to voiceânot that you're entirely unhappy with his actions, just surprisedâwhen you feel his hand tug under the hem of your shirt and hike it up. Feel the cool air hit the tack of your exposed, sweaty skinâand feel the breath of his crude chuckle as he admires the cyber silygism in perfect symmetry just above the cleft of your ass.
"How come you didn't tell me you had one of these, honey?" He asks, and there's something almost offended, though it's overridden by the blatant lust taking prominence in his voice. Lust that is clearly indicated by the bulge that is pressing up against you, supplemented by the instinctive grind he makes against you.
"Whatâ"âYou say, but there's his hands that pull at your hips as he bucks his own into you. And shamefully, needfully, you moan at his touch.
"Woulda loved to get a chance to see this sooner, baby," He groans, and you feel the scrape of rough fingers over the ink documented on your skin. Feel another ejection of a sharp chuckle as his hands sink their grasp into you.
"You're seeing it now," You respond through gritted teeth, angling your head back to look at himâtaking ample time to watch the way he makes a rugged smile look so good. How he's already making way to free you from all this unnecessary clothing.
"Whatcha gonna do about it?" You ask him, and the chuckle he makes is laced with a greed only matched by the clutch of his hands.
"Think I'm gonna enjoy lookin' at it while I fuck you, honey," He grits as you feel the press of his cock against you, already at full attention.
You think that you wholeheartedly agree with him.
Peter Parker:
It almost seems like Peter has lost all coherent thought as he stares at the tattoo that makes journey from your hip down to the flesh of your inner thigh.
His hand seems to ghost over it in stuttering motion as he admires it with the pads of those rough fingers, his mouth falling open in slack-jawed way. You don't know if you've ever seen him at a loss for words before.
"Peter?" You ask, as you watch the way his finger traces down the barrel of the revolver emblazoned on your skin in monochrome. Watch as his Adam's apple bobs in thick, delirious manner, before his eyes find yours. And then his brain seems to reboot, returning his ability for coherent speech.
"Thisâ"âHis hand skirts over the trigger of the tattoo, his eyes blown wideâ"âThis is so fucking hot."
"Yeah?" You ask, letting a little sly smirk play on your lips. "What do you like about it?"
"I like that it's on you," Peter says with immediacyâyou can't help but laugh aloud, even as his cheeks begin to flush with emotion.
"I like that it looks so perfect on your soft skin," He says in more quiet meter, his hands touching you in reverent notion. "And the way that it makes me want to kiss there. Kissâ"
He swallows again and when his eyes finally track to you, you can barely keep your own gaze riveted to him. The way his hand is rubbing over the junction of your legs makes a punched-out moan slide easily through the grit of your teeth.
"âKiss you everywhere." He says, and you watch as the pink of his tongue darts out to run over the full of his lips. Your mouth has never felt so dry watching him.
"Can I taste you?" He asks, and his voice is husked at this, his eyes in worshipful cant. As though he has yet to taste ambrosia and hungers for the privilege to do so, between your legs.
"You better," You grin at him. He makes a soft, breathy chuckle, staring down at you as he works his hand over you.
"Okay." He says. And like a man settling himself down to prayer, he lowers himself to pay tribute at your temple.
Roy Harper:
It's always a comparison game with him. How much you can keep up during training, how many enemies that you can take down in a match. How many times you can bring each other to the floor during a sparring session. Tonight's theme is tattoos.
Roy, of course, goes firstâhe shows off the impressive columns of his muscles, first showing the Navajo armband in its dark, symmetrical, precise lining. Then he takes time to show you the black scorpion with poised tail, the skull bearing crossbow with sheath of arrows. Allowing you to see the fine work that has been made with permanence into his skin.
You make sure to give admiratory glance and appreciative nod, and perhaps if your eyes linger too greatly on the way his muscle recoils and flexes with the movement before you show him your ownâ
Well, you decide to move along before your eyes tarry too long.
You show him dates commemorated, your American Traditional on your armâhe goes through the motions of staring with marked interest. But then he asks the question.
"Any others?" He asks. And you could say no, but you don't.
"Yeah, but you can't see that one." You tell him, keeping your smile coy as his own grows with curiosity.
"Oh?" His voice is low and affected now. "Why not?"
"It's under my bellybutton." You grin at the way his eyes flicker with interest. "Got it with my first paycheck."
"What's it look like?" He asks, and if he nears you on the couch, you don't shirk away at his approach.
"Says 'trouble below,'" you laugh, "And it hasn't aged well."
"Well, how'm I supposed to know," He inquires casually, "If you won't let me see it?"
"Because I get the feeling," You say as his arm inches across the back of the couch towards you, "That you won't just take a look."
"Well," He echoes his previous statement, "How can I be a fair judge if I can't get a feel for the situation?"
"Don't you mean a taste?" You askâhis laugh is sure, but his eyes speak something else to you.
"Why not both?" He asks, and the way that his eyes lance through you, searching for your approval like a hungry dog. You can't resist it.
"Only if you take me out to dinner after." You say, to which Roy makes speculative noise.
"Kinda odd, putting dessert before dinner," He says, his fingers notching their way to your waistband, closing in on the promised land, "But I guess we can switch it up."
"Yeah?" You ask, your voice light, airy, teasing as he begins to coax you out of your clothing. "How's that?"
"Guess I can give you dinner and a show, sweetheart," He says as his breath ghosts over the sensitive skin he reveals. "We'll just get started with the show first."
As he presses a heated kiss to the sinew of your skin where the tattoo is imprintedâyou certainly think he's on to something.
Summary: the JLI has noticed something...unusual about Guy Gardner as of lately (or, your early relationship as seen through their eyes)
Word Count: 1k
Content/CW -> gn! reader, some awkwardness, mostly wholesome
â requested as part of my neglect week event
froggi yaps -> i am still sick as a dog however i wanted to get at least one fic out today so ;-; take some guy <3 hopefully its coherent...also pls go read tales of the green lantern corps: guy gardner
Something is wrong with Guy Gardner. At least, the League seems to think so.
Maybe heâs been possessed, or replaced with an alien, or maybe a series of ghosts visited him in his sleep and convinced him to be a better man. Whatever the reason is, thereâs only one thing they agree on: itâs weird.
The first person to notice it, unfortunately, is Hal Jordan. Heâs leaving the Watchtower, clocking out from an excruciatingly long patrol shift, when he notices something odd.
Guy Gardner, two cups of coffee in his sweaty palms, psyching himself up in the hallway. Hal blinks, head cocked to the side, wondering what could possibly make Guy Gardner of all people so nervous.
His answer comes in the form of you, settled into a chair with a book in your lap, oblivious to Guyâs arrival until he taps you on the shoulder.
âGuy, hey!â
He smiles, something awkward and strained. He thrusts a hand out to you, âbrought you a coffee.â
You take it, bringing it to your lips and inhaling the sweet aroma. You grin ear to ear, âugh, my favorite. How did you know?â
âYou know me,â he shrugs, an attempt to remain nonchalant. âGuy Gardner knows things.â
You giggle slightly, taking a sip from your coffee. âYou know, Iâm starting to think you actually do.â
Guy blushes. Hal shudders. What parallel universe has he stepped into?
The next person to notice, unsurprisingly, is Jâonn.Â
Guy Gardnerâs been pacing the command deck all day, which in itself drew suspicion. Heâs not one to hang around when heâs not on duty or doesnât need something from someone. Itâs especially unlike Guy to be pacing and nervously wringing his hands together like this.
Jâonn observes him with sly sideyes and the occasional telepathic checkup, wondering what on Earth he could possibly be waiting for.
The answer comes when you stumble back into the Watchtower, soaking wet and shivering, Hal Jordan by your side. You shake off the water on your body like a dog, wrinkling your nose.
Jâonn feels it before he sees it. The sudden relief, the dissolving anxiety in the room.
âThat,â Hal mimics your motion, wet hair dangling in his face, âsucked.â
You laugh, âyou think? Iâm freezing.â
The two of you fall into the steady rhythm of smalltalk, discussing the details of your mission while simultaneously dripping water all over the floor. Youâre so caught up in your conversation with Hal that you donât notice Guy sidle up to you until heâs shrugged off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders.
Itâs warm, perfectly comfortable over your wet and cold clothes and best of all, it smells like the cologne he douses himself in every morning. You tug it tighter around yourself and look over your shoulder at the man who gifted it to you.
âGuy?â
âHm?â
âWhatâs this for?â
âSince you said youâre cold and all,â he shrugs, trying to keep it casual. âCanât have you getting sick on me.â
Hal and Jâonn exchange looks. What the hell is going on?
Guy catches himself. âDonât want you shirking your responsibilities, leaving all the world saving to me. I got things to do.â
You see through the facade easily, see it for what it really is. You only smile and thank him, crossing your arms over your chest to thoroughly absorb his warmth.
Guy resists the urge to drape an arm over your shoulders. Hal resists the urge to gag.Â
The third victim of Guy Gardnerâs new attitude is no other than John Stewart, who wasnât even supposed to be here but was instead sentenced to it by the Guardians.
Heâs tired when he arrives at Guyâs house, not willing to deal with the odd ecosystem Guy has created for himself. Still, he forces himself through the door and calls out for Guy, only to trip over his shoes.
Waitânot Guyâs shoes. Someone elseâs.Â
John squints, examining the shoes that almost took him out. Theyâre too clean to be Guyâs, the soles still sporting some white where Guyâs would usually be worn down and dark in colour.Â
He calls out for Guy again, stepping further into his apartment and past the plant heâs somehow growing inside of an old boot. It would be impressive if John wasnât so grossed out by the room around him.
His search of the apartment turns up empty until he comes across the barely open door to Guyâs bedroom, the room behind it enveloped in darkness. Hesitating, John pushes open the door and freezes dead in his tracks when he sees whatâs inside.
He shouldâve known. The apartment was slightly cleaner than usual, there was an extra pair of shoes at the door and Guy wasnât answering and still, here he is. John canât help but stare, slack-jawed at the sight in front of him,
Guy, laid on his side, his thick arms wrapped around your waist. Your waist. John wasnât sure anyone on the planet would be willing to date Guy Gardner, least of all you of all people.Â
He rubs at his eyes and the sight of the two of you remains.Â
Itâs then that Guy props himself up on one arm, shooting daggers towards John. âDâya mind?â
John takes a big step back, shaking his head, still speechless. Guy tosses a construct pillow at him, John dodges.
âIâm justâIâll text you.â
John spins on his heel, leaving the apartment more haunted than when he first arrived.
Youâre walking the street with Guy, swinging your hand in his, that the question finally comes to your mind.
âDo you think people have beenâŚweird around us lately?â
Guy squeezes your hand. âWhy do you think that?â
âJustâŚeverything. I mean, we spend all our time around superheroes. One of them is bound to figure it out at some point.â
Guy pauses, thinking back to the other day with John, and the week before that with Manhunter, and even before that with Hal. He shrugs his broad shoulders.
âNo,â he smiles, âdonât think those dummies are gonna figure it out anytime soon.â
Liar.
dc masterlist | navigation
thanks for reading & have a wonderful week /á > Ë <ă âËâšâĄ
Hi! Can I request fluff with Guy Gardner for neglect week, maybe something pre-relationship with the JLI noticing Guy being a lot softer and less abrasive with reader if that interests you. Love your work !! <3
thank you for requesting something so cute :,) i loved every sec of writing this, i hope you enjoy it!
Summary: the JLI has noticed something...unusual about Guy Gardner as of lately (or, your early relationship as seen through their eyes)
Word Count: 1k
Content/CW -> gn! reader, some awkwardness, mostly wholesome
â requested as part of my neglect week event
froggi yaps -> i am still sick as a dog however i wanted to get at least one fic out today so ;-; take some guy <3 hopefully its coherent...also pls go read tales of the green lantern corps: guy gardner
Something is wrong with Guy Gardner. At least, the League seems to think so.
Maybe heâs been possessed, or replaced with an alien, or maybe a series of ghosts visited him in his sleep and convinced him to be a better man. Whatever the reason is, thereâs only one thing they agree on: itâs weird.
The first person to notice it, unfortunately, is Hal Jordan. Heâs leaving the Watchtower, clocking out from an excruciatingly long patrol shift, when he notices something odd.
Guy Gardner, two cups of coffee in his sweaty palms, psyching himself up in the hallway. Hal blinks, head cocked to the side, wondering what could possibly make Guy Gardner of all people so nervous.
His answer comes in the form of you, settled into a chair with a book in your lap, oblivious to Guyâs arrival until he taps you on the shoulder.
âGuy, hey!â
He smiles, something awkward and strained. He thrusts a hand out to you, âbrought you a coffee.â
You take it, bringing it to your lips and inhaling the sweet aroma. You grin ear to ear, âugh, my favorite. How did you know?â
âYou know me,â he shrugs, an attempt to remain nonchalant. âGuy Gardner knows things.â
You giggle slightly, taking a sip from your coffee. âYou know, Iâm starting to think you actually do.â
Guy blushes. Hal shudders. What parallel universe has he stepped into?
The next person to notice, unsurprisingly, is Jâonn.Â
Guy Gardnerâs been pacing the command deck all day, which in itself drew suspicion. Heâs not one to hang around when heâs not on duty or doesnât need something from someone. Itâs especially unlike Guy to be pacing and nervously wringing his hands together like this.
Jâonn observes him with sly sideyes and the occasional telepathic checkup, wondering what on Earth he could possibly be waiting for.
The answer comes when you stumble back into the Watchtower, soaking wet and shivering, Hal Jordan by your side. You shake off the water on your body like a dog, wrinkling your nose.
Jâonn feels it before he sees it. The sudden relief, the dissolving anxiety in the room.
âThat,â Hal mimics your motion, wet hair dangling in his face, âsucked.â
You laugh, âyou think? Iâm freezing.â
The two of you fall into the steady rhythm of smalltalk, discussing the details of your mission while simultaneously dripping water all over the floor. Youâre so caught up in your conversation with Hal that you donât notice Guy sidle up to you until heâs shrugged off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders.
Itâs warm, perfectly comfortable over your wet and cold clothes and best of all, it smells like the cologne he douses himself in every morning. You tug it tighter around yourself and look over your shoulder at the man who gifted it to you.
âGuy?â
âHm?â
âWhatâs this for?â
âSince you said youâre cold and all,â he shrugs, trying to keep it casual. âCanât have you getting sick on me.â
Hal and Jâonn exchange looks. What the hell is going on?
Guy catches himself. âDonât want you shirking your responsibilities, leaving all the world saving to me. I got things to do.â
You see through the facade easily, see it for what it really is. You only smile and thank him, crossing your arms over your chest to thoroughly absorb his warmth.
Guy resists the urge to drape an arm over your shoulders. Hal resists the urge to gag.Â
The third victim of Guy Gardnerâs new attitude is no other than John Stewart, who wasnât even supposed to be here but was instead sentenced to it by the Guardians.
Heâs tired when he arrives at Guyâs house, not willing to deal with the odd ecosystem Guy has created for himself. Still, he forces himself through the door and calls out for Guy, only to trip over his shoes.
Waitânot Guyâs shoes. Someone elseâs.Â
John squints, examining the shoes that almost took him out. Theyâre too clean to be Guyâs, the soles still sporting some white where Guyâs would usually be worn down and dark in colour.Â
He calls out for Guy again, stepping further into his apartment and past the plant heâs somehow growing inside of an old boot. It would be impressive if John wasnât so grossed out by the room around him.
His search of the apartment turns up empty until he comes across the barely open door to Guyâs bedroom, the room behind it enveloped in darkness. Hesitating, John pushes open the door and freezes dead in his tracks when he sees whatâs inside.
He shouldâve known. The apartment was slightly cleaner than usual, there was an extra pair of shoes at the door and Guy wasnât answering and still, here he is. John canât help but stare, slack-jawed at the sight in front of him,
Guy, laid on his side, his thick arms wrapped around your waist. Your waist. John wasnât sure anyone on the planet would be willing to date Guy Gardner, least of all you of all people.Â
He rubs at his eyes and the sight of the two of you remains.Â
Itâs then that Guy props himself up on one arm, shooting daggers towards John. âDâya mind?â
John takes a big step back, shaking his head, still speechless. Guy tosses a construct pillow at him, John dodges.
âIâm justâIâll text you.â
John spins on his heel, leaving the apartment more haunted than when he first arrived.
Youâre walking the street with Guy, swinging your hand in his, that the question finally comes to your mind.
âDo you think people have beenâŚweird around us lately?â
Guy squeezes your hand. âWhy do you think that?â
âJustâŚeverything. I mean, we spend all our time around superheroes. One of them is bound to figure it out at some point.â
Guy pauses, thinking back to the other day with John, and the week before that with Manhunter, and even before that with Hal. He shrugs his broad shoulders.
âNo,â he smiles, âdonât think those dummies are gonna figure it out anytime soon.â
Liar.
dc masterlist | navigation
thanks for reading & have a wonderful week /á > Ë <ă âËâšâĄ
currently watching : succession season 4 finale (again lol)
current obsession : sakura haruno (all day every day)
currently reading : a dialogue â nikki giovanni and james baldwin (1973)
currently working on : with love, birdy (tim drake) + the summer i met the graysons (mark grayson x reader x dick grayson) + unnamed barbara gordon phone sex fic
last internet search : catfishing : the wikipedia guessing game (i take this very seriously btw)
Comments and reblogs are welcome and encouraged <3 Do not copy, repost, plagiarize, translate or feed any of my work into ai / Š gothamorphosis 2026 all rights reserved
Backstage was not the same without you; the whole staff felt it, even if Zatanna made it very clear that your name wasnât allowed on their mouths anymore. âItâs a personal matter, and a personal matter shall not get in our way,â she stated after the breakup, an iron grip on her words while she dismissed the worried looks her crew gave her. âThe show must go on.â
She gripped the edge of the polaroid, the picture of her life â your smile, so bright, and all because of her. When did it slip off her fingers? Maybe when the first spell left her lips, mending old fights and piecing together what carelessness pulled apart. A soft-spoken âerâew enif, evol,â in the middle of the storm, and suddenly reality bent to obey her very words.
âEmoc kcab emoh.â
âEvigrof em.â
âI love you. Uoy evol em oot.â
It was so much easier that way â selecting only what was pleasing to the heart and pushing everything else away.
Until you found out, at least; then, everything became a mess. You yelled at her, your voice rising like thunder in the storm, and Zatanna's foundations trembled at the fear in your eyes; how much had she changed in you with a simple command from her lips? You could not find any answers in your memories â too treacherous, gaps blended into false certainties and everything was dubious.
So you flew. Before she could explain anything. Faster than she could mutter a new beginning.
âZatanna? You have five minutes before you go on stage!â Her staff called from the corridor, the noise of the audience reaching her dressing room in the distance. Pulling a pen from the hat thrown on the dressing table, she traced destiny once more â a final patch and, God help her, everything would be alright again.
âForgive me, my love,â she whispered to herself, sliding the pen across the back of the photo.
Llâehs tegrof tuoba em.
When Zatanna saw you in the audience that night, she smiled at you just like she had when you first met.
Š sozzoe. do not copy, post as yours, translate, or use my work for any AI purposes.
masterlist || based on this request || 1k event :3
The safehouse was quiet except for the soft hum of the city far below and the steady rhythm of Wallyâs breathing against your neck.
You were both still in your suits â yours the sleek black and gold armor, his the bright red and yellow Flash suit, both scuffed and torn from the nightâs chaos. A rogue meta-human had caused havoc in the Narrows, and youâd jumped in to help without thinking. Wally had been right behind you, as always â the fastest man alive, but never too fast to leave you behind.
Now, the adrenaline was crashing.
Wally had you pinned gently against the wall, not with force but with need. His hands slid under the edge of your armor, palms warm against your bare skin as he kissed you slow and deep, like he was still reassuring himself you were okay.
âYou scared me tonight,â he murmured against your lips, voice husky. âJumping in front of that energy blast like that. I know youâre tough, but⌠fuck, I hate seeing you hurt.â
You smiled into the kiss, fingers threading through his messy red hair. âIâm fine. Just a few bruises. And you were right there to catch me. Like always.â
He groaned softly, pressing closer, hips rolling against yours in a slow, suggestive grind. The friction made your breath hitch. His hands roamed higher under your armor, tracing the curve of your waist, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts through the thin undersuit.
âYou feel so good,â he whispered, nipping at your bottom lip. âAll mine. Even when youâre reckless.â
You shivered, arching into him. The safehouse felt smaller, warmer, the world outside fading as Wally kissed down your neck, sucking lightly at the sensitive spot just below your ear. His hands stayed respectful but possessive, sliding over your hips, pulling you flush against him so you could feel how much he wanted you.
âWallyâŚâ you breathed, tilting your head to give him better access.
He hummed against your skin, the vibration sending sparks down your spine. âJust a little more. Need to feel you. Need to know youâre really okay.â
You were about to pull him closer when the comms crackled.
âBatgirl? You copy? Iâm in the area â saw the explosion. You good? Iâm close to the safe house.â
Dickâs voice. Your older brother. Of course heâd check in.
You froze. Wally pulled back, eyes wide with panic and amusement.
âShit,â he whispered. âHide me.â
You shoved him toward the small closet in the corner, heart racing. âIn there. Donât make a sound.â
He grinned, ducking inside just as a knock sounded on the safehouse door.
You smoothed your hair, adjusted your armor, and opened it.
Dick stood there in his Nightwing suit, looking concerned. âHey. You okay? Looked like a rough one.â
You forced a smile, leaning against the doorframe to block his view. âIâm fine. Just a few bruises. Wally helped me out. Heâs⌠already gone.â
Dick raised an eyebrow, glancing past you into the room. âYou sure? I can stay if you need backup.â
âIâm good,â you said quickly, maybe a little too quickly. âReally. Go home. Rest. Iâll debrief with Bruce tomorrow.â
He studied you for a second, then smirked. âAlright. But if you need anything, call. And tell Wally I said thanks for having your back.â
You nodded, cheeks warm. âWill do.â
The second the door closed, Wally tumbled out of the closet, laughing softly as he pulled you back into his arms.
âThat was close,â he murmured, kissing your temple. âYour brother almost caught us. Again.â
You laughed, melting into him. âYouâre terrible at hiding.â
âOnly because I canât keep my hands off you.â His hands slid back under your armour, warm and teasing, tracing the curve of your waist. âNow⌠where were we?â
You kissed him again â slow, deep, full of relief and want. His hands roamed, gentle but hungry, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. The nightâs adrenaline mixed with the comfort of being safe in his arms, turning into something warmer. Softer.
Wally pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark but tender. âI love you,â he whispered. âEven when you scare the hell out of me on patrol. Even when your brothers almost catch us. Especially then.â
You smiled, kissing the corner of his mouth. âI love you too. My fast, reckless, perfect boyfriend.â
He grinned, lifting you effortlessly and carrying you to the small cot in the corner. He laid you down gently, hovering over you, hands stroking your sides as he kissed you again â slower this time, savoring.
The safehouse felt like the only place in the world that mattered.
And in Wally Westâs arms, with his heartbeat racing against yours and his lips soft on your skin, the chaos of Gotham felt a little farther away.
a/n : first fic in a while soz, Iâm working on a lot of requests :3
Summary: It had been six months since the encounter with your prince and now your countries were at war with each other. However, both of you remained seeing each other in secret, stealing seconds in the dark. What happens on one of those nights when he comes to see you and the universe has finally had enough of you secret when morning comes. (Part 2 of The Prophecy of the Stars)
Pairing: Prince!Tim x Assassin!Reader
Word Count: 8.3k
Content Warning: Regency AU, forbidden love, ANGST, suggestive content, dual pov, for the purpose of this fic all the bat boys are Bruceâs bio sons, mentions of blood and sword violence, no use of y/n, second person, fem!reader some characters may be ooc
A/N: Itâs a little late but sheâs here!!! Please go into this with an open mind and a reminder that there is still one more part
The war commenced shortly back after your arrival to the kingdom.
Your return to the castle took a little under two days as you unfortunately traveled the whole way  by foot. The failure of returning with Damian seemed to be the final straw for Raâs and he sent assassins to begin with the invasion of Gotham.
It was a disaster.
Six months had passed in a blink. Gallons of blood stained the previously green meadows, invasions were planned on the daily, and troops were constantly being deployed.
It was a hell of your own making.
Raâs assigned you to the head of your division.
Your current assignment was at a camp on the outskirts of Arkham.
The raid was to commence at dawn.
He wanted to send a message. The town would burn at the spark of daylight and they were to do nothing but watch. Watch as the failure of their kingdom burned to the ground.
It was all entirely unnecessary. Raâs had been known for his flair of dramatics, he lived for the satisfaction of porving his power. He could get drunk of his demonstrations that spawned in response of underestimating the emperor.
The historical sighting was symbolic after all. It was where the Kingâs mother was born. She was a noble, born as the daughter of the Duke. There was a statute of the lady in the middle of town.
That was the last target.
It was timed perfectly. When the first of the troops arrived, they would watch the village disintegrate and see the statue crumble along with their last hopes. Â
You had rehashed the plan for the seventh time today. It couldnât fall short. There was no room for failure here.
Youâd suffered enough last time.
The scars at the base of your back burn as a reminder.
â-understood?â
Your voice rings in the small circle. The team you were assigned spares you all small nods and huffs of agreement. They were exhausted. You all had been preparing since half past ten this morning, setting everything up. The moon was high in the sky now and they were sure to be dead on their feet.
âOkay, go on to your tents and rest up. We meet back in 5 hours.â
They donât wait another second before disbanding, exhaustion paving the way to each of their beds. You were all highly trained, but fatigue didnât discriminate. It was evident in their stances. The way they were hunched over, how their eyelids sunk.
The circumstances of the camp were inhumane. It was only supposed to be two nights.
It turned into two weeks.
Raâs had another battle planned before Arkham in order to divide the Gothamâs armies. Preparation of that one took priority and postponed your return.
Once they have all retired, you throw the bucket of water on the fire youâd all been gathered around. The smoke curls in to the stars and youâre transported into another life for a moment. Itâs barely a second but the Perseus constellation glimmered a little brighter and your lip twitches.
The world could be falling apart but when the sun fell and the stars came out it was a breath of fresh air. Because somewhere in the kingdom you swore to burn, thereâs a man whoâs looking at the same stars thinking of you.
As the last of the smoke dissipates, you stalk off north. Your tent had been at the head of the others. The gravel under your heels was almost comforting at this point. In the tracks of dirt, you could find the remnants of the footprints from every night you walked back to the tent.
It was a small ugly thing. you were granted the luxury of a solo tent, but not a regal one. Those were reserved for the armies. These had to be small and ready to pack at the earliest convenience for your group. They also had to be something that wouldnât be missed at the possibility of abandoning it.
At your approach your thumbs tease the flaps of the tent. Right before pulling them back, your stomach drops. You could hear the quiet shuffling of someone in your tent. Stepping back you freeze for a moment.
One of these days luck was going to be on your side.
Rounding to the back, you take your fatherâs knife from your boots. You hadnât sharpened it in the past few days but it was going to have to do. Approaching the back entrance you usually kept sealed, you could see that someone had slipped into it.
They were most likely waiting for you to enter through the front, which meant you were going to have to act fast.
In one fell swoop, you push past the slits of fabric and see the blur of a man before heâs pushed onto your sleeping bag. A knife at the base of his throat.
As your bodies thump to the floor, a scent of familiarity hits your senses.
Then in the dim light of a candle you definitely did not light, your heart drops to where your stomach just did.
Timothy Drake was in your tent wearing the smirk of a man who was exactly where he wanted to be.
âOh my darling,â he breathes out from under you, a smirk pulling at his lips. âHow Iâve missed you.â
âWhat are you doing here?â The dull steel is still pressed to his throat, as shock shakes through your limbs.
âI had to see you.â
At that, the knife falls from your grasp. It doesnât cut him, but it falls dangerously close to his ear. In the wake of the anxiety and adrenaline coursing through your veins, your eyes shut and you fall against him.
Itâs in that moment when your head falls to his chest, you realize how compromising this position is. Your legs were straddling his hips and sweat was about to coat your neck from the heat his body radiated. As if it wasnât intimate enough, one of his hand falls to your hips and the other finds itsâ way to your hair.
You shouldnât relax, not really, but it was heavenly to be off for a brief flicker of time. Youâve been functioning at 115% for gods know how long. You couldnât remember the last time youâd slept more than four hours.
âYou shouldnât be here.â You mumble aimlessly against the cotton of his tunic.
A small moan escapes you when his hands brush through your hair. The other one travels up your back to meet its pair at the base of your neck. His fingers start pressing into your shoulder blades giving you a small massage that has you on the verge of ascending. Â
Youâre positive you can hear the grin in his voice when he hums an, âI know.â
The vibrations from his chest ground you the moment. Proof that heâs really here, and the adrenaline spikes again as you freeze in place. He feels it and pauses for what couldnât have been more than a second before he attempts to resume.
Pushing off him, with a pathetic effort at masking the fact your arms are like jelly, you hover over him. âI mean it Tim, you shouldnât be here. Itâs dangerous.â
And all he does is look at you like a lovesick puppy.
Your eyes are stone, gazing into the glimmering blue that youâve spent years longing for. In a part of your heart you would never let see the light of day, you were happy he was here. Giddy almost that he went against everything to come see you, but that thought frightened you more. You couldnât let him bear witness to it because it would only feed into this habit of his, and you had to break it. Even if it killed you.
âTim, Iâm being serious.â
Thereâs a small hum he allows, indicating that heâs listening somewhere in the back of his head. However his hands prove otherwise. One finds its way to your face, tracing the lines of your lips, the arch of your nose, and you feel the frustration starting to slip away.
âTimoth-â
And then he kisses you.
You couldâve been told that you were being born again and you wouldâve believed it. This is what is mustâve felt like to be a phoenix rising from the ashes. Itâs all consuming and enrapturing in the way he took your bottom lip between his. He was hungry and you were a woman starved. The fight in you died when he gasped your shared air. His hands roamed from your hair to your hips again, holding you impossibly close after a lifetime spent apart.
In one quick motion heâs flipped you on your back and your legs wrap around his waist keeping him against you. Heat starts to pool in the base of your stomach and you can feel his arousal on your thigh. His lips are yet to leave yours and he slips his tongue into your mouth with a groan. Your fingers pull at the collar of his shirt and his lips are swollen as they mold against yours.
Youâre not entirely sure how long you stay like this with him. But when he does inevitably pull away from you, heâs flushed down to his chest. His chest rises and falls from above you, taking in a breath of shared air.
Itâs nights like these youâre unsure how you survived the separation the first time. Timothy Drake-Wayne was the most addicting man youâve ever met. Sharing air with him was the biggest blessing the stars ever granted you.
Another smile pulls at his lips and heâs kissing you again, more languid this time. He tastes like raspberries and mint.
âI missed you,â he humbles against you.
âAs did I, my prince.â
Your eyes are still shut as he continues stealing kisses from your lips, but you feel the scrunch of his nose against yours. Another kiss. âYou know I hate it when you call me that.â
âYes, and you know how I hate when you go against my orders.â
He groans and drops his body weight against you. He really shouldâve known better if thought that he was going to get out of this with a few kisses.
âI knew it was foolish to expect youâd just be happy to see me.â
You scoff at his teasing, giving him a careful smack upside the head. His grin against your collarbone lights a fire in you before he drops another kiss.
âYou know I always want to see you,â your hand remains on his head as it lands in his hair. Your fingers are carding through it and he moans against you. Then pulling at it, he attempts resistance and drops another kiss. Thatâs when you give it a harsher yank and he finally props himself up on his arms to look at you again. âBut, I also have to think about reality since you seem so keen on ignoring it.â
âIâm not ignoring realityâ he deadpans as his lips press into a thin line while raising an eyebrow. âIâm just not allowing it to dictate how I live my life.â
Then, he drops a gentle kiss to your forehead and you canât help but notice how physical heâs being.
âYou and I,â he begins while staring delicately into your eyes. He keeps switching between the two and youâre swimming in the blue of his. âWeâve spent so long hidden in the shadows of our world, loving each other in the palace of secrets. Just for once, I want to have what is mine and not let the world decide for me. Just for tonight, allow me that luxury.â
His words render you speechless. His eyes are pleading with the kind of agony that only you understand.
âWhen did you get so poetic?â
âWhen you told me you loved me.â He answers without missing a beat.
And with that, you push off the mat and meet his lips again.
Most of the night passes like that, with you in his arms and kissing him senseless. It was a small reprieve that the universe seemed to allow you, a tiny escape from the duties that will haunt you once morning comes.
His arms are snaked around your waist, his body warming you in the cold of the night. His lips are on your ear landing another kiss to you skin.
âIâll be gone when you wake.â
âI know.â
You feel him swallow against you, the despair that weighs on his body form having to leave.
âBe safe, please.â
Your eyes were still shut when your lips twitch up. âAlways my prince.â
He scoffs at your phrase but seals your promise with his lips against your temple before settling next to you. Then as a much deserved act of peace, your finally lulled under by the presence of the prince you were irrevocably in love with.
When you wake to the careful breeze that dances around the forest before dawn, you notice the absence of body heat before anything else. You knew heâd have to leave shortly after slumber meets you, but it never made it easier.
Maybe you were foolish for thinking this could work, that you could love each other on opposite sides of a war.
The careful shuffle of dirt outside tips you off that others were starting their day. Today was the raid after all. Taking in the last ounce of peace youâll have for who knows how long, you roll off the floor. Pushing to your feet, your eyes are caught by a note tied with a periwinkle ribbon.
Of course he was still holding onto the damned thing.
The ribbon was one that was modeled into you in your youth. It was a staple of your wardrobe back in the kingdom. When you fled with half a decade ago, it flew off your hair and landed somewhere in the field.
By some miracle Tim found, lord knows how he managed it, but he held onto it. He held onto it for the four years you were without each other, doubting you would ever cross paths again.
The note has his neat letters scribbled onto it, a small declaration just for you. His promise of a life spent loving you immortalized on the back of a crumbling sheet of paper.
It was impossible not to smile when it came to him. Everything that surrounded Timothy Drake- Wayne was what you imagined a drop of sunlight would be like. Maybe love does make people weak. But if that was the cost of a life with him, youâd lose every battle if it meant coming home to him at nightfall.
Folding the paper into itself, you stuff it inside your shirt. Your fingers twirl the small ribbon in between each other. Itâs frayed at the edges and the color has dulled significantly since you last wore it. As a token to your prince, you wrap it around your hair, holding it in place away from your face.
The slits of the tent act as a doorway back to reality. Here in this tent, Tim gave you the escape from your world for a few hours. He gave you a gift that was worth more than any amount of gold and silver could buy. A vacation from the responsibilities that weighed on both of you.
Steeling past the memories of your lover, you push past the fabric and feel the early morning air blow against your face. The weather seemed to understand what today was going to bring and decided to set the scene.
Fires are already lit for breakfast and at the opposite end the camp, you see a tent that wasnât there when you retired a few hours ago. It was a deep maroon and grand enough to fit your whole squad. If the gold detailing embedded with the seal of the Al Ghulâs didnât give it away, the royal guard posted out front did.
Your legs are rooted to the floor. The grass under your soles wasnât as lively as it was yesterday. The past few mornings, it was green and swaying with the wind. However on this morning, it dimmed to a light brown and crunched under your boots.
One look at the guard posted out front had your dinner threatening to evacuate from your mouth. Holding eye contact with you, he nodded his head to the entrance of the emperorâs tent.
This would be fun.
On any other morning or any other mission, you wouldnât have thought twice about it. Raâs checked in on squads sometimes. It was a more common occurrence for him to send other higher ranked generals, but it was not unheard of for him to make an appearance.
Yet, with the audience you took last night, your stomach curled in dread.
Nodding at the guard, your posture did not change. Your back was still straight and your legs carried you across the line of tents with purpose. You belonged here. You were one of the most trusted assassins of Raâs Al Ghul. You had trained to the point of almost losing your humanity. This was nothing more than a routine visit.
Pushing past the deep colored canvas, your met with none other than the emperor himself. The tent was bordering on empty with nothing but a handful of tables and chairs. That was to be expected though, the raid was to commence within two hours and you knew Raâs would not stay for the aftermath. He would watch the world burn and retreat as the ash settled behind him.
At the first fall of your foot, the inhabitants of the tent lock eyes on you. Raâs of course was standing at the head, regal as ever. There was no throne, no accessories, no robes that indicated he was emperor, but it was obvious in the way he held himself that power emulated from him. To his right, Talia was a few steps behind him. Today she shed the traditional royal garb she was rarely seen without. Her outfit consisted of a black tunic and trousers that clung to her curves as a mystifying distraction. It was times like these you understand the former king more and more. She was breathtaking.
Then the last member in the tent came as a shock to you. The dark hair braided down to her midback calmed your nerves a tad. While she didnât turn to see you, you knew without a doubt that it was Dahlia.
Although she hadnât been assigned to you for this particular raid, you still worked together fairly often. Seeing her here came with a bit of surprise. She was, for lack of proper terms, something similar to your right hand. When she had not been assigned to this mission, you didnât think much of it, it was supposed to be less than seventy-two hours after all. But now, your curiosity peaked.
Your steps echo off the dirt in the constrained expanse of the tent. Standing parallel to Dahlia, you drop to one knee and bow your head.
âWelcome to camp your highness.â
Thankfully, your voice doesnât convey the anxiety thatâs about to bubble out of your throat.
âRise.â Is his only response.
Pushing to your feet again, your arms cross behind your back. His gaze is unwavering as the green of his eyes dissect every part of you. Youâre sure if he stared a few minutes longer heâd be able to see the memories from last night you tried to bury. However, the expression schooled on your face was void of emotion. Youâd done this more times than you could count.
âRelay the specifics of the raid to the girl.â
And for the first time in the eyeline of the emperor, your face betrays you. Never once had you outwardly reacted to an order of his. Never had you entertained the idea of giving him an expression to exploit you with. But in this moment, your eyebrows rise and you pause.
With the subtle twitch of his lip you trained yourself to never miss, you know youâre screwed.
âYes sir,â your chin drops with subtle nod.
While explaining the specifics to Dahlia, your eyes never leave his. For years, you carved everyone has subtle micro expressions to your brain, the small giveaways that convey his true feelings. Most days, they saved you. Today however, it had doom crawling from the leather of your boots.
Once you finish explaining the plan, you sense bile at the bottom of your throat. You tried not to think about how the trees surrounding the village will be lit first, to ensure the villagers donât make it out. This plan was as cruel as it was effective, and you knew youâd be maimed for it once the war was over. The first trees line the outskirts of the forest were dead, making for them to be an easy target as they would spread easier.
There was a small secret you didnât share with the emperor. A small grace to save your humanity. Â
In the town of Arkham, itâs known that there is an underground. A tunnel that allows an escape to a few villages over. The entrance lays in the center of the town where the statue of the former Queen stands.
Talia knew this fact as well as you did. It was one of the secrets trusted to those who roamed the castle. The King enjoyed visiting his motherâs village often, which meant for sure she had seen the underground with her own two eyes. Theyâd created it in case an attempt on their lives was ever made in the town.
However, when the plans rose, you never mentioned it. And neither did she. A small mercy from both of you. While Gotham is no longer your home, it is home to the men that hold your hearts. It was then you saw that you and her were two sides of the same coin.
She loved her ex-husband as you loved your prince.
Yet, loyalty remained your downfall.
In your periphery, right behind him, you see her eyes on you. Theyâre hard and unwavering, then thereâs her jaw. Itâs clenched in a way that to any of the other assassins or subjects, would look neutral. However, spending years as her ladyâs maid and under her mentorship, you knew better. She was distraught. It was in the subtle dimple on her chin from the frown she tried to hide.
It unnerved to not be able to place why.
There was something more here that hadnât been revealed yet. The hand hadnât been shown and this wicked game of cards was getting less entertaining by the second.
Finishing your explanation, your eyes remain on the Demonâs Head. He hasnât spared you the mercy of another twitch of his lips. It was horrific how unpredictable he was. Only proving that point, your rendered speechless when he turns to Dahlia.
âDo you understand the plan?â
âYes.â She answers instantly. Thereâs a quiver in her voice she gave a valiant effort to hide by being addressed by the emperor. But you didnât miss it, it would be a disgrace if you trained her for years and didnât recognize it. Â
âGood. You will lead it.â
Silence.
Nobody moves, no voice rings, no hair is out of place as confusion warps both of you. Thereâs just the subtle slaps of feet outside the tent with the last of the preparations and packing for the day.
Then after a beat too long, she dips her chin. âYes, emperor.â
His lips press together and he nods at her. âYou are dismissed. Go and prepare, you have a long day ahead of you.â
That springs her into action and she drops to one knee before rushing out the tent. She heard what he didnât say. You both did.
Donâtâ let me down.
Getting an assignment from the emperor was as exciting as it was petrifying. A chance to prove yourself with the gut-wrenching fear that it may go south. Because when these missions failed, you didnât answer to a soldier or a general, no you answered to Raâs Al Ghul himself.
And there was nothing worse than that fate.
When the flaps swish to a close with her exit, you remain in your position. Unmoving, you hold his gaze. This is what you imagine staring death in the face must have felt like. Youâd done it countless times, every assassin had- but fear had never been in that mix before. Now it is.
This wasnât a routine visit. Deep down you knew it from the moment the air of the tent brushed your skin.
It was an ambush.
Heâs the first to move. He holds his palm out behind him to where Talia is standing dutifully. She drops something into his palm that you canât see. Your throat is cold and you can feel your heart beating behind your eyes.
Then, in one rapid movement, his fingers uncurl when he stretches his arm out to you.
In his right palm lies the Wayne Family signet ring.
The ring that Tim gave you six months ago as a promise.
All your training from the league has led up to this moment. Your thankful for it because the only reaction that you give is the uncontrollable color draining from your face. Youâre positive that your lips have gone blue, but your features remains impassive.
âItâs interesting,â he begins, and your pride and strive for survival begin to battle in between your ears. âOne of the maids was cleaning your room yesterday. While she was sweeping the floor, the rag got caught on a loose floorboard.â
You feel your breath threatening to come out uneven but you donât let it. Controlling it, your chest stutters. This moment was going to be one of the most challenging things you were going to face today.
âAnd you are well aware, as am I, that my fortress does not have loose floorboards. Then, to my surprise,â he starts taking steps in your direction and your chin angles up to look at him in the eye. If this is death, you will not face it with fear. Your honor has been bred and nurtured too long to perish in vain.
âWhen she looks it she finds something, and I am approached with a ring. And not just any ring, no, a signet ring. The Wayneâs signet ring.â The name spills like poison off his tongue. âNow, I was aware that you had some level of involvement with someone over the border, someone of high rank.â
Your features are stone as you fight a faint. Nerves were sparking through your limbs and you couldnât blink. Yet, you would stick it out to the end.
âBut a prince? Oh not even in my wildest dreams did I imagine you would betray your land in such a way.â Now you understand Taliaâs distraught.
âI had hoped that you would come to me eventually. That you would approach me with a plan to infiltrate the castle, that I had not misplaced my trust in you. So I waited, I held my breath with every audience of yours to reveal the secret you thought you kept.â
âBut now I see, that the fool,â he pauses and his finger rests right under your chin, before the rest of them grip your jaw. âWas I.â
He whispers the words, but they may as well have been screamed. A bomb couldâve gone off and you wouldnât have known the difference.
âThis ring,â he holds it up right above the bridge of your nose. Your eyes cross and you canât quite focus on it. The world begins to spin beyond him. âWhat does it mean?â
His fingers are still digging into your jaw. The words wonât come out and he only grips harder.
âWhat does it mean?â He speaks louder now. You both know what it means. Despite his claim, heâs no fool.
âBetrothment.â
The words are a whispered shot. To the forehead or heart? You donât have the luxury of knowing. You just know thereâs not one atom of your body that doesnât feel defeat and pain lingering in it.
His face contorts with the confirmation of his suspicions. Letting go of you face, you donât move. Not a muscle. He wants weakness and he wants begging.
And you wonât give it to him.
He knows that.
Itâs why he chose you for your role. Youâve never begged for mercy. Never begged for an apology. To his knowledge, youâve never begged in your life. Not when your parents died. Not when you were going to be separated from them. Never. In reality though, youâve done it once.
You did it in the face of the man that youâll die for.
A smile creeps onto his face, and itâs not one youâd long to be on the receiving end of. No, itâs one that has venom in his eyes and malice in his lips.
âWell then, the solution is simple.â he turns to Talia for a moment. Youâd forgotten she was there. Stealing a glance at her, your heart finally shatters after the cracks splintering it. Sheâs wrecked. Obviously not outwardly, but you can tell. Her shoulders are slouched, her eyes arenât hard, and her hands are loose at her side. Maybe itâs the candle playing tricks on you, but you swore her pupils are glossed with something that may be a tear.
âWeâll kill you.â
Your eyes shut in resignation and a sigh is exhaled through your nose. The second display of emotion youâve allowed him. If it was any other circumstance you would be admonishing yourself over it. But this is it. So, thereâs not much shame to be spared now.
âUnderstood.â Is your response. If he wants the satisfaction of a scene that heâs going to kill you, he wonât get it. You knew the risks of loving your prince. You knew the possibilities. Now itâs time to face the music.
Your life. Your love. Your consequence.
He hums while turning around, facing you again. Even with the betrayal, he manages some respect for you. Youâve always taken his judgement in grace. Â
He outstretches his hand out to Talia again, palm wide and expectant. You werenât sure what to expect. A dagger? A sword? An arrow? So when her hand sinks into the pocket on her belt and pulls out a flask, you almost cry.
They were going to poison you.
You shouldnât have expected anything else. A part of you hoped it would be swift and painless, a beheading would be mercy. Yet that was too big of an ask. Not even in the respect of the years you swore your life and duty to him, would he grant you such charity.
They were going to make this long and drawn out.
As he steps toward you again, youâre surprisingly calm. It was odd, you always thought youâd be anxious in death. That when your luck finally ran out, your heart would attempt to break out of the cage of your ribs and run. In spire of that belief, your mind is quiet. Your breathing is controlled and youâre last thoughts are of Tim.
Of his luscious hair, of the beauty mark on his temple, of the smile he shied away from.
As Raâs approaches you, you donât hear the words heâs saying. You hear the sound of Timâs breathing in your ear from the night before. You hear the quiet promise of âI love you,â that he repeated like a mantra.
And when the man you obeyed without question unscrews the bottle, you hold your breath. He holds the rim right under your nose and one waft turns your vision to black with Timâs promise repeating in your ear.
A cold splash of water is what brings you to consciousness again.
Your eyes flutter open and dawn creeping above the trees is the only indication that time has passed.
The next thing your eyes land on is the village in front of you.
Arkham.
The rest of your senses seem to catch up and your hands are met with resistance. Your wrists are tied together and pinned above you. Thereâs another rope at your waist and one for each ankle. The bark stabbing you in the back is the last piece needed to paint the scene.
They were going to burn you alive.
âMy original idea,â a voice hums from your left. Raâs drops the bucket to the side. Water is dripping down your forehead into your eyes. Blinking it away isnât working, leading to you shutting your eyes to numb the uncomfortable sting.
âWas to exploit you. Imagine it, just for a second. Picture the three of us arriving at the castle. The look on the Kingâs face as itâs revealed that third of his sons is involved with my highest ranking assassin.â
âItâs not him.â You spit out, water still trickling down your face.
How could he know which one it was? He didnât say Timâs name back in the tent, heâs guessing. One of your limited virtues was that you were never a liar, but for Tim⌠you would do anything to protect him. You had to make sure that he doesnât get caught, that this doesnât tie back to him. If it does, heâll be hung or killed for treason.
Your head hangs and itâs angled to the floor. Your eyelids are still pressed together when you hear him stalk toward you. âDonât lie to me girl, it wonât do you any good now.â
He grips your jaw again and pushed your head into the tree. With the other hand, he uses his pointer and middle finger to pry your eyes open. Meeting his gaze, spite is dripping from his pupils like water is dripping from yours.
âDo you think of me so naĂŻve to not have ruled out which beloved prince was yours? It is that Drake boy, and it would serve you well to not do him the injustice of denying him in death.â
Thereâs nothing left for you to say now. Heâs right. You shouldnât deny him, not if he knows.
âI do hope you are aware that I considered it. I considered giving you the gift of seeing him one more time, to truly throw it in the Kingâs face when his sonâs eyes light with recognition. But death,â he pauses, pondering for a moment. âIt is a much sweeter vengeance.â
âAnd now,â he turns away from you to watch the first tree opposite of you catch fire. âYou will feel every spark of fire burn through your skin, your veins, and your organs for the sheer audacity of betraying your people.â
With that, he leaves. He spares you no more attention and departs the scene.
Your head falls back against the wood. The embers ahead of you fly into the sky as they spread to the surrounding trees. Itâs only a matter of time before they reach you.
Itâs almost beautiful. The sun rising with the fire. If it wasnât so cruel, youâd be enamored. It was the rise of a new day in hell.
The crunching of leaves sounds somewhere to your right, even so you canât bring yourself to look. If Raâs was going to have another monologue, he would have to pry your eyes open again. You didnât want him to be the last thing you see on this earthly plane.
It isnât until they stop directly in front of you and a soft palm caresses your cheek that you decide to open your eyes. Taliaâs blocking your view of the end of the world. A small grace that Raâs would surely berate her for later.
âIt seems as though my biggest curse,â her eyes are tearing up for sure now. Even past the sting of yours, you can see the way hers are glossy with unshed remorse. âIs to not be able to protect my children.â
Her fingers wipe your eyes at an attempt of comfort. Thereâs a sad smile she gives you before dropping a kiss to your hairline.
âI hope you can keep yours.â She whispers, and confusion settles into your bones. Then, itâs suddenly clear as her other hand reaches to your left. Onto your ring finger, a cold metal band is slipped onto it.
The godforsaken ring.
You never realized that she didnât keep hers. You assumed she just wouldnât wear it because she was no longer with the King. It never occurred to you that she may have had it taken from her.
Right before she departs, both her hands cup at your cheeks.
âI am proud of what you became.â Her voice is so earnest that this, this is what finally pushes you to cry. âEven now, with everything thatâs come to light. I am proud of my darling.â
Her hands fall from your face and you hate how cold it suddenly gets. Itâs selfish, but you wish she could stay here with you. Itâs been so long since you were on the receiving end of comforting words from a mother, you felt impossibly small again.
There was no fear in dying, but there was fear of never knowing this type of domesticity again. If she sat here and talked you through it all, maybe death wouldnât be so bad.
âBe safe please.â Are her parting words.
That left you more dazed than before. And then, as if an angel descended from the sky, she retrieves your fatherâs dagger from her belt. They must have disarmed you when they knocked you out.
Tim had been attending his princely duties all day.
Heâd begrudgingly left your tent at what he guesses was half past three in the morning. The ride on horseback did him no favors. His back ached from the bumpy trails that lined the outskirts of the kingdom. Riding from the castle to Arkham was usually a full days trip and heâd done it twice in one night. Robin, his trusty steed, was not amused with the excursion. She was now retired to her stable with many apples as a treat for her work.
This has been Robinâs third time taking him to visit you.
He longed to see you for longer than a few hours, to hold you every night and kiss you every morning. That just wasnât in the cards for you yet.
When he snuck back into his room, he hadnât even had the chance to get under the covers before the faithful knock on the spruce door started his day.
Dusk was creeping into the sky now and he was going on hour thirty seven with no sleep. He finally finished his studies for the night, his father asked him to read up on the history of relationships with countries to the west. The alliances were a mess recently, and he wasnât exactly sure how to aid in their reparations.
He was on his third black tea of the session and needed a break. With a quiet thump, the absurdly thick book he was reading shuts.
Timâs hand rubs at the spot where his neck meets his shoulder and falls back. Turning his face to the side, he sees the window from all those years ago. Heâs half convinced you were carved in every wall in this castle. He still remembers how warm you were when he wrapped himself around you, staring at the stars casting them to memory.
He studied at the same desk every time, in the same chair you always used to. Every aspect of his life was a quiet dedication to you.
Peering through the window, he watches the same constellations glimmer in the sky that shone from that night. After a moment or two of letting nostalgia flood his veins, he finds the nerve to stand. He would most likely return to this spot after dinner, so he leaves the notes carefully organized on the table.
Weaving through the shelves of the library, heâs met with a cold draft as the double doors push open. The candle of the library kept his face warm through the session he hadnât realized how chilly the castle had actually gotten. The last colors in the sky were dimming to the inevitable grey that took over every night. As the moon rose in the sky, he realized it was a crescent shape tonight, emitting little light.
The padding of his shoes echoed off the stone walls in the corridor. Tim barely turned the second corner, one hallway away from the dining hall, when a large hand wraps around his bicep.
Startled, his body whips around, not to his own accord however. Bumping into the large figure. heâs met with the scarred face of his older brother.
Jason.
His eyes were set in a way that was bordering haunted. He had his shoulders boxed out and his neck was turned down in a way that made him look like he was trying to fight himself. Jason was by far the loudest of them on a normal day, but he hadnât had one of those in a while. He was a ghost most of the time, only being heard if he wanted to be.
âHoly-â Tim breathes out, his free hand clutching at his chest. âWhyâd you scare me like that?â
âWe have to talk.â Jasonâs throat bobs notably going straight to the point.
âOkay,â Tim drags out the last letter, unsure why Jason looked like he was about to collapse on the spot. When he had flashbacks or nightmares, he usually went to Dick. He and Tim were never the closest. They talked sure, but Jason mostly asked him about what he was doing. Never spending much time doting on himself. âCan it wait until after dinner?â
âNo.â His voice is panicked and his eyes widen a bit.
âOkay, okay.â Tim tries to reassure him, while pulling his arm out of the grip that was now battling a bruise. âWe can talk, but weâll most likely miss the first course of dinner.â
âThatâs fine,â Jasonâs waves mindlessly before his arm falls to his side, his hands clench and unclench from a fist. He looks out the window and for a second, the light makes him look younger. For a moment, he doesnât look like the haunted soul of a man attempting to escape his mind. In this hallway, heâs a spitting image of their father before the years caught up to him.
âYou may want to take a seat.â
âJason,â Tim warns, crossing his arms. While his heart starts thundering between his ear drums, anxiety pools in the pit of his stomach. Hr was always a little off, but this was pushing it. âSpit it out already.â
âItâs in regards to your lady.â
Tim swore he stopped breathing. The world around him tilted on its axis and he could no longer see straight. It was impossible, they couldnât know. Could they? How many of them did? How long had they known? He felt suspended in time and he feared it would never continue.
âTimot-â
âI donât know who you speak of.â His voice came out wobbly, yet he had to try regardless. He had to try and deny it.
Not for his sake, but for yours.
He could handle whatever lecture advising against this from his father, he could take the judgmental looks, but he couldnât take your life. If you were to be discovered to have a romantic engagement with him, it would cost you everything. And he wouldnât able to live with himself. As much as he complained, he was ready to make the sacrifice of loving in the dark. Even if it meant he had to leave in the morning. He would live his life without ever taking a wife if thatâs how he had to show his devotion to you.
âDonât mistake me for a fool and stop playing coy,â Jasonâs eyes were boring into him, and Tim hated that he now understood the concern. âYou know whom I speak of, otherwise there would be no reason for your face to be suddenly void of color.â
Your name fell from Jasonâs lips and every syllable lands in his ear like an arrow to the heart.
His chest was rising unevenly. Tim could no longer understand anything else that was happening around him and was solely focused on the words coming from Jasonâs mouth.
âHo-â his voice breaks and he takes a deep breath. âHow do you know of her?â Tim stumbled back, catching himself on the wall with his arm.
Jason takes pity on him for the first time since pulling him aside in the hallway. His head cocks to the side and his eyes cloud with something Tim chooses not to identify. âIt was a few years ago, when she and Talia still resided here. I went to the library to pick out a book because sleep wasnât coming easy to me and you were both there. I assume you were studying for one of Barbaraâs exams, it was obvious that you cared for each other in how you both looked and held the other. Then after that, it was impossible to miss. You both always snuck away at the same time. When you entered a room, you sought each otherâs eyes out first before anything.â
Tim had never been more grateful that he decided to skip his lunch for the day. If he hadnât, heâs positive Jason would be wearing it right now. He knew. Heâs known for seven years that you were involved.
âWho else have you t-â
âTo my knowledge, no one else knew of the relationship you hid with your assassin. I did my duty to have guarded that secret well.â Jason cuts him off, not letting him even finish the question.
He feels himself begin to sway. His legs are turning to mush and his throat dries out at Jasonâs use of past tense in order to refer to your relationship. Heâs not sure if he even wants to ask, but he steels past his fear with worry of your well-being.
âWhat news do you bring?â
Jasonâs hand grabs onto Timâs bicep again, almost as if to offer him support.
âTim, I need you to sit-â
âJason, enough.â His voice shakes with a desperation he hasnât felt in years. It was like he was eighteen all over again, finding out that you had fled Gotham in the explosion. âWhat happened to her?â
Jason closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. A stark contrast to Tim whoâs breathing too quickly and whoâs eyes are about to bug out of his head.
For a second, itâs deadly silent. The crickets on the windowsill composing what may as well be a death march. And then,
âThey killed her.â
Itâs instant how Timâs knees buckle to the cobblestone lining the floor. Thereâs tens of rushed ânoâsâ that leave his lips as he collapses into himself. Nothing felt real, he didnât know tears were streaming down his face until Jason began wiping them. He couldnât feel Jasonâs arms around him, but the warmth of his body heat was there contrasting the freezing pain that flooded him. He knew logically, that all these things were happening, that his body was reacting, but his brain hadnât caught up. The only thing he knew was that his heart ached in a way he never thought possible.
His eyes were screwed shut and he shook his head, not allowing himself to believe this. He canât imagine he looked all that different to a child having a tantrum- yet he couldnât bring himself to care.
Every aspect of his life revolved around you, everything he did was in hopes of being with you.
And now?
He- he didnât even want to think about this reality, couldnât allow himself too right now.
âThe knights who returned an hour ago from the raid,â Jasonâs voice cuts through Timâs thoughts. âThey were discussing how the town was practically decimated. Rumors were spreading from the townsfolk,â he swallowed thickly. âOf one of the assassins being burned at the edge of the fores-â
âThey burned her at Arkham?â His voice is wrecked.
They betrayed you on your own mission. You, who wouldnât truly be with him because of your loyalty. You, who did everything in the name of the Al Ghulâs. You, who wouldnât come back to Gotham because you were sworn to your homeland.
You were killed by the people you swore to protect.
Tim was going to be sick.
âYes,â Jason answers simply. Thereâs a wrinkle of concern that spawns in between his eyebrows. He lived through horrors, things none of the Princeâs would ever see. But this? This was one of the most painful things Jason was sure heâd ever had to do. He had to look his little brother in the eye and tell him that the love of his life was dead.
âI was going to hold off on telling you of the rumors at first, because I was not sure if they had any truth behind them- or if it was even her.â Jason brushes the hair out of his face, while Timâs eyes pour a river of tears. âThen I spoke with the General, and a soldier found the remains of a ribbon.â
Jasonâs hand sinks into the pocket of his trousers, and Timâs breath catches in his throat halfway through a sob. He wants so desperately to close his eyes and forget this nightmare he called home, but they wonât close. His pupils are locked on Jasonâs wrist, a sick part of him already knowing what heâs about to retrieve from his pocket.
When he sees Jasonâs fingers wrapped around the periwinkle ribbon he returned to you mere hours ago, Timâs head falls against Jasonâs chest.
A sob breaks loose and it echoes off the castle walls that will be forever haunted by the sound of your laugh.
A/N: hey.... soooo sorry for the angst BUT there is still one more chapter and i PINKY PROMISE there is a happy ending waiting for these two. i just didn't want to make you guys wait longer for another chapter.
