Backstage was not the same without you; the whole staff felt it, even if Zatanna made it very clear that your name wasn’t allowed on their mouths anymore. “It’s a personal matter, and a personal matter shall not get in our way,” she stated after the breakup, an iron grip on her words while she dismissed the worried looks her crew gave her. “The show must go on.”
She gripped the edge of the polaroid, the picture of her life — 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 “er’ew enif, evol,” in the middle of the storm, and suddenly reality bent to obey her very words.
“Emoc kcab emoh.”
“Evigrof em.”
“I love you. Uoy evol em oot.”
It was so much easier that way — 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 — 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.
“Zatanna? You have five minutes before you go on stage!” 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 — a final patch and, God help her, everything would be alright again.
“Forgive me, my love,” she whispered to herself, sliding the pen across the back of the photo.
Ll’ehs tegrof tuoba em.
When Zatanna saw you in the audience that night, she smiled at you just like she had when you first met.
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 Wally’s breathing against your neck.
You were both still in your suits — yours the sleek black and gold armor, his the bright red and yellow Flash suit, both scuffed and torn from the night’s chaos. A rogue meta-human had caused havoc in the Narrows, and you’d jumped in to help without thinking. Wally had been right behind you, as always — 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.
“You scared me tonight,” he murmured against your lips, voice husky. “Jumping in front of that energy blast like that. I know you’re tough, but… fuck, I hate seeing you hurt.”
You smiled into the kiss, fingers threading through his messy red hair. “I’m fine. Just a few bruises. And you were right there to catch me. Like always.”
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.
“You feel so good,” he whispered, nipping at your bottom lip. “All mine. Even when you’re reckless.”
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.
“Wally…” you breathed, tilting your head to give him better access.
He hummed against your skin, the vibration sending sparks down your spine. “Just a little more. Need to feel you. Need to know you’re really okay.”
You were about to pull him closer when the comms crackled.
“Batgirl? You copy? I’m in the area — saw the explosion. You good? I’m close to the safe house.”
Dick’s voice. Your older brother. Of course he’d check in.
You froze. Wally pulled back, eyes wide with panic and amusement.
“Shit,” he whispered. “Hide me.”
You shoved him toward the small closet in the corner, heart racing. “In there. Don’t make a sound.”
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. “Hey. You okay? Looked like a rough one.”
You forced a smile, leaning against the doorframe to block his view. “I’m fine. Just a few bruises. Wally helped me out. He’s… already gone.”
Dick raised an eyebrow, glancing past you into the room. “You sure? I can stay if you need backup.”
“I’m good,” you said quickly, maybe a little too quickly. “Really. Go home. Rest. I’ll debrief with Bruce tomorrow.”
He studied you for a second, then smirked. “Alright. But if you need anything, call. And tell Wally I said thanks for having your back.”
You nodded, cheeks warm. “Will do.”
The second the door closed, Wally tumbled out of the closet, laughing softly as he pulled you back into his arms.
“That was close,” he murmured, kissing your temple. “Your brother almost caught us. Again.”
You laughed, melting into him. “You’re terrible at hiding.”
“Only because I can’t keep my hands off you.” His hands slid back under your armour, warm and teasing, tracing the curve of your waist. “Now… where were we?”
You kissed him again — 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 night’s 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. “I love you,” he whispered. “Even when you scare the hell out of me on patrol. Even when your brothers almost catch us. Especially then.”
You smiled, kissing the corner of his mouth. “I love you too. My fast, reckless, perfect boyfriend.”
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 — slower this time, savoring.
The safehouse felt like the only place in the world that mattered.
And in Wally West’s 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, I’m 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 Bruce’s bio sons, mentions of blood and sword violence, no use of y/n, second person, fem!reader some characters may be ooc
A/N: It’s a little late but she’s 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 Ra’s 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.
Ra’s 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. Ra’s 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 King’s 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.
You had rehashed the plan for the seventh time today. It couldn’t fall short. There was no room for failure here.
You’d suffered enough last time.
The scars at the base of your back burn as a reminder.
“-understood?”
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.
“Okay, go on to your tents and rest up. We meet back in 5 hours.”
They don’t wait another second before disbanding, exhaustion paving the way to each of their beds. You were all highly trained, but fatigue didn’t 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.
Ra’s had another battle planned before Arkham in order to divide the Gotham’s 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 you’d all been gathered around. The smoke curls in to the stars and you’re transported into another life for a moment. It’s 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, there’s a man who’s 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 wouldn’t 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 father’s knife from your boots. You hadn’t 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 he’s 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.
“Oh my darling,” he breathes out from under you, a smirk pulling at his lips. “How I’ve missed you.”
“What are you doing here?” The dull steel is still pressed to his throat, as shock shakes through your limbs.
“I had to see you.”
At that, the knife falls from your grasp. It doesn’t 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.
It’s 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 wasn’t intimate enough, one of his hand falls to your hips and the other finds its’ way to your hair.
You shouldn’t relax, not really, but it was heavenly to be off for a brief flicker of time. You’ve been functioning at 115% for gods know how long. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d slept more than four hours.
“You shouldn’t be here.” 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.
You’re positive you can hear the grin in his voice when he hums an, “I know.”
The vibrations from his chest ground you the moment. Proof that he’s really here, and the adrenaline spikes again as you freeze in place. He feels it and pauses for what couldn’t 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. “I mean it Tim, you shouldn’t be here. It’s dangerous.”
And all he does is look at you like a lovesick puppy.
Your eyes are stone, gazing into the glimmering blue that you’ve 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 couldn’t 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.
“Tim, I’m being serious.”
There’s a small hum he allows, indicating that he’s 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.
“Timoth-”
And then he kisses you.
You could’ve been told that you were being born again and you would’ve believed it. This is what is must’ve felt like to be a phoenix rising from the ashes. It’s 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 he’s 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.
You’re not entirely sure how long you stay like this with him. But when he does inevitably pull away from you, he’s flushed down to his chest. His chest rises and falls from above you, taking in a breath of shared air.
It’s nights like these you’re unsure how you survived the separation the first time. Timothy Drake-Wayne was the most addicting man you’ve ever met. Sharing air with him was the biggest blessing the stars ever granted you.
Another smile pulls at his lips and he’s kissing you again, more languid this time. He tastes like raspberries and mint.
“I missed you,” he humbles against you.
“As did I, my prince.”
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. “You know I hate it when you call me that.”
“Yes, and you know how I hate when you go against my orders.”
He groans and drops his body weight against you. He really should’ve known better if thought that he was going to get out of this with a few kisses.
“I knew it was foolish to expect you’d just be happy to see me.”
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.
“You know I always want to see you,” 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. That’s when you give it a harsher yank and he finally props himself up on his arms to look at you again. “But, I also have to think about reality since you seem so keen on ignoring it.”
“I’m not ignoring reality” he deadpans as his lips press into a thin line while raising an eyebrow. “I’m just not allowing it to dictate how I live my life.”
Then, he drops a gentle kiss to your forehead and you can’t help but notice how physical he’s being.
“You and I,” he begins while staring delicately into your eyes. He keeps switching between the two and you’re swimming in the blue of his. “We’ve 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.”
His words render you speechless. His eyes are pleading with the kind of agony that only you understand.
“When did you get so poetic?”
“When you told me you loved me.” 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.
“I’ll be gone when you wake.”
“I know.”
You feel him swallow against you, the despair that weighs on his body form having to leave.
“Be safe, please.”
Your eyes were still shut when your lips twitch up. “Always my prince.”
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 he’d 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 you’ll 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, you’d 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. It’s 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 wasn’t 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 Ghul’s didn’t give it away, the royal guard posted out front did.
Your legs are rooted to the floor. The grass under your soles wasn’t 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 emperor’s tent.
This would be fun.
On any other morning or any other mission, you wouldn’t have thought twice about it. Ra’s 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 Ra’s 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 Ra’s 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. Ra’s 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 didn’t turn to see you, you knew without a doubt that it was Dahlia.
Although she hadn’t 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 didn’t 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.
“Welcome to camp your highness.”
Thankfully, your voice doesn’t convey the anxiety that’s about to bubble out of your throat.
“Rise.” 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. You’re sure if he stared a few minutes longer he’d be able to see the memories from last night you tried to bury. However, the expression schooled on your face was void of emotion. You’d done this more times than you could count.
“Relay the specifics of the raid to the girl.”
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 you’re screwed.
“Yes sir,” 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 don’t make it out. This plan was as cruel as it was effective, and you knew you’d 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 didn’t share with the emperor. A small grace to save your humanity.
In the town of Arkham, it’s 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 mother’s village often, which meant for sure she had seen the underground with her own two eyes. They’d 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. They’re hard and unwavering, then there’s her jaw. It’s clenched in a way that to any of the other assassins or subjects, would look neutral. However, spending years as her lady’s 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 hadn’t been revealed yet. The hand hadn’t been shown and this wicked game of cards was getting less entertaining by the second.
Finishing your explanation, your eyes remain on the Demon’s Head. He hasn’t 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.
“Do you understand the plan?”
“Yes.” She answers instantly. There’s a quiver in her voice she gave a valiant effort to hide by being addressed by the emperor. But you didn’t miss it, it would be a disgrace if you trained her for years and didn’t recognize it.
“Good. You will lead it.”
Silence.
Nobody moves, no voice rings, no hair is out of place as confusion warps both of you. There’s 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. “Yes, emperor.”
His lips press together and he nods at her. “You are dismissed. Go and prepare, you have a long day ahead of you.”
That springs her into action and she drops to one knee before rushing out the tent. She heard what he didn’t say. You both did.
Don’t’ 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 didn’t answer to a soldier or a general, no you answered to Ra’s 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. You’d done it countless times, every assassin had- but fear had never been in that mix before. Now it is.
This wasn’t a routine visit. Deep down you knew it from the moment the air of the tent brushed your skin.
It was an ambush.
He’s 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 can’t 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. You’re positive that your lips have gone blue, but your features remains impassive.
“It’s interesting,” he begins, and your pride and strive for survival begin to battle in between your ears. “One of the maids was cleaning your room yesterday. While she was sweeping the floor, the rag got caught on a loose floorboard.”
You feel your breath threatening to come out uneven but you don’t 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.
“And you are well aware, as am I, that my fortress does not have loose floorboards. Then, to my surprise,” 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.
“When she looks it she finds something, and I am approached with a ring. And not just any ring, no, a signet ring. The Wayne’s signet ring.” The name spills like poison off his tongue. “Now, I was aware that you had some level of involvement with someone over the border, someone of high rank.”
Your features are stone as you fight a faint. Nerves were sparking through your limbs and you couldn’t blink. Yet, you would stick it out to the end.
“But a prince? Oh not even in my wildest dreams did I imagine you would betray your land in such a way.” Now you understand Talia’s distraught.
“I 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.”
“But now I see, that the fool,” he pauses and his finger rests right under your chin, before the rest of them grip your jaw. “Was I.”
He whispers the words, but they may as well have been screamed. A bomb could’ve gone off and you wouldn’t have known the difference.
“This ring,” he holds it up right above the bridge of your nose. Your eyes cross and you can’t quite focus on it. The world begins to spin beyond him. “What does it mean?”
His fingers are still digging into your jaw. The words won’t come out and he only grips harder.
“What does it mean?” He speaks louder now. You both know what it means. Despite his claim, he’s no fool.
“Betrothment.”
The words are a whispered shot. To the forehead or heart? You don’t have the luxury of knowing. You just know there’s not one atom of your body that doesn’t feel defeat and pain lingering in it.
His face contorts with the confirmation of his suspicions. Letting go of you face, you don’t move. Not a muscle. He wants weakness and he wants begging.
And you won’t give it to him.
He knows that.
It’s why he chose you for your role. You’ve never begged for mercy. Never begged for an apology. To his knowledge, you’ve never begged in your life. Not when your parents died. Not when you were going to be separated from them. Never. In reality though, you’ve done it once.
You did it in the face of the man that you’ll die for.
A smile creeps onto his face, and it’s not one you’d long to be on the receiving end of. No, it’s one that has venom in his eyes and malice in his lips.
“Well then, the solution is simple.” he turns to Talia for a moment. You’d forgotten she was there. Stealing a glance at her, your heart finally shatters after the cracks splintering it. She’s wrecked. Obviously not outwardly, but you can tell. Her shoulders are slouched, her eyes aren’t hard, and her hands are loose at her side. Maybe it’s the candle playing tricks on you, but you swore her pupils are glossed with something that may be a tear.
“We’ll kill you.”
Your eyes shut in resignation and a sigh is exhaled through your nose. The second display of emotion you’ve allowed him. If it was any other circumstance you would be admonishing yourself over it. But this is it. So, there’s not much shame to be spared now.
“Understood.” Is your response. If he wants the satisfaction of a scene that he’s going to kill you, he won’t get it. You knew the risks of loving your prince. You knew the possibilities. Now it’s 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. You’ve always taken his judgement in grace.
He outstretches his hand out to Talia again, palm wide and expectant. You weren’t 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 shouldn’t 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, you’re surprisingly calm. It was odd, you always thought you’d 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 you’re last thoughts are of Tim.
Of his luscious hair, of the beauty mark on his temple, of the smile he shied away from.
As Ra’s approaches you, you don’t hear the words he’s saying. You hear the sound of Tim’s breathing in your ear from the night before. You hear the quiet promise of “I love you,” 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 Tim’s 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. There’s 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.
“My original idea,” a voice hums from your left. Ra’s drops the bucket to the side. Water is dripping down your forehead into your eyes. Blinking it away isn’t working, leading to you shutting your eyes to numb the uncomfortable sting.
“Was to exploit you. Imagine it, just for a second. Picture the three of us arriving at the castle. The look on the King’s face as it’s revealed that third of his sons is involved with my highest ranking assassin.”
“It’s not him.” You spit out, water still trickling down your face.
How could he know which one it was? He didn’t say Tim’s name back in the tent, he’s 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 doesn’t get caught, that this doesn’t tie back to him. If it does, he’ll be hung or killed for treason.
Your head hangs and it’s angled to the floor. Your eyelids are still pressed together when you hear him stalk toward you. “Don’t lie to me girl, it won’t do you any good now.”
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.
“Do you think of me so naïve 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.”
There’s nothing left for you to say now. He’s right. You shouldn’t deny him, not if he knows.
“I 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 King’s face when his son’s eyes light with recognition. But death,” he pauses, pondering for a moment. “It is a much sweeter vengeance.”
“And now,” he turns away from you to watch the first tree opposite of you catch fire. “You will feel every spark of fire burn through your skin, your veins, and your organs for the sheer audacity of betraying your people.”
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. It’s only a matter of time before they reach you.
It’s almost beautiful. The sun rising with the fire. If it wasn’t so cruel, you’d be enamored. It was the rise of a new day in hell.
The crunching of leaves sounds somewhere to your right, even so you can’t bring yourself to look. If Ra’s was going to have another monologue, he would have to pry your eyes open again. You didn’t want him to be the last thing you see on this earthly plane.
It isn’t until they stop directly in front of you and a soft palm caresses your cheek that you decide to open your eyes. Talia’s blocking your view of the end of the world. A small grace that Ra’s would surely berate her for later.
“It seems as though my biggest curse,” 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. “Is to not be able to protect my children.”
Her fingers wipe your eyes at an attempt of comfort. There’s a sad smile she gives you before dropping a kiss to your hairline.
“I hope you can keep yours.” She whispers, and confusion settles into your bones. Then, it’s 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 didn’t keep hers. You assumed she just wouldn’t 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.
“I am proud of what you became.” Her voice is so earnest that this, this is what finally pushes you to cry. “Even now, with everything that’s come to light. I am proud of my darling.”
Her hands fall from your face and you hate how cold it suddenly gets. It’s selfish, but you wish she could stay here with you. It’s 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 wouldn’t be so bad.
“Be safe please.” Are her parting words.
That left you more dazed than before. And then, as if an angel descended from the sky, she retrieves your father’s dagger from her belt. They must have disarmed you when they knocked you out.
And she places it in your hands.
•───────•°• ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆•°•───────•
Tim had been attending his princely duties all day.
He’d 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 he’d 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 Robin’s 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 wasn’t in the cards for you yet.
When he snuck back into his room, he hadn’t 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 wasn’t 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.
Tim’s 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. He’s 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, he’s met with a cold draft as the double doors push open. The candle of the library kept his face warm through the session he hadn’t 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. he’s 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 hadn’t had one of those in a while. He was a ghost most of the time, only being heard if he wanted to be.
“Holy-” Tim breathes out, his free hand clutching at his chest. “Why’d you scare me like that?”
“We have to talk.” Jason’s throat bobs notably going straight to the point.
“Okay,” 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. “Can it wait until after dinner?”
“No.” His voice is panicked and his eyes widen a bit.
“Okay, okay.” Tim tries to reassure him, while pulling his arm out of the grip that was now battling a bruise. “We can talk, but we’ll most likely miss the first course of dinner.”
“That’s fine,” Jason’s 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 doesn’t look like the haunted soul of a man attempting to escape his mind. In this hallway, he’s a spitting image of their father before the years caught up to him.
“You may want to take a seat.”
“Jason,” 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. “Spit it out already.”
“It’s in regards to your lady.”
Tim swore he stopped breathing. The world around him tilted on its axis and he could no longer see straight. It was impossible, they couldn’t 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.
“Timot-”
“I don’t know who you speak of.” 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 couldn’t take your life. If you were to be discovered to have a romantic engagement with him, it would cost you everything. And he wouldn’t 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 that’s how he had to show his devotion to you.
“Don’t mistake me for a fool and stop playing coy,” Jason’s eyes were boring into him, and Tim hated that he now understood the concern. “You know whom I speak of, otherwise there would be no reason for your face to be suddenly void of color.”
Your name fell from Jason’s 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 Jason’s mouth.
“Ho-” his voice breaks and he takes a deep breath. “How do you know of her?” 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. “It was a few years ago, when she and Talia still resided here. I went to the library to pick out a book because sleep wasn’t coming easy to me and you were both there. I assume you were studying for one of Barbara’s 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 other’s eyes out first before anything.”
Tim had never been more grateful that he decided to skip his lunch for the day. If he hadn’t, he’s positive Jason would be wearing it right now. He knew. He’s known for seven years that you were involved.
“Who else have you t-”
“To my knowledge, no one else knew of the relationship you hid with your assassin. I did my duty to have guarded that secret well.” 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 Jason’s use of past tense in order to refer to your relationship. He’s not sure if he even wants to ask, but he steels past his fear with worry of your well-being.
“What news do you bring?”
Jason’s hand grabs onto Tim’s bicep again, almost as if to offer him support.
“Tim, I need you to sit-”
“Jason, enough.” His voice shakes with a desperation he hasn’t felt in years. It was like he was eighteen all over again, finding out that you had fled Gotham in the explosion. “What happened to her?”
Jason closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. A stark contrast to Tim who’s breathing too quickly and who’s eyes are about to bug out of his head.
For a second, it’s deadly silent. The crickets on the windowsill composing what may as well be a death march. And then,
“They killed her.”
It’s instant how Tim’s knees buckle to the cobblestone lining the floor. There’s tens of rushed “no’s” that leave his lips as he collapses into himself. Nothing felt real, he didn’t know tears were streaming down his face until Jason began wiping them. He couldn’t feel Jason’s 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 hadn’t 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 can’t imagine he looked all that different to a child having a tantrum- yet he couldn’t 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 didn’t even want to think about this reality, couldn’t allow himself too right now.
“The knights who returned an hour ago from the raid,” Jason’s voice cuts through Tim’s thoughts. “They were discussing how the town was practically decimated. Rumors were spreading from the townsfolk,” he swallowed thickly. “Of one of the assassins being burned at the edge of the fores-”
“They burned her at Arkham?” His voice is wrecked.
They betrayed you on your own mission. You, who wouldn’t truly be with him because of your loyalty. You, who did everything in the name of the Al Ghul’s. You, who wouldn’t 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.
“Yes,” Jason answers simply. There’s a wrinkle of concern that spawns in between his eyebrows. He lived through horrors, things none of the Prince’s would ever see. But this? This was one of the most painful things Jason was sure he’d 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.
“I 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.” Jason brushes the hair out of his face, while Tim’s eyes pour a river of tears. “Then I spoke with the General, and a soldier found the remains of a ribbon.”
Jason’s hand sinks into the pocket of his trousers, and Tim’s 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 won’t close. His pupils are locked on Jason’s wrist, a sick part of him already knowing what he’s about to retrieve from his pocket.
When he sees Jason’s fingers wrapped around the periwinkle ribbon he returned to you mere hours ago, Tim’s head falls against Jason’s 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.
Get better Froggi!! You’re the biggest Wally fan Ive seen, we cant have the leader dying here💔
ah thank you babes 🥺🥺 lowk its been killing me to not write abt wally the past few days so maybe a quick wally drabble in between the neglect week stuff…
also a random drawing i did of wally w pikachu (pls be nice im still learning to draw 🥺)
Logan Howlett/Reader, 654 words -> cw: smut/18+only, reader has ambiguous genitalia
masterlist ao3 requests
Logan's a surprisingly tender lover. But sometimes, though—he feels the inclination to be mean. To force you to ride him, to sheathe yourself entirely on the length of his cock in a manner that makes you gasp in jagged breath, your legs spread over the width of his thighs.
To feel the pulse of your heart in between your legs as you struggle to rise against gravity with the might of your calves. To have your concentration fractured as he rolls his hips into you.
"Oh, Logan—"—You whimper as he chuckles around the cigar champed between his teeth. He's leisurely as he watches you squirm on his cock. Watches you lean back to grip the muscular flesh of his legs in your hands to adjust.
"Somethin' wrong, darlin'?" He asks, voice rugged and corrugated as he watches you with barely-restrained lust. "Can't take my cock?"
"No, I—"—You try to stall for clemency by speaking. But when his hips roll into you again, his cock drags against your walls in such vivid pleasure you can only make a keening moan. And he's of no help—his laugh is mean as he watches how you can barely handle him, as the embers illuminate him in sharp definition.
"Try harder, honey," he watches you as you try to adjust to the way he's filled you to the hilt, exertion beading at your temple, "Doesn't seem like you have it in you."
"I do," you begin to plead breathlessly, but your voice stutters as he takes a authoritative hand on your waist and bucks his hips up. And the jolt of electric sensation that rockets up your body is perfect, the air punched out of you as you feel deliciously full. You fall forwards and clutch onto the rasp of hair on his chest for balance—and a cruel chuckle thrums through you.
"Too hot to handle?" He taunts, to which all you can do is reply with a moan into the crook of his shoulder. "Guess I can help out."
Before you can voice your thanks, you hear him take a drag—feel the arterial plume of smoke that bathes you—and then the clasp of his hands on the ample flesh of your waist.
You don't have any time to react before he eases his way out of you—and then his hips snap into you with such immense force you can only make a strangled cry into the shell of his ear. And then he's off to the races, his hips thrusting into you with brutal strokes that have you choked for air, clutching onto him for dear life.
"Ah—ah—ah—"—Is all that you can cry out as the plap-plap-plap of his cock pumps into you. The slap of his thighs against yours as he fucks into you render you nonverbal. As he cracks a hand down the curve of your ass to complement the overwhelming pleasure with a bolt of pain.
"Logan—I can't—"—You whimper into his ear, but he's not listening. Both of you know that you can take it—his pace doesn't lessen as he grinds his cock into you.
Makes you take all of him as he spreads your cheeks open with the hungry clasp of his hands. Makes you wail as his cock sinks into that spot that has you muffling your moans into his shoulder.
"Logan, I'm gonna come," you beg, overstimulated, needy, weepy as you feel your orgasm begin to pool in the hollow of your abdomen. As you can feel the way his cock twitches at the inside of your walls, dragging tight in the way you like it.
"Good," he rasps back, "First one of the night."
All you can do is clench your thighs around him as you start to come—and wonder how long the night will go for you. It doesn't seem like it's stopping anytime soon.
froggers my friend and i have made a pact and now i have access to both a marvel unlimited subscription and and dc infinite one.
give me your best recs, i’m consuming all their content in my free time (also rereading anything i have already read because beside the last odd yeah i’ve been out of the comic book loop for a WHILE) :D
- morph
ooh hell yeah!! i’m not too sure what you’ve read but here are my all-time faves for both
(lowk ive been avoiding giving comic recs for like everrr because it feels like a trap idk 😭)
Marvel:
- Matt Fraction’s Hawkeye run (my FAVORITE)
- Claremont’s X-Men (this one is a lot…)
- All-New All-Different Avengers (2015)
- Young Avengers (2005) (i adored tommy shepherd as a kid)
- Ed Brubaker’s Winter Soldier
DC:
- Batman: Dark Patterns (this one is incredible)
- Mark Waid’s Flash (also a hefty reading order)
- Batgirl (2009) (esp read this if you love steph!)
- Hal Jordan & The Green Lantern Corps
- Flash (2023)
(i have more i could dm you but 😭 again im afraid of giving a proper rec list on here idk)
Helllooo I love ur writing ! Can you pretty please do Dick / Jason / Wally SMAU where the reader is really clumsy but like hella embarassed about it, so she’s always covering giant bruises and the boys think it’s something else and she has to come clean and admit she’s just clumsy
Thank youuu
where did that come from…
dick, jason, & wally x gn!reader
the boys ask you where your mysterious bruise(s) come from
content: established relationship with dick and wally, pre-relationship with jason, allusion to (assumed) abuse with jason, bruising, I kiiinda divulged from the ask (I'm sorry) and I realized after I made them but this flowed better in my brain, I hope you still enjoy!! <3
Summary: you help Jean-Paul when he can't fall asleep
Content/CW -> gn! reader, nightmares/insomnia, mentions of past violence
— requested as part of my neglect week event
froggi yaps -> okok i was sooo nervous to write this one and yet when i sat down to write it i found it went smoother than the booster gold one i was trying to write so :,) lowk i think i need to add him to my regular rotation bcs he's such a sweetheart
Even the rain gently pattering at your window isn’t enough to soothe Jean-Paul back to sleep.
He’s stiff as a board, sitting upright on the mattress next to you, his mind racing. You’re sound asleep next to him, comforter tugged up to your chin, blissfully unaware of the horrors he’s experiencing.
He should wake you up. He knows he should—you’d asked him to—and yet, he can’t. You’re too peaceful, too warm, too wrapped up in the cozy comfort of whatever it is you dream about every night. He wouldn’t dare disturb you, not for something as silly as this.
Still, the things he’s done as Azrael continue to plague him when he closes his eyes, blurry visions of gore burned into the backs of his retinas.
He swipes a few long, blond strands from his face and reaches to the nightstand to put his glasses back on. Squinting at the alarm clock on your nightstand, he cringes when he sees the time. Well past three in the morning.
He swings his legs over the side of the bed, mind set on washing those few extra dishes you’d left in the sink before bed. He’s not getting sleep anytime soon, he might as well make himself useful.
He’s just about to stand, half of his weight already in the balls of his feet pressed against the floor, when he feels your soft touch on his wrist.
He glances at you over the shoulder, forcing a smile when he sees the sleep-ridden concern on your face. Your eyes are still half-closed, lips pressed into a thin line.
“Jean?” You yawn, “what time is it?”
“Late, sweetheart.”
You nod, tugging at his wrist, drawing him into you. He gives in, letting himself flop back into the mess of pillows and blankets, laid flat on his back next to you.
He frowns, “did I wake you?”
“Told you to wake me if you couldn’t sleep.”
The guilt sets in, a new weight over the already unbearable weight he carries every day. “I’m sorry.”
“S’fine,” you murmur, rolling over to lay on his chest.
He’s warm, chest radiating heat like the sword that plagues him. You press a hand against the bare skin of his stomach, snuggling close to him. Jean drapes an arm over your side, pulling you in.
“What was it tonight?” You ask.
“Same as usual,” he admits quietly. “Thinking about the things I—Azrael did.”
You look up at him through your lashes, tracing soft circles on his skin. Goosebumps raise where you drag your fingers, muscles relaxing beneath his skin.
You press a kiss to the side of his pec. “You’re not your past.”
“I know, it’s just—“
Sometimes the voice get so loud. Sometimes they roar at him in the dead of night until it’s all he can hear. Punish the guilty, be the avenging angel, seek vengeance.
“It’s too much,” he admits. “Some nights, it’s just too much, and the world is so quiet and—and my head is so loud.”
You prop yourself up on an arm to look at him properly. “What helps to quiet it?”
He pauses for a moment to think, remembering the techniques he’s used to get himself through nights much worse than this one. Nights before you were at his side, before the safety net that he finds in your arms came to be.
“Stories, mostly. About the Saints and other things.”
“Tell me one,” you say.
And he does. He starts to regale you with a story about a Saint you’ve never heard of, spouting off each detail like it’s second nature to him. The sound of his voice soothes you, has you relaxing back into his chest, your breathing steadying.
Telling you the story has him soothing himself, too. The voices aren’t so loud, the guilt doesn’t plague him as heavily, he doesn’t see the snapshots of violence behind his eyelids anymore.
Before he knows it, he’s reached the end of the story. You’re fast asleep on his chest, chest rising and falling rhythmically. He finds his own eyes feeling heavy for the first time tonight, sleep finally clasping his hand.
He brushes a thumb over your temple, “I love you so much.”
dc masterlist | navigation
thanks for reading & have a wonderful day /ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡
summary: Turns out you had met the Waynes well before meeting your husband.
pairing: Bruce Wayne x fem!reader
tags and warning(s): Nothing as far as I'm aware, wrote this in an hour and I'm way too sleepy to proofread this. some info might not be accurate, Maybe OOC
word count:1.1k
dc mlist bruce wayne mlist
Bruce Wayne had a hollow pit in his heart that ached for the simple things in life, such as Jason picking up his call, dick staying the night at the manor, among others. But like everyone else, he wished for things that could never happen, like his parents alive and well beyond their early thirties, and meeting you, his wife.
But what if fate had other plans?
It's a random Tuesday as Bruce, and you stand in the middle of your grandfather's beloved attic. The wooden floors creak under your weight, dust particles moving in spirals as the early rays of sunshine flit through the glass panes of the dormer window. Your mother had asked for your help in cleaning your grandparents' place, and so you pulled in Bruce - offering him a break from his corporate duties, which he gladly agreed to.
"Wow, I did not realise my grandad hoarded so many things", you say, looking at the vast number of trinkets and boxes stacked along the walls on both sides of the attic. Each was well organised, with a label pasted on the top.
"Your grandad was a man of culture", Bruce chuckles, looking at the various band posters from the 40s and 50s. There were even autographs from some of them, neatly preserved.
Both of you got to work immediately, knowing it would be hours before everything was cleaned out. You had decided to split the work by concentrating on different ends of the triangular room.
Bruce had struck gold by ending up in the corner where your granddad had seemed to store much of the photo albums and cassettes, stacked on top of each other, labeled in detail about what the insides contained. It gave Bruce an insight to your family, a family from looking at the albums that had photos from back since your grandparents got married, having their daughter — your mother, to her getting married, and having you.
He had seen a lot of your photos since the early days of dating, but these were different. Your grandfather was an avid photographer, and Bruce could sense it through the varied angles and poses that he made everyone do.
"Having fun, huh?" you mumble, looking at Bruce as he suppresses a chuckle while looking at the pictures of you — a two-year-old, wearing a princess gown and a wand gripped tightly within your grubby fingers.
"You get stuck with the more fun part, while I have to dust some old documents", you grumble, looking at files and files of documents.
"Do you wanna exchange, sweetheart?"
"Nope," you say, emphasizing the 'p' as you shift to the next box, "Besides, I like hearing you laugh, even if it comes at the cost of my pictures"
An hour passes by.
You had finished four out of the twelve boxes. Heaving a sigh, you decide it's time for a well-deserved break. And what better to do than annoy your beautiful husband?
"Bruce, Brucie Wayne," you turn to look at him at the lack of any response "Bruce?"
Bruce doesn't answer, his broad back turned towards you. There is something different in the air from a few minutes ago, almost tinged with melancholic fragrance. You move towards, hoping to see what made him go so still, only to let out a gasp when you see it.
There you were, maybe five or six years old, wearing a large doctor's coat that reached well beyond your limbs, dragging onto the marble floor and a cute pink stethoscope around your neck. But that was not what made you gasp; it was the couple you were standing with in the photo.
Thomas and Martha Wayne.
Both of them were crouched next to you on either side. Thomas Wayne in his fitting black suit paired with a dark blue silk necktie embellished with motifs, while Martha Wayne wore a simple black silk dress paired with a blue plaid jacket.
There was a tiny piece of description below the photograph, a little shabby, like your grandpa wasn't sure what to write.
' Y/N & famous couple from Gotham (VHS #155)'
Bruce let out a laugh— loud but bittersweet. It made sense for your grandad to not know them, considering the only people he thought to be rich were the Queens.
You looked at Bruce, his eyes a little glazed as you cupped his face, fingers rubbing against the expanse of his cheek. Pressing a small kiss on his forehead, you whisper, "Shall we watch the VHS tape?"
He hums as you both try finding the exact tape among two hundred of them. Once retrieved, you dust the Toshiba VCR at the corner, pulling it slightly towards the center. You and Bruce try to get it to start since it probably hasn't been used in a while.
After a few minutes, the VCR lights up. Inserting the tape, you press play, and both of you stand back, Bruce's arm over your shoulder as you lay your head on his chest, arms wrapped around his waist.
The VCR displays a blue gradient before buzzing to a grainy film of you in a purple and pink frock , smiling widely at the camera. There's a lot of noise around you — people clapping , speeches being read as your grandad records the stage when Thomas Wayne was giving his speech. Bruce shifted a little, hand holding yours a little tighter, from hearing his father's voice after so many years.
The video then shifts to you, standing in front of the couple, wearing a pink stethoscope and a white coat a little too large for your frame. Martha Wayne smiles , a smile so radiant, before crouching down to her knees as she shakes your hand.
"Hi, there. What's your name?"
You say your name before letting out a giggle at her calling you beautiful.
"You want to be a doctor when you grow up?" She asks, hands pointing at the instrument hanging around your neck.
"Yes, ma'am. I want to be a heart doctor," you say, peering at the woman beside you. Thomas Wayne smiles before exchanging pleasantries with your grandfather.
"Oh, that's wonderful! You will be a great doctor one day, my dear."
And with that, the VHS comes to an end.
Bruce sniffles a little , his hands holding your waist, chin placed on top of your head. Silence fills the space along with the sounds of your nieces playing around the house. You don't know how long the both of you stayed like that, but it could have been forever, and you didn't mind at all.
Bruce is beyond happy. While it may not be visible to the naked eye, you could feel the joy emanating from the open crevices of grief and gaps of affection. He was happy that you —his wife, the love of his life — had met his parents. And they had gotten the chance to meet you.
Perhaps both of you really were soulmates.
A/N: Comments and Reblogs appreciated! Writing something for bruce after a long time.
꒰ content ꒱ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ using her to blot your lipstick . . . natasha romanoff x fem!reader, fluff
You're sitting on the bathroom counter, carefully dragging lipstick across your lips. It's a rare night when the two of you can relax and doll up for a fancy dinner.
Well, you doll up.
Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Nat strapping a gun to her thigh, just above the slit in her dress. It's simple and sleek, the complete opposite of your look. You prefer going all out, layering colors and textures until everything looks like you've stepped out of a Fancy Nancy book.
Glancing back at your reflection, you study your lips. The deep red is too bold. It throws the whole look off.
"Nat—"
"No. We're going to be late," she cuts you off, stepping into her heels.
You pout. "You don't even know what I was gonna say."
Natasha eyes you in the mirror. Then she straightens and stalks over, heels clicking against the floor.
"You were going to ask if the lipstick is too bold." She steps between your legs, fingers tilting your chin up. "It's not."
"It is."
"Baby."
You cup her face and she leans closer like she can't help it. The thought that you could make her lose her control sends a giddy feeling through you.
You turn her head and press a kiss to her jaw, leaving a bright red mark behind.
She exhales through her nose. "Really?"
You admire it with a satisfied grin as her hands settle on your hips. "Done."
She lets her forehead fall against yours.
"Can we go now?" she asks.
You shake your head.
"What now?"
"I need a kiss."
"Of course you do." She mutters, but gives in anyway.
masterlist
wrote this on my phone in 20 mins so if it’s bad that’s why 😭 also i finally wrote my first natasha fic!!!
