Hero stared at the coffee in their hands throughout the briefing, hoping it would go on just long enough for their drink to no longer be scolding hot. They’d only just finished their shift when the call came in, and Superhero, seeing Hero barely able to keep their eyes open, thought a quick dose of caffeine before the mission would be enough to keep them from protesting. And Hero didn’t protest. Or… more like they couldn’t. Words seemed to be a bit harder to come by now. And any arguing on Superhero’s end became impossible to retort.
Instead, Hero went through the motions, abandoning their coffee when it became evident they weren’t going to drink it, and following the lead of the rest in the hopes they could maybe figure out what was going on. They blanked out a couple of times during the briefing. A couple more times during the drive over.
They had hoped the chaos of the battle would hit them with enough adrenaline to see them through, but the sight of collapsing buildings and Supervillain’s robot army seemed to make everything blue screen.
Realising this was going to be a problem, Hero gathered up a little electricity in their hand and shocked themself. The jolt pushed the fog back a little. Just enough for instinct to kick in as they fell into formation, taking out a robot that had gotten a little closer than it should have.
Robots were tricky to fight, Hero found. Too little electricity and they unintentionally power them up. Too much and they were at risk of burning out. There was a sweet spot that Hero did not have the mental faculties to calculate right now.
Too much it was.
The next three robots exploded on impact with large bolts of lightning. A bit flashier than Hero’s normal techniques but they didn’t have the time or energy to care as a few more swarmed towards them.
They did the same again. Taking each of them out easily though with a high energy cost. And as the last one crumbled to the ground, they felt everything go blank. No sound, no vision, no… anything really. And as briefly as it started it was gone, and Superhero was there yelling in their face.
“Dammit, Hero! What the hell was that?!”
“I-“
“It’s clearly quantity over quality this time, so stop wasting your energy on easy prey. I haven’t got time to babysit you, so get your head in gear!”
“Sorry, I-“
But Superhero didn’t stay to listen to any excuses, and Hero didn’t have time to call after them as Partner was starting to struggle with their own group.
Hero ran over, firing another arc of lightning, though this time trying their best to control the output. It was a success, only slightly overkill this time. They tried the same with the next few though the output wildly fluctuated. It wasn’t until the last one that they messed up and instead super-charged the robot. With a sudden surge of energy, the robot flew over to Partner and landed a blow that sent them flying into a wall.
Hero cursed and fired another bolt, but the robot easily dodged and flew off, likely to launch a surprise attack on one of the others. They ran over to Partner to make sure they were alright, relieved to find them mostly just bruised.
“Hero, what the fuck?!” Partner groaned, trying to sit up.
“Sorry,” Hero winced as they helped them up. “I- I’ll go after them!”
They reached Superhero just as the robot knocked them into the ground, taking their normally resilient leader by surprise. Superhero took a few hits before their brain caught up and finally managed a dodge, kicking the robot back a few meters. The machine got ready for another charge but promptly burst to pieces as Hero got within range to hit it with a bolt.
Superhero turned to Hero, about to say something. Whether it was to shout a thanks or tell them off again they didn’t know. The words died on Superhero’s lips as their eyes widened in horror. They opened their mouth to shout something else, but it all fell on deaf ears as Hero was hit with another fog. The darkness suddenly all-consuming and oh-so-welcoming before they came to yet again. A figure stood flush behind them, one arm around their waist whilst the other hand tilted Hero’s head up to look at them.
“Back with us, are you?” Supervillain grinned, towering over Hero in all their mechanised regalia. Hero panicked, hand going straight to Supervillain’s arm and flooded it with a significant shockwave.
“You must really be out of it,” Supervillain cooed. “It’s been years since you’ve fallen for that.”
Hero flinched, releasing their grip, but the damage had already been done. The red lights of Supervillains augmentations grew noticeably brighter as hidden empty cores suddenly found themselves at full charge.
“God, you look awful though,” they continued, turning their gaze then to Superhero. “You really letting your people fight in this condition?”
“Let them go, Supervillain,” Superhero demanded. “Your fight’s with me.”
“You’re the one who brought a liability onto the battlefield. I’m simply taking advantage,” Supervillain replied casually before returning to examine Hero. “Seriously, when was the last time you got any sleep?”
Hero tried to pull their head out of Supervillain’s grip, only for it to tighten in return.
“None of that now, little spark,” they tutted. “I asked you a question.”
“Yesterday,” Hero hissed, continuing their struggle to break free.
“Try again,” Supervillain scolded. “And I wouldn’t come any closer if I were you, Superhero. Lest something happen to Hero here.”
Superhero stopped in their tracks, gritting their teeth as they tried to come up with a solution.
“Shall I run through the calculations?” Supervillain suggested. “The little spark just finished a twelve-hour shift. Before that, there was that emergency with Villain which took six hours to resolve. Before that was the press event which took four hours and let’s not forget those three hours you spent running errands for Partner who was stuck doing paperwork…”
Hero froze in their struggles. How did they-?! They thought, mind whirring and a dread beginning to form in the pit of their stomach.
“…food shop before that which took an hour and a half. Then there was all that general life admin which took four hours. Three hours visiting family, following the six hours you babysat your cousin for. And then another twelve-hour shift before that which ran seven hours overtime because a certain someone had a personal emergency,” Supervillain finished, briefly giving Superhero a pointed glance before looking back down at Hero. “Did I miss anything?”
“How- how long…?” Hero asked, horrified to hear the answer.
Supervillain only grinned in return, which Hero found far worse.
“I think we can both agree they shouldn’t be out in this condition. Right, Superhero?”
Superhero said nothing, though guilt hung heavy on them like a shroud.
“It’s not their fault,” Hero protested, trying and failing to renew their struggles. “They didn’t know.”
“Of course they knew,” Supervillain said, pulling Hero tighter against them and leaning in closer to their ear. “They all knew from just one look at you. And yet here you are regardless.”
Superhero took another step forward, and a nearby robot shot a blast at the ground just inches in front of them.
“I already said, didn’t I?” Supervillain warned, and Superhero was forced to stop again.
“What do you want, Supervillain?” Superhero gritted. “I doubt you’re here just to critique my methods.”
“True,” they answered. “I might have gotten a bit distracted when I saw my little spark fumbling about instead of back home in bed. Though I will admit, it is quite fun knocking you off that high horse of yours.”
Superhero’s jaw clenched, their patience finally reaching its end. They took another step forward.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Supervillain said. A giddy smile baring his teeth. “I still have a hostage, you know?”
“You’re not going to kill them.”
“You know that for certain?” Supervillain asked. Hero flinched as they leaned back into their ear, whispering frantically as Superhero sped up their advance. “You see how they treat you? Not a care in the world for your wellbeing. Can you see it, little spark? You’re nothing but a tool to them-!”
A robot jumped between them just as Superhero was nearly within melee, only to be knocked down instantly by Superhero’s punch. Their fist shattered the contraption in two as it crumpled into a jittering heap of sparks and machine parts. Another robot tackled them from the side, colliding into Superhero’s immovable frame. This one was grabbed by the head and flung into another advancing unit.
Before another one could get in their way, Superhero burst forward fist raised, straight towards Supervillain.
Supervillain grinned, and Hero had barely a second to get out a warning before Superhero’s fist flew… and met with Supervillain’s mechanised hand.
“My turn,” said Supervillain, as the red lights on their arm brightened and crackled. Superhero hadn’t recovered quick enough from the shock of getting caught before a blast of electrical discharge sent them flying backwards and into a building. Concrete walls exploding on impact as a cloud of dust obscured the air around the site.
Hero called out Superhero’s name as they tried to break out of Supervillain’s hold.
“They’re fine,” Supervillain chuckled, not budging in the slightest. “Something like that isn’t going to kill them outright. Which is why I’m really glad I had some good ones in reserve.”
Several of Supervillain’s better creations landed outside the crash site, weapons charged and preparing to go in. As quickly as they could, Hero charged up and fired a bolt of lightning directly at the robot closest to the entrance. Only for Supervillain to pull Hero’s arm up just as they released it. The bolt shot through the building instead, starting a fire on the upper floors. Hero groaned as a nauseating wave of dizziness ran through them.
“Well, that was fun,” Supervillain remarked. “Shall we try that again?”
“L-let go of me,” Hero cried, their vision blurring worse than it had done all day. “Need to help…”
“I know you do, you poor little workaholic,” Supervillain sighed patronisingly, leaning their chin on Hero’s head. “Tell you what, if you can stay awake for one more minute, I’ll let you join in.”
“Promise?” Hero asked, clinging onto whatever dregs of hope and adrenaline they could find.
“Cross my heart. Let me know when you’re ready to start.”
Hero wasn’t sure what Supervillain meant by that, but gave the affirmative as quick as they could, not wanting to waste any more time. The second they did, Supervillain placed their hand over Hero’s eyes.
“One, two, three…” Supervillain began slowly. Their voice soft and droning against Hero’s ear. Hero tried to shake them off, but Supervillain was having none of it. “Hold still now, or I’ll have to start the timer again.” Hero gritted their teeth but reluctantly stopped fighting, allowing Supervillain to continue their counting.
Supervillain stopped long before they reached sixty.
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“Haven’t I killed you before?” a voice from behind them asked, making Civilian nearly drop the stack of papers they were carrying. Internally, they were cursing themself for deciding to stay late to finish up the rest of the paperwork. But it was either that or Steve was going to volunteer, and Civilian had a lot more time on their hands for petty things like paperwork.
This had happened the last time though. Villain seemed to make it a habit to attempt to break into the team’s headquarters every now and again. At this point it happened so often that Civilian wasn’t sure if there was actually anything in the Vault they were after or if they just liked the challenge.
One of the heroes would stop them in the end, as they always do. Though, not before Villain’s taken out some of the workforce just minding their business and trying to get their work done.
Like Civilian… again.
Which brings us back to our predicament.
“…I’m sorry?” Civilian managed to say after their heart leapt out of their chest. And after turning around to meet their soon-to-be and former killer face-to-face.
“I asked if I’ve killed you before?” Villain repeated, seeming both confused and rather casual about the whole thing.
“I- I think you must have me confused with someone else,” Civilian tried.
“Fair enough,” Villain shrugged, taking their hand out of their pocket and making a quick slicing motion in the air towards Civilian.
They don’t have rapid healing. If they break their arm it breaks. If they scrape their knee it bleeds. Everything heals at the pace it’s supposed to heal and things can still heal wrong.
Dying is a hard reset to the last point the body agreed it was at peak health; which appears to be at some point in their mid to late twenties. Anything that went wrong but didn’t kill them after that point is rendered void. Civilian wasn’t sure how exactly the reset looked (they never bothered nor had the inclination to find out) but they did know it took roughly just over a minute.
Slowly their awareness came back, and they groaned at the memory of the blade of air slicing into their neck. They were thankful it at least went quickly this time. The slice to their back in their last encounter meant that they had to wait to bleed out before the reset.
Feeling the slickness of blood beneath them, they reached a hand up to their neck before holding it above them, finding it thoroughly drenched. They cursed at the loss of their new top and reminded themself not to go to work in anything they didn’t buy at a charity shop.
“Now, I’m sure I killed you that time.”
Civilian looked past their hand to find Villain looming over them. They lurched upwards, scrambling back as they tried to get up onto their feet, only to slip on the blood-soaked papers scattered across the floor. Villain caught them by the arm, preventing their fall as well as their means of escape.
“Careful now,” Villain smirked. “Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself now, would we?”
“Y-you’re one to talk,” Civilian spat, yanking their arm out of Villain’s grasp. They only had a second to be surprised at how easy they escaped it before an invisible force pushed them up against the wall behind them. They tried to move, but something was pinning their arms and legs in place. Villain was standing a few paces before them; arm lazily extended towards Civilian.
“Let go!” Civilian cried, still pulling against the invisible bonds.
Villain, finding the whole thing rather amusing, closed the distance between the two of them. The hand they weren’t using to cast the spell flew to Civilian’s throat. The touch was gentle, but Civilian froze all the same.
“Well, aren’t you just fascinating,” Villain hummed. Their fingers curiously caressing Civilian’s neck, right along the pulse point. “I don’t often forget a face. So, when I said I’d seen you before I was fairly confident in that.”
Civilian swallowed, and Villain’s smile grew a little wider at the feeling against his palm.
“So, just to be sure,” Villain continued, “I thought it best to cut your head clean off. In case I simply forgot to finish the job last time. Hell, I even decided to wait a few seconds just to make sure you were definitely dead.”
Villain ran their thumb across Civilian’s throat, right where the blade of wind initially made impact.
“Imagine my surprise when I was finally on my merry way that I heard a cute little gasp from behind me. And there you were, completely intact. Looking more inconvenienced than anything else.”
Villain swiped a nail quickly against the side of Civilian’s neck and an unseen force nicked the skin. Civilian flinched at the sharp pain and again at how intensely Villain was watching the wound. They waited a few moments, but when nothing seemed to happen, they turned their questions back towards Civilian.
“It’s not as simple as rapid healing then?”
Civilian didn’t answer, though that didn’t seem to bother Villain at all.
“I’m surprised you’re back here pushing papers, though. Surely someone with such a convenient power would have been snatched up for hero work by now.”
“N-not really my sort of thing,” Civilian admitted. Their eyes darted down the corridors in the hopes that maybe there was someone around. The heroes would surely be back any second now, right? The action didn’t go unnoticed by Villain, nor did the hammering beat of their pulse.
“You’re not scared, are you?” Villain asked, their smirk growing wider when Civilian flinched. “Come now, what could you possibly be afraid of? It’s not as though I can kill you.” Their eyes fell down towards the little cut they made. They brushed their thumb over it gently, relishing in the little shivers of fear and pain coming from Civilian before they slid their nail into the wound as if trying to pry it open.
Civilian yelped at the sting, starting to thrash again only for Villain to push more of their air magic into them. Preventing Civilian from moving even an inch of their body.
“But you’re not like the heroes, are you?” Villain sighed in mock disappointment. “You haven’t spent years conditioning your body against pain. And I’m guessing you’ve only died a couple of times given the way you’re reacting. It’s very cute, you know. Like a mewling little kitten.”
Civilian whimpered as Villain kept digging into the little cut, feeling more and more blood drip down their neck. Villain moved slowly and gently along the wound, watching the slit in the skin open and close methodically. Delighting in how much pain such little movements seemed to cause.
“Do they know?” Villain asked, and once again Civilian answered with a flinch. “I suppose you wouldn’t want them to. They’d take advantage of it. Send you off on the most dangerous missions, always putting the rest of the team’s safety above yours. You’d get hurt more than any of them; in ways none of them can imagine. And at the end of the day none of them would care because you can’t die and they can.”
“S-stop… please…!” Civilian cried, tears streaming down their cheeks. Villain stopped their assault; nail still embedded in the cut as they took in the sight before them. Civilian gasped and sobbed against the feeling, wishing desperately that they could move just a tiny bit, but still finding that nothing would relent. “P-please… I’m not- I’m not a hero or anyone import-“ they swallowed, taking a quick deep breath to try and calm themself down. “Please, I just do the paperwork. I won’t tell anyone that you’re here- I won’t tell the heroes. Just let me go-“
“That’s sweet of you,” Villain cooed. “You needn’t worry about all that though. The heroes know I’m here. They just know better than to prioritise their workforce over whatever mission they’ve gone on now.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Is it not?” they asked, finally removing their nail from the wound. Civilian had little time to celebrate though as Villain leant in and licked along the blood trail made by the cut.
“S-stop,” Civilian shuddered, feeling Villain’s breath as they chuckled at their reaction. Suddenly, Villain’s hands were on Civilian’s face, looking at them appraisingly.
“God, you’re cute,” Villain sighed. “I could stay here doing this all day.”
“P-please…”
“But you’re right, I should probably get a move on.” With what looked like considerable reluctance, Villain removed their hands from Civilian and started to move away. Given the direction they were heading, Civilian guessed they had given up on trying for the Vault today. If it weren’t for the magic still holding them to the wall, Civilian would have fallen to their knees in relief.
Villain took maybe two or three paces before waving their hand towards Civilian. Rather than being released however, Civilian found themself thrust up into the air, levitating off the ground.
“P-put me down!” they shrieked, trying to gather some purchase. “What are you doing?!”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Villain asked, tilting their head innocently. “I can’t exactly leave you here like this, can I? I’m not sure how you got away with it last time, but we can’t have the heroes finding out about you now.”
“That’s none of your concern!”
“Of course it is, my dear. Those clumsy idiots would break you almost immediately. Then what would I be left to play with?” Villain waved their hand in a beckoning fashion, using their magic to pull Civilian closer until their faces were inches apart. “You don’t need to worry about me though,” they continued, smiling at Civilian’s stuttering breaths. “I promise I’ll take my time and start small. We’ll only move on when you’re ready.”
“Please- l-let me go- I- I don’t want-“
“It’s alright, lovely,” Villain shushed. “Like I said, I’ll be very gentle. Who knows, if all goes well, it may be decades before you finally break.”
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i just love your scary villains !! can’t get enough so if ur ever in the mood please write an intimidating baddie. thanks i love ur writing<<333
The protagonist stopped dead, visions ripping through their brain, terror seizing every atom of their body.
"They're coming."
The room around them warped to a massacre. Brutal most of all in how economical it was - like the lives stolen were barely worth the seconds it took for the villain to end them.
"They're coming," the protagonist gasped again. "We need to go. Now."
"How long?"
"I-" In their brain, the villain caught sight of them. Their head tilted. "10 minutes? 20 minutes max. It's-"
The future quivered, pressing close, and the villain smiled. Then, they were gone, and the protagonist was simply standing in the room surrounded by pale faces. Still alive faces.
They would not all make it.
"-It's not an exact art," the protagonist finished. "But I can buy you some time."
Who had the protagonist seen, broken on the floor? No. They couldn't focus on that.
Hope helped. Hope always helped.
Everyone stared back at them, frozen, as if they hadn't bloody heard '10 minutes'.
"Run," the protagonist said, "for your lives."
It broke the dam. They scattered. The protagonist turned and sprinted for the roof.
"They're coming. They're coming. They're coming." They hissed it at every person they hurtled past; ever-made omen and sign. They watched the horror follow them like a ship's wake, but there was no time.
The roof was freezing, wind biting straight through their hoodie. They whirled on the spot, clutching their head as the visions pulsed through them again.
"Please," they said. "Come on, please."
The future-rooms below them shifted, changed, vanished. The protagonist exhaled. They braced, at the sight of a dark shadow on the horizon.
The villain landed lightly upon their arrival. A perfect touch-down a few metres away. Their head tilted.
"Were they smart enough to listen to you this time?" the villain asked. "To run?"
The protagonist braced their feet for a fight, keeping their centre of gravity low, heart hammering.
"Ah." The villain smiled. "They're on their scurrying way, I see. How long are you hoping to give them?"
"As long as I can."
"The rest of your life?"
The protagonist swallowed. Hard.
"How foolish of them," the villain moved closer, "to abandon the only early warning system they have."
"As opposed to what? Coming up here and dying too?"
"Taking you with them to their little rat holes, perhaps?"
"So you can follow them there? Hunt them there too?"
"Hunt you, you mean," the villain said.
The protagonist flinched, despite themselves. "Yeah." They managed to keep their voice steady, if a little hoarse. "Hunt me."
It had become clear, over the last year, that they were the villain's target. They were the thing that the villain wanted, more and more, with every life that the protagonist managed to save by warning people that the villain was coming.
"Did you finally realise that you couldn't run forever?" the villain asked.
"Maybe I just got sick to death of being your harbinger."
The villain laughed, softly, at that. Then, they crooked a finger. Come at me. Fight for their lives.
There was no future, waiting, when the villain was right there. Only the torturous present. Dizzying and claustrophobic. Impossible to predict.
The protagonist feinted, lunged, and then the villain's hand was around their throat. The protagonist was in the air, legs kicking, arms flailing. They clawed at the villain's wrist but their nails wouldn't burrow through skin. They slammed a knee into the villain's body, but the villain didn't seem to notice.
They studied the protagonist, holding them up at face height. If not for the squeeze of fingers around the protagonist's throat, the protagonist had the absurd mental image of a monster scruffing a kitten.
Eventually, exhausted, they sagged in the villain's hold. The villain let through just enough air that they could draw in thin, strained lungfuls.
"Go on then," the protagonist spat. Tears pricked their eyes. "Finish it. Just - finish it."
"I didn't come here to kill you."
What? The protagonist's eyes bugged.
"I simply can't have an early warning system running around," the villain said. "It's very inconvenient. So if you're done with the theatrics, let's go. Can I put you down or are you going to do something silly again?"
"You're taking me with you?" The protagonist's insides bottomed out. They tried, desperately, to shake their head. "No. No. Just - why wouldn't you kill me? You kill everyone else!"
"But you're not everyone else," the villain said, softly. "You're my harbinger."
Before the protagonist could possibly hope to respond to that, a blast sounded in the distance. A missile hurtled towards them. The villain turned their head, eyes narrowing at the interruption, and it disintigrated inches away from impact.
A moment of thick, choking silence followed.
"Oh god," the protagonist whispered.
The villain sighed. "They really should learn to run when you tell them to."
"Don't," the protagonist said. "Please don't. I'll come with you, I won't fight, I-"
The villain slung the protagonist over one shoulder, holding them firmly in place as the protagonist began to thrash all over again. Then, they started stalking in the direction of the attack.
"Fight all you like, my harbinger," the villain said. "It's all the same to me now I have you. But they don't get to. You know that, don't you? You know me."
caught the premiere on Pyro's side and the immediate beef with Scott upon arrival, with Drift stuck in the middle, among other cool things was extremely fun! brb drawing some dragonss
also my artist brain during that scene was "woaw, it's them, it's the RGB" cause what do you mean people with opposite color palettes have lore between them, never saw it coming lmao
So, Scary Villain (you are absolutely amazing at writing those btw chefs kiss) but vs someone who is Into That (hero or civilian) and so this scary big bad who thought they were being intimidating and downright terrifying (which they were... for a normal person) is just like ":D?!?"
I just love the slight inherit goofiness of an intimidation/scare tactic producing a VERY different result than intended towards the receiver.
(Hope you have a lovely day/night btw)
"Are you enjoying this?"
The villain stood with one hand outstretched as their telekinetic abilities wound around the hero's limbs and splayed them against the wall like a specimen beneath a microscope.
"Enjoying is...a word," the hero replied. "They said you'd be able to see me, or sense me or whatever, but man. I was sure that was bullshit."
Invisibility was a useful gift in many a situation. It didn't matter how strong or fast their opponent was when they could never see the hero coming. It didn't matter how many enemies there were when the hero could sneak past them with minimal effort and the right pair of shoes.
They'd been doing their usual, sneaking past the villain too, when the villain's hand lashed out. They hadn't bothered to even look up. The hero had gone flying as surely as if they were wearing a neon sign that screamed 'here I am!' at regular intervals.
"You might as well show yourself," the villain had drawled. "Unless you'd prefer I make an abstract painting of your organs against the ceiling."
The hero had let their invisibility drop, heart pounding.
The villain had rose, slow and predatory, to their feet. The hero hadn't been able to take their eyes off them.
The villain's head tilted at the hero's words. They took several steps closer, and all the hero could do was twitch their fingers uselessly against the wall. There was no hiding. No slipping away. The hero's breath hitched as the villain stopped less than a metre away, close enough to touch, though they didn't. Their gaze raked over the hero like a physical thing, leaving no detail spared.
"Because I can see you?" the villain asked. "Even when you don't want to be seen? Must be a novelty for someone like you."
"Because that thing you just did hurling me against a wall was bloody hot."
The villain blinked. Startled. Their eyes turned dark and molten. Their head tilted the other way.
The hero swallowed.
"But, I mean, we can call it being seen," the hero said. "Probably more professional."
"Do you know who I am?"
"Duh."
"But you are not frightened?"
"I have a peculiar reaction to danger."
"Indeed." The villain curled their finger and the pressure at the hero's throat tightened and left them choking. The villain watched it all. They might have seemed dispassionate, except...
"Enjoying yourself?" the hero rasped.
"You're a delightful surprise. Stupid, but delightful. New?"
"It's one of my many charms."
"The other being how pretty you'd look writhing and bloody with tears in your eyes? What are you doing in my lab?"
"Spelunking."
"Excellent hobby for a budding danger addict."
"I know, right?!"
The villain snorted. They loosened their telekinetic grip on the hero's throat, before they could get too dizzy. "What are you doing in my lab?"
"I was curious about you."
"Have I satisfied your morbid curiosity?"
"Morbid?" The hero wet their dry lips, but held the villain's gaze. "You haven't killed me yet. Wouldn't be as fun without the screaming and sobbing, would it?"
"There's still time." The villain paused, clocking the hero's reaction to that. "Oh, you weren't kidding. You really are a little freak, aren't you?"
"It's all in the line delivery. Do you practice?"
"No. Would you like me to practice on you?"
"I mean, I should point out I don't actually have a death wish."
"You broke into my lab."
"And for all you know I could have a cunning escape planned!"
The villain flicked their hand and the hero dropped down off the wall with a thump, landing on their knees, hands twisted behind their back. Chin tilted up by an unseen force.
"Then escape," the villain said. "Or I'll assume you want to stay like this for me."
"Most people buy me dinner first."
"We're not most people."
The hero considered them a moment, before they switched their invisibility on and then some again. Focusing. Phasing from the villain's grip.
The villain's eyes grew impossibly darker.
The hero straightened, giving a little bow.
A smirk curled the villain's lips. "I know how to keep people alive when I want to. I think I want to right now."
"Dinner? Tonight?"
"You can break in at seven."
It was the start of a beautiful new...not friendship. But they both enjoyed themselves very much.
wgshdwgd im sorry if youre not accepting snippet reqs </333
but could i req you write abt a villain who *everyone* is genuinely terrified of. and then the hero just politely tells them to shut the fuck up. like, villain could be monologuing or smth and hero would cut them off saying that they would really appreciate it if villain could finish up in the next hour or so because they dont want to miss bargain day at the supermarket.
uwah im sorry if i broke any rules </33 stay safe its a crazy world out there <333
"-Could you please just shut up?"
There was a moment of absolute, horrified silence. One man promptly fainted. Nobody seemed to breathe for a few seconds.
The villain turned, slowly, towards the protagonist.
They were on their knees on the floor, surrounded by armed guards ready to execute the various staff still in their building. Their expression was one of exhausted long-suffering, one hand pinching the bridge of their nose as if to stave off a headache.
"Excuse me?" the villain asked, oh so softly.
"Will you please stop talking?" The protagonist dropped their hand, levelling the villain with a look. "Like, if you're going to slaughter the lot of us, just do it, don't make us listen to the spiel first. It's been forty five minutes."
"Are you so eager to die?"
"No. But if I'm going to die, I think I'd like to get it over with. Otherwise, I'd like to just go about my day. I need to buy food before the shop closes and takeaway costs a fortune. I mean, bloody hell. Forty five minutes. Do you really think anyone here is listening?"
The villain stared.
"Like, not to be rude," the protagonist said. "But they're all scared out their minds. They are not processing the finer points of your monologue. It's just so unnecessary."
"I could cut out your tongue and feed it to you."
"You don't have anything better to do?"
"I could cut out their tongues," the villain swept a hand around the room, "and feed them to you. That sorts out dinner, doesn't it?"
"I mean, I'm vegan, and not a cannibal, but I appreciate you're more concerned with being menacing than actually addressing the issue."
The villain stared some more.
The protagonist stared back.
"The data I need is still downloading," the villain said, after a long moment. "If I let you leave, someone will do something stupid like try and call the police."
"Sure, sure. But the monologue."
"You don't enjoy the sound of my voice?"
"I wouldn't take it too personally. It's been a week. Bit overstimulated, to be honest. Anyone's voice right now feels a bit like a cheese grater on my nerve endings."
"A bit like a cheese grater."
"No offense."
The villain blinked at them, slow and somewhat incredulous.
"A cheese grater."
The protagonist shrugged.
"I'm assuming you didn't miss who I am in the last forty five minutes," the villain said.
"No."
"And yet."
"It's not that you're not terrifying," the protagonist said. "I just - forty five minutes. Humans aren't set up to be this stressed for forty minutes. My head is killing me. Processing all this - if you don't kill us - is going to be hard enough without having to fit in all the life admin I'm not currently getting done."
"Come here."
"...what?"
The villain crooked a finger to beckon the protagonist forward.
The protagonist swallowed, eyeing the villain warily, but didn't make them ask again. With a glance at the armed henchmen, they shuffled forwards to the spot the villain had gestured at their feet.
"You know," the villain said, "it's been a very long time since anyone has talked back to me."
"Sorry. I'm really not trying to be rude."
"No," the villain mused, head tilting with something alarmingly like curiosity as the protagonist came to a stop. "You're really not, are you? Turn."
"...turn?"
The villain gestured again, to indicate that the protagonist should face away from them.
"...You can't just give me all the orders at once? I get this is more dramatic, but I probably wouldn't be trying your patience as much if-"
The villain seized the nape of the protagonist's neck, like scruffing a kitten, making their breath catch.
Everyone watched for the inevitable torment. The punishment. The kill.
The villain's fingers dug into the knots of tension in the protagonist's neck, power sparking up the touch.
The protagonist sagged. "Holy shit," they breathed.
"Better?"
"Um. I mean - yes - but -"
"Good." The villain glanced up to the henchmen. "Shoot everyone else."
"What? Wait - no -"
The sound was deafening.
Then the silence was, once again, absolute.
"You didn't have to do that," the protagonist whispered. "I didn't mean - if I offended you -"
"Oh, you didn't, don't worry. That's why you're still alive. Tell me about yourself."
The villain's grip stayed unrelenting on the back of the protagonist's neck, holding them securely in place.
"T-tell-?"
"We still have ten minutes," the villain said, in a tone of great patience, "before the download completes. Tell me about yourself. I shouldn't be the one doing all the talking, after all. It's very rude of me, isn't it?"
Hesitantly, the protagonist talked, watching the blood pool on the floor. What else was there to do?
The computer finally gave a quiet beep to indicate that the download was complete.
"Good. Very good." The villain gave the protagonist's neck another gentle enough squeeze. "Now. Let's go grocery shopping," the villain said cheerfully. "Up you get. Dinner's on me."
: ̗̀➛ Summary: The chances of befriending a Wayne online are low, but never zero. You honestly thought somebody was trying to catfish you, you don't just believe anybody who tells you that they're Tim Drake online.
When you actually meet him, you realize that somehow you beat that impossibly low statistic and actually befriended Tim Drake. However, there is something strange going on with the Wayne family. You weren’t sure what it was.
Until Red Robin saved you.
: ̗̀➛ Word Count: 14.5k
Warnings/Tags: Online friends to friends to lovers, texting, LOTS of texting, they're literally online friends idk what you'd expect, Tim does photography as a hobby, reader is a uni student, reader and Tim deserve each other <3, secret identity reveal, very fluffy fic
: ̗̀➛ A/N: First Tim Drake fic! Hope you guys enjoy :)! Thank you @r-4-y-v-3-n for this request! This prompt was a lot of fun <3! I hope I delivered :D!
Masterlist
“Yes, I'll have the files emailed as soon as possible.” You place your phone onto your desk, pulling up your drive on your laptop. The moment you place your phone down, it buzzes. The vibration echoes loudly on your wooden table.
“Thank you,” your boss responds on speaker. “Could you have them sent to IT as well?” He asks, and you hear some rustling on his side of the call.
You nod, forgetting that he can't see you. “Of course.” Buzz. “I am sending them right now.” Buzz. “Did you want it sent to your assistant as well?” Buzz.
“If you could.” Buzz. “I'd appreciate it.” Buzz.
You grit your teeth, “Great.” Buzz.
You glare at your phone, hoping the intensity of your stare will compel him to stop texting you.
Buzz.
You sigh, rubbing your temples as you click send. “Alright, I just sent them.”
“Thank you,” your boss says your name. “I'll be in touch.”
You nod, “Let me know if anything else is needed.” Your boss hangs up. The display on your phone changing back to your home screen. Buzz. You are going to kill this man.
Tim: at this point i feel like you're just ignoring me 😔
Tim: i KNOW you're home right now
Tim: gotta admit you're dedicated tho
You glare at your phone, quickly typing out a response.
hey sorry to disappoint but i can be at home AND still work, some of us are actually employed
He instantly responds.
Tim: tf you talking about?? I am literally the ceo of wayne enterprises bro 🥀
I thought that was Lucius??? and even if you are employed you sure act unemployed bro 🥀
Tim: are you calling me chronically online?
Tim: how do you think we met???
Tim: it's a two way street 😭
yeah but like
Tim: 🤨🤨
ok fair enough, but I was working 😭 what was so important that you had to spam me while I was talking to my BOSS
Tim: mb gang i didn't know :(((
Tim: I figured if you didn't respond the first time you'd respond by the 15th time
Tim: and it worked soooo….
get to the point
Tim: so consider
Tim: dinner
You feel your heart skip a beat, your thumbs freezing as any comments you had evaporate from your head.
Tim: at the manor
Oh… That makes more sense. Why would you assume he was asking you out? You scoff, feeling a low surge of disappointment run through your chest.
again??
Tim: yeah i don't wanna be alone 💔
won't there be like 10 people there??? how would you be alone?
Tim: can you just be there pls
no
Tim: please?
i'm busy
Tim: doing what
i shouldn't tell people online what i'm doing, that's creepy of you to ask there buddy 🤨
Tim: you've literally been in my ROOM before hello??
You chuckle, leaning back in your chair as you type. Any prior work you were doing is entirely forgotten.
that's an issue, what if I stole something? clearly SOMEBODY forgot to tell you never to tell strangers online your address 😔
Tim: fyi i can handle myself PERFECTLY fine
yeah huh
Tim: and are you implying you stole something from me???
no but i could've, you wouldn't have even noticed
Tim: no I would've
then why'd you ask me if I did?
Tim: to see if you'd admit guilt
I didn't steal anything though??
Tim: that's what a LIAR would say
oh my goodness
you're on your own for dinner
Tim: WAIT PLEASE
Tim: IM SORRY PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME WITH THEM
Tim: WE CAN HANG OUT AFTER MAKE IT A WHOLE THING
Tim: ACTUALLY WE CAN JUST DITCH LIKE HALFWAY THROUGH AND HEAD UP TO MY ROOM
damn you're acting as if they burn you at the stake each time there is dinner 😭
Tim: please be there i beg of you 🙏
mmmm i dunno you don't sound desperate enough
Tim: now I KNOW you're lying cause there's no WAY you just said that
Tim: I'd literally get on my knees and beg if I could
lmao what's stopping you?
Tim: my dignity
😔
Tim: u being fr rn?
the mental image is very funny
Tim: i'm sure it is, now can we get back on track? could you PLEASE show up to dinner Sunday I'm LITERALLY begging you
THIS SUNDAY???? I THOUGHT IT'D BE LIKE NEXT WEEK OR SOMETHING
Tim: PLEASE I KNOW IT'S SHORT NOTICE I WILL MAKE IT WORTH YOUR TIME 🙏
Tim: I'LL EVEN ASK ALFRED TO MAKE YOUR FAVORITE FOOD AND DESSERT
That makes you pause.
you will? 🤨
Tim: YES JUST PLEASE SHOW UP
mmm okay
gotta ask, why do you need me there that bad??? don't just say your lonely or smth stupid
Tim: if you're there, it forces everybody to act normal
You furrow your eyebrows, pondering what “abnormal” would look like for the Wayne family. They seemed kind of normal when you met them. Maybe it's some Wayne thing you just don't understand.
what does that even mean??
Tim: just trust me, you being there makes my life 1000x easier
oh so I'm bait 💀
Tim: nononono not like that
Tim: it's nothing actually bad I promise
relax Tim I'm joking lmao, I'll gladly be bait to make your family behave normally 🫡 (as long as you hold up with your deal with Alfred of course)
Tim: you're literally my favorite person in the world right now
Smiling, you chuckle at the message, leaning back into your chair. You are not going to read too much into that.
after this I better be, I'll see you later then
Tim: I can pick you up Sunday around five
perfect, see you then
Tim: see you
You place your phone down. Dinner, huh? It's not like you haven't been to the Wayne's for dinner. This shouldn't be any different. The only other time Tim invited you to dinner was when you were starting to get to know him in person. To be fair, he didn't exactly “invite” you. His family actually insisted that they had to meet Tim's new friend. Tim had quickly informed you that you could decline the “offer,” but you had went anyway. It's not like you could just decline an invitation from Bruce Wayne himself.
The difference between now and then is that Tim is not only inviting you, but practically begging you to show up. Sure, he had snuck you in a few times, but formal invitations were not something that either of you did, not anymore.
What changed?
It's not something you should read into. However, your mind keeps going back to that one line. You open your phone again, scrolling to look at the messages. Your thumb hovers over the message: “if you're there, it forces everybody to act normal.”
Now, it should not be something you should read into. However, the strange thing is, you know exactly what Tim is talking about. When you met the Wayne's everything was seemingly normal, but the issue was that it was too normal. It set off some alarm in your brain, but you couldn't figure out what they did that set it off.
Normal.
What defines normalcy?
Is it the standards that you are accustomed to? Is it expectations one expects a well-adjusted person to have? Either way, it set off some alarms because while you didn't know how to describe their usual behavior, Tim does.
They act normal when you're there. This implies that there is a time where they don't act normal.
Your finger lightly traces the edge of your phone as you stare at the messages. Now, you're definitely reading into this, but the fact of the matter is something is up.
You're going to figure it out.
Meeting Tim had been, potentially, the most unexpected event in your entire life. Now, since both of you live in Gotham, one might presume that perhaps you met somewhere in the city. Perhaps you went to the same university or bumped into each other on the street. Perhaps you had met him at one of the dozens of events hosted by the Waynes every year. The possibilities were endless.
Instead, you met him on a thread online.
You didn't even know it was him.
It had been an online forum. You don't even remember what the exact topic was. It was something photography related. One of the users— TimTam— had been discussing something about how to balance one's subject with the environment around them. They had gone on and on about the rule of thirds, and how the the environment was meant to enhance the subject. Curiously, you had checked out their profile. After all, you'd expect somebody who talked the talk to be able to walk the walk. You'd found a link to a blog he had.
Apparently, you should've never doubted TimTam because the photos he took were absolutely breathtaking. You've lived in Gotham for decades, and yet the photos that TimTam took exhibited an unconventional beauty of the otherwise deplorable city. For a moment, you wondered if this was his job. Some of the photos looked too perfect to just be a mere hobby. He had shots next to the gargoyles on Wayne Tower with angles that looked unfeasible for any sane person to achieve.
Who was this guy?
Curiosity got the better of you. You had attempted to look him up for any other social media accounts, but your efforts were fruitless. A conclusion that only made you more curious.
You wanted to find more about this mysterious individual, so you sent him a quick message. Polite and inquisitive.
Hello! I stumbled onto your page, and I adore your photography! I was wondering if you had any other social media accounts. I would love to follow some of your other socials.
Checking the original forum, you noticed that the timestamp was from over a week ago. Hopefully he'd respond. You didn't really keep up with online photography forums much. Stumbling onto this had been an accident, but a happy accident nevertheless. You were about to get up from your chair, when you saw a little bubble signifying a notification.
Your mouth parted in surprise. That was quick.
TimTam: Hello. I don't have any other socials at the moment for photography. I only really post it occasionally on my main.
You nod, understandable. It's a shame, but you weren't about to ask a random stranger for what may be their potentially personal account. You were about to type your response, when TimTam sends another message.
TimTam: You think I should make a photography accoutn?
TimTam: account*
You slowly blink at the message followed by the typo correction. Somehow this person seems a lot less intimidating than they did five seconds ago.
Absolutely! It's rare that I can find somebody capture Gotham in the perspective you do. I would definitely follow you if you make any other socials.
There's a pause for a moment. The bubble appears, disappears, and reappears again. You tap the space bar of your laptop idly, curious what TimTam has to say.
TimTam: Like right now?
You can't help the surprised snort that escapes you.
I mean if you want? I meant more generally, but now works.
TimTam: Right, right, of course
You like their message, unsure how to respond to that. You think that's the end of your adventures with TimTam, but about ten minutes later you get another message. You open the chat back up. It's an Instagram link.
TimTam: Thanks for the advice. I made the social.
You nod as if they can see your physical response. Tapping onto the link.
For sure! Honored to be the first official follower :)
You actually are their first follower. The account's user is Tim_Tam with a profile picture sitting on the ledge of a building overlooking the sunset. Zero posts, one follower, zero following. It was brand new. Not even a bio present.
Satisfied with how the interaction went, you had presumed that your conversations with TimTam had ended. You didn't exactly give them a reason to keep contacting you.
A few days went by, and slowly TimTam began to post on social media. His first posts garnered thousands of likes, which you found impressive for such a fresh account. You did tell him that he'd do well on other platforms. It didn't take long for him to build up a following. Nothing insane, but definitely a good start.
You had been keeping up with TimTam. You weren't sure what drew you to him, but you found yourself liking each post of his. You found a smile appear on your face each time he posted.
Perhaps you were a tad bit proud that your suggestion led to such fruition.
Judging by the way he had immediately asked you if he should make a photography account, you assumed that he had previously considered the idea. Either that or he was a very spontaneous person.
Either way, you took some satisfaction out of it.
Days had gone by and you watched as his followers trickled up. You found yourself living vicariously through TimTam, silently celebrating ten thousand followers with him.
Then you saw it.
You had been about to go to bed. It was nearly midnight, and it was freezing. The comforters weighed heavily onto you, shrouding you in warmth. On top of that, you had pulled the Batman throw blanket up to your neck, nearly suffocating yourself with the soft material. The blanket had the different symbols of all the Bats plastered onto it against a light gray backdrop. You'd gotten it years ago, and to this day it was still one of your favorite blankets.
You squinted your eyes as the bright light of your phone shone through the otherwise dark room. Your eyes started to feel the strain as you continued to fight the urge to sleep.
Then you saw the notification.
The first thing you registered wasn't the message, but the sender of the message.
TimTam (or is it Tim_Tam now?) had sent you a message.
Sitting up, you read the notification, not wanting him to know you're reading his message.
Tim_Tam
[Image attached]
Sent now
Tim_Tam
[Image attached]
Sent now
Tim_Tam
Which one do you think looks better?
Sent now
You paused, thumb hovering over the Instagram notifications. You couldn't see the photos if you didn't click the message. However, if you clicked the messages, he'd know you're awake.
Would it be weird to respond? It's nearly midnight. What if he judges your poor sleeping schedule?
Then again… He texted you first. If anything he should be worried about how he comes across. Also, why should you care? It's just a stranger on the internet.
Before you could reconsider your actions, you clicked on the messages.
Nothing could have prepared you for what you saw.
The two photos looked practically identical. Upon closer inspection, you noticed a few discrepancies, but they were so insignificant that they were practically the same photo.
It was taken on a rooftop. Nightwing and Robin were shown to be conversing with one another. It was, quite possibly, the clearest photos of the vigilantes you had ever seen.
Of course, you've seen the blurry images and videos of the vigilantes captured by the news or even by Gothamites themselves, but none of them were this sharp. It was evident that the photo was taken from a distance (likely due to TimTam not wanting to be spotted), but that didn't change the fact that this was potentially the best photo you'd seen of the vigilantes before.
Sure, you've seen a whispered shadow pass over your head, or even heard the roar of the Batmobile echo across the city, but you had never gotten a clear look at their faces. It's blurry enough where specific identifiable facial features may not be evident, but it's clear enough that you can actually deduce their facial expressions.
Nightwing appears to be smiling, a wide grin plastered onto his face. Robin doesn't share the same expression. It's more difficult to tell what he's thinking, but it's evident that he does not share Nightwing's apparent amusement.
You swipe between the two photos TimTam sent. You were only able to make out five differences total. In the first photo, Robin's shoulders were more tense, Nightwing's mouth was slightly open (though still grinning) as if caught mid-speech, and the lights of the city shined down a low red lighting onto their costumes, bathing them in the ominous color.
The second photo had Nightwing simply offering an amused grin, smiling with his teeth on display. He wasn't saying anything. Robin's shoulders were more relaxed, but the unamused expression was a constant in both photos. The low red lighting from the first photo turned into a slightly more vibrant scarlet that enveloped the subjects. If you looked closely, you'd notice that Nightwing had a couple strands of hair out of place. The change making him look slightly more unkempt. The only other noticeable change was the direction Robin faced. In the second photo, he is angled just ever so slightly more towards Nightwing.
The second one for sure. It makes them both look cooler with the lighting and it feels slightly more personal.
Tim_Tam: Okay, thanks.
You stare at the photos for a moment longer, waiting for something else. No other response came. You furrow your brows, typing another message. Before TimTam was interesting. But now?
Wait that's it?
Now he's borderline unreal.
Tim_Tam: Yeah, I couldn't really decide
Tim_Tam: It's not like I could ask Nightwing and Robin their opinions. I doubt they even know the photo was taken.
Who even is this guy?
You're telling me that you snuck up on NIGHTWING and ROBIN
and you can't choose which photo looks better???
Tim_Tam: In all fairness, their vibes are VERY different. I couldn't tell which one to go for.
He's right. Despite capturing the same moment, the minute differences change the interpretation of the photos immensely.
That's fair.
Should I even ask how you got these photos?
Tim_Tam: It sounds like you are asking
Tim_Tam: Let's just say I have my ways
You frown. That was entirely expected, but still disappointing.
Are you planning on selling them?
There's a pause for a moment. The bubbles appear, then disappear, then reappear.
Tim_Tam: What?
Like the photos. You could probably sell them to the Gotham Gazette and get a quick buck or something.
I don't think I've ever seen any news agency with photos THIS clear. I'm sure they'd eat it up.
Tim_Tam: Maybe? I hadn't really considered that
Wait wait you're telling me you stalked after vigilantes for love of the game??
Tim_Tam: yeah pretty much
At this point, you're wide awake. All sleepiness that clouded your brain fanned away long ago.
Are those the only ones you have?
There's a long pause.
Tim_Tam: At the moment.
I'm not saying you should follow the Bats again but like…
These photos are actually phenomenal, you could get famous for this.
There's another long pause.
Tim_Tam: You think?
100%. I've NEVER seen such prisitine photos of Nightwing and Robin. It's genuinely impressive.
Tim_Tam: Hm
Tim_Tam: I'll see what I can do.
That was the start of your friendship with TimTam. Vigilante photos. Two nights after the Nightwing and Robin photo situation, you received another text.
Tim_Tam
[Image attached]
Sent now
You nearly dropped your phone upon opening the message.
If you thought the Nightwing and Robin photo was clear? This was night and day. It was single handled the best photo of Red Robin you've ever seen. The image pictured Red Robin kicking some criminal. The dynamic pose combined with the sheer clarity of the photo made for an actual masterpiece. You could see the way that his suit fit his form. The way he clenched his jaw as he struck the criminal. It was so close. It almost looks like TimTam had taken security camera footage, zoomed in, and somehow enhanced it.
???
Tim_Tam: Is that a good or bad ???
GOOD DEFINITELY GOOD
HOW IS IT SOMEHOW BETTER THAN THE NIGHTWING AND ROBIN ONE
Tim_Tam: I'm good at photography I guess
Tim_Tam: you're a Red Robin fan?
Were you imagining the smug tone behind that? Was Red Robin even your favorite? You liked Red Robin, but your favorite?
I suppose
Tim_Tam: You suppose?? Damnnnn okay
My bad 😭 didn't realize you were a big Red Robin fan
Tim_Tam: No no it's fine
Tim_Tam: Perhaps I'll have to get more to convince you
At that point just interview him. You're already stalking the poor guy.
Tim_Tam: He's finr
Tim_Tam: fine*
He paused.
Tim_Tam: For the record though, I probably could
You chuckled. Whoever this was seemed very confident they could get an interview with Red Robin. Have you even seen vigilante interviews? Maybe a statement or two here and there, but never full on interviews.
Maybe stick to your day job
Tim_Tam: I feel like you're challenging me 🤨
Nonono
Just like
I'd hate to read in the paper that Red Robin beat you up
There was a long moment of silence, Tim_Tam wasn't even typing.
Tim_Tam: Nah I can handle him
You were full on laughing at your phone by this point.
Tim_Tam: He didn't even notice me taking the photos or anything
And that translates to his fighting ability??
Tim_Tam: I mean all you got to do is get one really good hit in and he's out
Tim_Tam: he's only human
you sure of that? 🤨🤨
Tim_Tam: Positive, I think I have a shot
Well then, I await the day I see the headline
“photographer takes out Red Robin with a single hit”
Tim_Tam: Oh yeah that'll for sure be the headline
Tim_Tam: I'll personally get the photo for that story. Send a photo of it just to you to prove myself
Do you always look for validation from strangers on the internet??
Tim_Tam: Do you always judge the photos of photographers on the internet??
do NOT pin this on me, you asked me to pick between the two :(
Tim_Tam: mhm
I wasn't even being critical of them, all I said was that I liked the second one better
Tim_Tam: I believe your exact words were that they looked “cooler” and “felt more personal”
I didn't say the other ones were bad though!! I'm pretty sure I said they were the BEST photos of Nightwing and Robin I've seen so far
also
Tim_Tam: ?
You hesitated. Was this being too casual with TimTam? The two of you seem to be getting along fine, but you hadn't asked him any truly heavy questions.
I was just curious— feel free to not answer— but are you planning on posting the Nightwing and Robin photos?
Somehow, you felt as if the tension rose at your question. TimTam diidn't immediately respond. There was no indication that he's even read your message. Then you saw the bubble. Typing. Not typing. Typing.
Tim_Tam: No
Tim_Tam: I can't
Absentmindedly you tapped the side of your phone, eyebrows furrowing.
Ah okay
The response was lame, and both of you knew it. You silently berated yourself for ruining the atmosphere. TimTam didn't respond after that. He didn't react to the message, but you still saw that he was online. Resigned, you slowly put your phone back on the nightstand. Shutting your eyes, you twist your body in the opposite direction of the device. Out of sight, out of mind—
Bzzt!
Your phone's vibration caused you to freeze. No, no. You needed to sleep. It might not even be TimTam. It could've been a random email that you'll never look at. Even if it was TimTam, it was completely understandable if you didn't respond, given how late it is.
However, curiosity did kill the cat.
You turned over, slowly grabbing you phone. You had zero expectations (at least that's what you told yourself). TimTam was probably asleep too. It's not like you two were close enough to be chatting casually this late.
Tim_Tam: It's not that I don't want to don't get me wrong
Tim_Tam: It's just that something happened, and I can't do it
Without thinking, you opened the message. Damn it, he's going to think you're a loser, immediately coming online the moment he messages you.
No need to justify yourself, I get it
I'm glad that you decided to share the photos you've taken with me though
TimTam paused, but his next reply had you reeling.
Tim_Tam: Robin paid me a visit
You felt your heart start to pound as if it was you who Robin visited. You could only imagine how TimTam handled the situation. How did he neglect to mention that?!
Are you serious??? Thought you said that he and Nightwing weren't aware you were photographing them?
Tim_Tam: So
Tim_Tam: How do I say this
The responses were rapid, you could feel TimTam's unease through the screen.
Shoudl I be concerned??
should*
Tim_Tam: Would you believe me if I hypothetically said I sought out Robin
like you took more photos of him??
Tim_Tam: No like I talked with him
He did what?
Tim_Tam: And hypothetically he said that the photos must never be seen by the public
hypothetically did you agree??
Tim_Tam: kinda??
oh my gosh are you going to be on a vigilante hit list?
Tim_Tam: I don't think that's a thing 💀
you THINK? the same guy who THOUGHT Nightwing and Robin weren't aware of you??
Tim_Tam: TECHNICALLY they weren't, I just wanted to show them the photos get their thoughts
…my guy this is on you why would you TELL them??
praying for you 🙏
Tim_Tam: Are you still implying that Robin is going to off me??
I'm JUST saying, now they know who you are
if they see any photos like the ones you took they'll know it was you
probably dox you or something idk
Tim_Tam: You make an excellent point
Tim_Tam: eh It'll be fine though
Did you get Nightwing or Red Robin's opinion too?
It felt stupid to ask. You imagine he would've said something if he met another vigilante. TimTam took a minute to respond.
Tim_Tam: Nightwing no, Red Robin yes
Or not… What kind of guy just casually forgets to mention he met not one but two vigilantes?
What'd he say?
Tim_Tam: He thought it was cool
You stared at the message for a long moment, waiting to see if he'd elaborate.
He thought it was cool??
Tim_Tam: Yep
and that's it..?
Tim_Tam: Uhh I can't really remember
did he knock you out or something??? you conversed with RED ROBIN and can't even bother to remember what he said??
Tim_Tam: to be fair he didn't say much
You're telling me he SERIOUSLY just said “cool” and then left??
Tim_Tam: yeah pretty much
You let out a puff of amusement. What a weird world you live in. This random internet photographer you found has somehow met two of Gotham's vigilante's, been threatened by one of them, and is still acting like this isn't a big deal.
Tim_Tam: Oh and he said he didn't mind the photos
Finally, something.
Are you going to try and catch him again?
I feel obligated to preface this by saying this is NOT me encouraging you to go track down vigilantes
Tim_Tam: uhhhh
???
Tim_Tam: [Image Attached]
Tim_Tam: You're a bit too late, already caught him again
You stare blankly at the new image. It's another image of Red Robin. This time it's not an action shot. Instead, it capture the vigilante sitting casually on the edge of the building. His knee is propped up in front of him, his arm casually resting on it. The angle of this photo is different. It isn't taken from above, nor from the streets below. Instead, it's taken from the very rooftop Red Robin is sitting on. If you had to hazard a guess, TimTam took this photo from the ground of the rooftop with his camera at a low angle.
Dude did you CRAWL to get this photo???
Tim_Tam: …why would you ask that??
Cause how else did you get a get that specific angle of Red Robin?? Did you share a rooftop with him??
You pause, scrutinizing the photograph. There's a figure in the back, and upon further examination, you realize who it is.
IS THAT NIGHTWING IN THE DISTANCE???? YOU CAUGHT HIM AGAIN???
Tim_Tam: What???
There is a pause for a moment.
Tim_Tam: Huh didn't even see him lol
“Didn't even see him lol.” You weren't even sure if you're surprised anymore. All you can do is stare at the photograph with Red Robin (and Nightwing pictured in the back) in awe. For a moment, you considered whether TimTam truly asked Red Robin to pose for it. It certainly looked like it.
you ACCIDENTALLY got a picture of Red Robin posing with Nightwing in the distance???
Tim_Tam: Red Robin isn't posing what??
dude he is LITERALLY posing for the photo
There was a momentary pause.
Tim_Tam: idk it looks pretty natural to me
sure we'll go with that
You sighed, rubbing you temples. This guys has to be playing you.
Tim_Tam: damn okay fine doubt me
Tim_Tam: I'll try again
You almost felt your blood pressure spike seeing the message. What kind of person gets threatened by Robin and decides to pursue the guy? Determined, you pick up your phone, fingers flying over the keyboard.
You are not going to be a bystander in this guy's inevitable demise.
Was it an unconventional way to befriend somebody? Perhaps, but it was Gotham. TimTam seemed relatively nice, a trait found few and far between in a city like this. It helped that he enjoyed your company as well. There were many nights where neither of you could fall asleep, and the only thing keeping you up was the quiet vibration of your phone going off, signaling that he was still there.
Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, months dragged on for a year.
After a year, you’d think that you’d know a bit more about who TimTam really was. Perhaps a small slip up that leads to a meet up? Did you even want to meet up with TimTam? What if he’s been playing the long game, waiting to get your trust before inevitably killing you in a back alley, your name never to be mentioned again outside of a True Crime Story podcast in a few years. You shuddered at the thought.
Dramatic? Yes. Paranoid? Absolutely.
Still doesn’t stop the growing desire to know who he is.
Have you walked past him on the street? Maybe you went to school together? Perhaps you both frequent a place with no idea the other is there. The possibilities were endless. They were killing you, and yet neither of you brought up the topic.
The closest you got to hints was talking about the latest news.
did you see hear about those buildings that Firefly lit up?
Tim_Tam: “see” would be an understatement, closer to felt
Your eyebrows raised into your hairline.
oh shit, are you okay??
Tim_Tam: i’m fineeee
Tim_Tam: tis but a scratch
Tim_Tam: or burn
You back straightened as you sat up from the curb. Police sirens still rang out, the blaring noise causing your eardrums to vibrate in an unpleasant manner. You frantically looked over the crowd of people: officers, paramedics, examiners, victims, detectives.
Is he one of them?
You weren’t sure what he looked like. He’d been (frustratingly) vague about who he is, but, to be fair, you weren’t any more explicit.
you’re here?
The message is sent and read almost immediately. You watch as the bubble of him typing appears. On. Off. On. Off. You stare at the screen, squinting, attempting to block out the noise of your environment. For a moment, you wonder if something happened. Does he not want to answer that question?
Tim_Tam: wait you're here??
Tim_Tam: shit what are you doing here?
Against your will, your heart started pumping. The accelerating rhythm causing your hands to shake as you typed out your next message, even if— at the time— you insisted it was just the cold, damp, air of Gotham.
Tim_Tam: are you okay?
Tim_Tam: did anything happen to you?
Tim_Tam: are you still here?
You didn't get a chance to respond. Tim manages to send three messages in the time it takes your freezing hands to type half of one. You ran your finger slowly against the screen of your phone, your hands leaving imprints on the device.
not for much longer, I’m planning on leaving soon
“I’m free to go, right?” You confirmed with the paramedic on your right, looking over a young boy. The kid was unharmed, but apparently did not appreciate the examination. The paramedic turned to you, looking you up and down.
“You were already checked for other injuries? Concussions? Anything?” They slowly turned away from you back to the kid. You nodded, “Yeah, I feel fine.” You weren’t lying either. If anything, you were more shaken up then injured.
The paramedic sighed, “Alright, just make sure to rest. It’s been a long night. Take it easy for the next few days. If you notice anything, I’d go to any of the Wayne sponsored health facilities.” They pasued for a moment. “If anything, I’d recommend the clinic near Crime Alley if you want to avoid wait times.” They shined a light into the boy’s eye, “Sketchy area, but the General Hospital tends to get overcrowded fast.”
You blinked, surprised by the helpful advice. “Thanks,” you nodded slowly, “I’ll keep that in mind.” You waited there for an extra beat to see if they’d respond, but it seemed as if that was all they had to say. Slowly, you made your way around the scene, ducking under the caution tape as you attempted to find a way out of the area. Reporters and police officers appeared to be stationed at every corner of the scene, and you didn't particularly want to look at the burned down section of the Upper West Side mere blocks away from the university.
Braving the crowds of cameras it is.
Slowly, you made your way over to the least crowded corner of the scene, nodding at the officer. He returned the nod and watched you raise the caution tape and walk past the dozens of journalists and reporters.
Then you felt it.
You’re no stranger to the sensation of having eyes on you. In fact, it’s a universal experience for every Gothamite. You’d heard stories from friends who committed crimes, albeit petty ones, that even if they got away with a crime or two, they always felt like he was watching. Despite avoiding crime as much as possible (a challenge on its own), you somehow understood them.
The sensation of somebody always there.
Somebody always in the shadows.
Somebody watching.
Usually, you’d describe that sensation as heavy, looming. It was akin to a shadow being cast over you, blocking out any source of light, essentially leaving you in the darkness with nothing but your own doubts and fears. It's part of how Batman was able to have some semblance of control of crime.
However, contrary to that fear, it also provided a sense of safety. You knew you weren’t a target, you’d never be a target. That fear that’s instilled by Batman wasn’t meant for you, it was meant to help people like you.
This, though, is different.
There is no doubt in your mind somebody is watching you. Your skin prickles at the thought, yet the longer you wait for that sharp spike of fear…
It doesn’t come.
Now, you’ve lived in Gotham for a long time. Perhaps your instincts aren’t perfect, but you’d say they’re pretty damn good.
So the fact that somebody is singling you out and watching you? Your brain screamed at you that there was everything wrong with that, which made sense. It’s an assertion most people would agree with.
However.
With an almost dramatic turn, you slowly lifted your gaze up to the buildings across the street. Far enough to be safe from the fire, but close enough to have the perfect view.
You huffed, a small smile on your face.
In the distance, you saw two figures on the rooftop. While it’s hard to deduce the exact builds of the tem, what you could see were the colors.
You could also tell that one of them is looking directly at you. After seeing who knows how many Red Robin photos in the past year (courtesy of Tim), you concluded that Red Robin was most definitely watching you from across the street.
Yep, this is normal. Perhaps Red Robin knows that Tim sends you the photos he takes of him.
You slowly raised a hand up, hesitantly waving at him.
For a moment, nothing happened, and you felt a tad bit stupid for waving at a vigilante and expecting him to wave back. Awkwardly, you lowered your arm, grabbing your phone out of your pocket to check the time. Shutting your phone back off, you shifted your eyes up, expecting the vigilantes to have vanished (something you’ve heard they’re notorious for).
Instead, your mouth parted in surprise as Red Robin slowly waved back at you.
You blinked slowly at the vigilante in the distance in sheer disbelief, not physically reacting otherwise. Almost as if he’s embarrassed, Red Robin slowly lowered his arm back down. The two of you stared at each other for a moment longer before, inevitably, something else caught his attention. His head tilted away from you, and you watched as he turned to face Spoiler and Black Bat (when did Black Bat get there?).
You used the opportunity to slowly raise your phone up, zooming your camera in on the small group of vigilantes before snapping a photo.
Tim won’t believe this.
Tim did, in fact, believe you.
Truthfully, he was… not as impressed with you as you were with yourself.
Tim_Tam: lowkey?? why is the quality pixilated 💀
I’m sorry I don’t walk around with a professional camera around my neck???
Also what happened to “man that was really scary” and “I hope you’re okay”
Tim_Tam: man that was really scary
Tim_Tam: I hope you’re okay
Tim_Tam: quality could be better tho (genuinely glad you're okay though)
damn I’m sorry not all of us have vigilantes on call to do photo shoots with
I tried my best and I was lucky I even got that shot
you know he WAVED at me
thought he’d ignore me
Tim_Tam: Why would he ignore you??
idk maybe he’s like “eugh look at the civilian waving at me like a loser”
Tim paused for a moment.
Tim_Tam: why does he sound so mean in your head??
oh right mb, forgot you're the #1 RR apologist
Tim_Tam: okay now THATS an exaggeration
is it though??
Tim_Tam: very much so yes
if you say so
You snorted, putting your phone on the nightstand and turning the lights off before you nestled yourself into bed. Gotham's freezing weath showed no mercy tonight, and the warm blankets made you brain leap with joy, sending tingles throughout your body. Your phone was charging, the night was young, you’d actually sleep well tonight, and—
The light of your phone flashed, blinding you temporarily. The accompanying vibration didn’t help because now you knew it was Tim. Huffing, you turn your body away from the device that attempts to lure you in.
You needed to go to sleep early, you had an eight AM the next day. You couldn't afford to lose sleep talking to—
The light from your phone manages to light up the whole room, even if you’re not facing the source.
Okay, you will check the phone once to turn the brightness down. You would not read the messages. Tim would understand. You have to sleep, being a responsible adult and all that. With a slow, deep sigh, you reached over to grab your phone, squinting when you realize just how bright it was. That’s when you saw the messages:
Tim_Tam
Would you want to meet in person?
Sent 3m ago
Tim_Tam
Sorry that was really abrupt
Sent 1m ago
Tim_Tam
Just ignore that lol
Sent now
You had never sat up so fast from your bed, and that’s including the times he sent you those photos of the Bats the first few times.
Tim wants to what?
You haven’t even called the guy before.
Wait you can’t just drop that on me and leave
Tim_Tam: sorry?
Where would you want to meet?
Tim_Tam: Wait you’re saying yes?
Tim_Tam: What if I’m like a creepy serial killer who befriends people on the internet and then takes them to their house to kill them?
You paused.
Are you?
Tim_Tam: No but like
Tim_Tam: how would you know I’m NOT?
I can’t tell if you’re trying to defend yourself
I’m like 99% sure you’re not a killer though?
Tim_Tam: Okay but like
Tim_Tam: 99% isn’t 100%
Tim_Tam: chances are not 0
Tim
Tim_Tam: yeah?
If you want to meet, where would it be?
Tim_Tam: uhh
Tim_Tam: Robinson Park work?
Yeah I can probably head there after my classes
I’ll be done around 11
Tim_Tam: Alright cool
Was it you, or did this feel a little anticlimactic? Perhaps it just hadn't hit you yet? You waited for another message, yet the bubbles of forming messages continued to taunt you.
Tim_Tam: Sorry I gtg, we can work out more details later?
Yeah sure, have fun photographing your fav
Tim_Tam: haha you’re SO funny
I know :)
The next day came all too soon yet not quick enough. The second you opened your eyes, a singular thought implanted itself in your head:
Today was the day you were going to meet Tim.
Despite the quiz you had during your early morning discussion, and the midterm prep went over during your following lecture. Neither of the them made you as anxious as meeting Tim. As the final minutes of your lecture passed, you felt a nervous excitement run through your body.
Okay done with my classes, omw
You sent the quick text, giving him a heads up. It’d probably take you a bit to walk there, but it gave you enough time to plan this out.
Like… Do you need to worry about first impressions?
Is this a first impression?
You're technically meeting him for the first time, but it’s not like he’s a stranger.
It's... First-impression-adjacent. Yeah, something like that. You still weren't sure, but you didn't get a chance to dwell on it because you felt your phone vibrate. You didn't stop walking as you check the screen.
Tim_Tam: Hey there is something I should tell you before we meet
Tim_Tam: It’s a little important
uh oh, you’re not actually a killer right?
Tim_Tam: no, no, no
Tim_Tam: Nothing like that
Tim_Tam: but uh
Tim_Tam: My name
Tim_Tam: it’s Tim Drake
You halted. Staring at the words laid plainly on your phone. Tim Drake?
That Tim Drake? The one Bruce Wayne took in? You weren't well versed in the intricate details of the Wayne family lore, but you know about as much as any other Gotham citizen. Bruce Wayne’s parents were murdered in front of him when he was a kid, and now he’s a billionaire playboy with a known habit of adopting kids. Tim Drake is one of them. You didn't actually know much about him, but you’ve seen him on TV or on the news every now and then talking about Wayne Enterprises or something.
woah that’s crazy
I didn’t wan tot tell you but I’m actually Bruce Wayne
want to*
Tim_Tam: I’m not joking I swear
nor am I
Tim_Tam: You don’t believe me
I believe you when you say you aren’t a killer
idk about the Tim Drake thing though
Tim_Tam: should I be concerned that you somehow find me being myself is less probable than me being a killer?
Probably
Is this like a new catfishing tactic
There was a long pause.
Tim_Tam: I’m sorry what??
You could almost hear the bewilderment, and you chuckle at the thought.
oh you know
Tim_Tam: I don’t actually? Is this a common occurrence for you??
no
hence why I ask what’s with the Tim Drake catfishing tactic
Tim_Tam: I really hope it’s NOT a thing? How would it even work??
idk probably something like “Hey baby my name is Tim Drake, I have lots of money do you want to meet at the park to get to know each other better?”
Tim_Tam: I have never ONCE in my LIFE said that
Tim_Tam: I swear I am Tim Drake, we’re literally meeting in like five minutes
Tim_Tam: I promise I’m here, just meet me around the gardens
Now, was it stupid to potentially walk into such an obviously fake trap?
Absolutely.
Did you do it anyway?
Absolutely.
It wasn’t long before you had found a bench not too far from the gardens. You sent Tim-Maybe-Drake a quick update on your location. In spite of how ill-prepared you may seem to the naked eye, you did ask one of your friends to check your location and check in to make sure you don’t die.
Oh and pepper spray. Better safe than sorry.
Tim-Maybe-Drake reacted to your message with a quick thumbs up, and you fidgeted on the bench. You loosely kicked a rock with your foot, taking note of old footprints on the dirt path. As the minutes passed by, the anxiety began to creep back in. What if this was just a joke? What if you were dead-on with the catfishing Tim Drake idea? It was a strange idea, but it got you to come meet in person, didn’t it?
Somebody cleared their throat from the left side of the path, and you turn to look up.
Holy shit.
You blinked rapidly as if Tim Drake will vanish from your eyesight. He looks both the same and different from what you’ve seen in photos. Physically, he mostly looks the same, perhaps a bit leaner than you expected. He must workout, you idly note. His hair looks the same as it does in the photos, perhaps a bit more messy? It also seems too perfect in every photo you see of him.
However, the way he carries himself?
When you searching up information about a billionaire and his children, you saw what you expected online. Articles written on the Wayne children weren’t nearly as ever present as ones about Bruce himself, but every now and then there would be something.
In the few minutes before Tim arrived (you may have looked him up mere seconds before his arrival), you noticed that he looked confident, composed. He had that air about him that only comes from growing up in such a high-end environment.
On one hand, you see the Tim Drake that the media portrays. The adopted son of Bruce Wayne. A man who has clearly grown up in an environment so unlike your own it’s a miracle you even crossed paths with him.
However, you also see the hint of uncertainty that bleeds through his fleeting glances to you. The way his eyes rest on you anxiously, as if waiting for your judgment. For a moment, you consider that he was just as anxious about meeting you than you were meeting him. The prospect seems absurd, but looking at him now, you believe it.
“Oh…” You commented eloquently.
He furrowed his eyebrows, “That’s— That’s it? Just ‘oh?’”
You nodded slowly, “I mean— I… You know I had like zero faith in you.” That’s a lie, you had at least a sprinkle of faith that he was telling the truth. Not that you’ll tell him that.
“That’s reassuring. Thank you for that.” Tim replied dryly.
“You know the whole photographing vigilante’s thing makes so much sense now.” You stood up, hesitantly approaching him.
He tilted his head, “How so?”
“Only rich people would have such an insane hobby. The adrenaline rush or something I assume.” You shrugged casually, and Tim had the gall to to look offended.
“Okay, but my main thing isn’t even photographing vigilantes. I don’t even post those, and you know that.” He raised a finger indignantly. “And they aren’t even intentional anyway! I’m just lucky.”
“Luckiest guy I’ve ever met then.” You smirked, “Save some for the rest of us.”
He chuckled, “Of course, it’s my fault whenever somebody has bad luck.”
“At least you acknowledge it.” You huffed, a grin plastered on your face.
He laughs, and it hits you that this is Tim, as in the Tim you’ve been talking to day and night. That Tim also happens to be the billionaire Tim Drake, and you are having a normal conversation with him in a park in Gotham. You watch as his eyes crinkle in amusement, and you feel yourself mirroring his expression involuntarily.
You stifled your laughter, clearing your throat, “You know, I was actually worried you were catfishing me.”
He groaned, rolling his eyes. “If I wanted to catfish you, I’d have gone about this way different.” He pauses, "For the record, I do not want to catfish you."
“That’s reassuring.” You threw his own words back at him, and he sighed.
“It should be.” He paused for a moment, and the two of you continue to walk down a path. “Did you really not suspect anything?”
You blink, “About you being…” you gestured to him, and he nodded. You shook your head, “Not until you said anything, no. You don’t give ‘Tim Drake vibes’ when we text.” You did air quotes.
He let out a surprised laugh, “What— What are ‘Tim Drake vibes?’” He looked amused at the prospect.
You shrugged, “I don’t know. It’s just, when I text you, I don’t think ‘wow this guy seems like Tim Drake.’”
He nodded as if that made sense, “I’m going to take that as a good thing?”
You shrugged, “I mean it’s certainly a thing. Your call about whether it’s good or bad.”
He sighed, and you laughed at his exasperated expression. “Y’know now that I actually know you’re you, I’m surprised you actually showed up.”
His eyebrows raised in surprise, “Why would I not? I asked you?”
“You had no idea who I was up to like five minutes ago, what if I had planned this and planned on using you for ransom?” You teased, and the two of you exit the park. You weren't sure where Tim is taking you, but you’re heading back in the direction of Gotham University.
“Been there.” By his tone alone, you believed him. “And trust me I can handle myself perfectly fine if you tried kidnapping me.”
You raised an eyebrow, “If you can handle yourself so well, how come people were able to kidnap you for ransom in the past?”
He opened his mouth, glaring at you, ready to defend himself, but no words came out.
“I… Those were extenuating circumstances.” He scoffed.
“Mhm, real extenuating.” Your voice contained the utmost sympathy for him.
“And I feel like you’re mocking me.” He tutted, shaking his head disapprovingly.
“It’s okay, I probably wouldn’t have been able to escape the thugs too.” You winced, patting his shoulder sympathetically.
“That’s not—” At your laughter he stops talking, and instead stares dumbly at you, slowly blinking, as you continue to laugh at him. He released a half-amused exhale while you snickered at him for the next few minutes.
The rest of the meeting went well, very well. The two of you had instantly fell back into your familiar banter, except it was a thousand times more exciting in person. After that meeting, Tim had started asking if you wanted to hang out regularly. It was a safe distance for both of you. Neither of you got too close.
Then he invited you to one of Bruce Wayne’s charity events. It was a casual invite, it meant nothing, and you knew that. He wasn’t inviting you as a partner, but as a friend. It was a completely normal invite that had no other implications. Why would you stress over that?
It certainly didn’t help your stress levels when you realized that if you accepted you’d have to meet Bruce Wayne himself.
You had— not subtly— asked Tim if this meant that you would be subjected to the judgment of his family. He had told you that you “Don’t need to worry about that” and that “They should be the last people judging.” Both of his “reassurances” did little to truly ease your worries.
Eventually, you had accepted, attempting to dress your best. The actual event itself was as you expected. Long and filled with lots of meaningless chatter. The main joy found was snickering with Tim off to the side. You had teased him for the sheer switch in personality he would make every time one of Gotham’s elites approached you both. It was kind of jarring, the phoniness of everything here. It made you feel better every time would side eye you with a look reading “Get a load of this guy.”
It reminded you that somehow you had worked into one of the highest circle’s in Gotham without even knowing. Seeing him turn to you, relieved to have somebody who knows him?
It may sound silly, but it made you feel good, like your friendship actually means something.
Your gratification at the prospect was short lived. Quickly replaced with the familiar stress of meeting Bruce Wayne. Tim reassured you that it would not be as bad as you were imagining, and that he’ll like you. You didn’t share his confidence, but you appreciated his optimism. You ignored the idea in your head that this could be interpreted as you both dating.
Cause that’d be stupid.
It turns out that Tim was right though. Bruce was actually not as bad as you expected. He was a bit brash and you definitely forced some laughs in the conversation, but he seemed to approve of you the second that Tim introduced you. You didn’t miss the look that he gave Tim when first introducing you. Tim never mentioned it afterwards, and while you were curious about it, you didn’t feel the need to bring it up.
By the end of the night, he had introduced you to most of his family, and— like Bruce— they all seemed to like you. The consensus seemed to be positive, which was what you were hoping for. After leaving your final introduction with Duke, Tim had placed his hand on your shoulder with a grin as if saying “See? You lived!”
After that event, you had assumed that meetings with his family would be few and far between. Perhaps for a social event every now and then, but you didn’t expect to start seeing them regularly.
It felt strange at first, like visiting someone’s house for the first time and always having to go through the unavoidable phase where you practically tip-toe everywhere, not wanting their family to hate you.
It was that but tenfold.
Tim had welcomed you in, soon followed by Steph and Duke. You felt more at ease the longer the four of you spent time together. By the time it was time for you to return home, you had practically forgotten your earlier worries.
It quickly became routine. At least once a week, you’d come over to hang out at the Manor. Sometimes Steph would be there, sometimes some of his brothers would be, and sometimes it’d be just you and Tim. As time went on, you started to hang out with his family without him, and you quickly found yourself recounting stories about Tim over girl’s night with Steph, Cass, and occasionally Barbara. You had told them how the two of you met, and somebody must have talked because you had received texts from Tim the next day saying that everybody was making fun of him. You felt a tad bit bad for him, but both of you seemed more amused than genuinely angry.
You were happy.
It seemed like everything was going right for once. You were doing well in university, your job was paying the bills, and you had a group of friends you truly liked being around. Your life felt normal, and that felt good.
Obviously, that normalcy didn't last for long.
You got out of the taxi, walking up the stone steps as you put your phone away. Unfortunately, registration this semester was not kind to you, and you ended up with a lecture at seven in the evening on a Friday.
Not ideal.
You had debated skipping this class, but you told yourself that you’re going to do the responsible thing and show up to class. After all, with finals coming up, you didn’t want to make any risks that could lead to failure.
The lecture itself was the same as always. You had definitely spaced out a few times, and the dim lighting of the room combined with the slow tone of the professor was not helping one bit. By the end of the lecture, it seemed like everybody was eager to go home, and the professor had even let the lecture end ten minutes earlier.
Instantly packing up all your notes, you had promptly left the building. The chilling breeze of Gotham immediately hit you, and you sighed realizing it had begun raining. Typical Gotham weather strikes again.
You had attempted to stay under any roofs you could, but eventually you were forced to venture out into the pouring rain. Before reaching the main streets, you had taken a shortcut. A shortcut you had taken hundreds of times in the past. It was a lot less crowded, and did a better job of shielding you from the rain.
Weaving around puddles on the ground, you attempted to get out of the path as fast as possible. All you could think of is that warm taxi that would be awaiting you at the end of this alley. The end was in sight, but that vision crumbled before your eyes when the resounding blow of gunfire echoed in your enclose space. It caused you to flinch, and you immediately spun around, attempting to determine the source of the sound. You didn’t see anybody behind you, so you came to the dreadful conclusion that it came from your intended destination.
You slow to a stop, is it worth just pushing forward and attempting to run for the first taxi you see? You already made it this far, and you’d have to retrace your steps just to take the alternative path. Sighing, you move to turn around when four men in balaclavas entered the alley, running like their life depended on it. Fuck.
“You think we lost em?” One of them, still looking back, asks. He turns to face you, and you stare at each other awkwardly.
“Scream and we put a bullet through you.” Another one hisses, raising his gun to point at you. Your heart thumps against your chest as you silently raise your hands, nodding.
They don’t separate as they each point their gun at you, slowly moving around you. They keep their eyes trained on you, and you aren't entirely sure which one to look at. They eventually made their way around you, and you were stuck in this awkward stalemate. They don't move to lower their guns.
“We can’t just let her go! She’s gonna run out and yell for someone!” One of them whispers to his friend.
“So what're we gonna do?” He whispers back.
“We can kill her?” Another one suggests. Please no. You bite your tongue to keep from saying something stupid.
“No, no, bad idea. The Bat will be on our ass if we leave a body behind.” A different one responds.
“So what? We just knock her out?” One of them gestures to you with his gun.
“Probably the best idea. We’re taking too long to debate this, somebody knock her out.” The one next to him points to you. You let out a sigh of relief, at least they won’t kill you. Maybe you can get away with just pretending to get knocked out and waiting for them to leave?
“Alright, I can do it.” One of them approaches you and raises the butt of his gun. He’s about to strike down, when he is flung against the wall, startling all of you.
“Who the hell?!” A thug cries out, raising his gun, finger twitching on the trigger. You instinctively cover your head and hunch over as he swings his gun to point to you. Once you realize he’s not aiming for you, you turn your gaze from the ground up to your savior.
Red Robin? Huh, what are the chances?
You watch as he effortlessly disarms the goons before sweeping two of them off their feet. Red Robin rushes to pin them back down, but one of them uses the opportunity to strike the vigilante just above the eye with the butt of his gun. You wince, hissing in sympathy. Red Robin barely reacts, instead giving them a quick strike to the head, silencing their yells.
You feel yourself relax as you watch Red Robin turn his head to the remaining thug. He’s attempting to run away, and Red Robin pulls out a grappling hook before launching it and yanking the guy back. “Please man! Let me go!”
“Not a chance.” Red Robin replies dryly before knocking him out, similar to the guys before. With all the threats neutralized, he turns to face you for the first time. Instinctively, you stand up straighter.
“Are you okay?” He asks, shifting on his feet under your gaze.
Huh, you didn’t expect him to sound like that. You weren’t sure what you expected, the voice modulation wasn't a surprise, but his tone is somewhat discernable. You had expected something similar to the grittiness of Batman or even the charismatic confidence of Nightwing.
If anything, you’d say Red Robin sounds just as awkward as you feel right now.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” You nod, “Thanks.” You smile at him.
He returns the nod, “Yeah, of course.” He nods at you, and you smile at him. For a beat, neither of you say anything.
Well, this is going great.
“He didn't hit you too hard, right?” You break the silence, and Red Robin gives you a questioning frown. You gesture up to your own forehead, around the area you saw him get hit.
“Oh, that,” he mirrors your action, offering a small smile. “Nothing I can't handle, barely even noticed it.” He waves off your concern.
You nod, accepting that answer. “Were you the one who was chasing those guys?” You ask, and you want to smack yourself for the stupid question. Obviously he was the one chasing them.
“Hm? Oh,” he blinks down at the unconscious thugs, “yeah that was me.” He confirms. “They mention me?”
“Not by name. They just said they were being chased.” You watch as he grabs a bag off one of the thugs.
“Ah,” he clicks his tongue, “yeah that was me.” He’s not really facing you, but you can tell he’s smiling.
You purse your lips, unsure how to proceed with the conversation. Do you just leave? As you look over the scene, you notice something glint out of the corner of your eyes. You turn to Red Robin, but he isn’t looking at you. Hesitantly you approach the object, and you crouch down to look at it. It’s one of those Bat-shaped objects that the Bats carry on them.
Carefully, as if it's fragile, you pick it up. You’re surprised at first. It’s heavier than you expected, but you suppose that makes sense. To be able to do damage, it’d have to have some weight for something so small.
“You want to keep it?”
You jump as Red Robin’s voice suddenly appears right next to you. He raises his hands up, and gives an apologetic smile. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”
“No worries.” You offer him a small smile before returning your gaze to the object. “Don’t you guys need these things?” You wave it up.
He shrugs, and the action is so normal that you want to laugh. “Batarangs?” Huh, that’s what they’re called. He waves a casual hand at you, “We have plenty. Plus, we lose them all the time. You can keep it.”
Your mouth parts, and you’re about to open your mouth when he adds on. “Consider it a souvenir.” He grins looking down for a second before reaching to rub his back, meeting your eyes again as he massages himself. You watch as his eyes flicker over your form, looking up and down.
You freeze.
Not because of the Batarang, but because of the actions.
He chuckles at your appalled expression. “I mean you don’t—” he abruptly stops speaking before letting out a deep sigh.
His sigh only causes your jaw to drop even more, yet he doesn’t notice. He mouths a quiet “Sorry” before turning away from you, speaking to whoever is calling him.
You aren’t sure what he is talking about or even who he is talking to, but you’re hit with what may be the most insane conclusion you’ve ever reached (even more insane than Tim attempting to catfish you).
You steel yourself before turning your full attention to Red Robin. He’s restless, shifting on his feet in a way that tells you that he’d rather be pacing at the moment.
There’s no way your hypothesis is correct.
Red Robin sighs again, and you see him place his hands over his mask. You narrow your eyes at the action.
It’d make sense though.
You’re willing to chalk up a few shared mannerisms to just basic human traits. A couple makes sense, that’s normal. Now if you add the fact that Tim has been the best photographer for the vigilantes you’ve ever seen?
That’s a little more suspicious.
Then if you add on the fact that he has confirmed that he’s conversed with Robin in the past?
Your eyes are locked onto Red Robin, and he must feel your piercing gaze because he turns towards you. He seems to be taken aback by your blatant staring, but you can’t even help yourself because how else do you process this? He tilts his head, and you offer a strained smile in apology before averting your gaze.
The reason he couldn’t post the photos was because the vigilantes asked him not to.
The reason he could take the photos wasn’t because he had insane luck.
You watch as Red Robin shifts on his feet once again, before tilting his head up to the sky in an exasperated motion. The action uncannily familiar.
Holy shit.
You don’t a chance to process the revelation because the reason Red Robin was looking up quickly becomes evident. You jump back as Nightwing lands casually behind Red Robin and in front of you.
He turns to face you and for a moment he looks startled by your presence before he smirks. “Ahhh, I get it now.” Nightwing grins as Red Robin slowly turns to face him. “Real important stuff to handle, huh?”
“Can you not—” You watch as Red Robin furtively glances between you and Nightwing. “I did handle stuff.” He gestures down to the unconscious bodies below, "As you can see.”
Nightwing nods, “Yuh-huh,” he places his hands on his hips as he turns around to look at the entire scene. “I’m sorry, Miss. Is this guy bothering you?” Nightwing gives you a shit-eating grin, and yup.
If you didn’t know that Red Robin is Tim before, you certainly know now. Dick looks nearly the exact same, and for a moment you ponder how people have never connected him with Nightwing, especially with the devious grin he is giving you now.
“I am not bothering her! I just sav—”
“Ah, ah, ah,” Nightwing raises his finger and shushes him softly, and you have to look away in order to avoid laughing. “Let her speak for herself.” Nightwing gestures to you in a slight bow.
Yeah, Tim. You snort as Red Robin takes a deep breath in order to calm himself. You offer a small grin to Red Robin, and he keeps his gaze trained on you, “He wasn’t a bother. He saved me from these guys. In fact—” you raise the Batarang up, “—he gave me a souvenir.” You grin at Dick.
He lets out a surprised bark of laughter before turning to Tim, who refuses to look at either of you. You think you can hear Tim mutter “Oh my God.”
“Aw, givin' out gifts to civilians now?” Dick teases Tim.
Tim groans, and you think you can see him turning red. You feel a little bad for embarrassing him in front of his brothers, but this reaction makes it all worth it. “I’m leaving.” He declares before launching his grappling hook up to the railing at the roof above you. He gives you one last look, a minuscule nod, before leaving.
You and Dick watch as he leaves before he turns back to you. “You are actually okay though, right?” He reaches out to put his hands on your shoulders before stopping and awkwardly putting them down.
You smile at Dick, nodding. “Yeah, I’m alright.”
He nods, “Well, get home safely. I’ll handle these guys.” He gestures his thumb down to the thugs on the ground. As if on cue, one of them begins to groan as they wake up. “You might wanna stay down, bud.” He gives you one last glance before winking and turning back to the thugs on the ground.
You watch him for a moment before walking out of the alley and waving down a taxi. You tell him your apartment complex, and look out the window. You rest your head on the window as you watch Gotham pass by you. You feel yourself truly relax for the first time in an hour before immediately stiffening.
How the hell are you going to tell Tim?
The day of the dinner arrives sooner than you’d like.
You are no closer to figuring out how to tell Tim that you know. You debated just texting him, but quickly threw that suggestion in the trash. Bad idea, terrible idea.
You pace your living room back and forth, trying to calm yourself. It’s not even dinner you’re worried about. What if you act oddly? Tim will definitely figure it out if you are fidgeting every five seconds. You must act normally, that can’t be too difficult? Just don’t think about it. It’s not like Red Robin or even Nightwing will come up in conversation with his family, right? That’s not really a dinner table topic.
Yeah.
You’ll be fine.
Just act normal—
Tim: I’m here
You swallow as you grab your items, giving your apartment one last look over, before exiting. You find Tim waiting in the parking lot, and you make eye contact through the windshield. He raises a hand, giving you a small smile, his other hand is lazily tapping the steering wheel.
“Thank you again for doing this.” Tim smiles gratefully at you as you step into the passenger seat. You attempt to smile back at him. You observe the interior of his car.
Hm. Red. Interesting. Almost like Red Robin—
You chuckle, more out of nerves than any actual amusement, “Yeah, no problem."
He pauses, giving you a long look before laughing softly. “Don’t be nervous. It’s relatively painless, and Alfred is making your favorite.”
You smile at the thought, “How’d you convince him to do that?”
Tim smacks his lips, “Let’s just say that my dignity isn’t in tact anymore.”
You raise an eyebrow, “I thought you didn’t have much of that?” He takes his eyes off the road for a second to give you a decidedly unimpressed expression. You return it with a smile, “I mean you practically had to beg me to show up with you—”
“Woah, okay.” His eyebrows shoot up, “First off, that wasn’t begging—”
You pull out your phone, “— ‘I'd literally get on my knees and beg if I could’” You recite his words to him, reading the text directly. When you look up, his face is a light red. You try and catch his eyes, but he is stubbornly refusing to meet your own, instead focusing on the road. “Sound familiar to you?”
He remains silent for a bit. “I— Uh— Well, no. I never heard that before.”
“Mhm, sure.” You lean your elbow against the side of the car, propping your face up. His eyes flicker over to you, and he somehow gets more red. He looks you up and down for a brief moment, and while Tim usually does that, you did notice that Red Robin also—
Nope. Do not think about your best friend’s alternate vigilante identity while in the car with him. Stay focused.
The remainder of the ride is filled with light banter, your teasing provides a reprieve from your thoughts. It’s not long before you both pull up. “Master Tim.” Alfred greets Tim before turning to you and greeting you in similar fashion. “A little birdie told me to put your favorite on the menu for tonight.” Alfred offers a small smile, and both you and Tim stiffen.
Oh. Bird puns.
Yeah, Alfred definitely knows.
“Aw, thank you, Alfred. I think the little birdie knew I wouldn’t have come otherwise.” You nudge Tim teasingly. For a moment, he doesn’t react and you wonder if he’s even breathing. “Right, birdie?” You lightly nudge Tim again.
“Yeah, uh— mhm?” You frown at the reaction. Tim shifts on his feet, and waves you off casually. “Sorry, just uh— dinner, you know? Got me stressed?”
You nod, narrowing your eyes at him slightly, “Right,” you turn back to Alfred, “Thanks again, Alfred.” You grin at him.
“My pleasure, Miss.” He inclines his head to you, “Now, if you’re ready to greet the others.” He turns around, tossing a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure you and Tim are following.
“Look who finally showed his face— Oh,” Steph abruptly cuts herself off.
“Hello to you too.” You respond dryly, taking a seat at the table.
Steph grins at you, “Hello!” She greet you before glaring at Tim. “You know what you’re doing.”
“Yep.” Tim replies dryly. He takes the seat across you, he offers you a small smirk.
“And you know we can’t do anything about it.” She huffs, shaking her head disapprovingly.
You nod solemnly, “I was informed that I was bait.”
Dick chokes on his water, “You told her that?”
“I did not tell her that.” Tim furrows his eyebrows at you, raising his hands in surrender. “She reached that conclusion on her own.”
“Is that all you told her?” Duke asks, raising an eyebrow. He looks between you both.
“Yes.” Tim nearly hisses, eyes wide as if saying “Not one more word.” He clears his throat, sparing you a quick glance, and releases a long sigh, “Is Bruce here, yet?”
“You’re attempts to change the topic at hand are futile.” Damian looks between you and Tim, evidently bored.
Dick frowns at Tim before sighing, “No… He had some last minute business to take care of. He’ll be a little late.”
“Perfect.” Tim abruptly stands up, and your mouth parts, taken aback. “It’s getting kind of hot in here. I think I need a minute. I— Uh— Do you wanna head up for a bit until Bruce shows up?” Tim turns to you.
You furrow your eyebrows, if he needs a minute, why is he asking you to come with him?
“Sure?” Tim is already walking around the long dining table, he raises his hand to gently guide you away from everybody before you get a chance to say anything else. “Isn’t this rude?” You whisper to him, his hand is still guiding your back.
“Not with them. That kind of rude doesn’t count.” Tim huffs, and you two begin the familiar trek to his room.
You release an amused huff, “For you. What if they think I’m rude or something?”
Tim spares a glance at you, as if the idea you presented is absurd. “They’ll just blame it on me.” He shrugs. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I’ll deal with it later.” He rubs your shoulder casually, offering you a smile that tells you he’s used to this.
You furrow your eyebrows in concern, “If you say so…” You trail off, hesitant. He gestures for you to enter his room. The space is familiar. You’ve been here many times in the past. However, never had you known that Tim is Red Robin during those times. Your eyes survey the room in front of you. Nothing is different about it (why did you expect there to be anything different?). You slowly make your way over to his desk, a few pieces of scrap paper lay on it. Nothing incriminating. You frown looking over the contents of the paper.
Tim appears at your side, “You okay?” He asks, following your gaze to the paper.
You nod, turning to him, “Yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?” You pace the room for a beat before planting yourself onto his bed, something you’ve done a million times before.
He looks you up and down, and you resist stiffening under his scrutiny. He must’ve found something because he frowns. He opens his mouth to say something, closes it, then slowly walks over to you. “I… Sorry, was asking you to come for dinner too much?” He sits down next to you, and his gaze falls down to your hand on his comforter.
You blink, looking off to the side before returning your attention to him. “No, no, it’s fine.” You shake your head, “It’s not something I haven’t done before.” You shrug, attempting to offer him a reassuring smile.
Tim’s frown doesn’t change. “You don’t actually have to do this if you don’t want to… I know I was kinda joking about needing you here, but if there’s something—”
“Tim, there’s nothing wrong. What gave you that impression?” You feel your heart race. Does he know that you know?
He meets your eyes, your heartbeat pounds in your ears, and his eyes trail down to your shoulders. “I… You just seem—” his eyes look off at something off to the side, “—distracted, is all.” Your lips part, and his gaze returns to you. “You don’t have to say anything. This isn’t me trying to pressure you into telling me if something is up.” He rambles, shaking his head.
You heave a sigh, “It’s— I don’t think you want to know, Tim.”
Perhaps that’s the wrong thing to say to a detective because Tim— despite his attempts to be sympathetic— also has that spark of curiosity in his eyes. He trains his eyes on you, as if expecting to you to continue. When you don’t, he hesitantly responds: “If— and again, this is not me pressuring you— If it helps you get something off your chest, then I will always be here to listen.”
You swallow, looking toward Tim, “That’s… Thanks, Tim. I really appreciate that.” He nods, offering you a smile, and slowly inching his hand closer to yours. You pretend not to notice. “Are you sure you want to hear what I want to say?” You whisper softly to him, smiling nervously.
He blinks, “If that’s what you wish,” he changes his focus from your hand to your face, “then yes.” He gives you a disarming smile.
Your smile grows, “This is your last chance, Tim.”
His eyes lighten up, “Well,” he chuckles, “I’m not planning on changing my mind.”
You smile, leaning closer, and Tim mirrors the action whether he knows it or not. His chest rises and falls, slow, and you look into his eyes. The blue diminishing by the second as its replaced by the growing size of his pupil.
“Do you remember the other night?” You keep the same quiet tone, the words are meant for him— and him alone.
Tim’s eyebrows raise, evidently not expecting that, “What?” His words are breathless, but still ring of confusion.
“I just… I appreciate you helping me out.” You smile at him, watching as he processes the information.
“Yeah…” He slowly nods, eyebrows furrowed. “Yeah, that… It’s no issue it all. I…” He runs a hand through his hair, his eyes are turned away from you. His eyes gloss over the ground. He must remember that you’re watching because he suddenly turns to look at you tight-lipped smile. “Yeah...” he trails off, “Could you remind me exactly what I helped you with?”
You chuckle at his attempts to play it off— and failing. “Oh, come on, Tim.” You tilt your head at him, “You remember. You gave me the souvenir.”
You can see the exact moment his soul leaves his body.
He doesn’t instantly react. Instead he stares at you (or, more accurately, through you) unblinking. At his lack of a functioning reaction, you worry that maybe this wasn’t the best idea to go about this. After all you still have to sit through dinner after this. You aren’t even sure if he’s breathing when his smile strains in a way that almost looks painful.
“What?” His voice is quiet, as if incapable of mustering up any more volume.
Your purse your lips, taking a deep breath. You don’t get a chance to respond because he continues. “I… I haven’t given you anything— I think I’d remember if I gave you a souvenir.” He laughs, slightly hysterical. “You might be thinking of somebody else?”
You sigh, slowly reaching your hand up to his chin. Tim immediately stiffens at the contact, as if afraid him moving would deter you. A small smirk grows on your face when you realize how red Tim is at your touch. Gently, you move a few strands of hair out of his face, and he doesn’t stop you. They were covering up a specific spot, and while it appears Tim did try to cover up the bruise he received from the other night, he did not do a clean enough job.
“That’s,” he swallows, “That’s uh— I fell off my skateboard.” He doesn’t attempt to move your hands away from his face.
“Mhm,” you hum disbelievingly, “in the same spot Red Robin got hit, right? You two skateboard together?” You tease lightly.
“Well, I—” he clears his throat, leaning away from you, and you don’t try to stop him. “I… think?” He presses his hands onto his face, shielding his face from your view.
You frown, amusement evident in your tone. “You don’t know?”
He shifts his hands slightly, peaking through his fingers to look at you on his side. “I… You know, maybe you were right that I didn’t want to know.”
You let out an startled puff of air, “Oh,” you begin slowly, “now you heed my warnings?”
He avoids your eyes, smacking his lips. “Okay, fine, but how did you figure it out?” He asks, resting elbow on his knee. He props his head up, rubbing his forehead as if to remove tension.
“You share mannerisms with Red Robin.” He squeezes his eyes shut at the mention of his alter ego.
His jaw drops. “There’s no way you figured me out just because I acted kinda similar. I had a voice modulator!” He whisper-yells.
You nod, “Well, yeah, initially it was just suspicion. Then Dick showed up.” You watch as Tim mouths the words “Oh my God.” You smile sympathetically at Tim, “Yeah, I don’t know how anybody who looks at Nightwing for longer than a minute doesn’t put two and two together.”
“So what you’re saying is that it’s Dick’s fault.” Tim furrows his eyebrows at you. His hands aren’t covering his face anymore.
You frown, “You sent me photos of yourself.” Tim instantly gives you a look of horror, and you watch as he begins to turn red again. “Uh— I mean you were posing for the camera as Red Robin.” You elaborate, and Tim looks no less embarrassed.
“Okay,” he holds a finger up, adjusting his position on the bed next to you. “I did not pose for the camera. I just took a photo of whatever I was doing at the moment.” He grumbles.
You nod, “Modeling, apparently.” You quietly respond, at his glare you smile back at him. “I kept the Batarang by the way. It’s sitting in my room.” His glare softens at that, and he looks at you for a beat before flopping onto his back. The action causes the bed to jostle a little bit. You follow suit, turning to face him. “I wasn’t gonna tell anybody, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
He turns to face you, and the two of you are inches apart, “That wasn’t my worry. It never was.” He whispers back.
You use your arm as a pillow as he continues to stare at you, “Then what is?”
He doesn’t immediately respond, but when he does his words are soft. “I didn’t want you involved in this.” He begins. “I… I don’t want you getting hurt because you know me.”
You let out a long exhale, “Tim,” you start, reaching for his hand, “if I didn’t want to be involved, I would’ve stopped the moment you started ‘chasing after vigilantes’ for photos.” You chuckle as he sheepishly looks away at the mention of his escapades. “I like being around you, Tim. That doesn’t change just because you go out as Red Robin every night.”
He swallows, squeezing your hand, “I… I like you—” He hastily cuts himself off, “—I like being around you too.” He smiles at you, and you feel better seeing that familiar spark in his eyes. “I… You’re not mad or anything right?”
You furrow your eyebrows, “That you like me?”
Instantly, that spark is replaced by pure unadulterated horror. He sits, startling you, “No! I meant the—” at your laughter, the tension leaves his body, and he releases a soft puff of air before slowly settling next to you again. “You know what I meant.” He scoffs, but it appears more endearing than anything.
You chuckle, smiling at him, “I’m not upset, Tim. If anything it makes sense. I was wondering how you always had such clear photos of the vigilantes. Oh— Terrible way to hide your identity by the way, going around and taking selfies of yourself.” You watch as he lightly glares at you before settling down closer than he was before. “And your terrible sleeping schedule makes sense now.”
He smacks his lips, “Okay, but I have an excuse. You—” he lightly points an accusing finger at you, “— do not.”
You grin, grabbing his hand, pressing it against the soft mattress of his bed. You adjust your position, ready to defend yourself, “Oh, really—”
“Father is here. He requests your presence—” Both you and Tim jolt as if caught doing something illegal before turning to look at Damian. To nobody’s surprise, he looks wildly unimpressed (and perhaps a little disgusted) by you both.
“Damian, can’t you knock?” Tim groans, brushing off imaginary dust off himself.
Damian’s eyes linger on your hand laid casually over Tim’s. Slowly, you remove it, and Tim frowns down at his lone hand. “I did knock. I took your lack of response as permission for entry.”
“I don’t think that’s how that works… like at all.” Tim stands up, and you follow suit.
Damian eyes you both accusingly then huffs. He whips around before shutting the door behind him, leaving you and Tim there standing awkwardly.
“We… We better get down there. He’s going to tell everybody.” Tim looks over to you, eyebrows creased in worry imagining what might be conversed at the dinner table. You nod solemnly, that would not be ideal.
“Lead the way, Birdie.” You walk up to his side, and Tim freezes at the nickname. You release a loud laugh at the reaction.
“You’re lucky I don’t have time to address that.” He narrows his eyes at you, but there’s a smirk on his face.
“Aw, I knew you like me.” You grin, nudging your hand against his own.
He lets out a long sigh, and his smile turns soft. “Yeah,” he swallows, “I do.” He clasps your arm, and you give him a blinding grin.
A/N: Maybe I should just start up a collection of “civilian reader scaring the shit out of her boyfriend after figuring out he’s a vigilante but being unsure how to tell him so she goes about it in the most stressful way possible for him.” We’re going 2 for 2 and I absolutely LOVE this trope.
Anyway, sorry this took a while! I have one more final then I’m FREE! I absolutely LOVED this idea, and I really hope I did it justice. Online friend!Tim Drake has so much potential and it’s definitely an idea I wouldn’t mind revisiting in the future. As always, feel free to let me know about any major errors :)!
Funny thing, I actually had to write some small headcannons for myself of some random traits I think Tim would have so that Reader could inevitably realize Tim = Red Robin. If you guys wanna see that let me know, they aren’t very long, but you might notice a few things if you go back and reread it :)!
Tim Drake Taglist: @sebstancevanss @gaychaosgremlin @koibleufish
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Heyo! It's been a while! Apologies for the lack of updates but first it was Christmas then I was back in work, and then I had a sewing project I needed to finish... Anyways, I'm back and gonna try getting back into regular updates cuz I love writing these and I love giving you guys some good whump and whatnot in these trying times. Hope you're all well and I love you lots xxx
Part 1
Civilian woke up in a hospital room, head clouded and vision blurred. Everything in their body felt slow and dull as they pulled themselves up into a sitting position. They were alone in the room. The whole place silent except for a rhythmic beeping Civilian was struggling to focus on the origin of.
The fog in their head was so thick that it was hard to make out the memories of how they got here. Civilian remembered leaving their home and going to do their weekly food shop. They remember paying for their things and feeling uneasy about how much was left in their bank account. Then there was something about a fight and being told by the person on the till to hurry home quick. After that, things became obscured. Only a sense of dread remained that Civilian couldn’t find the source of.
They knew they should probably wait here for a nurse or a doctor to check up on them, but the growing anxiety and what was more than likely a drug-addled mind thought it would be much faster to get up and find someone instead. They did so, getting out of bed and having to briefly pause to untangle themselves from some sort of threads or wires they seemed to have caught themselves on. As they left the room, they distantly made out the sound of low, monotone hum.
They wondered down the corridor slowly, every step feeling heavy and surreal. The walls stretched and warped around them. The floor beneath them felt further away than it was, making them nearly trip up every other step.
Eventually the cloudiness got the better of them and they stopped to take a breather, unsure how long they’d walked for and wondering whether they should have run into someone by now. Was it the night shift? they wondered. But even then, there would still be someone around.
Windows? The question came from the anxiety running in the back of their mind. They gave a quick and nauseating glance around and confirmed there was indeed no windows. Was that normal? they thought, then their eyes caught sight of a flash of red beside their feet. Civilian looked down to see a few drops of blood beneath them and turned around to see the drops continued in various sizes along the path they travelled. Remembering about the wires they ripped out, they slowly lifted their arm up to find dark red streaks running down their arm, almost black along the edges. Civilian stared blinkingly at it.
I…
…
…I should find a doctor.
As they stumbled forward a couple more steps, a rush of footsteps echoed down the corridor behind them. Civilian turned to see a stranger approaching in a hurry.
“There you are,” the man gasped, seemingly relieved. “Thank fuck. Right, let’s get you back to your room and…” the man trailed off. Relief turning into dread as his face paled.
“Sorry,” Civilian said to the man sleepily. “I was looking for a doctor… or a nurse maybe…”
“…Yeah,” the man nodded slowly. “Yeah, no worries. The doctor’s back this way though so why don’t we- um…” the man’s eyes were wild with fear as he struggled to get his words out.
“Are you okay?” Civilian asked. “Maybe you should…” they blinked through another dizzy spell. “Maybe you should sit down?”
“I should sit down?!” he hissed. “You’re the one who-!”
Civilian felt their knees buckle and head rush as their vision darkened. They came to almost instantly, feeling a strong set of arms holding them up.
“Deary me, you’ve wondered far,” said another voice. Another man, one that Civilian vaguely recognised though they couldn’t remember where. “And you’ve gone and ripped your stitches too,” he tutted. “I was sure I placed a guard at your door to make sure something like this didn’t happen.”
“S-sir…” the man stuttered. “If- If I could explain-“
“What’s there to explain?” the new stranger asked, and Civilian’s vision cleared enough to make out a kindly-looking smile above them. “I must have made a mistake. I must have forgotten to ask someone to do this task. Because if I had asked someone, then surely they would have done their fucking job, wouldn’t they?”
“I- I-“
“But since I didn’t, I suppose it’s a good thing you’re here. Be a dear and go fetch the good doctor, why don’t you.”
The man bowed quickly with a ‘yes, sir!’ before bolting back down the corridor he came from.
Civilian watched the stranger chuckle under his breath as the man ran away before he seemed to remember that they were there. He looked down and met their gaze before giving a reassuring smile.
“I think we should probably get you back to your room then, don’t you?”
Civilian blinked and some time must have passed because the next thing they knew they were being carried by the stranger along the corridor. Though the arms holding them were gentle, Civilian couldn’t help but feel the unease lying beneath the fog that had formed in their head. Their thoughts were reeling because something was wrong about all this, but they couldn’t make sense of what or why it was all wrong. Their brain just kept jumping back to windows and bloodstains and how the stranger’s eyes didn’t match his smile.
“…what’s going on?” they mumbled.
“You don’t remember?” the stranger asked. “I did think you were surprisingly calm around me.”
“You’re not answering.”
“I’m not, and I don’t plan to. It’ll all come back sooner or later anyhow.”
“Who are you?”
“That’ll come back to you later too.”
“Where are we?”
“Goodness, you’re full of questions, aren’t you?”
“Mm,” Civilian nodded. “Something’s wrong…”
“It’s cute watching you try to figure it out,” he smiled.
Civilian frowned at the statement but found they couldn’t muster much more protest as their eyes began to droop and their head felt heavy against the stranger’s shoulder.
“…tired,” they muttered.
“Well, you are pumped full of pain killers and lost a lot of blood during your little excursion,” the stranger said nonchalantly. “I’d honestly be surprised if you weren’t.”
Civilian hummed in confirmation.
“Sleep, Civilian. You’ll get your answers when you wake up.”
“…how do you… know my…?”
But Civilian’s thoughts faded into a peaceful darkness.
Le general tagliste: @doctorsawyer, @neon-kazoo, @whumplicity, @stupidlypurplemist, @imgoingtobiteyounow @elfwhump
As an obligatory reminder, this story stems from a prompt that was given to both me and @the-modern-typewriter! She made an amazing novella out of it on her patreon!! I hope you'll enjoy my version as well :) Sorry it's taken me...literally a year to make a third part.
The gunfire was so deafening that it almost covered the screaming. Almost.
Before they’d even crossed the threshold to the outside, the shots were head-splitting enough to send Eloise scrambling to cover her ears. All she could see from their current vantage point was a sliver of the courtyard framed by blue sky.
It was too friendly a blue, too ordinary and ideal, for such an ugly day.
Someone pushed past them out into the open, wielding fists of fireballs and a battle cry. In moments, they dropped to the ground. The fire snuffed itself out as blood spilled from the hole in his head.
Whimpering, Eloise backed away from the space in the outermost wall where someone had blown open an exit, all jagged edges and crumbling concrete. It resembled a too-wide jaw; a yawning mouth cracked open and baring its teeth.
Her mind flashed to Frenzy’s mouth, stretched impossibly until it tore, and shuddered.
A hand caught the back of her neck, gently enough. Eloise still jumped. Artisan made a soothing sound. “You can do this.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
She was already shaking her head, murmuring something incoherent and horrified.
“Eloise.”
His voice, calm as it was, snatched up her attention like the crack of a whip. She stared up at him in what she could only imagine was some terrible parody of a doe-eyed fawn bathed in blinding headlights.
Artisan’s hand rose from her neck to cup the side of her jaw. Given what those hands could do, it shouldn’t have been so grounding; so reassuring.
He held her gaze. “You’re going to get us past the guns alive. And I’m going to protect you. Hey-” A gentle stroke of the cheek dragged her wandering eyes back up to his. Haunting. Beautiful. Eyes of endless depths she’d caught watching her read to him on many occasions. “You can do this. Take a deep breath.”
Eloise heaved in a clumsy breath that gusted out of her in the same second. Artisan’s lips twitched upward.
“Slowly. Match me.” Still cradling her cheek, Artisan demonstrated an exaggerated deep breath, then another. Eloise copied him as best as she could manage until she felt a little lighter. “Good.”
Eloise swallowed. “What if my power fails?”
“It won’t.” Artisan took a step closer, and it stole her breath all over again. “Close your eyes.”
Eloise gawked. “Wh-”
“Eloise.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, hugging her arms around her torso.
When he spoke again, his voice was a quiet thing, low and soft yet resonant still with all the power of, well, one of the greatest supervillains alive.
“When you are reading a book,” he said, “everything else around you slips away. You lose yourself in a world of inked pages, and nothing else exists. I’ve watched you pore over chapter after chapter, reading aloud on autopilot. Sometimes you forget that I am even in the room with you. And I’m me.”
“I-”
“Go to that place now. Focus only on your ability. We are going to walk out that door, and you’re going to camouflage our presence. They’ll look past us. We’ll walk away safely. Picture it.”
She did. Eloise allowed herself to imagine wrapping the two of them in enough influence to trick others’ eyes into skipping over them, seeing them as ordinary and belonging as the bugs in the grass. She pictured safety and steaming showers and warm blankets on her worn-but-still comfy mattress. She thought of home and books in her thrifted armchair; of pages that smell antique and crisp and make just the right sound when you turn them.
Eloise opened her eyes. The fear still buzzed in her chest, but the world felt less like it was about to collapse.
Artisan gave a slight nod at whatever he saw on her face. “Good girl. Let’s go.”
In what felt both like an instant and an eternity, they were outside. Artisan kept a hand on Eloise’s shoulder to steady her forward, murmuring encouragements and instructions beside her.
Eloise tried to narrow her focus to just the two of them, willing the landscape to swallow them up into imperceivable specks of dust. They took two strides, three.
There were bodies everywhere.
Villains, even guards clamoring for escape, were mowed down. Snipers lined the roof, the watchtowers… A glance around revealed more on every side. They continued to creep forward with bated breath, dodging carnage with every new step.
Eloise’s toe caught on the leg of a corpse, and she squeaked, jerking away.
Artisan grabbed her arm, pulling her close again. She could feel the perception barrier around them flickering.
“Relax. Focus.” He said it like it was nothing. Like they weren’t staring down a firing squad, navigating a labyrinth of corpses and blood. “Close your eyes for me.”
The thought of being blind in the belly of so much danger made an embarrassing sound catch in her throat.
“You’re distracted by what you see,” Artisan continued. “Close your eyes. Focus all of your attention on masking us. I will guide you. Eloise- I will protect you if you help me. I need your help.”
I need your help.
The plea was simple, a disguise of its own, but it settled between her ribs all the same. Her eyes pressed closed. She concentrated on blending in. On protecting them both.
They were moving again. Artisan’s hands on her arms led her forward, weaving through the devastation with surprising grace. Despite his smooth guidance, she felt clumsy and staggering. If she tripped over another body… Her stomach squeezed.
Someone screamed. Eloise’s gaze snapped to them as she found herself clinging to Artisan’s side. The source of the shouting dropped to his knees, hands behind his head–a security guard from inside–leaking red from his side. “Please, it’s Mallard! It’s Mallard! I work here, I’m on your side! Please, help me, help–”
He dropped like a stone. Blood trickled down his forehead.
Eloise choked on words that wouldn’t come. The world seemed to tilt, fuzzy at the edges.
“Eloise-” Artisan’s voice seemed very far away.
She was only distantly aware of more gunfire as Artisan pushed in front of her.
Artisan hissed through his teeth, clutching his chest. He staggered back a step, a jarring contrast to his usual bird-like elegance. Eloise stared, horrified.
“Cover us, cover us now,” he said, his tone bleeding with urgency.
“Are you-”
“Now, Eloise!”
His tone spiked fresh fear up her spine, and Eloise closed her eyes, covering her ears as she pictured the two of them fading into the landscape with the same ease as a smudge in a watercolor painting. The veil slid thinly into place, fragile, like stretched skin. Eloise trembled with effort.
At the same time, Artisan jerked her to the side as another barrage of bullets chased them.
Eloise squealed, bearing down on her focus as if sinking her teeth in.
“I’m trying!” she snapped, just in case it wasn’t obvious. Just in case the effort mattered at all.
“You can do more than you think you can,” Artisan said. “I can feel it in you. You can do more than affect just us. You can affect them. You can change what they see; how they see us. Reach out in your mind. Change their perception.”
She imagined her power stretching in all directions, each line a stream in a spider’s web. She tapped gently at the windows of each guard’s mind and left a new idea there, coaxing them to forget what they’d seen. To move past it. To completely disregard the villain and his volunteer accomplice.
The shooting slowed, then stopped. The concentration left her dizzy and wobbling, sinking her to her knees on the ground.
She only opened her eyes when Artisan scooped her into his arms.
“Don’t stop,” he murmured, walking on with her, “You’re doing beautifully.”
She stared at the hole in his chest, jumpsuit soaked through with blood. “You’re hurt- You should be dead.” Dumbly, too boldly, she pressed a hand over the wound. She’d blame the fatigue.
“Dead?” He clicked his tongue. “Not so easily done.”
She could feel the skin and muscle beneath her hand shifting, warping, weaving back together. Relief flooded her. “Oh.”
“Oh.” Artisan was smiling again. “Don’t lose your focus. We’re nearly there. You might not want to look.”
As they neared the final gate, the guards began to drop one by one. Eyes glazed over, necks twisted and wrenched out of place. Moving as if puppeteered, the last one standing buzzed open the gate, finally leaning into the fence’s barbed wire to cut through his own throat. The blood gurgling out was quiet as he, too, fell to the ground with a soft thud.
Eloise really wished she’d looked away. Her insides heaved.
The strain of keeping them unnoticed tugged at her every nerve ending with a plea for relief. She’d never pushed herself so hard before. Her vision hazed in a dark vignette.
“You didn’t have to kill them,” she said softly, closing her eyes. Her head felt cracked in two. “I wish you hadn’t.”
Just a little farther and she could let go…
Artisan stroked back her hair, carrying her through the open gate out into freedom. His voice was something silken and velvet, something wicked and monstrous. She could feel the smile there. “Oh, sweetheart, but I wanted to.”
She finally blacked out.
General Taglist: @pinned-to-the-wahl , @valiantlytransparentwhispers, @distance-does-not-matter @redbircl, @lilaccatholic, @crazytwentythrees @thelazywitchphotographer @chibicelloking, @lolafaiy, @thinkwrite5, @putridghost @tobeornottobeateacher @sunflower1000, @bouncyartist, @feyriddle, @yet-another-heathen, @silverwhisperer1, @distractedlydistracted @pensivespacepirate, @appleejuicee, @deflated-bouncingball @dakshii @maybe-a-cat42, @m0chik0furan, @mercurymomentum, @fairysprinkles, @vuvulia, @amongtheonedaisy, @rose-pinkie, @trappedgoose-in-a-writblr-room, @scorpio-smiles, @inkygemuwu, @wolfeyedwitch, @thewhumpmeisterx3000, @ikiiryo-blog, @lem-hhn, @fanastywhump, @smallangryfish, @ladybookworm @freefallingup13, @acaiaforrest, @a-blue-comedy, @puppyaddict, @talkingsperm, @qualitychaoslover, @deckofaces, @7eselt, @annablogsposts, @lunatic-moss-studio, @medusas-hairband @rivalriotrenegade @nvrmorrr @smitten-haematite-quartz
Pls let me know if you successfully received a tagged notification, it's very fickle lol
As an obligatory reminder, this story stems from a prompt that was given to both me and @the-modern-typewriter! She made an amazing novella out of it on her patreon!! I hope you'll enjoy my version as well :) Sorry it's taken me...literally a year to make a third part.
The gunfire was so deafening that it almost covered the screaming. Almost.
Before they’d even crossed the threshold to the outside, the shots were head-splitting enough to send Eloise scrambling to cover her ears. All she could see from their current vantage point was a sliver of the courtyard framed by blue sky.
It was too friendly a blue, too ordinary and ideal, for such an ugly day.
Someone pushed past them out into the open, wielding fists of fireballs and a battle cry. In moments, they dropped to the ground. The fire snuffed itself out as blood spilled from the hole in his head.
Whimpering, Eloise backed away from the space in the outermost wall where someone had blown open an exit, all jagged edges and crumbling concrete. It resembled a too-wide jaw; a yawning mouth cracked open and baring its teeth.
Her mind flashed to Frenzy’s mouth, stretched impossibly until it tore, and shuddered.
A hand caught the back of her neck, gently enough. Eloise still jumped. Artisan made a soothing sound. “You can do this.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
She was already shaking her head, murmuring something incoherent and horrified.
“Eloise.”
His voice, calm as it was, snatched up her attention like the crack of a whip. She stared up at him in what she could only imagine was some terrible parody of a doe-eyed fawn bathed in blinding headlights.
Artisan’s hand rose from her neck to cup the side of her jaw. Given what those hands could do, it shouldn’t have been so grounding; so reassuring.
He held her gaze. “You’re going to get us past the guns alive. And I’m going to protect you. Hey-” A gentle stroke of the cheek dragged her wandering eyes back up to his. Haunting. Beautiful. Eyes of endless depths she’d caught watching her read to him on many occasions. “You can do this. Take a deep breath.”
Eloise heaved in a clumsy breath that gusted out of her in the same second. Artisan’s lips twitched upward.
“Slowly. Match me.” Still cradling her cheek, Artisan demonstrated an exaggerated deep breath, then another. Eloise copied him as best as she could manage until she felt a little lighter. “Good.”
Eloise swallowed. “What if my power fails?”
“It won’t.” Artisan took a step closer, and it stole her breath all over again. “Close your eyes.”
Eloise gawked. “Wh-”
“Eloise.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, hugging her arms around her torso.
When he spoke again, his voice was a quiet thing, low and soft yet resonant still with all the power of, well, one of the greatest supervillains alive.
“When you are reading a book,” he said, “everything else around you slips away. You lose yourself in a world of inked pages, and nothing else exists. I’ve watched you pore over chapter after chapter, reading aloud on autopilot. Sometimes you forget that I am even in the room with you. And I’m me.”
“I-”
“Go to that place now. Focus only on your ability. We are going to walk out that door, and you’re going to camouflage our presence. They’ll look past us. We’ll walk away safely. Picture it.”
She did. Eloise allowed herself to imagine wrapping the two of them in enough influence to trick others’ eyes into skipping over them, seeing them as ordinary and belonging as the bugs in the grass. She pictured safety and steaming showers and warm blankets on her worn-but-still comfy mattress. She thought of home and books in her thrifted armchair; of pages that smell antique and crisp and make just the right sound when you turn them.
Eloise opened her eyes. The fear still buzzed in her chest, but the world felt less like it was about to collapse.
Artisan gave a slight nod at whatever he saw on her face. “Good girl. Let’s go.”
In what felt both like an instant and an eternity, they were outside. Artisan kept a hand on Eloise’s shoulder to steady her forward, murmuring encouragements and instructions beside her.
Eloise tried to narrow her focus to just the two of them, willing the landscape to swallow them up into imperceivable specks of dust. They took two strides, three.
There were bodies everywhere.
Villains, even guards clamoring for escape, were mowed down. Snipers lined the roof, the watchtowers… A glance around revealed more on every side. They continued to creep forward with bated breath, dodging carnage with every new step.
Eloise’s toe caught on the leg of a corpse, and she squeaked, jerking away.
Artisan grabbed her arm, pulling her close again. She could feel the perception barrier around them flickering.
“Relax. Focus.” He said it like it was nothing. Like they weren’t staring down a firing squad, navigating a labyrinth of corpses and blood. “Close your eyes for me.”
The thought of being blind in the belly of so much danger made an embarrassing sound catch in her throat.
“You’re distracted by what you see,” Artisan continued. “Close your eyes. Focus all of your attention on masking us. I will guide you. Eloise- I will protect you if you help me. I need your help.”
I need your help.
The plea was simple, a disguise of its own, but it settled between her ribs all the same. Her eyes pressed closed. She concentrated on blending in. On protecting them both.
They were moving again. Artisan’s hands on her arms led her forward, weaving through the devastation with surprising grace. Despite his smooth guidance, she felt clumsy and staggering. If she tripped over another body… Her stomach squeezed.
Someone screamed. Eloise’s gaze snapped to them as she found herself clinging to Artisan’s side. The source of the shouting dropped to his knees, hands behind his head–a security guard from inside–leaking red from his side. “Please, it’s Mallard! It’s Mallard! I work here, I’m on your side! Please, help me, help–”
He dropped like a stone. Blood trickled down his forehead.
Eloise choked on words that wouldn’t come. The world seemed to tilt, fuzzy at the edges.
“Eloise-” Artisan’s voice seemed very far away.
She was only distantly aware of more gunfire as Artisan pushed in front of her.
Artisan hissed through his teeth, clutching his chest. He staggered back a step, a jarring contrast to his usual bird-like elegance. Eloise stared, horrified.
“Cover us, cover us now,” he said, his tone bleeding with urgency.
“Are you-”
“Now, Eloise!”
His tone spiked fresh fear up her spine, and Eloise closed her eyes, covering her ears as she pictured the two of them fading into the landscape with the same ease as a smudge in a watercolor painting. The veil slid thinly into place, fragile, like stretched skin. Eloise trembled with effort.
At the same time, Artisan jerked her to the side as another barrage of bullets chased them.
Eloise squealed, bearing down on her focus as if sinking her teeth in.
“I’m trying!” she snapped, just in case it wasn’t obvious. Just in case the effort mattered at all.
“You can do more than you think you can,” Artisan said. “I can feel it in you. You can do more than affect just us. You can affect them. You can change what they see; how they see us. Reach out in your mind. Change their perception.”
She imagined her power stretching in all directions, each line a stream in a spider’s web. She tapped gently at the windows of each guard’s mind and left a new idea there, coaxing them to forget what they’d seen. To move past it. To completely disregard the villain and his volunteer accomplice.
The shooting slowed, then stopped. The concentration left her dizzy and wobbling, sinking her to her knees on the ground.
She only opened her eyes when Artisan scooped her into his arms.
“Don’t stop,” he murmured, walking on with her, “You’re doing beautifully.”
She stared at the hole in his chest, jumpsuit soaked through with blood. “You’re hurt- You should be dead.” Dumbly, too boldly, she pressed a hand over the wound. She’d blame the fatigue.
“Dead?” He clicked his tongue. “Not so easily done.”
She could feel the skin and muscle beneath her hand shifting, warping, weaving back together. Relief flooded her. “Oh.”
“Oh.” Artisan was smiling again. “Don’t lose your focus. We’re nearly there. You might not want to look.”
As they neared the final gate, the guards began to drop one by one. Eyes glazed over, necks twisted and wrenched out of place. Moving as if puppeteered, the last one standing buzzed open the gate, finally leaning into the fence’s barbed wire to cut through his own throat. The blood gurgling out was quiet as he, too, fell to the ground with a soft thud.
Eloise really wished she’d looked away. Her insides heaved.
The strain of keeping them unnoticed tugged at her every nerve ending with a plea for relief. She’d never pushed herself so hard before. Her vision hazed in a dark vignette.
“You didn’t have to kill them,” she said softly, closing her eyes. Her head felt cracked in two. “I wish you hadn’t.”
Just a little farther and she could let go…
Artisan stroked back her hair, carrying her through the open gate out into freedom. His voice was something silken and velvet, something wicked and monstrous. She could feel the smile there. “Oh, sweetheart, but I wanted to.”
She finally blacked out.
General Taglist: @pinned-to-the-wahl , @valiantlytransparentwhispers, @distance-does-not-matter @redbircl, @lilaccatholic, @crazytwentythrees @thelazywitchphotographer @chibicelloking, @lolafaiy, @thinkwrite5, @putridghost @tobeornottobeateacher @sunflower1000, @bouncyartist, @feyriddle, @yet-another-heathen, @silverwhisperer1, @distractedlydistracted @pensivespacepirate, @appleejuicee, @deflated-bouncingball @dakshii @maybe-a-cat42, @m0chik0furan, @mercurymomentum, @fairysprinkles, @vuvulia, @amongtheonedaisy, @rose-pinkie, @trappedgoose-in-a-writblr-room, @scorpio-smiles, @inkygemuwu, @wolfeyedwitch, @thewhumpmeisterx3000, @ikiiryo-blog, @lem-hhn, @fanastywhump, @smallangryfish, @ladybookworm @freefallingup13, @acaiaforrest, @a-blue-comedy, @puppyaddict, @talkingsperm, @qualitychaoslover, @deckofaces, @7eselt, @annablogsposts, @lunatic-moss-studio, @medusas-hairband @rivalriotrenegade @nvrmorrr @smitten-haematite-quartz
Pls let me know if you successfully received a tagged notification, it's very fickle lol
Soo i had an idea for strawhats x reader, and the reader kinda has the same mouth scars as obanai from demon slayer, but like obanai she hides it like how he does with the bandages and what not, and they can have the same personality if you wanna incorporate that, so she’s hostile, rude and she could have heterochromia like him. Then maybe one day when the strawhats are fighting marines or something she sees that one of them are about to get hurt, so she swoops in to save them. However because of that I guess her bandages come off revealing the scar?? (And maybe the scar slightly started bleeding again too, but she just brushed it off like it was nothing idkkk)
Have a nice dayyyyyy
⋆˙ The Scarred Secret ˎˊ˗
── .✦ Strawhat Pirates x Fem!Reader 𓆘
✮⋆˙ Word count: 6.4 k!!
ᯓ★ warnings: past child abuse/neglect, scaring, cult, family betrayal, Violance, PTSD, angst and fluff
✮⋆˙ a/n sorry for not posting::(((
The sea was loud, but the silence inside was louder.
The Thousand Sunny cut through the waves with a rhythmic, playful spray, the wood beneath your boots thrumming with the life of a ship that was loved. Behind you, the galley doors leaked golden light and the chaotic symphony of the Straw Hats—Luffy’s boisterous demands for more meat, Usopp’s tall tales of bioluminescent monsters, and the clinking of Sanji’s glassware.
But as you leaned your elbows against the cool railing, their voices felt like radio static from a distant shore. Darkness was a language you spoke more fluently than laughter.
You let your fingers curl into the worn wood, staring into the endless black of the ocean. For a fleeting, cold second, the horizon vanished. The salt air turned stale and thin. You weren’t on a ship anymore; you were back in the room without windows.
The memory of that darkness was thick, a physical weight that pressed against your ribs, whispering that you were a thing, not a person. You could almost hear the phantom rattle of chains—that specific, cold slide of metal against stone. You had learned back then that crying brought attention, and attention brought pain. Silence was the only armor you owned.
Unconsciously, your hand drifted upward, your fingertips grazing the rough texture of the bandages wrapped tightly around your jaw and mouth. The fabric was a sanctuary. It was the wall between the world and the jagged truth of what had been stolen from you. They thought it was a warrior’s preference. They didn’t know it was a shroud for a ghost.
A soft hiss vibrated against your collarbone.
Your white snake, a silent sentinel, tightened his coils around your shoulders. His scales were like polished marble against your neck. You reached up to stroke beneath his chin, grounding yourself in the present. He relaxed, but his golden eyes remained fixed on the dark water, mirroring your own vigilance. Sometimes, you felt like that child again—chosen for all the wrong reasons, waiting for the shadows to reach out and reclaim what they had marked.
“Oi.”
The voice was heavy and unhurried, cutting through the trauma like a blade through silk. You didn’t turn. You didn’t have to; the scent of sake and sharpened steel told you exactly who had occupied the space beside you.
“Getting lost in your head again?” Zoro muttered. He leaned his forearms against the railing, his three swords shifting softly at his hip.
You exhaled slowly, forcing the windowless room to dissolve. The sea rushed back in—the spray, the wind, the reality of the deck. “I was just thinking,” you said, your voice barely a notch above the waves.
“Hn.” He didn’t press. Zoro was many things, but a pryer wasn’t one of them. He understood the weight of a past you had to carry alone.
For a long time, the two of you stood in a silence that didn't feel like a cage. It was a silence that breathed.
“You make that face when you’re about to stab something,” Zoro said eventually, glancing at you with a half-lidded eye.
You blinked, pulled fully into the light. “What face?”
“The one where you look like you’re somewhere else. Somewhere shitty.”
Your fingers tightened on the railing, then forced themselves to loosen. The echo of the chains finally died away. “I’m here,” you replied firmly.
Zoro studied you for a heartbeat, measuring the truth in your tone, before grunting. “Good. Luffy’s looking for you. Said something about a ‘serious meat emergency.’ Apparently, he needs a judge.”
You felt the ghost of a sigh escape you. “Lead the way,” you murmured.
Zoro scoffed, turning toward the light of the galley. “You’re the one with the weird sense of direction. Don’t blame me if we end up in the crow’s nest.”
As you followed him, the night remained black, but the suffocating weight was gone. You stepped through the doors, and the warmth hit you like a physical embrace.
“Y/N!” Luffy shouted, his face stretching into a grin that could rival the sun. “You’re just in time for justice!”
Usopp pointed dramatically at a pile of grilled skewers. “Sanji is clearly favoring the swordsman! Look at the sear on that steak!”
“I am not, you long-nosed brat!” Sanji snapped, though he was busy placing a perfectly garnished plate in front of Nami with hearts practically dancing in his eyes.
You looked at the meat, then at the expectant, ridiculous faces of the crew. You pointed a finger at Luffy. “You get the biggest piece,” you said calmly. “Because you’ll steal it anyway.”
Luffy gasped, clutching his chest as if he’d been knighted. “See?! She gets me! She’s a genius!”
The room erupted. It was loud, chaotic, and smelled of spices and friendship. You remembered when you first stepped onto this ship—how you had slept with your back to the wall, watching them like a cornered animal waits for the predator to strike. But the strike never came. Instead, there was this: Chopper asking to see your snake, Robin offering a knowing, gentle smile, and Jinbei’s steady, grounding presence.
The night eventually wound down. The plates were cleared, the jokes turned to yawns, and the crew drifted toward their bunks. You slipped away, a shadow among shadows.
In the girls' quarters, Nami and Robin were settling in. They didn’t ask why you kept your face covered. They didn’t ask why you didn't eat with them. They simply offered a quiet “Goodnight” and left the lamp dim.
You waited. You listened to the rhythm of their breathing until it was deep and steady.
Only then did you rise.
You moved like a ghost to the galley, where the moonlight silvered the floorboards. On the counter sat a plate of rice and fish, wrapped carefully—Sanji’s silent way of saying he knew you were hungry.
You sat alone at the table. Your pulse thudded in your ears. The darkness here didn't feel like the room without windows; it felt like a secret.
Slowly, your fingers reached for the knot at the back of your head. You unwound the bandages inch by inch. The cool air touched skin that had been hidden for years. You felt the slight pull of the scar—the jagged, cruel mark that stretched from the corner of your mouth, a permanent souvenir of a life you’d escaped.
You ate quickly, eyes downcast, refusing to look at your reflection in the darkened window.
Creak.
The floorboards groaned. You froze, your heart hammering against your ribs. You didn’t look up. You couldn't.
“You’re loud when you’re nervous,” Zoro’s voice rumbled from the doorway.
Your hands flew to the bandages, your fingers trembling as you began to rewrap the cloth with frantic, practiced precision.
“Go back to sleep,” you said, your voice tight.
There was a long silence. You expected him to walk away, or worse, to step closer.
“I wasn’t looking,” he said flatly.
You finished the knot, pulling it tight until it felt like a shield again. Only then did you look over your shoulder. He was leaning against the frame, his gaze fixed firmly on the ceiling, his arms crossed over his chest. He hadn't seen. Or, more accurately, he had chosen not to.
“You should eat with us,” he added, his voice dropping to a low, rough register.
“I prefer the quiet,” you whispered.
“Hn.” He didn't move. He didn't pry. He just existed there in the dark with you. “You’re safe here,” he said finally. It wasn't a promise or a platitude; it was a fact, as solid as the swords at his waist.
Your fingers tightened around your chopsticks. The terror of being known fought with the strange, burgeoning warmth of being accepted.
“I know,” you said.
Zoro pushed off the wall and turned to leave. “Don’t stay up too long. We hit port at dawn.”
As his footsteps faded, you looked down at the empty plate. The room was dark, and the sea was still loud, but for the first time in your life, the darkness didn't feel like a cage. It felt like home.
The return to the girls’ room was a silent affair, a ghost sliding back into the safety of the sheets. Your snake coiled comfortably at your side, his cold-blooded warmth a grounding weight against your wrist. You faced the wall, but for the first time in an age, you didn’t curl into yourself as if bracing for a blow. The darkness in this room had lost its teeth. It didn't whisper of the things you'd lost or the places you'd been; it simply held you. For the first time in a long while, you fell asleep before the memories could catch up.
Morning on the Thousand Sunny was never a gentle awakening. It was a volcanic eruption.
“BREAKFAST!” Luffy’s howl shattered the dawn, echoing from the deck above.
You woke instantly, your eyes snapping open to the soft gold of sunlight filtering through the curtains. It wasn't the captain's voice that roused you—it was the fact that your body had forgotten how to sleep deeply. Hyper-vigilance was a hard habit to break. Nami’s bed was already empty, and while Robin remained still, the subtle change in her breathing told you she was already navigating the waking world.
Near your collarbone, your snake lifted his head, his tongue flicking out to taste the salt in the morning air.
“You’re dramatic,” you muttered under your breath. He simply blinked, a silent observer of your morning ritual.
You sat up, your fingers moving with mechanical precision to check your bandages. Tight. Secure. The jagged truth of your past remained hidden beneath the fabric. By the time you stepped onto the sun-drenched deck, the usual storm was in full swing. Luffy was mid-skirmish with Usopp over a final pancake, Sanji was brandishing a spatula like a weapon of war, and Chopper was cheering from the sidelines.
“There you are!” Luffy beamed, a syrup-covered fork pointing your way. “Tell them I deserve the last one!”
“You don’t,” you replied flatly.
Luffy’s face fell into an expression of theatrical betrayal. “Betrayal!”
“You’ve already had seven,” you noted, grabbing a cup of tea.
“Six!”
“Seven. I count everything.”
Zoro snorted into his mug from his spot against the mast. You moved past the chaos, leaning against the railing to watch the horizon. Sanji, ever observant, appeared at your elbow. He placed a plate of finely cut fruit—small, manageable pieces—on the railing beside you. He didn't ask you to sit. He didn't ask you to unmask.
“I’m not eating it here,” you said coolly, your eyes fixed on the sea.
“I know,” he replied, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “For later.”
Your eyes flicked toward him, a brief moment of connection before you looked away. “…Thank you.”
The morning progressed in a blur of laughter and the steady creak of the ship. Jinbei arrived with news of calm waters and an island on the horizon, his presence as steady as an anchor. But the peace was shattered when Luffy, in a fit of excitement, slung an arm around your shoulders.
You froze. Your snake tensed into a coil of white muscle. Luffy grinned, oblivious to the fact that he was dancing on the edge of a blade.
“You’re coming exploring with us later, right?!”
You turned your head slowly, meeting his gaze with a chilling neutrality. “Remove your arm.”
Luffy laughed, unabashed. “You’re so grumpy in the morning!”
“Remove. It.”
A sharp smack echoed as Zoro’s hand connected with the back of Luffy’s head. “Idiot. Don’t grab her like that.”
Luffy stumbled back, rubbing his scalp. “Ow! She didn’t even stab me this time!”
“I considered it,” you replied, though you felt the tension in your shoulders begin to ebb. Before, a touch like that would have ended in blood. Now, it ended in a warning. It was a strange kind of progress.
“I’ll go exploring,” you eventually muttered, almost to yourself.
Luffy whipped around, nearly tripping over his own feet. “Really?!”
“Don’t make me regret it.”
The island arrived in the afternoon—a lush, green stretch of rock and tropical heat. While Brook stayed behind to "guard" the ship (and avoid the steep hills), you stepped onto the sand with the others. The town beyond the treeline was a riot of color and sound, a bustling hub of life that felt alien to someone who had spent so long in the shadows.
As the crew splintered off—Luffy toward food, Robin toward books, Nami toward the promise of treasure—you found yourself trailing behind. But as you watched them, you saw the small things. You saw Chopper’s longing look at a display of rare herbs. You saw Nami’s lingering gaze on a gold bracelet. You saw Zoro’s quiet interest in a set of high-grade whetstones.
Before the Sunny, you had been a collector for the underworld. You knew the value of things, and you had the coin to prove it. You had walked away from that life with a heavy purse and a heavier heart.
One by one, you began to move through the stalls. You didn't haggle; you simply provided.
When you rejoined the group, your arms were full of wrapped parcels. You dropped a bundle of rare field manuals and dried moonroot into Chopper’s hooves. His eyes watered instantly, the sheer value of the medical texts leaving him speechless. You handed Nami a velvet box containing a gold bracelet that matched her log pose perfectly. You tossed a professional-grade whetstone to Zoro, who caught it with a look of genuine surprise.
Sanji found imported spices in his bag; Usopp and Franky found specialized tools; Jinbei received a pipe of polished driftwood. Finally, you held out a book to Robin—a first edition of a history long since erased.
Her fingers brushed yours as she took it. “…You notice more than you let on,” she murmured.
You looked away, the heat in your cheeks hidden by the bandages. “Don’t read too loudly.”
Luffy stood there, watching the exchange, his eyes wide. “Wait—did you buy stuff for me?”
You didn't say a word. You simply handed him a massive sack of meat skewers. He let out a scream of pure delight and tackled you before you could move. This time, when his weight hit you, you didn't stiffen. You didn't reach for your sword.
“Get off,” you muttered, though there was no bite in it.
“You’re the best!” he laughed, already tearing into a skewer.
As the crew moved through the town, louder and more joyous than before, you fell into step beside them. You realized then that buying these things wasn't just about generosity. It was a bridge. It was a way to participate in their world without having to say the words you weren't ready to speak.
You were still sharp. You were still scarred. You were still the woman who lived in the dark. But as the sun beat down on your shoulders and the laughter of your nakama filled the air, you realized you weren't just standing in the sun. You were finally starting to feel its warmth.
The act of giving had always been your quietest armor. Buying the things they needed before they were asked for was safer than any conversation, a way to weave yourself into the fabric of the crew without ever having to unspool your own story.
Zoro slowed his pace until he was walking beside you, his presence like a steady weight. "You don't have to do that," he said, his voice low enough that it didn't carry to the others.
"I know."
"But you wanted to."
You didn't answer. Ahead, the town was a kaleidoscope of color and noise, and for the first time, you didn't feel like a creature of the basement. You felt like someone who had made a choice.
Then, the world broke.
It happened with the suddenness of a lightning strike. Luffy, ever the impulse of the sea, reached over a vendor’s stall and snagged a fruit. The owner’s scream of "Crimson Crest!" acted like a dinner bell for violence. Within seconds, men with red sashes and hungry eyes had surrounded the crew.
The leader of the local muscle stepped forward, his gaze hardening on Luffy. You didn't think; you simply moved. You stepped between your captain and the threat, your snake’s head rising from your shoulder with a sharp, protective hiss.
"Give it back," the leader demanded.
Luffy swallowed the last bite with a satisfied grin. "Can't."
The street erupted.
Steel sang against steel. You moved with a fluid, serpentine grace, your blade deflecting strikes before they could even fully form. You were a blur of motion, a shadow that bit back. Beside you, Zoro was a whirlwind of green, Sanji a streak of fire, and Jinbei a wall of immovable stone.
But then, a whistle pierced the din. Not local muscle. Marines.
"Drop your weapons!"
Luffy’s answer was a lazy, "No," and the air filled with the sharp crack of gunpowder. The fight didn't just escalate; it transformed. This wasn't a street brawl anymore; it was an execution attempt on an Emperor.
You wove through the smoke, your blade a silver arc of precision. A lieutenant charged you, his strikes heavy and desperate. You parried, the vibration rattling your teeth, but you didn't yield. Pain was just noise, and you were a master of silence.
Then, you heard it. Chopper’s cry.
He was cornered, shielding a fallen civilian as three Marines leveled their rifles. One man, closer than the rest, raised a sword to strike the little doctor down.
You exploded forward. You didn't have time for a parry. You shoved Chopper clear, your body a living shield.
Steel met fabric.
There was a sharp, sickening snap of tension. Your vision tilted as something that had been part of you for years suddenly let go. The lower half of your face felt a sudden, terrifying rush of cold air.
A strip of white cloth fluttered into the morning light.
Time didn't just slow; it stopped. You landed on your feet, your blade still raised, but the world around you had gone mute. The Marine staring at you didn't attack. He froze, his eyes widening as he looked at what his blade had revealed.
The bandage drifted downward, weightless as a falling petal, before settling in the dirt.
For the first time in years, the sun touched the skin of your jaw. The scar pulled as you clenched your teeth—a jagged, cruel line that carved a path from the corner of your mouth, an intentional map of past cruelty. A thin seam of fresh red traced the old wound where the blade had grazed you.
You wiped the blood away with your thumb, your eyes never leaving the Marine.
Behind you, the chaos had faltered. Luffy’s fist was poised mid-air. Zoro’s swords lowered an inch. Nami made a sound—small, sharp, and broken.
"Are you hurt?" you asked. Your voice, without the muffling layers of cloth, was clear. Sharp. A bell in the wreckage.
Chopper stared at you from the ground, his eyes glossy. "Y-Your face—"
"I asked," you repeated, your pulse hammering in your throat, "if you were hurt."
He shook his head, trembling.
"Good."
You turned, the wind catching a loose thread of your remaining bandages, letting it whip behind you like a white ribbon. You saw the looks on their faces. Not the disgust you had rehearsed in your nightmares. Not the pity that would have been worse. Just a fierce, burning concern.
"Don't slow down," you said coolly, the edge in your voice cutting through their shock.
Zoro’s expression shifted, his fury turning outward toward the Marines. Luffy’s grin vanished, replaced by the terrifying stillness of a man who was about to end a war.
The battle resumed, but the energy had shifted. The Straw Hats were no longer just fighting; they were protecting.
"Scatter to the Sunny!" Nami’s voice rallied the group.
You ran, your feet light on the stone, the air still feeling strange against your skin. Every time a crewmate glanced back, their eyes would catch on the scar, but they didn't falter. They kept pace.
The harbor was a wall of white coats. The Marines were pouring in from the ships, desperate to claim the head of an Emperor. You slashed through a rifle barrel, shoving Luffy toward the pier. "Go!"
"I'm going!" he shouted, his eyes lingering on your face for a heartbeat longer than usual.
"Faster!"
The Thousand Sunny loomed ahead, a beacon of gold and wood. Brook was already at the rail, his expression turning grave as he saw the army at your heels. You leapt onto the deck, the wood thrumming beneath your boots.
"COUP DE BURST!" Franky’s roar was followed by a deafening explosion of air.
The ship didn't just move; it took flight. The docks, the Marines, and the town where you had left a piece of yourself behind vanished in a blur of white foam and blue sky. The Sunny sailed through the air for several breathless seconds before crashing back into the waves with a thunderous splash.
Then, there was only the sea.
The silence that followed was heavy. The adrenaline began to drain, leaving behind the sting of the salt air on your bared skin. You stood by the railing, staring at the horizon, your hand hovering where the bandages used to be.
You didn't reach for your blade. You didn't run to the girls' room to hide. You just stood there, the sun on your face, waiting for the first of them to speak.
The Thousand Sunny cut through the waves with a steady, rhythmic pulse that usually felt like a lullaby. Now, it felt like an accusation.
You remained rooted at the railing, your fingers white-knuckled against the wood. Your snake, sensing the jagged edge of your nerves, shifted slowly around your shoulders. He didn’t just coil; he moved with purpose, unwinding his length until his small, cool head draped across your cheek. He was a living veil, partially shielding the ruin of your face exactly where the cloth had once rested. You didn’t stop him. The small, cold weight was the only thing keeping you grounded.
Behind you, the deck was a graveyard of sound.
The silence was heavy, a suffocating shroud that had fallen the moment the ship’s flight ended. No one laughed. No one argued about rations. The crew stood scattered like broken chess pieces, their eyes fixed on you. The quiet was louder than the gunfire had been.
Your jaw tightened, the movement pulling painfully at the jagged, uneven ridges of the scar. With a practiced, dismissive motion, you wiped the last trace of fresh blood from your lip with your thumb. You turned your head just enough to look at the open ocean, your voice coming out calm, almost bored.
“...We escaped.”
But the silence didn't break. The ship rocked gently, the wood creaking as if it were the only thing allowed to speak.
“Ah!” Brook’s voice finally shattered the air, though it sounded fragile. “That was quite the escape! Yohoho! Very dramatic! I wish I could say my heart was racing, but I don’t have—” He stopped mid-sentence. You heard the rhythmic tap-tap of his cane as he moved closer. “...Hm.” Even without eyes, the shift in his posture made it clear he had seen it. The deep, intentional cruelty of the mark. “...Oh,” he whispered.
You didn't turn. You couldn't.
“Y/N?”
It was Chopper. You already knew that tone—the professional worry mixed with a child’s heartbreak.
“No,” you said immediately.
“But—!”
“No.”
Tiny hooves tapped against the deck as he hurried forward anyway. “It’s bleeding again!”
“It stopped.”
“It didn’t stop!” he insisted, his voice rising in pitch. “I can see the smear!”
You wiped your mouth again, a faint streak of crimson proving his point. “It’s fine,” you said flatly.
Chopper looked like he might burst into tears. “That’s not fine! It’s a reopened scar! And it’s on your face! What if it gets infected? What if—”
“It won’t.”
“You don’t know that!”
You finally glanced over your shoulder. The rest of them were still there, a gallery of witnesses. They weren't staring with the hollow shock from before, but they were watching you with a terrifying, focused intensity—the kind that makes you want to crawl out of your own skin. Zoro’s jaw was a hard line; Sanji looked like he was vibrating with a dozen unsaid things; Nami’s eyes were bright with a watery, frantic concern.
“Chopper,” you said, your voice like ice. “It has been there for years.”
“But it reopened!” he pleaded, reaching out a hoof. “Please let me clean it!”
“No.”
He stomped, his little hat wobbling. “I’m the doctor!”
“And I said no.”
“You jumped in front of a sword for me!” he blurted out.
The deck went dead again. You blinked, the wind whipping a loose strand of hair across your eyes. “...Irrelevant.”
“It’s not irrelevant!” he squeaked, his voice cracking. “If you’re hurt because of us, then I have to fix it! Please!”
You stared at him for a long, agonizing moment. Your snake shifted, his head lowering from your face as if giving permission. Chopper’s eyes were huge—determined, terrified, and utterly honest. You let out a long, slow sigh that everyone on the deck seemed to hear.
“...Fine.”
Chopper let out a gasp of victory, scrambling toward the infirmary. “But,” you added sharply, “only the new cut.”
He nodded so hard his whole body shook. “Yes! Yes! Of course!”
The crew parted like the Red Sea as you walked toward the stairs. You felt the weight of their gazes on your back, a physical pressure you tried to ignore as you followed the frantic pitter-patter of the reindeer's hooves.
Inside the infirmary, the air was still, smelling of antiseptic and dried herbs. You sat on the edge of the medical bed, arms crossed, your snake coiling in your lap like a guardian. Chopper climbed onto a stool, his movements uncharacteristically subdued.
“...I’m going to clean it now,” he said softly.
You nodded. The cloth touched your skin, and it burned—a sharp, biting sting that you met with a blank expression. Chopper worked with agonizing care, dabbing at the fresh red line where the Marine’s steel had grazed the old, jagged seam.
“...Who did this?” he murmured, the words slipping out before he could catch them.
You said nothing. The silence was your answer.
“It’s deep,” he whispered, his little paws trembling slightly.
“It was,” you replied.
He looked up at you, his eyes searching yours. “...Does it hurt?”
“No.”
It was a lie, a comfortable old friend you’d carried since the room without windows. Chopper finished with a thin layer of ointment and a small, fresh strip of bandage over the new injury.
“There,” he said.
You stood up immediately. “Thank you.”
He beamed, then hesitated, looking at the roll of white gauze on the counter. “...You don’t have to cover it again. If you don’t want to.”
Your hand paused mid-air. You looked at the bandages. Then you looked at the door leading back to the world. You picked the roll up anyway, but you didn't wrap it. Not yet.
You retreated to the lower hold, a place of shadows and crates where the ship’s groans were the only conversation. You leaned your back against the cool wood of the hull, staring at the white roll in your hand. Your fingers drifted up, tracing the ridges of the scar—the map of your survival. You pressed the new cut just to feel the sting, to remind yourself you were still there.
“Tch.”
“You break the ship, Franky’s gonna yell.”
Zoro’s voice was unhurried as he leaned against the doorway. You didn't turn. The shift of his swords was a familiar sound, a steady anchor in the room.
“...If you’re here to stare, leave,” you muttered.
“I’m not staring.”
“You are.”
“Hn.” He didn't move. “You didn't wrap it.”
“I was about to.”
“You weren't.”
You glared at him, but he didn't flinch. He looked at you—at the raw, jagged reality of your face—without a single tremor of pity.
“You’re angry,” he said.
“I’m always angry.”
“Not like this.”
You looked away, toward a small porthole where the sea was painting shifting patterns of light on the wall. “...They shouldn't have seen it,” you whispered. “People look at it, and they start asking questions. Or they give me pity.” You spat the word like it was poison. “I don't want that.”
Zoro was quiet for a heartbeat. “They won't.”
“You're very confident.”
“They're idiots,” he said simply. “But they're not that kind.”
You searched his eye, looking for any trace of the lie, but there was only the blunt, honest iron of his spirit. “...Chopper almost cried.”
“Chopper cries when it rains too hard.”
A small, involuntary snort escaped you. The tension in the room snapped, replaced by a strange, quiet understanding.
“You should wrap it if you’re gonna keep fighting like a lunatic,” Zoro said, pushing off the wall.
“Helpful.”
“I try.” He paused at the door, his back to you. “They weren't staring because it’s ugly, Y/N.”
You blinked, the breath catching in your throat.
“They were staring because someone did that to you,” he finished, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous rumble. Then, he walked out.
You stayed in the shadows as the sun began its slow descent, painting the sky in bruises of gold and purple. You eventually climbed the mast, settling onto a high crossbeam where the wind was strong and the voices of the crew were just a distant hum.
You watched them from above. Luffy laughing at one of Usopp’s lies; Sanji emerging from the galley with a tray, his eyes scanning the deck as if searching for a missing piece of the ship. You saw him look toward the spots you usually haunted. He looked concerned.
Your fingers brushed the cloth in your lap. You thought about the moment the bandages fell—the silence, the shock, the fresh air on your skin. You thought about the room without windows, and the people who had tried to break you.
You had always believed the bandages were for protection. But as you sat there in the fading light, safe among the loudest, most chaotic people you had ever known, you wondered if the protection was a cage of its own.
You looked at the roll of white gauze. Then you looked at the horizon.
For the first time in years, you didn't feel like you were hiding. You felt like you were waiting for the morning.
Dinner on the Thousand Sunny was a riotous, messy affair, a storm of clashing forks and booming laughter. Normally, it was a sound you observed from the perimeter, but tonight, the atmosphere in the galley was different.
Luffy was on his tenth plate, his cheeks bulging as he roared for more meat. Sanji snapped back at him while plating a fresh mountain of steak, his movements fluid and frantic. Usopp and Franky were deep in a heated debate about the ballistic trajectory of a human launched by a cannon, while Chopper chirped away about a complex medical theory involving herbal moss.
Everything looked normal. Except for the seat at the end of the long wooden table. Your seat.
It sat empty, a silent gap in the family portrait. Sanji’s gaze lingered there longer than he’d admit as he set down a final dish of steamed fish.
“She didn’t come down for lunch either,” Chopper murmured, his ears drooping as he stirred his soup.
Zoro didn't look up from his sake. “She’s around.”
“That’s not what I meant, Zoro,” the doctor whispered.
Robin, sitting with her usual poise, closed her eyes for a fleeting second. “She may need time,” she said softly, her voice acting as a gentle anchor for the group’s rising concern.
Luffy paused, a giant turkey leg halfway to his mouth. “Time for what?”
Before anyone could answer, the heavy thud of footsteps sounded on the stairs. The noise in the galley died as if someone had cut the power. You stepped into the room, your posture straight, your movements silent. The white bandages still covered the lower half of your face, and your white snake rested in a loose, protective coil around your neck.
You sat in your usual chair. No one spoke. The silence was a physical weight, thick with the unasked questions of the afternoon. You reached for the plate Sanji had prepared—rice, fish, vegetables.
Then, you did it.
With steady fingers, you reached up and caught the edge of the fabric. You began to unwind it. The cloth came away in slow, rhythmic loops. One layer. Then another. The final strip of white gauze fell away from your face, and you set it neatly on the table beside your plate.
Then, you simply began to eat.
Across the table, the crew finally saw the truth. The scar wasn't a small thing, nor was it faint. It was a jagged, cruel line that stretched from one corner of your mouth to the other, cutting through the natural shape of your lips like a canyon. It was an old wound, healed badly by hands that hadn't cared for your comfort.
Zoro’s eye narrowed with the cold precision of a swordsman. He recognized the pattern instantly. It wasn't the clean strike of a sword; it was the uneven, deliberate work of a knife. Sanji’s jaw tightened so hard a muscle jumped in his cheek. Robin’s eyes were deep and thoughtful, while Jinbei’s brow lowered in a silent, somber respect.
The fresh, thin red line where the Marine had grazed you earlier sat like a brand against the pale, raised ridges of the old scar. You chewed slowly, seemingly unbothered by the gallery of eyes.
Luffy had stopped eating—a miracle in itself. You glanced up at him, your expression neutral.
“…Continue,” you said. Your voice was different without the fabric—clearer, sharper, carrying a weight you had long suppressed.
Luffy blinked. Then, with a sudden, wide grin, he shoveled another mountain of food into his mouth. The noise returned, though it was softer now, more careful. Usopp started a story that was twice as loud as necessary to cover the awkwardness; Franky responded with an enthusiastic "SUPER!" while Chopper went back to his soup, though his eyes remained bright with unshed tears.
But as the meal progressed, you felt a familiar tension rising in your chest. You saw Chopper look away too fast when you caught him staring. You saw Zoro’s knuckles whiten. Your snake sensed it too; he coiled tighter against your neck, his small head resting against the scar like a living shield.
“You know,” Robin said, her voice a silk thread in the chaos, “you don’t have to hide here.”
You looked up. Her expression wasn't one of pity. It was the look of someone who had lived through her own darkness and come out the other side.
“Your past is your own,” Jinbei added, his voice a deep rumble of gravity. “But your place here is not questioned.”
“Yeah!” Chopper chirped, nodding so hard his hat nearly fell off. “Scars just mean you survived something really hard!”
Usopp rubbed the back of his neck. “Plus, honestly? It makes you look way tougher.”
You stared at him, a spark of your old fire returning. “…I already looked tougher than you.”
“That’s not the point!” he squawked, and the table finally broke into genuine laughter.
Luffy leaned back, a piece of meat gripped in his hand. “I think it’s cool,” he said simply. “It means you fought something big and didn’t lose.”
The weight in your shoulders finally dissolved. You didn't wrap the bandages back on. You left them on the table, a white ghost of the person you no longer had to be.
Later that night, the Sunny was bathed in moonlight. The crew had drifted to the deck, the stars reflecting in the dark water like spilled diamonds. You sat on the upper rail, the wind cooling the skin of your face.
“You want to know,” you said into the quiet.
The crew turned. No one denied it. You looked at the stars, your voice falling into a cadence that sounded like a dark fairy tale.
“I was born into a cult,” you began. “They worshipped a man who ate a Devil Fruit—the Serpent God. He believed he was divine, and they believed him. They offered sacrifices. First animals, then prisoners.”
The air on the deck turned cold. You described the windowless wooden cages and the white snake that had crawled through the slats to find you—the only creature that didn't look at you like a sacrifice.
“They decided I should look more like their god,” you said, your fingers tracing the jagged line on your mouth. “My own family… they carved me open. They said it would make me resemble him.”
The silence on the deck was absolute. You could feel the fury radiating off Zoro and Sanji, the heartbreak from Nami and Chopper.
“So I killed them,” you said flatly. “I burned the temple, and I left.”
The story ended as simply as that. You didn't ask for tears. You didn't ask for revenge. You just stood there, the scar bared to the moonlight, finally exhaling a breath you had been holding for years.
When you finally went below deck to the girls' room, Robin was still awake, reading by the glow of a small lamp. She looked up, her gaze steady on your face.
“Thank you for trusting us,” she said.
“I didn't,” you replied, sitting on the edge of your bed.
Robin’s lips curved. “Not completely.”
“...Not completely,” you admitted.
“Scars are honest,” she said, closing her book. “They are proof you survived.”
You lay back, your snake coiling beside your pillow. For the first time since joining the Sunny, the hyper-vigilance didn't claw at your throat. You didn't count the breaths of your crewmates. You didn't listen for the rattle of chains in the dark.
“Are you tired?” Robin asked.
“...Yes.”
“That’s good. It means you feel safe enough to rest.”
You didn't answer, but as you closed your eyes, you knew she was right. Morning came not with a start, but with a gentle wash of sunlight through the porthole. You stepped onto the deck, the wind lifting your hair, the sun warming the jagged ridges of your mouth.
Luffy yelled your name from the bow, and you walked toward him, your head held high. The bandages were gone. The scar remained. But as the Thousand Sunny sailed forward into the bright, open blue, you realized the morning didn't just belong to the world. It finally belonged to you.
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