Summery: A sweet moment between the choas.
PS: I want to say a HUGE thank you to all my readers and supporters. I love you guys so much xoxo
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Months passed since you had met Jack and his crew, and lucky for you, you became part of the act. The Four Horsemen grew into a phenomenon, dazzling audiences across the country, and tonight the theater was packed, the crowd buzzing with anticipation. The curtain rose, spotlights cutting through the darkness, and the Horsemen stepped forward to perform their most daring trick yet. Jack was beside you, his energy electric, his grin softer than usual as he leaned close. “Ready?” he whispered.
You nodded, heart pounding, and together you stepped into the light. The illusion was designed to look like a lovers’ act—two magicians entwined in mystery. Jack reached for your hand, and for the first time it wasn’t part of the script. His fingers brushed yours, tentative, almost shy, and you glanced at him in surprise but didn’t pull away. The audience gasped as the trick unfolded: cards flying through the air, lights bending around you, the illusion of levitation making it seem as though you and Jack were floating together above the stage. The crowd saw magic; you felt something else entirely. Jack’s eyes locked on yours, and for a moment the noise of the theater faded until it was just the two of you suspended in that impossible moment.
“Guess I finally found the right line,” Jack murmured under his breath, audible only to you. “No tricks. Just… you.”
Your lips curved into a smile, the first genuine one you’d given him since that awkward backstage encounter. “Took you long enough.”
The illusion ended with a dramatic flourish, the two of you landing gracefully as the audience erupted in applause. Atlas stepped forward, commanding the crowd’s attention, while Merritt and Lula prepared the final reveal. Jack squeezed your hand once more before turning to face the audience, his voice steady now, his confidence no longer an act.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Atlas announced, his voice booming, “magic is about truth hidden in plain sight. And tonight, we reveal the greatest trick of all—the man who thought he could buy loyalty, silence, and justice.”
The screens behind the stage flickered to life, exposing Arthur Tressler’s corruption, his greed laid bare for the world to see. Gasps rippled through the audience, followed by cheers as the Horsemen dismantled his empire in real time. But while the crowd focused on Tressler’s downfall, you felt Jack’s gaze lingering on you, softer than the cocky grin he usually wore. This wasn’t a trick, wasn’t part of the act—it was real.
After the show, when the adrenaline had faded and the theater was quiet, Jack found you backstage again. He leaned against the same doorframe as before, echoing your first meeting, but this time his grin was different—less forced, more certain. “So,” he said, voice low, “did I finally manage to impress you?”
You smirked, stepping closer. “You did more than that.”
Jack’s eyes widened slightly, hope flickering across his face. “Does that mean…?”
You silenced him with a kiss, quick but undeniable. When you pulled back, his stunned expression melted into pure joy. “Best trick I’ve ever pulled,” he whispered. And for once, Jack Wilder didn’t need a line. He had you.
Summery: Part 2 of Red Carpet shenanigans (kind of)
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The night air was electric, buzzing with anticipation as you stepped onto the red carpet. Your heels clicked against the polished marble, the soft rustle of your gown accompanying the distant roar of fans and the relentless flashes of cameras. Everything felt heightened, almost surreal—the glamour, the chaos, the endless sea of people who had come to catch a glimpse of you and Dave Franco together.
Beside you, Dave’s hand slid into yours, fingers intertwining naturally, anchoring you amidst the storm of attention. His presence was steady, reassuring, and entirely familiar, a grounding force in a whirlwind of lights and noise. You glanced at him, catching that familiar twinkle in his eye that always made your stomach flutter, even after years of marriage.
The two of you moved together, presenting a united front with effortless grace. Smiles were exchanged, small waves given, hands occasionally brushing, each subtle touch carrying more intimacy than any camera could capture. The public saw the glamorous couple, poised and perfect. What they didn’t see were the private glances, the tiny squeezes of reassurance, the silent communication that existed only between the two of you.
Once inside the grand ballroom, the red carpet chaos faded into a warm hum of chatter and laughter. Chandeliers cast a golden glow over the sleek floors, and the noise of the press and fans felt softened, almost intimate. Dave stayed close, guiding you with subtle touches and quiet words. He leaned in, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, murmuring a low reminder that he was there, that you weren’t alone in this overwhelming crowd.
You laughed softly against his shoulder, leaning into the comfort of his presence. Even in the middle of the chaos, there was a rhythm that belonged to the two of you—a silent language formed over years of shared glances, private jokes, and quiet understanding.
Throughout the evening, colleagues approached to compliment your chemistry on-screen, to ask about working together as a married couple, and to tease gently about the glimpses of intimacy that inevitably leaked into public view. Each time, your fingers found his, a small gesture of connection that no one else noticed. Every laugh, every whispered word, every playful exchange reminded you that no matter how much the cameras tried to capture, the truth of your relationship was yours alone.
At one point, a familiar producer mentioned potential future collaborations, suggesting projects that could push boundaries or challenge the two of you in new ways. You and Dave exchanged a private look, and just a flicker of a smile passed between you, unspoken but heavy with meaning. The world outside could speculate all it wanted, but the decisions about your work and your future were something you would navigate together, quietly, intentionally.
Eventually, you slipped away from the heart of the party, following Dave to a balcony that overlooked the sparkling city skyline. The hum of music and conversation faded into the background, leaving only the two of you in a bubble of private warmth. He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close, and you let your head rest lightly against his chest.
“You were incredible tonight,” he murmured, brushing his lips briefly against your temple. “Every word, every look—you were perfect.”
You smiled against him, closing your eyes for a moment. “You were amazing too. I think we balance each other perfectly.”
His lips found yours in a slow, deliberate kiss that spoke more than words could. It was a kiss that carried the quiet intimacy of years together, a private world tucked away from the flashing cameras and prying eyes. When you finally pulled back, foreheads pressed together, his eyes glimmered with that familiar warmth that had drawn you to him from the start.
“I love that we get to do this together,” he whispered, voice low, intimate. “Every project, every premiere… I wouldn’t want it with anyone else.”
“Me neither,” you replied softly. “I wouldn’t change a thing.”
As the night stretched on, you returned to the party briefly, hands still intertwined, moving through clusters of colleagues and admirers. Conversation inevitably turned to future projects, potential collaborations, and the excitement surrounding the film you had just premiered. Dave’s attention never wavered from you, even as he discussed ideas and plans with others. Every glance, every brush of his hand along yours, was a reminder that amidst all the noise and spectacle, you belonged to each other first.
Finally, the evening began to wind down. Stepping outside into the cool night air, the city lights reflected off the sleek black cars waiting to take you home. Fans lingered at the edges, cameras still flashing, but your focus was solely on the man at your side. He squeezed your hand gently, leaning close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your hair.
“Ready to go home?” he asked quietly.
“More than ready,” you said, resting against him. “Home sounds perfect.”
“And then,” he murmured, a mischievous glint in his eye, “we celebrate properly. Just the two of us. No cameras, no lights, no chaos.”
You laughed softly, feeling the familiar warmth of your life together settle around you like a soft blanket. The world outside could speculate, comment, and analyze, but what mattered was simple, private, and entirely yours. Hand in hand, hearts aligned, you stepped into the night together, ready for every adventure the future held.
Because with Dave Franco, the premieres, the projects, and the flashing cameras were just background noise. The real story—the one that mattered—was the one only you two shared.
Summery: Dave Franco was your co-star in one of your recent romance stories, and also your lover outside the screen.
Dave Franco my husband
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The night air was electric as you stepped out of the black SUV onto the red carpet, the soft rustle of your gown echoing against the polished steps of the theater. A swarm of photographers shouted at you both, cameras flashing relentlessly, fans squealing from behind the barricades. The energy was exhilarating, chaotic, and entirely surreal.
Dave’s hand found yours almost instinctively. The small pressure of his fingers through the leather gloves grounding you amidst the whirl of lights and noise. You glanced at him, catching the teasing glint in his eye that never failed to make your stomach flutter. Even after years together, there was something eternally thrilling about having him beside you in public, presenting a united front as co-stars and partners in life.
“Deep breaths,” he murmured, leaning slightly toward you so only you could hear, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “We’ve got this.”
You nodded, smiling despite the tight coil of nerves in your chest. “We do,” you replied softly.
The crowd erupted in cheers as you approached the press area, and the world felt momentarily like it had narrowed to just the two of you. Dave’s arm brushed yours subtly as he guided you forward, a gesture so casual yet intimate, it sent warmth all the way through your body.
Once inside, the chaos of the red carpet became a choreography you’d practiced in your minds countless times. You posed for photos, laughed at offhand comments, and answered the usual barrage of questions with charm and professionalism. But tonight, unlike other premieres, there was something different. This wasn’t just a movie you were promoting—it was your movie, and you were doing it together. Every glance exchanged between you and Dave carried weight, a private language hidden beneath the flashing lights and eager microphones.
A reporter’s voice cut through the noise. “Congratulations on the film! You two have amazing chemistry on-screen. What’s it like working together as a couple?”
You glanced at Dave, letting your fingers slide into his under the strap of your gown, just enough for him to feel the connection. “It’s incredible,” you said, your voice soft but steady. “Being on set with someone you love, someone you trust completely… it changes everything. Scenes that might feel intimidating alone feel effortless with him there.”
Dave’s grin was effortless, warm, genuine. “It’s true,” he said, tilting slightly toward you. “We know each other better than anyone else. That intimacy translates into the work. And, of course, it doesn’t hurt that she’s brilliant at what she does.”
You laughed, brushing your shoulder lightly against his. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” you teased. “Even during high-stress shooting days.”
“And it should,” he murmured, thumb brushing the back of your hand beneath the glint of camera flashes. “Because otherwise, you’d never let me live it down.”
The reporter smiled, sensing the dynamic between you without needing to pry further. “Do you find it challenging to separate work from personal life?”
“Sometimes,” you admitted, squeezing Dave’s hand. “But the important thing is that we respect each other’s space. Even on set, even during long days of shooting intense scenes, we make sure to communicate, to check in, and to support each other. That way, the work enhances the relationship rather than strains it.”
Dave nodded, looking down at your hand and giving it a soft, grounding squeeze. “We’re very intentional about it. And it doesn’t hurt that the work is more fun when you’re doing it with someone you know you can rely on completely.”
The night continued with interviews, cameras, and fan interactions, but underneath it all, there was a rhythm unique to the two of you. Even amidst chaos, every small touch, every glance, every shared smile felt like a secret message to each other. When you laughed at a fan’s comment about how “cute” you were together, Dave brushed a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering long enough to make your pulse race.
Later, as you approached the step-and-repeat for another round of photos, the conversation naturally drifted toward the movie itself. The buzz from critics had been overwhelmingly positive, and you could feel the excitement radiating off the crowd. Dave leaned closer, voice low and intimate, “Remember when we shot that final scene together? I think that one will be the talk of the movie.”
You smiled, recalling the long hours and emotional intensity. “It was exhausting, but having you there made it manageable. I think that’s why it comes across so well on-screen—it’s genuine. Not just acting, but… us.”
“And speaking of future projects,” Dave added, giving your hand another reassuring squeeze, “I think we should start planning our next one together. If the universe keeps letting us create and exist in the same space, I’m all in.”
The words were casual, but your heart skipped. The idea of more films together, more shared experiences, was something you had always dreamed of but rarely voiced. “I’d love that,” you said softly. “Whatever we do, I want it to be with you.”
“You’ll always have me,” he whispered, leaning close enough that you could feel his warmth. “On set, off set… always.”
As the interviews wrapped and you were guided down the final stretch of the carpet, a group of fans waved banners and shouted your names. You waved, smiling, but your attention kept drifting to Dave. He matched your smile, his eyes glinting with a mixture of pride and mischief, and it made your chest tighten.
In a quieter moment backstage, away from the glaring lights, he pulled you aside. The world outside the red carpet faded into a soft blur. “You were incredible tonight,” he murmured, brushing a kiss across your temple. “Every word, every look… you shined.”
“You too,” you replied, resting your head against his shoulder. “I love being here with you. Doing this together.”
“Me too,” he said, lips brushing your hair. “And the best part? We get to go home after all this, just us. No cameras, no lights, no chaos. Just… us.”
You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. “I can’t wait.”
And as the night drew to a close, walking hand-in-hand toward the waiting car, it felt like you were leaving the red carpet behind for something infinitely better. The love, trust, and partnership you shared with Dave weren’t for the cameras, the flashes, or the screaming fans—they were for the quiet moments, the stolen glances, the future projects, and the endless possibilities that lay ahead, together.
The world could watch, speculate, and comment all it wanted. But you and Dave Franco? You already had everything you could ever want—each other.
Jack Wilder/Dave Franco
Series:
-Red Carpet shenanigans/Premiere afterglow(Dave Franco)
One Shots:
-Between the Lines of the Trick
- Hand in Hand
Daniel Atlas/Jesse Eisenberg
Series:
-To be Continued
One Shots:
-To be Continued
Batman/Bruce Wayne
Series:
-to be continued
One Shot:
-to be continued
------------------------------------
Nightwing/Dick Grayson
Series:
-to be continued
One Shot:
-Deep in the night
-Heroic Moment
------------------------------------
Red Hood/Jason Todd
Series:
-to be continued
One Shot:
-A rough evening in Gotham
-Soft whispers
------------------------------------
Red Robin/Tim Drake
Series :
-to be continued
One Shot:
-Nerdy? More like Needy
------------------------------------
Robin/Damien Wayne
Series:
-Anywhere but here (part1)/Somewhere Else(part 2)
One Shot:
-to be continued
------------------------------------
Arsenal/Roy Harper
One shots:
-to be continued
------------------------------------
Kid Flash/Wally West
One Shots:
-to be continued
------------------------------------
Superman/Clark Kent
One Shots:
-to be continued
Summery: As part of the Horseman you always had to do something dangerous, but the most dangerous thing of all was admitting your feeling to Jack.
PS: I know this isn't my usual content, but recently I've gotten into the movie series Now You See Me, and Dave Franco has my heart.
Comments and Reblogs are appreciated
You’d always thought the most dangerous part of being a Horseman was the stunts—the high-risk escapes, the near-impossible illusions, the sleights that required absolute precision.
You were wrong.
The most dangerous part was working in close quarters with Jack Wilder.
Especially when the entire world thought he was dead…
And you were the only one he trusted completely.
The airplane roared with turbulence as the Four Horsemen—well, three Horsemen and one exceptionally cranky sleight-of-hand prodigy—argued about the disaster they’d just walked into.
“That wasn’t the plan,” Atlas snapped, pacing the fuselage.
“Yeah, no kidding,” Merritt grumbled, nursing a bruise on his cheek. “Next time, let’s not walk directly into a trap.”
Lula twirled a razor-edged playing card between her fingers. “But the reveal was great. I mean, the audience screaming? Iconic.”
You sat beside Jack in the dimly lit back row, the two of you exchanging a silent glance. Yours said Please don’t say anything stupid. His said When do I ever say anything stupid?
(You raised an eyebrow. He dropped his gaze.)
Atlas’s frustration shifted its focus. “We wouldn’t have been blindsided if everyone had stuck to the script.”
Merritt scoffed. “Oh, please. Even you don’t stick to your own script.”
Jack leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “Look, arguing won’t help us. We need a plan.”
“We need answers,” Atlas corrected.
“And an exit strategy,” you added.
Jack hummed in agreement, his foot tapping anxiously. You nudged his leg gently, grounding him. He shot you a grateful look.
Everyone fell silent when the plane jolted sharply. A new voice echoed through the speakers.
“Welcome, Horsemen.”
Your blood ran cold at the sound of Walter Mabry.
You shouldn’t have been surprised—the man had already hijacked your live comeback performance, exposed every backup plan you had, and somehow dragged you into Macau before you could blink.
But hearing his voice again still made your stomach twist.
Mabry continued, “Hope the flight wasn’t too rough. We’ll be landing shortly. Then you’re going to steal something for me.”
Atlas muttered a curse. Lula flipped her card aggressively. Merritt mumbled something about hacking Mabry’s eyebrows off.
Jack leaned closer, whispering, “You okay?”
You nodded. “I’ll be fine once we’re off this flying death trap.”
He smirked. “Didn’t think you got scared.”
“I don’t get scared,” you said. “I get concerned about aggressively suspicious circumstances.”
“That’s just fear with better vocabulary,” he said lightly.
If stepping into the Macau market was like walking into chaos, stepping into Li and Bu’s magic shop was like entering a shrine.
Hidden switches, trapdoors, one-way mirrors—everything in the place was rigged. You felt like you could breathe in the history of it, the craftsmanship, the secrets.
Merritt immediately started pocketing small props.
Lula started touching everything she shouldn’t.
Atlas lectured.
Jack? Jack drifted to your side like he always did.
You ran your fingers across a set of Chinese linking rings. Jack watched you with a small smile.
“You know how to do that one?” he asked.
“Only the real version.”
He snorted. “There is no ‘real’ version.”
“There is if you’re good enough.”
You took two rings, held them out between your palms, and—one smooth flick of your wrist—linked them with a crisp metallic snap.
Jack’s eyebrows flew up. “Okay, that’s—”
“No gimmicks,” you whispered, stepping closer. “Watch my fingers.”
He did. Closely. Too closely.
You unlocked the rings with the gentlest twist. Jack’s eyes widened in awe.
“That was hot,” he blurted.
You froze.
He froze.
“I mean—” He struggled. “Not hot—like hot hot—just—skill hot? Talent hot? Not hot—hot—like—”
You raised a brow. “Jack.”
“Yes?”
“Stop talking.”
He shut his mouth so fast you let out a small snort.
After getting the supplies you needed, it felt like an eternity before the actual mission started. The stick, as Atlas called it, was almost 100% a replica of a playing card. Needless to say, flicking cards was Jacks specialty, so after many...many hours of practice the team was almost ready.
“This stick is the most advanced technology we have ever seen. We must be extremely careful.,” Atlas whispered, gazing at the gleaming projector that showed of the stick that Mabry was forcing you to steal. “And we have to get it out without triggering ten layers of security.”
“We’ve pulled off worse,” Merritt said confidently.
“None of those were this delicate,” Jack pointed out.
You stepped beside him, calm and focused. “That’s why we do it the Horsemen way.”
Jack exhaled. “Sleight-of-hand on a technological atom bomb. How hard can it be?”
“Confidence,” you teased.
“More like denial,” Merritt muttered.
Lula fanned the playing cards she’d been practicing with, tapping your shoulder. “You’re up first. Show them what you did in New Orleans.”
You reached out, taking a card from Lula's deck between forefinger and thumb.
It was barely thicker than a sheet of paper.
Jack leaned over your shoulder, breath warm against your ear. “Let,s see what you got Horseman.”
You didn’t even blink. With a fluid motion, you launched the card from your fingertips, letting inertia carry it into a back-palmed concealment. Your hands moved like water—wrists rotating, palms shifting, the card disappearing and reappearing between your fingers in a dizzying cascade.
Merritt let out a low whistle. “She’s showing off.”
Lula whispered, “I’m taking notes.”
Jack’s voice dropped. “Do that again.”
You did.
This time, when you flicked the card into the air, Jack caught it on the back of his hand without breaking eye contact with you.
It was unfair how good that made him look.
“Nice catch,” you said, smirking.
“Nice throw,” he replied.
Atlas cleared his throat loudly. “If you two are done flirting we have a mission to—”
“We’re not flirting,” Jack said too quickly.
You rolled your eyes.
Merritt raised a finger. “Correction. You’re flirting. She’s tolerating.”
The day of the mission had finally arrived. Sneaking the chip through the facility required perfection. Timing. Precision. And teamwork.
The five of you stood in formation, backs nearly touching, each taking turns passing the chip around the room using only cards, dexterity, and misdirection.
Jack tossed it first, flicking it behind his back.
You snapped your hand up, catching the chip behind your sleeve before the guards noticed a thing.
Merritt exaggerated a coughing fit to hide the moment you spun and elbow-passed the chip to Lula.
Lula palmed it under the pretense of showing off a card flourish.
Jack then made his move—walking past you, brushing your shoulder, and slipping the chip from your palm to his without breaking stride.
You felt the transfer, light as a whisper.
Good.
He’d been practicing.
At the end of the routine, Jack tossed the chip back to you. You caught it between two fingers with a flourish that made him bite back a smile.
“It never gets old watching you work,” he murmured as you walked side by side.
“Likewise.”
“Yeah, but you’re better.”
You blinked. “Jack, you’re one of the best magicians in the world.”
Getting out of the facility involved sprinting to the car and taking off in a hurry. After a few brutal turns you had finally made it back to the hotel you'd been staying at. “You okay?”, Jack asked.
“Yes.” You shook your hands violently, shaking off the nerves. “No thanks to Atlas’s ‘left turn.’”
“That was one time,” Atlas called.
“That was ten times,” Merritt corrected.
Jack laughed under his breath. “At least you looked great doing it.”
You stared at him. “Jack, we almost got into a car crash like seven times.”
“And yet,” he said, “you still made it look like a practiced escape act.”
You nudged him. “You’re shameless.”
“Only around you.”, he winked.
The silence that followed was thick—warm despite the freezing tension left in the room.
Then he said, “Hey… when this is over… we should talk.”
After the rooftop showdown, after Mabry fell for the fake chip switch, after Dylan revealed the double-cross and the true purpose of the Eye—you all found yourselves on the barge, safe at last.
The lights of New York shimmered on the river.
The adrenaline finally began to fade.
You stood alone near the railing, watching the water churn behind the ship.
Footsteps approached. You didn’t have to turn to know who it was.
Jack stopped beside you, his hands tucked into his jacket. “Beautiful night.”
You smiled faintly. “It looks even better when we’re not on the run.”
“Speak for yourself. I look great on the run.”
You bumped him gently. “Don’t ruin the moment.”
He leaned against the railing. “I meant what I said the other day.”
Your heart thudded.
He continued, voice softer than you’d ever heard it, “When I said we should talk.”
“So talk,” you said quietly.
Jack exhaled.
“When we were in Macau… when we were passing the chip… when you caught it like it was nothing—”
“That was hardly nothing.”
“It was everything.”
You blinked at him.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve liked you for a long time, okay? Long before this job. Long before faking my death. Long before everything. I just—never said anything because I didn’t want to screw it up.”
Your breath caught. “Jack—”
“And then I almost died—twice—and I realized I was being stupid. Because if something happened to you… I’d never forgive myself.”
You stared at him. Really stared.
The boyish charm. The nervous energy. The fierce loyalty beneath it.
“Jack,” you murmured, stepping closer, “you don’t have to be nervous.”
“I’m not nervous,” he lied.
You lifted his chin gently. “You’re practically vibrating.”
He swallowed.
You leaned in, speaking just above a whisper. “You’re not screwing anything up.”
His voice cracked. “I’m not?”
“No.”
Then you kissed him.
Soft at first. Testing. Lingering.
Jack froze only a moment before kissing you back—warm, careful, and full of every secret he’d ever tried to hide behind humor and bravado.
When you pulled away, he let out a breathless laugh. “Wow.”
“Yeah,” you whispered.
“So, um,” he said, smiling crookedly. “Does that mean you’ll let me take you on a date without any heists involved?”
“Maybe,” you teased.
He groaned dramatically. “You’re going to make me work for it, aren’t you?”
“Obviously.”
He slipped his fingers through yours. “Good. I like a challenge.”
Behind you, Merritt shouted, “Hey! Lovebirds! Atlas has something to say. So get your butts here”
Jack sighed. “Speaking of challenges…”
You laughed, letting him tug you back toward the others.
Tonight, you weren’t running.
You weren’t hiding.
You weren’t performing.
Tonight, you were simply you.
And Jack Wilder held your hand like he never planned to let go.
Authors Note: Hey guys, I hope you like this fic because i certainly do ;). I know the beginning of the story isn't as accurate and precise but I had to cut corners somewhere if I wanted to write my entire idea haha. I will be writing more for this fandom so hope to se you in the near future.
Hey guys, so I wanted to update you a bit on what going on right now in my life. This past week has been a little rough as I got a fever, its gone down a bit but I still have a lot of difficulty moving my body and such. So don't worry, I will continue to post, just not this week.
I also wanted to thank all of you for the support, don't hesitate to like and comment on my post, relogs are also very much appreciated.
Summery: Nightwing usually doesn't have trouble wooing girls, that until he rescued you one night. (feat Jason Todd)
Comments and Reblogs are appreciated
The night air in Blüdhaven was thick with smoke and sirens. You hadn’t meant to wander into a warehouse full of armed smugglers—honestly, you were just trying to get home after a long day at work—but now you were crouched behind a stack of crates, clutching your phone with shaking hands.
The sound of gunfire erupted somewhere above you. You flinched, heart hammering. Then, out of the darkness, a voice — smooth, teasing, and entirely too calm for the situation — cut through the chaos.
“Hey there, sweetheart. You planning to stay behind those crates all night, or do you want a ride out of here?”
You looked up — and there he was. Nightwing.
Tall, in his sleek black-and-blue suit, escrima sticks in hand, and a grin that could probably stop traffic.
“Wha— I— You’re Nightwing,” you stammered, half in awe, half in disbelief.
He winked. “Good eye. Now, as much as I’d love to keep chatting, we should probably move before those guys reload.”
Before you could respond, he scooped you up effortlessly, jumping from the crate just as a burst of gunfire lit up the space you’d been hiding in seconds ago. You clung to him instinctively as he vaulted up to a higher beam, landing with the ease of someone who’d been born in the air.
When the shooting stopped, he gently set you down behind cover, his arm lingering around your waist just a second longer than necessary.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice suddenly softer.
“Yeah,” you breathed out, still trying to calm your heartbeat. “Thanks for saving me.”
He flashed that trademark smile again — bright, boyish, a little too confident. “All in a night’s work. Though, I have to say, most people don’t look this good while being rescued.”
You blinked. “Did… did you just flirt with me?”
He chuckled. “Maybe. Depends—did it work?”
“Ummm no.”, you say bluntly.
In the distance you hear a faint laugh, as you turn around you see a man in a red mask. Red Hood.
“Man, I have never seen someone get shut down so quick.” Jason couldn’t help but keep laughing, having to clutch his stomach as it was starting to get too much. Nightwing on the other hand looked utterly confused and embarrassed. While you just stood there confused.
Nightwing turned toward the sound of Jason’s laughter, his jaw tightening beneath his domino mask.
“Do you mind?” he hissed, gesturing vaguely in Jason’s direction. “Kind of trying to have a heroic moment here.”
Jason wiped at his helmet’s visor like fake tears were leaking from it. “Oh no, don’t let me stop you, Romeo. By all means, keep trying to sweep her off her feet. It’s going great so far.”
You glanced between the two of them, realization dawning. “Wait—you guys know each other?”
“Unfortunately yes,” Nightwing responded with a deep sigh.
Jason slung his pistol back into its holster and leaned casually against the rooftop railing, still chuckling. “See, usually its easy for you to get girls, guess tonight is diffent.”
Nightwing groaned. “I saved you once, Hood. Don’t make me regret it.”
Jason ignored him completely, looking at you with mock seriousness. “For the record, sweetheart, that was a world-class rejection. Ten out of ten. Had style, had timing—honestly, I might write it down and frame it.”
You couldn’t help it; a laugh escaped you, tension melting from your shoulders. “Well, he did catch me off guard,” you said, glancing at Nightwing with a teasing smirk. “Maybe he’ll do better next time.”
Nightwing brightened just a little. “So, you’re saying there will be a next time?”
Jason then replies smugly, “Lets hope its not under the same circumstances, or else he might fumble the bag again.”
Before Nightwing could respond, a faint beeping interrupted your banter. He pulled out a small tracker from his belt and frowned. “Looks like the rest of the smugglers are regrouping two blocks east.” He looked at you again, all business now. “We’ll get you home, okay? Then we’ll handle the rest.”
Jason tilted his head. “We? You sure you can focus, lover boy?”
Nightwing shot him a sharp look. “I can multitask.”
You rolled your eyes, still smiling. “You two really are something else.”
Nightwing sigh. “You have no idea.”
A few minutes later, after Jason secured the perimeter, Nightwing walked you out to the edge of the docks where his bike waited under a streetlight. The city shimmered behind him, neon reflections rippling on the water.
He handed you his spare helmet, his tone softer now. “You sure you’re okay? That was… a lot to walk into.”
You nodded. “Yeah. Honestly, I think the embarrassment might’ve been worse than the gunfire.”
He winced playfully. “Ouch. You’re not gonna let me live that down, are you?”
You smirked as you put on the helmet. “Not a chance.”
For a moment, he just looked at you — really looked. The wind ruffled his hair, the corners of his mouth twitching upward.
“You’re tough,” he said finally. “Most people would be shaking right now.”
You gave him a light shove. “Most people didn’t get rescued by a circus performer with a terrible sense of timing.”
He laughed, swinging his leg over the bike. “Fair. But hey, I get points for the acrobatics.”
From the comm, Jason’s voice broke in again. “Grayson, if you start quoting Spider-Man, I’m shooting your tires.”
“Love you too, Jaybird,” Nightwing said dryly before glancing back at you. “Ready?”
“Let’s go,” you said, climbing on behind him and wrapping your arms around his waist.
The bike roared to life, the city lights streaking past as you sped down the empty streets. For a moment, with the wind rushing around you and the chaos of the night fading behind, you felt safe — even if your rescuer couldn’t flirt to save his life.
Behind the comms, Jason’s laughter echoed one last time:
“Hey, Grayson—try not to crash and burn again, alright?”
Nightwing just sighed. “He’s never letting me live this down.”
Summery: Tim Drake was known to be a typical nerd, always studying, relating on coffee to function, but what happens when his girlfriend decides to take care of him after a long day.
Warning: Smutt (might have some mistakes at the end.)
AKA: the longest fic I've ever written so far at 1247 words!!
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Tim Drake was never a fan of relationships — that was, until he met you.
A couple of months ago, you met during school hours. A mutual friend had introduced you both, and since that day, you’d been inseparable. A few months later, your relationship began. Dick and Jason were over the moon that Tim had finally grown some courage to ask a girl out. With their questionable advice — and a little bit of luck — he managed to secure you as his girlfriend.
He loved you endlessly. He treated you like a goddess.
But unfortunately, he didn’t treat himself the same.
Tim sat at his desk, surrounded by half-empty mugs of coffee and two drained energy drink cans. His laptop glowed in the dim light of his room, a blinking cursor mocking him on a nearly blank document. The paper was due in two days, and his double life — student by day, vigilante by night — had caught up to him again.
He rubbed his eyes, groaning under his breath. “Come on, Drake. Just focus for ten more minutes…”
But fate had other plans.
The doorbell rang downstairs, echoing faintly through Wayne Manor’s long hallways. Dick, lounging closest to the entrance, pushed himself up with a grin. When he opened the door and saw you standing there, his smile widened mischievously.
“Oh, hey, Y/N. If you’re looking for Tim, he’s in his room — buried under a pile of caffeine and stress,” Dick teased, leaning against the doorframe.
You laughed softly. “Thanks, Dick. I’m sure I can convince him to take a short break. ”
“Good luck with that,” he chuckled, waving as you made your way upstairs.
You quietly opened Tim’s door and peeked inside. His shoulders were tense; his focus locked on the glowing screen. The room smelled faintly of coffee and cologne, with papers scattered across the desk and bed.
“Tim,” you said gently, walking in. “How long have you been in front of that screen?”
He barely looked up, muttering, “Since this morning. I’ve been trying to finish this stupid paper, but… nothing’s working. My brain’s fried.”
You walked closer, placing a hand on the back of his chair and slowly turning it around to face you. “You need a break,” you said softly.
Before you could say more, Tim sighed and leaned forward, resting his head against your stomach. His hands came to rest on the backs of your thighs, fingers curling lightly against your jeans.
“I can’t think straight,” he mumbled, voice muffled against you. “I hate when I hit a wall like this.”
You smiled, one hand sliding up to the back of his neck while the other found its way into his soft, dark hair. “You’ve been pushing yourself too hard again.”
He tilted his head back just enough to look up at you. His blue eyes — usually sharp, analytical — now looked tired, almost pleading. Like a puppy begging for attention.
“Maybe I just need you for a bit,” he admitted quietly.
Your heart melted. You leaned down and brushed your lips against his forehead, then along his jawline, peppering him with small kisses. Each one drew a low hum from his throat.
“There’s my genius boyfriend,” you teased, fingers playing with the hair at his nape. “You don’t always have to save the world, Tim. Sometimes, it’s okay to just… breathe.”
He chuckled softly, his voice low. “You make it sound so easy.”
“That’s because it is,” you whispered, pressing another kiss to his temple. “You don’t have to do everything alone. I’m here, remember?”
Tim reached up, his hands finding your waist as he pulled you gently onto his lap. You laughed quietly but didn’t resist, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.
For a few moments, neither of you said anything. The world outside Wayne Manor could’ve stopped turning, and neither of you would’ve noticed. His head rested against your chest, your fingers combing lazily through his hair.
“I think you’re my favorite distraction,” he murmured.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” you teased.
He looked up at you, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips — the kind he only wore when he was truly at peace. “No,” he said softly. “It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
You kissed him then — slow, gentle, unhurried — and felt the tension melt away from his shoulders. When you finally pulled back, he sighed contently, resting his forehead against yours.
“Five-minute break,” you whispered.
“Make it ten,” he replied with a smirk, pulling you closer.
----------------------------
Ten minutes was honestly not enough for Tim.
What began as a slow, careful kiss soon deepened into something more urgent. His fingers traced your jaw, your neck, memorizing every shiver his touch caused. Each movement carried the same quiet desperation he’d been holding back for weeks — a mix of love, exhaustion, and the need to feel something real.
He kissed you like a man starved, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. Your hands fisted gently in his shirt, and he breathed out a low sound against your lips — half a sigh, half your name.
“Y/N,” he murmured, voice rough with affection. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
You smiled softly against his mouth. “I think I do.”
The air between you was heavy with warmth, every heartbeat echoing louder in the quiet room. His hands slid up your back, grounding himself in your presence. The world outside—the schoolwork, the missions, the expectations—fell away until all that existed was the steady rhythm of you and him.
When he finally pulled back, breath uneven, he rested his forehead against yours. His thumb brushed over your cheekbone as if to reassure himself you were really there.
Soon Tim had you laid on your back moaning his name. Your hands were in his hair as he gripped your thighs, face buried in your cunt. 30 minutes and three orgasms later Tim didn’t seem to want to stop. Rubbing circles around your clit with his tongue and fingering you with two fingers, Tim couldn’t ask for more. He loved having you all to himself, he loved pleasing his girlfriend, if the world could stop and he could do this all night he would. He slowly looked up and smirked, his face glossy with your wetness.
“I needed this,” he whispered. “I needed you.”
A slopy kiss followed his confession. He rubbed his cock up and down a few times before teasing your entrance, a soft moan leaving his lips. Without hesitation you shoved him in your warm cunt, moaning his name as he placed himself comfortably. The rhythm Tim choose was anything but slow. His hips thrusting in and out of you, heaving pants leaving his lips.
When you and Tim have sex is was usually slow and romantic, but this time was different, you knew your boyfriend needed you, and he wasn’t afraid to show it. Tim kissed you neck while panting, his hip movement slowly slowing down. As he announced that he was about to cum you wrapped your thighs around his waist, squeezing him as hard as possible. Your legs kept shaking, small moans escaped your lips as Tim reached his orgasm. He moaned your name in your neck, biting back the urge to scream from pleasure.
“You should probably finish your paper tomorrow Tim.”, you spoke and for once your boyfriend didn’t disagree with you.
Summery: Jason didn't think you'd wait up for him, but you always do.
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Gotham was quieter than usual.
The rain had been falling since sundown, turning the city’s edges into watercolor smudges of gray and gold. From the rooftop of your apartment building, you could see the glow of the Narrows in the distance—flickering, broken light that refused to die.
Just like him.
Jason sat beside you on the edge of the roof, his red helmet resting between his boots. The air smelled of wet asphalt and smoke, but under it all was something softer—coffee, leather, and the faint trace of gunpowder that never seemed to leave him.
You’d both stopped talking a while ago. Words weren’t necessary when silence felt this easy.
He broke it first.
“Didn’t think you’d wait up,” he said, voice low, rough around the edges.
“I always do,” you replied, pulling your knees close to your chest. “You just never notice.”
Jason chuckled—soft, short, a sound that didn’t belong to the Red Hood, only to him. “Guess I’m not used to people waiting for me. Feels… different.”
You turned your head, studying him under the glow of the rooftop light. The rain had soaked through his hair, darkening the streak of white that cut across it. His jacket was damp, and you could see the small bruises blooming along his throat—reminders of another night spent fighting for a city that rarely thanked him.
You reached out, brushing a raindrop—or maybe a tear—from his cheek.
“Different doesn't mean impossible, Jason.”
For a moment, his expression softened. The hardness in his jaw eased, and his eyes— tired but endlessly searching—found yours.
“You make it sound easy,” he murmured.
“It is. Loving you isn’t the hard part,” you said. “It’s watching you forget you deserve it.”
He stared at you like the words were foreign. Then, quietly, he leaned forward until his forehead touched yours. The rain drummed softly against the rooftop, the world shrinking to the space between your breaths.
“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered. “Not after everything.”
“You do,” you answered, without hesitation. “Especially after everything.”
Jason sighed, and for once, it wasn’t a sound of frustration or pain—it was relief. He pulled you into him, arms strong and careful, the scent of rain and leather wrapping around you both. The city faded; there was only warmth, heartbeat against heartbeat.
And when his lips found yours—slow, unhurried—it wasn’t the kiss of a man trying to forget the world. It was the kiss of someone learning, finally, that he could belong in it. Later, when the storm thinned and the moon slipped between the clouds, you stayed there together—Jason tracing circles on your wrist, you listening to the rhythm of his breathing. Gotham was still broken, still dangerous, but for tonight, it was soft, and so was Jason
Summery: Your boyfriend returns from a long mission, which caused you to not see him for a few days, little did you know he had a surprise for you
Warming: light Smutt
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You knew being the girlfriend of a vigilante would come with its perks and disadvantages, but you never would’ve thought that one of the perks would ALSO be a disadvantage. Dick had been gone for a few days, and you knew not to worry, it was nice being home alone for a bit. You had time to relax and reset your mind, focus on some more challenging chores, and also work on some hobbies.
Today was no different, you went to work as usual walking there taking in the crisp morning air. The day had been particularly slow, but you didn’t mind, those days kept you grounded. During lunch Dick sent you a text message that he would be home tomorrow, at the latest tomorrow night. Nothing else important came of your day, that was until you were getting ready for bed.
You hear the door lock turning, and soon a very sweaty and grinning Dick came through the door. He didn’t even bother to take his shoes off as he walked towards you, engulfing you in a warm hug and kissing you all over.
“Gosh, how I’ve missed your smell, my love,” Dick whispered in your ear, his voice roughened by longing. You let out a soft giggle, warmth blooming in your chest as you close the small distance between you. You meant for it to be gentle—a reunion sealed with a tender kiss—but the hunger in his eyes said otherwise.
His lips met yours with urgency, a storm of emotion pent up from too many days apart. The world around you faded, leaving only the rhythm of shared breaths and the quiet thrum of your heartbeat against his chest. His hands framed your face, as though he couldn’t believe you were real, as though he feared you might vanish if he let go. Your kiss deepened, not with lust alone but with the ache of everything you’d both endured. Every motion spoke of the time lost, the promises rekindled, the love that never dimmed.
Soon you both ended up in your shared bedroom, leaving clothes scattered along the hallway. Dick kissed his way down to your thighs while laying you down on the bed. Soft moans escaped both your lips; Dicks touch was like a ray of sunshine on your skin.
His hands roamed your body like it was a temple, leaving gently squeezed as if he’d break you if he went too rough. His lips quickly moved up to yours as he lifted two fingers into your entrance, drawing small circles around your clit. A moan escaped your lips as Dick smirked “You’re so wet for me baby, I bet it was so rough without me here fucking you every night like we use too. Mhmm baby?”
Even with Dicks taunting you couldn’t respond, too close to an orgasm and Dicks fingers pumped in and out of you at an intense speed. “D-Dick I-I’m gonna c- “
“Shh darling it alright cum for me”, and with those words you quickly did, letting out one last moan as your orgasm hit you. Your boyfriend being there to clean it all up afterwards.
Smirking Dick looked up at you, on his knees and smirking. That damn smirk. “Lets get you cleaned up sweetheart mhmm.”
Summery: After an unexpected night with the son of Billionaire Bruce Wayne, you're expected to return to normal, unfortunately its harder than it seems
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As the daughter of one of the wealthiest families in Gotham, you were expected to attend the most prestigious school—of course, that meant Gotham Academy. Your path as a student had always been the same: get good grades, listen to your teachers, and participate in one extracurricular activity each week.
Your future had been written for you long before you could hold a pen, yet somehow, you still managed to make your life your own. You had great friends, knew almost everyone on campus, and, though people often called you “popular,” you never liked the word—it felt shallow. Life was as perfect as it could be. That was, until you met Damian Wayne during your first year of high school.
From the moment he transferred in, Damian had something to say about everything—especially when it came to your answers in class. His wit was sharp, his tone annoyingly confident, and no matter what point you made, he always seemed ready with a comeback. Still, that didn’t stop you from challenging him. You competed with him in nearly every subject, your debates becoming the highlight—and sometimes the disruption—of each lesson.
As weeks turned into months, Damian became a regular part of your day, whether you liked it or not. The two of you argued about anything and everything, often turning entire classes into verbal sparring matches. You told yourself he was nothing more than an irritation, but denying his presence in your life was impossible.
Damian, on the other hand, couldn’t ignore you if he tried. He had never met anyone who could match him—intellectually, stubbornly, completely—until you came along. What began as frustration soon twisted into fascination. He told himself it was just rivalry, but deep down he knew better.
He often thought back to the night of the Wayne Foundation Gala. You’d laughed together, as if your arguments had never existed. For once, you’d both let your guards down. He remembered how easy it was to talk to you about things he usually hid from others—his interests, his goals, even a few of his flaws. And he would never forget how gorgeous you looked that night: elegance and confidence radiating from you like moonlight glinting off a still lake. Damian didn’t want to admit it, but he’d enjoyed your company—and he wanted more.
Now, sitting by the window during another dull afternoon class, you found your mind drifting back to that same night. The way he’d smiled. The way it hadn’t felt like you were supposed to be enemies. You scolded yourself for even thinking about it. Admitting that you’d actually enjoyed spending time with Damian Wayne? That would be social suicide—and a mess you weren’t ready to deal with.
A sudden tap to your head snapped you out of your thoughts.
“Ow! What was that for?” you hissed, rubbing the spot and glaring at your friend.
“The bell rang, and you weren’t answering me,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You’ve been zoning out a lot lately. Everything okay at home?”
You forced a small smile. “Yeah, everything’s fine. I’m just tired, that’s all. Let’s go—I’m starving.”
You both stood, slinging your bags over your shoulders as you left for the cafeteria. You were laughing about something stupid when you turned the corner—and collided with someone solid.
The laughter died in your throat. You looked up.
“Y/N.”
“Damian.”
For a moment, neither of you moved. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—something that made your stomach twist. Then the corner of his mouth curved into a small, knowing smirk. Only you noticed it. A smirk that said everything neither of you could admit out loud.
Your heart pounded. He walked past without another word.
Summery: After a long day at school, you have a not so nice encounter. Luckily someone had came to save you
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You were making your way home after a long, grueling day at university, exhaustion tugging at your every step. The streets were dimly lit and mostly empty, the kind of silence that made you wish you’d taken the bus instead.
That peace didn’t last.
Out of nowhere, a group of armed men appeared at the end of the street, their footsteps heavy and deliberate as they approached. A cruel grin spread across one of their faces.
“Well, look what we’ve got here,” he said, his tone mocking. “Easy pickings.”
They began to surround you, clearly intending to rob you.
High above, Red Hood swung from rooftop to rooftop, doing his usual patrol through Gotham’s darker corners. Everything was quiet—until a flicker of movement caught his eye. Down below, in a narrow alleyway, a young woman was being cornered by a group of thugs.
Jason crouched low on the ledge, studying the scene. He smirked faintly under his helmet.
Let’s see what she’s got.
As the men advanced, you quietly reached into your pocket and pulled out your keys, looping them between your fingers like improvised brass knuckles. The first thug lunged at you, and you met him halfway—swinging your fist and catching him right in the eye.
He howled in pain, stumbling back and collapsing to the ground.
Red Hood chuckled quietly from above. You clearly weren’t helpless. For the moment, he decided to stay out of it and watch.
But when two of the men managed to grab your arms, pinning you in place while a third raised his fist to strike, Jason’s patience ran out.
“Now, that’s not very polite,” a deep voice drawled from the shadows. “Especially not when the lady’s already having a rough night.”
The men froze and turned toward the sound. A figure stepped into the light—red helmet gleaming, black jacket catching the faint glow of the streetlamp.
“Shit—it’s Red Hood,” one of them hissed, his voice trembling as he let go of your wrist.
You didn’t waste the opportunity. Twisting out of their grip, you swung your leg and kicked another man square in the ribs, sending him sprawling.
“I am a lady,” you said, brushing off your jacket, “but unfortunately for you, sir, I’m not in distress.”
Jason leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. “Sure looked like you were in distress from where I was standing,” he scoffed.
You smirked. “Well, looks can be deceiving.”
You turned to leave, gathering your things, but before you could take two steps, a gloved hand wrapped gently around your arm.
“I’d be careful if I were you,” Jason said, his voice low and rough. “You’ve got a smart mouth. Some guys like that in a girl… sometimes a little too much.”
You met the glossy red visor where his eyes would be. “I’ve managed just fine on my own so far,” you replied calmly. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
You slipped free of his grasp and continued down the alley without looking back.
Jason watched you go, silent for once. Behind the helmet, he smirked faintly to himself.
He’d met plenty of people in Gotham—but never a woman quite like you.
Summery: Damien Wayne HATES galas, but fortunately for him someone comes make his night bearable
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Damian Wayne hated galas.
He hated the polished marble floors that reflected every passing smile, the meaningless chatter of Gotham’s elite, and—most of all—the feeling of being trapped in a cage made of chandeliers and champagne.
“Smile, Damian,” his father had said before sending him off to “mingle.” As if Bruce Wayne had ever enjoyed mingling.
So he stood there, perfectly composed in his tailored black suit, a glass of sparkling water in hand, waiting for this annual display of wealth to end. He’d much rather be training, or sketching blueprints for his next patrol. Anything but this.
And then she arrived.
He noticed her before anyone else did. She swept into the ballroom in a deep green dress that caught the light like emerald glass—an echo of the Wayne family colors, though he knew that was purely coincidence. Her family, the Y/LN, were just as old-money, just as powerful. Her father ran half of Gotham’s financial district. Her mother sat on half the charity boards Bruce Wayne did.
On top of that she was his academic rival at Gotham Academy.
Smart. Sharp-tongued. Always sitting two seats away from him in Advanced Literature, always beating his test scores by a single point—or losing to him by one. They’d been trading that one-point lead all semester, like it was a championship belt.
He told himself he despised her arrogance, her smirk when she corrected him in class.
But the truth—one he’d sooner die than admit—was that he was truly infatuated by her.
He was still glaring into his glass when her voice sliced through the noise.
“Wayne,” she greeted coolly, coming to stand beside him. “Didn’t think I’d find you actually socializing.”
“I’m not,” he replied without looking at her. “You just ruined my attempt at solitude.”
She laughed softly, and he felt the corner of his mouth twitch despite himself. “You’re impossible,” she said, grabbing a flute of champagne from a passing tray. “These things are dreadful. Tell me you have an escape plan.”
He turned to face her fully now. Her eyes—sharp, assessing, amused—met his. For a moment, the noise of the gala faded into nothing.
“Maybe,” he said slowly. “But I doubt you’d follow.”
“Try me.”
That was all the invitation he needed.
Within ten minutes, they’d slipped out a side door, her heels dangling from her hand, his jacket slung over his shoulder. They ran through the manicured gardens of Wayne Manor, the laughter between them shockingly real.
When they reached the gate, breathless, she leaned against the iron bars, looking at him with something softer than mockery.
“I can’t believe Damian Wayne just broke curfew,” she teased.
He crossed his arms, smirking faintly. “Technically, I’m on my own property. I can do what I like.”
Her smile grew. “Right. So where are we going, Mr. I own the place?”
He hesitated. For once, he didn’t have a plan. But standing there, under the pale wash of moonlight, her hair catching silver in the breeze—he didn’t need one.
“Anywhere,” he said quietly. “As long as it’s not here.”
And when she laughed again—this time, free and unguarded—Damian thought maybe, just maybe, he’d found something in Gotham he didn’t hate.
Here's a little slice of what to come in the near future with our amazing Damien Wayne -Stardust
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