Y/N is a vigilante moment even though i hate writing Y/N as a vigilante but I needed to write smth about an inferiority complex 2 cope asf and this is the only thing that made sense lmaoo i have finals this whole week pls send thots and prayers love u guys <3 HURT AND COMFORT + not proofread per usual
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“Currently northbound, everything checks out. How’s it looking on your end?”
Tim’s voice sounded muffled behind the wind. He was using comms mid swing again, despite your countless protests against it for his safety.
“Everything is fine here too. I just checked the last two blocks.”
Or maybe he was just on a rooftop. It was windy after all, especially higher up where you were perched now, overlooking a small corner of the city.
“Sounds good, I’ll see you back at the cave.”
It bit into the side of your face, the parts your mask didn’t cover, chilled fingers running their course across your cheeks. A shiver ran down your spine. Your cape billowed violently beside you, sitting on the precipice as you were it felt as if it could pick you up at any moment. But tonight you didn’t particularly mind.
“Copy that.”
You had no intention of going back. At least not yet. There weren’t any cases to solve or villains to plot against and while it was nice to live in a place full of kind faces and warm gestures, it was difficult to hear your own thoughts when they were being drowned out by the ever flowing conversation of twelve other voices. Nights like these were your own.
Your eyes fluttered shut as you inhaled. If you focused on it enough, letting go of your mind to let it wander, it almost felt as if you were flying. Almost.
How did you get here?
The wind billowed noisily in your ears but in the silence of tempestuous isolation the question rung so clearly in your mind, it clung like the lingerings of a bell chime.
Of course you knew how you got on the roof. And you knew how to get home. And you knew you had a home.
You were happy— undoubtedly you were happy. Your friends were wonderful, your boyfriend loved you; if you didn’t blink twice the world would think you had it all.
Somehow you didn’t though. That’s how you got here. Because you don’t belong.
You felt the cold bite of your tears along your cheeks before you registered them falling.
It was easier some days to forget it; the days when everyone lounged around at home, fighting tooth and nail to avoid taking out the trash. When you wrestled with Jason over TV programs because he wanted to rewatch Riverdale “for the irony of it.” Arguing with Tim on some obscure rooftop about which Spiderman was the best one. Dinners with the family, feasing over Alfred’s food.
But you didn’t belong and you knew it.
Two weeks ago you lost a lead on the disappearances happening around downtown that Tim had to rectify for you. Before that, you scuffed a mission by getting caught; the others had to save you. What good were you?
Even if you did succeed. Your feats were nothing another couldn’t accomplish. It took you three weeks to right a low profile burglary, when Cass could’ve done it in three days. And you tried. As much as anyone could you tried, but trying isn’t enough because effort means nothing when it amounts to mediocrity.
The truth was, even with a full hand— you didn’t deserve your cards. The rest of them and the trauma they faced before getting here; what did you ever suffer for but a few minor inconveniences?
You don ’t belong.
And it was infuriating.
You don’t have the skill. You don’t have the talent. You don’t even have a sob story to your name. You are nothing and nothing you could ever do would be good enough. You would never be good enough.
“Hey.” A voice behind you drew you out of your thoughts, making you whip your head around. You’d thrown the knife you had in hand at the intruder before you could process it, habitually. It hit the door leading to the rooftop with a thud as a figure moved to avoid it. The black boots of Red Robin’s suit emerged from the shadows as he approached you with his hands up.
“Woah! Hey, it’s just me.”
The tension in your body settled as soon as you registered the symbol sprawled across his chest, turning yourself back around to resume your previous position.
“You could’ve radioed me.”
The boy shrugged as he perched himself beside you, legs dangling over the edge, mimicking you.
“You didn’t answer when I did.”
“Oh. I guess I just didn’t hear it.”
His eyes were on you as you stared at the skyline. Your hands were fidgeting, kneading the air between each other in something akin to discomfort. A beat of silence passed until he broke it.
“Wanna know a secret?”
Relief flooded your bones. If he asked you what was wrong you wouldn’t know what to say. It’s not like you could lie, not to him, and you couldn’t bring yourself to tell the truth.
“What happened?”
“Well, I was texting and grappling— like you said was stupid, and I hit a brick wall. And then I went home and told you I got into a huge fight that was super valiant and dangerous! Do you remember?“
You snorted. Two months ago he came back limping through the cave. His nose was broken, wrist was sprained, among other things. You gave him an earful then about how reckless he was that night after patching him up.
“You’re joking! I was worried sick when you just stopped texting me and then when you came back I felt terrible for not being there.” He shrugged again with a small smile.
“It was embarrassing! What else was I supposed to say? To be fair, the wall was looking pretty suspicious, I had to neutralize the target… But yeah! I’m not perfect— go figure!” You leaned over, resting your head on his shoulder with a chuckle.
“Honestly I think we should revoke your phone privileges.”
“How would I talk to you then?”
“I guess we’ll just have to ask Bruce about telepathy tech.” You felt his shoulders shake beneath your head as he laughed. His hand hand grabbed yours before you realized it earlier, drawing shapes over your palm with his gloved fingers.
“Wanna know something else?”
“What else, Timberly?” His nose crinkled at the nickname.
“I had the worst insomnia like three years ago! Which, it’s not like I don’t pull all-nighters anymore but I’m improved I swear! Wanna know what fixed it?”
“Oh please don’t say something corny, I might throw up.” Your teeth sank into your bottom lip to prevent the impending smile from forming.
“You thought I was gonna say you? Funny. Silly! Wrong!”
You gasped comically, pulling away, before slapping his arm with the hand he wasn’t holding.
“Timothy Jackson Drake!” He let go of your hand altogether to fish his phone out of his pocket with a coy smile planted firmly under his mask.
“Not so loud! My identity’s at stake.” After tapping at his screen for a few moments, he handed you the phone, “This is my one stop shop tried and true remedy for sleep support.”
Taking it, you took a look. You hadn’t taken the picture. Which makes sense because you were sleeping in it, on one of the couches in the manor on a sunny afternoon. Your nose was crinkled slightly because the sun was in your face, but it made it look like your skin was glowing.
Handing it back, internally satiated but outwardly bashful, you rolled your eyes, “So it was me anyways.”
“You should feel honored I’m blessing you with it! Any thoughts I have that keep me from sleeping? Gone! You’re pretty cool Y/N. I’ve never needed someone like I need you.”
Ah. So he knew. Wordlessly he knew.
“You need me?”
Somehow he always did. And all this was to make you feel better. And it did.
If you're taking prompts. How about Rhys teaching Nyx how to be a proper ruler or to harness his powers? 😊
Thank you for the prompt lovely!! I hope you enjoy this little scene I whipped up during my lunch break!
Rhys Week - Day 2: High King
“As High King, I sentence you with treason against the crown.”
“Treason?” Cassian balked. “That's hardly—”
“Silence,” Nyx roared, fury glinting in his deep blue eyes. He raised his fists into the air. “Any last words?”
A smirk twitched at the corner of Cassian’s lips. “Behind you.”
Nyx turned, just in time to be met with the snowball hurtling through the air. He stumbled backwards as it smashed against his face, appearing momentarily stunned as the ice crystals fluttered away from his chin.
Two deep sets of laughter rumbled through the air, one from Cassian behind the boy and the other from Azriel, who watched in amusement as Nyx shook off the excess snow.
Rhysand could track the very moment the fun transcended into something darker. Nyx wiped his hand across his face, discarding more than just the layer of snow. Something shifted in his eyes as he surveyed his howling uncles. A look that offered enough warning for Rhysand to throw a shield around his brothers, around the cottage, around Nyx himself.
Every snow-built fortress and soldier exploded into a mist of frost, eviscerating their hours of work, along with Azriel and Cassian’s laughter.
The world went so still for a moment.
Nyx stood at its center, marveling the carnage. Azriel and Cassian watched him warily, faltering somewhere between protecting their nephew and protecting themselves.
Snow crunched underfoot as Rhysand stood from his now demolished cover. He was the first to brave that heart wrenching realization dawning on Nyx’s face.
“Nyx,” Rhysand said softly, crouching before his son.
Tears glistened in his eyes, and he aimed them anywhere but his father’s face.
“I’m sorry,” he sniffed.
“Talk me through what happened.”
His bottom lip began quivering. “I got mad.”
“And then what?” Rhys prompted.
Nyx glanced around at the empty field of snow and let out a wet sob. “Then it all exploded.”
“On the outside, yes,” Rhys murmured. He pressed a hand to his son’s chest. “But you felt it in here first, didn’t you? Felt your magic building up?”
“It happened so quickly,” he said, eyes wide with a fear that Rhys felt like a knife in the gut. “I didn’t—” he sucked in a harsh breath . “I didn’t mean to—”
“Come here,” Rhys murmured, pulling his son against his chest. Nyx stuffed his face into his father’s shoulder, and like a blockage in a stream being cleared away, the tears began flowing in earnest. Rhysand rocked him gently, giving him a moment to release all that emotion before he gently prompted, “Did you know that sometimes, I’m afraid of my power, too?”
His small voice was muffled against Rhysand’s tunic. “...You are?”
“And so is your mother.” Rhys soothed a hand over Nyx’s long, dark scruff of hair. He had been growing it out to be more like his uncle Cassian. “And mistakes like this, they are all a part of learning. They remind us why it’s so important to learn control. So that the next time your magic builds up, you can manage it safely.”
Nyx pulled away, tears still shimmering among the constellations in his eyes.
“Remember your lessons?” A tendril of night drifted from Rhysand’s palm, snaking around Nyx’s shoulders. It nudged him affectionately against the cheek. “What’s an example of a safe way to release magic?”
Nyx held out his hand, and that same star-kissed power released from his palm, lifting into the air to twine playfully with Rhysand’s. His heart tugged at the sight.
“You know how it feels now, when your magic needs to be drained. You’ll get better at recognizing it, but now you have an idea of your threshold—and what happens if you go beyond it.” Nyx nodded, absently feeling at his chest. Rhys knew the phantom ache he felt there all too well. “What do you do the next time you feel it building?”
“I release it,” Nyx said, with newfound determination. “So that no one gets hurt.”
Rhys smiled proudly. “That’s right. Now, what do you need to go say to your uncles?”
With a closed fist, Nyx hastily wiped away the remaining tears from his cheeks before marching over to where Azriel and Cassian stood, watching with poorly hidden concern.
Shoulders set with an earnesty that was entirely Feyre’s doing, Nyx met each of his uncles in the eyes and said sincerely, “I’m sorry for losing control of my magic.”
“Hey, we’re all okay, aren’t we?” Cassian said warmly, clapping an affectionate hand onto Nyx’s shoulder.
And what else, Nyx? Rhys prompted silently. What else do you have to say to your uncles?
He had circled around, so that he could see the sparkle in his son’s eyes, the mischievous tilt to his lips that felt almost like looking in a mirror.
“One other thing,” Nyx said to them, sounding much more elevated now that he could see the way Rhysand knelt to the ground and plunged his hand into the cold snow.
Nyx couldn’t help laughing as he said, “Behind you.”
Jason climbed in your living room window just as you were climbing in bed. It was an early night. He kicked off his boots and started pulling off all of his layers and weapons before going in the bathroom to shower.
“Do you need help?” You asked. Aka- did you get hurt? Do you need stitches?
“No, I’m good. Thanks baby. Are you going to bed right now?” He asked turning on the water. Jason hadn’t bothered to shut the door but you couldn’t see him from this angle anyways.
“Yeah, in just a little bit. I have to work early tomorrow. I can stay up a little,” you answered with a yawn. Jason recognized that as your ‘I have 20 minutes until I’m dead to the world’ look.
Jason quickly showered and changed into some underwear before sliding into bed where you were almost asleep. Yep, it’s been about 15 minutes. He slid close to cuddle next to you. He thought about grabbing his book on the bedside table but as soon as his arms wrapped around your waist, he felt comfortable. Jason slid his hands under the waist of your shirt to steal more warmth and you jumped and arched away from him.
“Jesus, meat locker hands!” You gasped, pulling his hands out. He chuckled and pulled you closer. “How are you so cold? Are you even alive?” And the minute the words left your mouth, you realized your mistake.
Jason grinned widely. “Actually I’m not alive. I died, you know? Maybe I’m literally corpse cold,” he said mischievously pressing his cold hands under your shirt. You shrieked and jumped, turning in his arms to grab his hands. Jason laughed as you giggled and tried to get away.
“Meanie,” you pouted, the effect ruined by your smiling face. Jason kissed your forehead.
“Okay. I won’t freeze you out. Give me a kiss and you can go to sleep,” he said and you leaned up to press your lips against his. Jason kissed you sweetly for a few seconds before grasping your face with his icy hands. You jumped back and he chuckled. “Last time I swear.” He kissed your cheek and you snuggled closer to get comfortable. Jason gently ran his hands, over your shirt, across your back until you fell asleep.
lil fluff piece. platonic! but any kind of relationship can be implied. jason has a lil craving for cookies that you help him out with. tim is allergic to peanuts which idk if that’s canon or not but…
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As far as you were concerned Jason didn’t like you, not really. He got along with you civilly, certainly. But in all your years of friendship with one Timothy Jackson Drake, you hardly spoke. So you never really got to know Jason the way you got to know the others. At least not at first.
It was difficult to get to know any of them actually. Especially before you were let in on the whole Batman thing, and even after. It was hard for them to open up. And that was fine, because you understood that. And they were trying and you could appreciate that.
Naturally, Dick was the easiest to like and it got even easier when you found out that he was your beloved Nightwing. You were in love with Nightwing; owned all the memorabilia, had postcards of him plastered on your wall, knew his patrol routes as well as a civilian could so that you might just catch a glimpse of your favorite masked crusader. When you learned that you knew him? Dick became the sole recipient of your constant doting and gushing about how cool he looked on TV and what the latest magazine had to say on his relationships, his impacts on Bludhaven and so forth. You both shared a sense of humor, corny dad jokes and all.
Damian was trickier. You weren’t exactly good with children, which was bad enough, but he acted so maturely for his age it was hard for you to not feel intimidated. But as you fell for Titus, he yielded himself slightly. And when you learned that he could be swayed by the promise of a bedtime story (Jane Austen of course), so long as it was offered without condescension, it’d sealed the deal.
You bonded with Stephanie and Cass over disorganizing Tim’s meticulously arranged utility belt and hiding away all his suit capes around the manor. You argued with Babs over which stage of the hero’s journey Bruce was at in his developmental arc. You didn’t galavant the streets with them in search for crime, nor did you share tragic secrets in hushed solemn tones. Being a friend was enough.
Until eventually, you clicked with everyone over time. Everyone but Jason.
That’s not to say you didn’t like him. You admired him in your own way. He was pretty cool. He never missed a shot in training and if you were lucky enough to catch him in a talkative mood he’d teach you about the vital points to aim for or how to break off the safety switch on a gun so it wouldn’t interfere with your performance and throw you off (not a true story, just a hypothetical.) “Essential street smarts.” That was the extent of your interaction.
Until one night, you found him knocking on your window.
How he got your address was another story, probably the same way Tim knew your credit card number or how Cass found your Netflix password, but regardless he was at your window tapping away. You opened it, letting him in.
“Hey… If you’re looking Tim or something, he’s not here.
Jason clambered through the window, taking his hood off and setting it on your kitchen countertop on the way.
“Timberly? No no, I’m not here for that loser. He keeps talking about how much you like baking though, is it true?”
His back was to you as he tugged the gloves off his hands to run his hands under the water from your faucet. He sure knew how to make himself feel at home.
“Yes. Yeah. I do. Why?” Your brows knit in visible confusion as he turned off the water, wiping his hands on the towel you hung off the oven handle.
“You know how to make oatmeal raisin cookies?”
“I’m sorry? Oatmeal raisin?”
“Yeah. You know how to make them or not?” Turning around, the muscular man crossed his arms, looking down at you from across the room almost condescendingly, like it was a challenge.
“...you know what? I do know how to make oatmeal raisin cookies. Go run and buy raisins, I’ll start on the batter.”
Sure enough, within ten minutes Jason came swinging back through your window with a jumbo bag of raisins. After nagging him for walking through your living room with his boots on and making a quip about how he’d never finish that many raisins, you invited him to the kitchen.
He was a terrible cook. You didn’t know how he succeeded in mistaking flour for sugar, but he managed. After scrapping the first batter he added four extra eggs to and halfway through the second, you kicked him out and took over completely.
“No, I insist. Let me do it, it’s okay. Just sit over there and read a book or twiddle your thumbs or something, please.”
A half hour later, your kitchen was soiled but they were baking. Closing the oven with a satisfied huff, you looked over to Jason as you straightened yourself up.
Jason was watching you. But not in the critical way he fixed his gaze on passerby’s on the street or the hard gaze he’d set on his targets; just watching you. Calloused hands tossed a bullet cartridge between them as his feet swung to and fro from your barstool chair. He looked so boyish, it was almost cute.
“They’ll be done in twelve. Why oatmeal raisin? I’m not judging or anything but I make a mean chocolate chip that blows raisins out of the water.”
A tap sounded as he placed the cartridge down on the marble counter with a shrug.
“S’what my mom used to make.”
Slinking over to the adjacent chair, you took off the oven mitts to rest your face in your palms, looking at him expectantly to continue.
“What? We’re telling stories now?”
“I mean, you almost never talk to me and then you swing in asking for the least popular cookie type to date— I think a story time might be in order.”
“You’re keeping your mouth shut short stack, no one hears any of this.”
Huffing a giggle, you motioned zipping your mouth and flicking away the invisible key as he rolled his eyes.
“I didn’t exactly grow up rich. We’d have oatmeal every other day, mostly because that’s what she could scrape together. Fucking twat I was, couldn’t stand it. Threw a tantrum couple times ‘bout how tired I was of it. So she made oatmeal raisin cookies.”
His gaze was on his hands as he spoke but his eyes seemed to see anything but.
“I don’t want to get into all the details but, no matter how she treated me or raised me, she was still my mother. Afforded me this much kindness. Sometimes I almost miss her. So. Oatmeal raisin cookies.”
Wide eyes watched him, at a loss for words as your mind ran to process a response.
Breaking free from the recesses of his mind, he turned to look at you as he continued.
“Alfred usually makes them, but he’s out of town on business so… just thought I’d swing by I guess.”
The beep of the oven took you out of the trance.
Blinking, you stood. Clapping your hands together and reaching for the oven mitts.
“Well! I don’t know how good hers were, but mine are pretty hard to beat.”
Pulling the tray out of the oven, you let them cool a moment as you sought out a plate. Transferring them over, you slid it in his direction with a smug smile.
“Yeah, nothing beats Alfred’s, bud.”
He brought one to his nose, taking an obnoxiously loud whiff, cocking an eyebrow almost animatedly.
“6/10, more cinnamon could’ve been in order.”
“It’s not my fault you dropped like half my jar in the first batch!”
“Don’t yell at your food critic. Three point deduction.”
You scoffed, crossing your arms, “my apologies, my liege.”
Without missing a beat, he’d managed to shove the entire cookie in his mouth in one bite with the same cocky arrogance he’d held before. Mid chew, he stopped, looking at you in bewilderment before reaching for another one.
“What the fuck did you put in this?”
You burst out grinning, “Love, rainbows, and cyanide, it’s a secret recipe.”
If he heard you, he didn’t acknowledge it; scarfing down another with hesitation. Not that you minded. His usually stoic, suave, aura paled in the way his face lit up.
Between the two of you (mostly him), three tray fulls evaporated in the span of half an hour.
Packing up the last few batches you’d prepped and insisting he take the raisins home, you handed him a bag to see him off with.
“These got any nuts by any chance?”
“I used peanut butter, yes.”
“Thank you for your service, I will be passing on some to Tim.”
You snorted, “You’re not killing my best friend.”
With his hood back on, bag in hand, he clambered halfway out your window before turning his head back towards you.
“...can I come back for these? When Alfred’s busy that is.”
It caught you off guard.
“Yeah. No yeah, absolutely! Whenever you want. I’ll keep my window unlocked.”
“Not in this city you’re not.”
—
if you guys read the Last Cup of Coffee fic sgdjdd this was a deleted segment because i wanted to focus more on Tim 😭😭 recycling content at its finest tbh
You sat on a loveseat one the manor. Your legs were over Tim’s and you held hands. It was movie night with his brothers and Bruce watching the movie. So no kissing. Tim was very particular about how embarrassing that would be when they teased him.
Instead you traced your fingers along the scars on his hands. Tim had a little smile but kept watching the movie. You moved on to massaging his hand. Tim hummed a little and leaned the side of his head against yours. He watched you carefully rub comforting circles in his skin.
You stopped and pulled your hands away to reach in your bag. Tim watched you. You pulled out some lotion and squirted some in your hands before rubbing it into his skin. He could smell the vanilla scent. It was nice. He would often forget his own care and his hands could get cracked and dry but the feeling of you rubbing lotion into them was pure bliss.
Tim yawned despite himself and you looked at him critically. He promised he would take a nap so he was ready for movie night. Tim was usually the king of falling asleep in the movie and you wanted him awake.
“Sorry. You’re just too relaxing,” he said sheepishly.
“You didn’t take a nap did you?” You asked.
“I was busy,” he admitted.
“Shhh. This is the good part,” Damian said curtly. You smiled at Tim but quieted down. Damian had seen that movie at least 10 times. He could probably quote it.
You did the hand thing where you measured yours against Tim. Tim’s was longer with thicker knuckles and short blunt nails. He smiled, threaded his fingers between yours, and kissed your hand. You smiled softly.
Tim let out a big yawn and you rolled your eyes. You scooted away from him and patted your lap. He slide down to rest his head in your lap with his feet hanging off the couch. You threaded your fingers through his hair. You pulled out tiny knots in his straight hair before gently scratching his scalp.
It wasn’t long before Tim’s eyes gently closed and he was asleep. His arm gently cradled around you and he made the littlest snore noises. You could watch him sleep all day.
Dick turned to look back at Tim and cooed like he saw a baby. He grabbed his phone and took a quick photo of you both. Damian looked the direction Dick was staring and rolled his eyes. Jason was already asleep with his long legs splayed across the chair he sat in. Dick took some pictures of him too. He had a whole file of just his brothers sleeping. No one seemed to mind when Damian suggested another movie to watch.
