No incest, no scat (or anything like that). Don't be afraid to ask what I will and won't write!!
I write M/F, M/M, F/F, and throuples! :)
** -> Means there is SMUT. As of 4/16/26, I'm still very new to writing it so be kind!
PLEASE read TWS for EACH post INDIVIDUALLY. My posts can range from silly dilly to EXTREMELY upsetting topics and EXPLICIT smut.
At this moment I have a major traumatic head injury, so my writing may seem detached/ had bad grammar at times. I may also respond to requests slowly. Please be kind.
=Need help writing an ask? Click here!=
🟪= Gender Neutral Reader!
🔵=Male Reader!
🩷=Fem Reader!
Small series/ Blurbs
Gotham Rogues X GN! Visually Impaired Reader...
Killer Croc/Waylon Jones X GN! Vision Impaired! Reader🟪
Gotham Rogues on Riddler Trophies -Arkham
DC!
Forget me not - Wally West X GN! Reader🟪
Mr. T x GN! CryBaby Reader Headcannons🟪
Kirk Langstrom (GAM) x GN! Yellow Lantern Reader🟪
Your Gotham. Bruce Wayne x Musician GN! Reader.🟪
I Don't Wanna Sound Like a Stalker But... Duke Thomas x GN! Reader🟪
Tim Drake x MALE! Reader g spot torture***🔵
Just Like Those Home Videos. Tim Drake x Blue Lantern!MALE Reader***🔵
I Wanna Ride That Train! Tim Drake x Hero/hurt!MALE Reader***🔵
Speedsters Can Have Fun Too! Tim Drake x Speedster! MALE! Hero
Speeders Can Have Fun Too! Dick Grayson x Speedster! Male Reader🔵*** - Part two, here!***
The Art of Intimacy Dick Grayson x Ex-Slade Apprentice! MALE Reader
Walked in on. GN! Reader + Dick, Jason, Duke, Tim (Separately)🟪
How To Will a Willing Test Subject.*** Jonathan Crane X Fear Aroused! GN! Reader!🟪
Hal Jordan x GN! Power ranger reader.🟪
Marvel Comics
Sins of Metal Colossus x MALE! Reader Smut***🔵
...The Kids are Spunky These Days. Spider-man Noir x Spider-MAN! Reader! Smut***🔵
Invincible
Are We Still Friends? Darkwing II/Benjamin TaylorXGn!Speedster reader.🟪
Self Control Issues. Rex Splode x GN! Reader🟪
How To Loose a Girl Guy, In 20 Days Rex Splode x MALE! Reader.🔵
You're so Fucked Rex Splode x Alternate Male! Reader Smut**🔵
Fill My Stomach Heart, Lover. Rex x GN! Cannibal/ Psychopathic Reader***🟪
Anything but Love Atom Eve x FEM! Reader🩷
How to Stalk - A Spider Mark Grayson x MALE! Stalker Spidersona reader.🔵
You're Not a Hero Either, Dude. Viltrumite Mark Grayson X Male! Hero/ Ex-Hero, Reader.🔵
No Pregnancy = No Problem. Viltrumite Mark Grayson X Male! Reader***🔵
Hi Dino, hope you're alright and doing okay. Remember to take care of yourself and do what you enjoy.
Thank you internet stranger...
I have been hospitalized again...but due to your concern which is THAT MUCH MORE than my irl friends, I shall be dropping a Tim Drake fic tomorrow in your honor. So I hope you like that character...
Three BIG ROARS-
Tomorrow after work(?) Tim Drake x Porn-Star reader. Or another work...if I get bored...
Hey…it’s me…I’m alive…was not hit by another asteroid…uhh..
ANYWAYS! I want to make an LGBTQ+ series for Pride Month, with one story coming out every week. I want to include LGBTQ+ themes, like struggles, acceptance, and stuff like that, y know? Not just one of my random horror smut things. But I’m having trouble coming up with stories that aren’t just horror…
I was wondering if you guys could help me and send in some asks! You can be anonymous, and you don’t have to. But any themes like my Tim x FtM reader one would ANY subject on the LGBTQ scale would really help. I will write for ANYONE!
Characters: Jason Todd x Male!Speedster!Outlaw! Reader!
Summary: N/A
Warnings: Suicide mentioned, suicide referenced, characters are grieving, characters feel guilt.There may be some grammical errors…
"I don't think I can do it anymore."
Jason barely glances at you, too enraptured by the glimmering dance that the lights of Gotham put on - never ending, swallowing up the darkness around them.
"Do what?" Jason snorts.
He's not lost on the fact that you stopped eating your Burrito 10 minutes ago, and he's not lost on the fact that you've been awfully quiet for the past 20. The generic speedster quip he so effortlessly hated leaving him higher and dryer than he thought.
"Finish your Tacos?" He scoffs, leaning back more; lounging on the rooftop so comfortably next to you. It was second nature at this point, "Considering how much of a fatass you are, I'd be surprised."
You chuckle, yet your glimmer doesn't come back to your eyes, it doesn't reach your soul, "Nah, not that."
Jason grunts, a small acknowledgment.
"I don't know, guess I..." Your shrug is laced with the same hesitance your tone carries, "Guess...I never thought I'd being doing this for so long?"
Jason takes a bite of his Pizza, "Being an asshole?"
"Being a hero."
A small snort hits the air, Jason cackling at your words, "A 'hero', huh? That's an awful high standard you see yourself as."
You can barely contain an eyeroll, "Oh sure, 'Boy Wonder'" You muttered sarcastically and he gives you a look, "Red Hood."
"Whatever you say," He grumbles, "'Bolt'."
You shake your head, laughing, "Still not as bad as Boy wonder."
"Hey!" Jason snaps, voice lacking its usual sarcastic bite when he looked at you, "It was a legacy name. It had importance. More than I can say than whatever crap you have going on over there. The only thing you inherited was shitty spandex."
"Ehhh." You tease, "May be shitty, but it sure did get the girls attentions."
Jason paused, something dark shifting on his face before he looked away, "So what? You gonna quit being an Outlaw or somethin'?"
You blink at him, "Could I?"
"You can do whatever the hell you want," Jason grumbled, unapologetically chewing with his mouth open, "See if I care."
"I dunno.." You grin, gazing at him, propping your chin against your fist, "Seems like the team could use a speedster."
You can hear the eyeroll in his voice, "Yea sure." He jeers, "We already have one too many."
"Huh?" You quirk an eyebrow, already seeing a shit eating smirk encapsulate Jason's face. And you ask before you can stop yourself, "I'm the only speedster on the Outlaws?"
"Exactly."
You grumble and he laughs,
"Looks like that speed doesn't work for you brain," Jason snickered, "Huh?"
You don't answer.
Your eyes gaze away, lips pursing, and that's the exact moment Jason knows something is seriously wrong with you.
The gears aren't turning in your head, they aren't spinning, aren't working. Aren't working enough to tell you to yap away in his ear at 200 words per a minute, aren't working enough for you to leave him stranded in a desert somewhere.
You're just.
Quiet.
Not you.
"Hey." Jason knocks your shoulder, and you look at him; those grey speckled eyes enrapturing his vision. Somehow so close, yet so far away, "What's wrong with you? Seriously."
A low sounds comes from your chest when you shrug, "I dunno." you faltered, "I guess I just- my brain is working too fast for my body."
Jason raises an expectant eyebrow, demanding, "And?"
"And-" Your voice faltered, trailing off as you took a deep breathe in. The breeze filtering through your hair as you looked off, "And...I guess I'm realizing that when I was younger, I didn't think I'd be doing this whole masked savior thing for so long. I-" You hesitant, neck burning in what has to be in embarrassment, "I-"
"You wanted to have a normal life?" Jason vocalized before you could even think of beating him to it, shaking his head, "Yea, buddy. Get in line. You think I want to be here, talking to some meta-human at 4 in the morning? Or Roy wants his kid to be in an urn instead of tucked into bed?"
You don't answer.
Silence settled between the two of you, something familiar, something swirling, something that was always there yet never found. Something that had stayed between the two of you in your ten years of knowing each other. From Robin and Bolt. To Robin and well...Bolt
Jason sighs; gaze softening,
"I get it..." He groans, "Seriously." He glances at you, "I wish I could tell you some hopeful shit like, 'It's not too late'. But it is. You don't even have a GED."
You scoff, snorting at the mere idea - and the noise almost sounds aggrieved, "Hoping for a GED from me at this point is like a prayer sent to heaven."
"You said it." Jason uttered, fingers tapping against his thigh, "The world thinks we're dead."
"Dead, dead." You sigh.
"Yea." He grumbles.
Silence ensues, filling the air, wisping between the bone chilling charge Gotham never seemed to be able to get rid of.
"Even if I did." You start, "I wouldn't even know what I'd do. I mean, I thought Thawne would get be eventually- y'know? Or Zoom, or Darkside, or hell - even one of Snarts crew if they ever changed their ways."
"Trust me." Jason commented, something deep twisting in his chest, "I get it." He scoffs, "Probably more than anyone else."
"Yea." You swallow, a crackled chuckle forcing from your throat - and its at that moment Jason realizes he can't look at you. He can't look at you whilst you're breaking down. He can't look at 'Bolt' the comic relief, the light, airheaded, speedster of the team do more than just laugh, "It's probably too late for us, huh?"
"Most definitely."
You seemed to note that, and Jason can't say for sure, he never could, but he swears you stare at him for a few moments. Eyes scanning him, savoring him, engraining his profile into your vision like it was the very last time.
But he didn't look.
And you stood up.
And he stayed silent.
He stayed silent as you stood up, stayed silent as you walked away, stayed silent as you didn't use your speed. Like you were waiting, pleading, begging him to stop you.
Instead he kept his eyes on his bat burger, the mustard running down his fingers, sticking them. And it makes him wish-
Oh.
Jason snaps his head back, "Hey-"
His voice is gruff as you look back at him, your hand already on the doorknob to the roof access. Yet, he's bouncing up, quick to leave his chicken-sandwich abandoned on the ground for once as he quickly walks over.
He wants to reach out, he wants to grab you, he wants to take a hold of your wrist. Tell you not to leave, but he can't, he just can't.
So he tells you.
Jason Todd.
The Red Hood.
"Please don't leave." He blurts.
You pause, eyebrows raising - those grey freckled eyes of yours swirling with confusion. Or had they been green? Jason can't seem to remember as you turn to him.
"Jason?"
"You left." And Jason can't help how his voice goes quiet, words barely uttered now at fear of them cracking, "You left, and you never came back. You can't leave now."
You pause as your lips purse -almost in understanding- eyebrows furrowing, a whisper, "Oh, Jay..."
He wants to take a step forward, but something stops him, something holds him back. He feels almost dizzy, the skyline bending, fuzzing, contorting. Yet he didn't notice, didn't care. He couldn't, he wouldn't.
No.
He could only focus on you.
"Why." Jason agonized, fists clenching at his side, "Why did you leave?"
You shake your head, "I don't know."
"Were you unhappy?" He accused, and something curls deep in his gut - something that hasn't curled since he died, since Bruce refused to kill that laughing piece of- "Were you sad?"
You pause, a shake of the head, "I don't know."
He grits his teeth, jaw clenching. You 'don't know'? You 'Don't know'. How could you not know? You did it. You did it. Not him. You. So how could you not know?!
"You're such a selfish sack of shit!" Jason spat, and he has half the mind to punch your stupid face and your yellow speckled eyes right in the jaw, "You just left!? You think we all have that option!? That we haven't thought about it!? We have, we just don't fucking do it!" He ranted, "You don't fucking do it! You shouldn't have!"
You tilt your head at him like he was some kind of enigma, some kind of stranger.
"You should've just asked for help." Jason urged.
"I know."
"From Kory, from Roy, from-" He falters, teeth soon gritting and he can't help the way his voice snaps, "From me."
"I know."
"You left us-" Jason choked, and he can't stop his voice from cracking now, "Left me."
"I know."
"Fuck-" He curses under his breathe, hand running messily through his hair, "You know- It was fucked up when I heard you had to speak at my shitty ass funeral-"
"I know."
"Do you?!" He challenged, breathes heavy, uneven, and he swears his heart is about to beat right out of his chest. He has to force himself to calm down, to be quiet. He swallows, voice barely heard, "Do you...?"
You just stare at him, and his heart breaks when a small smile comes to your face - present but empty, "Do you remember that day when we were younger-"
"I remember all of them." Jason cuts in, and he feels your eyes on him; but they're unfocused, unreal.
Your face shys away, embarrassed flush only he got to see spreading up your neck when you practically giggle, "It was the one when we spent all day in the library, and I helped you with your homework."
Jason paused, and for some reason. Even with you so dull, even with you so uneven, he still remembers that.
"How the fuck could I not?" Jason scoffed, and he almost feels normal -almost, "I was reading on a second grade level in 4th grade. It was fucking embarrassing..." He sucked in a sharp breathe, "But you helped me."
"I did."
Jason stares at you.
You're so pretty.
You shake your head, "I remember that's the day I decided I wanted to be a teacher." Your eyes glint up at him, brown speckles glimmering like starlight, "I wanted to help kids like you."
Jason scoffs, his voice watery, "Sounds pretty snobbish coming from you."
You ignore him.
Or did you?
"I didn't want to be a hero." You tilt your head, "Not forever."
Jason swallows, "I know."
You blink, "Did you?"
"Yea." He sucks in a breathe, words a mere grumble in his chest as he rubbed the back of his neck, "Yea, I did. Didn't I?"
"Did you think I was happy being a hero for so long?" You challenge, voice even, more even than his could ever be at a time like this, "Being on your team?"
Jason pursed his lips, "Were you?"
You shake your head, "I don't know Jason."
Jason clenched his jaw, anger broiling through his veins and he really can't help it, "You don't know a lot of things."
You just smile.
Jason's eyes wander, tittering from place to place, from blur to blur when he feels his eyes become heavy. Heavy with grief, heavy with anger, heavy with guilt.
"If I-" His voice cracks, quiet, "If I had stopped you, would you still-" He lets out a shaky breathe, "Would you be here?"
You don't react.
Silence.
There's no answer, no fanfare, not even another glance from you as you turn. You turn and he can't stop you.
He tries.
He tries to reach out, tries to touch you, tries to hold you.
Just one last time, one last moment, one last glance.
That's all he needs.
All he needs is you.
Yet, something stops him, pulls him back, holds him down.
No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no-
Not again.
Not again.
A wave of dizziness hits him, nausea pulling him, grabbing him, tearing his soul out as he watches you open the door. Your hair, your back, the back of that stupid hoodie you always wore covering his view of your face, your smile, that stupid little grin you had been missing of as late.
He can't breathe.
He can't breathe.
Every inhale is stopped short, every step is clogged, every movement is sluggish, every beat of his heart feels like its killing him.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
He just needs one more day.
He just needs one more minute.
He just needs one more second.
He just needs you.
Here.
He opens his mouth, "I love-"
"You need to wake up!"
Jason's eyes snap open, a searing pain burning into his skull - reverberating throughout his vision as he's suddenly sitting up in his bed. Your face staring back at him, but only from the group photo on his dresser. Sweat sleek and glistening off his skin, heart hammering in his chest.
"Hey, hey, hey, hey-" Dick suddenly hushes, and Jason is much to wound up to push him off when he grabs his shoulders, "Its okay, you're in your room. It's me, Its Dick."
Fuck.
Jason can only hope to holy hell that Dick ignores how he puts his head in his hands, he hope Dick ignores how his hand are shaking, ignores how his jaw is clenching, ignores how his breathes are quivering.
"I didn't know-" Jason rasps, voice shaky as he feels Dick squeeze his shoulders.
"I know-" Dick mutters, trying to pacify him, "Jay."
"Fuck- I thought- he was supposed to be talking about being a fucking hero!" He snaps, shoving Dick off him, "Not his own fucking life, fuck!"
Dick can only furrow his eyebrows as wood splinters everywhere, a large hole now in Jason's bedframe as his brother breathes heavily.
"'I don't think I can do it anymore.'" Jason panted, the words fresh in his mind as ever, and his fist slams down, again, and again, and again, and again. Each word punctuated with a smash, a blistering of wood, "'I don't think I can do it anymore.' Fuck- Fuck me! Fucking-"
"What is Todd grumbling on about." Damian scorned, not missing the side-eye he earns from Stephanie. Eyes grazing upon Jason as he sat vacantly in the garden, stiff, slumped, unmoving, "Did Harper break his heart again?"
"That Bolt guy." Duke started, nudging Damians shoulder with his body somewhat, "That Outlaw Speedster?"
"The annoying one." Damian grumbles, "Scratch that they're all annoying.
"He died." Stephanie murmured, and its obvious how the mood shifts.
Damian freezes, wide eyes peering up at Stephanie. Duke huffs slightly, eyes trained on Jason.
"Y/n?" Damian blanks.
Stephanie nods, all three of their eyes going back to Jason. Watching him sit there in silence.
"So Todd's friend died?" Damian muttered as his eyebrows furrowed, hands stuffing into his pockets at his side.
"Best-friend." Duke added, "They were pretty close. Saw the dude by his side 24/7."
"I heard they've known each other since Jason was Robin? Can you believe that?" Stephanie murmured, voice quiet, soft, and she turned to look at Duke, "He's been around for so long, yet I barely even got to know him."
Duke swallowed, glancing over at Stephanie; not bothering to look back as Artemis took her seat next to Jason.
Jason didn't bother to glance over, hands folded all to neatly in front of him as his legs spread out. Yet that didn't stop Artemis from sitting down, scoffing before she plopped down with a murmured sigh.
"I'm not in the mood." Jason snaps, words tight, yet Artemis doesn't even flinch.
In fact she's quicker.
"Oh please." She retorted, "You're never."
Silence.
The Outlaws.
A more morally ambiguous version of the Justice League, a broken version, some would say a better. Made up of each heroes biggest mistakes.
And now one of those mistakes was dead.
Artemis hums, eyes sharp as she stares at Jason, "Kory and Roy are helping The Flash make preparations for the funeral."
"And?" Jason grumbled, he can't help it. He's too sad, too angry, and something in his chest has been feeling irregular. Irregular since the day Roy found your body cold on your bedroom floor, "What's your job? Fucking slacking?"
"Convincing your weeping ass to go." Artemis challenged, eyebrow quirking, "Drag you. If I must."
"You can try."
"I will." She affirms, changing her words; eyes changing to look at the smooth stream of water the fountain produced. Two Angels weeping precariously in each others arms. She clenched a muscle in her cheek, "Its what he would've wanted."
"What he would've wanted?" Jason snapped, angered expression meeting her firm one, "What he would've wanted, you can't be fucking serious."
"Why would he not?" Artemis challenged, voice flat, "You two were close. Closer than we ever were."
Jason grumbles, the sound low in his chest, "That's different."
"Precisely." Artemis affirms, hard eyes meeting his fuzzy ones, "It is different. How do you think he'd feel? His teammate of 3 years there. His best friend of more than decade not?"
Jason looks away, "He's dead."
"You were dead to." Artemis lamented, shrugging, "Bizzaro."
Jason was silence.
"Are you saying-" She shifted, facing him, tone unwavering even at her words, "That if you could do it all over again. If you could choose who was there when you died. You wouldn't want those closet to you there to say one final goodbye?"
Jason clenched his jaw, "I got my final goodbye."
"You didn't know it was one though."
"I should've!" He snapped, head snapping over to look at her, "I should've! I should've known, should've fucking sense something, fucking anything! But I didn't! And he died because of that, because of me. And I wish I could go out and beat the shit out of whoever did this to him. I wish I could go and put a bullet through his head, but I can't."
Artemis goes silent, gearing turning, sputtering, grinding in her head. Not taking her gaze off Jason as he shifted, fevered gaze back to burning a hole in the garden.
"You see yourself a murderer." She says flatly, "You can't shoot the bullet because it means putting it through your own head."
"I'm right." Jason hissed, raging storm behind his eyes - voice tight, quiet, "I'm right and you know it."
Artemis shook her head, sighing, "See it as you want. Whatever lead up to it. Whatever strings fate pulled. It wasn't you." Her eyes squeezed shut, "And when he-" She faltered, lips pursing; and Jason shifts next to her, "When he ran his hand through his heart. Shredded it." She muttered quietly, like you were still around to hear them gossip, "It was him. Not you."
Jason rubs his hands together, mind swirling, fingers twirling, breathe swaying. He scoffed, trying to hide the break in his tone, "I should've done- I could've...I could've done something."
"What could you have done? It wasn't a murder, it was a self inflicted act." Artemis swallows, "One we could've stopped. Yes. I see that. I understand. But you didn't fuck up anything in the end. He was alone. In his bedroom like normal." She glanced at him, "Besides, you don't have super speed. And you don't have to ability to shred someone's heart. You did not even press his hand into his ribcage."
Jason was silent, peering at the garden with an empty stare, "We did shred his heart though." He murmured, "In a different way."
Artemis scoffed, sardonic, "How poetic of you."
Jason grimaced.
"He would like that." she mentioned casually - too casual, like it was just a random fact. "Before all this. He liked how tolerant you had grown to become of literature."
Jason blinks, something in his chest squeezing his heart - his lungs. And his words come out breathless, "Really?"
"Yes. He quite liked it," Artemis smirks at the hopeful swirl in his eyes, one of a child asking for a cookie after dinner, "Maybe you should read a poem at his funeral."
Jason scoffed, "You wish."
"You're going."
"I'm not."
Artemis scoffed, "Jason, you are not a murderer."
"I am."
"Perhaps," Artemis mused, "But not of him. Not of Y/n. Not of Bolt. Not of your friend.
Jason doesn't answer, fingers squeezing each other tightly, "He was your friend too."
Artemis quirked an eyebrow, "Then did I kill him as well?"
"Maybe." Jason scoffed.
Artemis furrowed her brows, "Would you say that of Booster? Did he kill the second Blue Beetle?" Artemis challenged, and she sees the way Jason tenses, "Would you say that of Hawk with the late Dove -his brother?"
"It's different." Jason snapped.
"Like hell." She snapped back.
Jason didn't move, not as Artemis sighed, not as she grabbed his hand, not as she made him face her.
It was a quiet, warm day, one you would've liked. One you would've forced everyone outside to, encouraging them to 'race'. Cackling about how they couldn't beat you before Kory and Artemis would beat you up.
"I need to know you understand." She started, pursing her lips, "So, I will repeat what needs to be said until you say - with as hard headed as you are- that you understand." Artemis paused, eyes peering at Jason. He barely moves, "You didn't kill him, Jason. You didn't kill your friend. Your friend died," She took a deep breathe, voice firm, "Because people do that sometimes. They just slip away, for no reason. It's no ones fault, it's not your fault, its not my fault, its not Roy's fault, and its not his fault."
Jason paused, gaze not tearing away from hers as she paused.
He grunts,
"We should go to the track."
-------------------
Bonus:
"I quite like that filter." Kory agreed, hands on your shoulder, offering her own guidance whilst your eyes peered through the camera.
"I hate it." Bizzaro muttered, slinking around the couch.
"There's no filter," Roy snorts, dragging Jason to sit on the couches arm, "Big Bad Bolt made it all by himself, that's why the lens is just dirty." He smirks, "Because he didn't clean it, like I told him to."
You roll your eyes, fingers fiddling with the camera whilst you watch everyone settle down. Roy acting like a mother who poses the whole family in white for pictures, "Fuck you, Harper."
Roy winks at you, Kory floating around you to sit next to Roy - the man deciding to sit on the other side of the couch from Jason. Leaving you a spot next to Kory in the middle, a tight spot right next to Jason.
"How is this gonna work anyways?" Artemis proposes, standing behind Jason and the couch,
"He's gonna use his speed." Jason muttered, watching you adjust the settings. Manspreading like he wasn't sharing the space with 3+ people over 6 feet tall. "Or have you not figured that out yet?"
Artemis smacks him behind the head and he curses loudly at her, "That is the point of a question. I would hope you'd know that. But for a man my hopes are dwindled."
"Fuck you." Jason grumbled.
"I'll click the shutter option, sit down before the camera can even take the picture, and be back to pick it back up before it falls." You explain, half assing it as you fiddle with the settings.
"Someone's confident." Roy teased.
"Rightful so." Kory added.
"Alrighty." You wink at them all, you point your finger, "Bizzaro!" You grin when he grunts, "You frown, everyone else! Bigggggg smiles! One, two, three-"
A burst of lightning ripples throughout the room, and just as you said - you were back to catch the camera before gravity could even blink. Yet in that split second you had been there? That split second you had been pressed next to Jason? That split second your thigh had met his?
His neck flushed, lips burning form the electricity that had zapped between you two when you no doubt kissed him. Pressing your lips to his before he or the camera could even blink.
Not to sound crude/ungrateful, but if you’re going to like literally every single one of my fanfiction posts and or 50 percent of them. Could you at least repost one of them?
how about tim drake x ftm reader that hasn't transitioned yet / is scared to go through all the medical stuff ?? since he's bi i dont think it'll bother him but im still curious about your take on this
The Prettiest 'Girl' In the World
Characters: Tim Drake x FtM Reader
Summary: You haven't been feeling right for days, months, years even. Every person you consulted, every person you talked to, every person you pleaded for help, they all saw it as phase. Blaming it on the pandemic mania warping your brain 6 years ago. You don't think it's a phase anymore.
Warnings: Major body dysmorphia, reader is mentioned to have a chest, mentions of fear of T, mention SH but nothing is described, cursing, Bruce looses money...suggestive scene but nothing happens...
A/N: Yo, did you guys see the mom who put her kid on a dog bed outside whilst SICK? 😭Slowly getting through all these requests though lollll.
It was the first thing Tim noticed, that's what he always told you; recounting the day he first saw you in your shared lectured hall over and over again.
Your beauty was breathtaking, subtle, striking people in the face before they could realize you were even gone. Allowing them to only pause in stunned silence as a trail of perfume was left behind.
You had the sort of stature that made even fully grown men sway, doubting their dominance, doubting their egos, doubting their own words and ways. Your head was held high, perfectly trimmed hair bouncing with every click of your -very expensive looking- high heels on the lecture floor.
You had the body that made every single dress drape your figure perfectly, every piece of jewelry placed onto you was outshined by the mere look that settled in your eyes, you weren't an elegant figure; you were elegance. That small, charismatic, smile you gave to onlookers? Sent them swooning as you made your by- hips swaying softly in the wind.
Because yes, wind had suddenly formed; allowing you to shift your hair perfectly out of your face like some sort of cheesy Hallmark movie. The strands not even getting caught in your lip gloss as you all but practically shone like the first sunrise on a winter day.
Your look was sleek, simple.
The epitome of femineity.
That's why he fell in love with you in the first place.
So how could you do this to him?
Your face looks dirty in the mirror, and no matter what angle you use, no matter what way you look at it - at yourself. You look horrible, unnatural.
You're unnatural.
Your contour that usually glides so sleek over your cheeks, giving you the perfect finish? Only makes your skin look patchy, dusty, like you had just gotten a weird spray tan at a tacky salon. The eyeshadow you had applied to make your eyes look darker, slimmer? It just makes you look gaunt - unnatural - something Tim and his siblings would be beating the shit out of right about now.
The concealer you applied to your lips to make them look more chapped? The 'man bun' you had done? Tim's clothes that you had thrown on to hide your figure? The fake facial hair you had added on at the end to try and fix everything?
It all looked horrible.
No matter what lighting you used, no matter what angle you pushed to body to bend to, you just looked like some 12 year old who got into their moms makeup bag for the first time.
Ding!
Your phone lights up as you blink, your friends message lighting up on your screen.
You
He's out with his brothers rn :(
I'm just chilling...
1:02 AM
Muscle Mommy
UGHHHHHHHH
was hoping for another good story
sorry babe
cant believe he just left a hottie like you in his room
l mean...I'll CUM overrrrr LOLLL ;p
1:05 AM
You
LMAOOOOO
No fr, cum over bbg
weird question
do u think I'd look good as a boy??
2:39 AM
Muscle Mommy
wtf
were did that come from????
your so pretty as a girl tho
did he say something?
beat his ass
2:54 AM
Eternity passes in an eerily silent way, an anxious buzz filling your ears as you just stood there.
...
You're tired, and you should probably wash this off before you go to bed so you don't break out.
So Tim doesn't see.
Placing your phone screen side down, the facuet squeaks in resistance before you dip your face down; groaning when water much too icy for this time of the night hits your face. It's not soon after that you're padding back over to Tim's bed to wait for him like some pliant puppy; still in his clothes as you plop back onto the bed. Spreading out like a starfish.
The perfect girlfriend.
You stare at the ceiling like it's the most important thing in the world, like it holds all of the answers in life.
But it doesn't.
"Babe?"
You feel a knuckle brush past your cheek, and it hits you all too suddenly that Red Robin is suddenly looming over you; poking into your vision like some kind of cheesy sitcom.
"Tim!"
He reels back as you shoot up, narrowly avoiding post-patrol head trauma from your heads colliding - per usual; and your hands are around him fast. Your arms slink around his neck, pulling him close before your hand pulls down his cowl, intertangling with the dark coils on the back of his head.
"I was so worried," You mutter, pulling away, eyes scattering, searching, scanning him for any signs of injuries when he doesn't hug you back - unworried of sounding selfish, "Where were you? Why didn't you text me?"
"I did." He muttered in a tone not of his own, eyes not leaving your face. His lips purse, face screwing up as he looks down at you, "You were that worried?"
Your eyes shoot up in surprise, confusion riddling your features before you find your sense of words again, "Of course...I-I'm sorry, I must've fallen..." Your eyes search, falling on your phone that was currently face down on the floor.
Shit.
You try to scramble to grab it. Yet, Tim stops you short. Grappling both of your forearms before you can pull away fully; pressing a few small kisses to your face, and you can't help but giggle.
"You fell asleep?" Tim murmured, voice sounding a million miles away as he kisses down your neck.
"I guess, if I didn't see your texts." You shift uncomfortably when you realize how close he's getting to your chest, the exact one you had just tried hiding the same night, "I-I'm sorry."
He mutters slightly, the unheard words warm in your ear, a small hum reverberating out of his chest as he presses an ear to yours.
You blink down at him, confused at his actions. He had started kissing you like he wanted to start something, but now it just looked like he was playing Doctor, "Tim?"
He peers up at you, blue eyes piercing into you, staring like he wasn't currently pressing up into your body like some sort of cat,
"Yea?"
You quirk an eyebrow, "What are you doing?"
He grins a bit, not at all giving anything away -if there was even anything, he had his quicks just like rest of his family- before moving back up to press a kiss to your temple. Hands sliding down to press his thumbs to your pulse points for a few seconds before pulling away,
"It's nothing baby don't worry about it." He pulls away, shifting off at you, "Did you go out?"
"No I just stayed in," You say off handedly, watching him begin to strip down to his boxers; freeing his no doubt sore muscles from his suit as he groans in relief, "Jessica is in Bludhaven for some school thing, so no one to really go out with."
He shrugs, "You could've just gone next door to Stephanie. She was off tonight."
You scoff, plopping down sideways onto the bed as your eyes rake down each line of his back, soaking him up, watching him glisten, "I am not asking your ex to go out with me to a club, that sounds like a threesome situation. No offense."
Tim snorts, "Just what kind of videos are you watching?"
"You already know." You tease, and you can practically hear him smirking, "The same ones as you."
His suit finally goes limp on the ground, pooling around his feet in a red puddle.
He sighs, body glistening with sweat when he stretches out. Each muscle twitching perfectly under the skin. Your eyes soak up the scene, and you hate how you feel something bitter shift in your stomach.
Tim fit most of the 'check-lists' for masculinity, body wise at least. He was short, yet he made up with it for how bulky he was. Each muscle worked and sculped to the bone from years of jumping around from rooftop to rooftop.
And from how your throat dries? How your stomach begins to flip? How you feel your teeth begin to knaw down into your bottom teeth?
You can't tell if you're feeling arousal or jealousy.
"Like what you see?" He taunts a little, grinning ear to ear; and you're acutely aware of the bed beginning to creak as he leans over you. Hand cemented by your head, supporting him.
"Yea." You offer what has to be a lame smile, because he's back to smothering you again. Each kiss a sweet reminder of his presence.
Tim hums, straddling one of your thighs so his leg was inside both of yours with ease, "Did you have another nightmare?"
A scoff leaves you, and you can't help but raise an eyebrow, "Who are you, Batman?"
"What did I say about calling me that." Tim groans, but you can feel a snort behind it as he dips down to your neck; trying to access the skin under your hoodie, "I have a much cooler name."
"You're interrogating me." You slightly pout, and he grumbles when you slap a hand on his forehead - forcefully pushing him up, "Why? What's with all the sudden questions?"
He paused, eyes chasing off, gaze scattering for a moment - and you can feel your heart rate pick up a bit when his face suddenly gets all too serious,
"There was a crime tonight..." Tim mutters, grabbing your wrist to press small kiss to the palm.
You wince, that sentence could mean that condiment man got loose again and put mustard instead of ketchup on somebodies hotdog, or that Joker had just blown up half the city again.
Hesitation laces your words, "What kind of crime?"
"This girl..." Tim pauses, and you know you've been doped when his dopey smirk comes on, "People have been saying she's been walking down the streets, stealing everyone's hearts tonight. Because she's just too pretty."
You can feel your face deadpan as he bursts into laughter, the only audience member in his own comedy club as you just lay there.
"You stole that from Dick," You mutter, trying to hide your embarrassment at being pranked as you push him off you, "Didn't you?"
He gasps, "Of course not!"
You huff.
"My own girlfriend, doesn't believe in my very own detective skills." Tim sighed, pressing a few more kisses up your jawline; and you can't help but sigh a little when he presses a deep and final one to your lips, "But since you're asking," he smirks against your mouth, "You smell like the make-up wipes you use after you go out, and your eyes are all red like when you're a sad drunk."
You blink at him and he snickers at your reaction.
"See, I'm good." Tim mutters, pressing a small peck to your lips, "I can figure anything out, just like how I can figure out..." he grins, eyes catching yours, "How you wearing my clothes in really turning me on right now."
A yelp flies through the air as he's suddenly yanking you to the edge of the bed by the ankles, hooking your legs on his shoulders as he's all too quick to kneel before you on the ground.
He's quick to work with you, kissing passionate, open kisses to the insides of your thighs; leaving you squirming, leaving you wanting. His grin practically tattoo's to the inner skin of your legs as he worked his way up, hands following his mouth before he's hooking onto the waist band of your pants.
"T-Tim-" You mutter weakly, hands stiff at your sides and his eyes gaze up to yours.
And you hope he doesn't notice.
You really hope he doesn't notice.
You really hope he doesn't notice how pale you have to look, how your teeth feel like their rattling in your jaw from how nervous you suddenly are, how your teeth are curled into your bottom lip.
You really hopes he doesn't see you stiffen, your hands tight and curled at your side instead of loosing yourself in his hair.
Because before this, it had been fine.
You had put off all your thoughts of unhappiness at your gender to the side, pushed away your questioning, thought you could turn it all off with a flick of a light switch.
But you couldn't.
And now your body just looked...
Wrong.
As wrong as the thoughts in your head.
And you really hoped he didn't notice.
But of course he did.
Because he's Tim Drake.
One of the best detectives in the world.
You could hear a pin drop.
You blink at his sudden stiffness, those bright eyes of his just staring at you in the dark before you shift up slightly; shimmying back on the bed when his hands fall.
"Tim?" You call out weakly, watching him finally blink out of his gear grinding haze, "You okay?"
He's all too quick to explain, "You're making that face."
You raise an eyebrow at him.
"Like when I wanted to take you grappling." Tim muttered, kissing a small peck to the inside of your knee, "You're doing the face you do when you don't want to do something."
"Tim-"
"No, you're tired." He leans forwards to press a small kiss to the soft of your stomach, "I'm sorry, I kept you up."
He groans as he stands, hands smoothing out your his pajama pants.
"W-Wait Tim-"
"It's fine, seriously." He says, his tone genuine and you can feel yourself practically relax - the shame still burning hot in your ears and you hope to hell he doesn't notice.
He interlaces his fingers with yours; pressing a searing kiss to each knuckle. Lips soft against your skin, curved into a smirk, "Not all of us have the late-night skills of an ass-kicking vigilante. Get some sleep, we'll go out for some coffee tomorrow."
You can only nod, not noticing how he's glancing back at you with every step.
"Babe."
You flinch when you suddenly feel a hand on your forearm, your latte clutched - untouched - in your hand. Tim's attention completely on you, leaning across the small circular table at the cafe you both like.
"You okay?"
Your coffee is long cold in your hand before you let go, "Yea, I'm sure." An easy smile rises to your face when you intertwine both of your fingers, "Is something wrong?"
Tim's brows do that thing, arching down at a barely regonizable 10 degree angle before he no doubt forces his expression back to complete normacy,
"No. Nothing."
His short words make you wince as he squeezes your hand, the skin warm and comforting against yours.
He looks at you head on, blunt but not unkind, "You've just been acting off, I just wanna make sure you're comfortable. That's all." He shrugs.
"Off?" You blink, feigning ignorance that you're praying he cant see through. All because you're squeezing his hand. All because you are off, because everything isn't alright, because you're lying straight to your boyfriends face, "Sorry, I didn't mean to make you worry." You sheepishly grin, "I guess with exams and everything I'm just a little more tired than usual."
Tim gaze wanders to look at a group of gossips nearby, and you can tell he's anaylzing something in his head before he's turning back towards you, "Is that why you were crying yesterday?"
Your heart staggers and you press a small kiss to his knuckle, "Yea, just calc and chemistry." You sigh quietly, "You know how it is."
He furrows his eyebrows a bit, "You're wearing a hoodie and sweatpants in 70 degree weather too."
"Tim," You're all to quick despite how your mouth goes dry, how your heart rate picks up, leaning in slightly, "Baby, I just didn't feel like doing my hair or makeup today. And you know I can't have a good outfit and a butter face."
Tim's eyebrows arch down, "Butter face? You don't have a butter face, you're gorgeous."
Your heart clenches in a way you don't like at that last word, "You know what I mean."
He hums, taking in your words, analyzing them, poking through them like some sort of interrogating scientist. All before he nods, seemingly okay with your answer, "Alright, don't push yourself. Burn out is real, you know? Will snatch you up like the Joker."
You can't help but snort, and you see him smirk right back, "Says you."
Pulling away, Tim finally seems content when you take a sip of your coffee. The silence that falls over you is a blanket of comfort now before your ears begin to trinkle in the voices of others.
"So she's not a model?" One girl squawked from a table a few ways away from you.
"I know right?" Another whispered, her keeping quiet skills all too rusty, "I searched her up when they started dated, because its Tim Drake, duh - and she's just a university student!"
"She's so pretty..." The first one murmured again, "She's like- perfect."
You put your coffee cup back down, the drink barely heating up your lips before you turn your head away; looking out a near-by window as you try and swallow down something you can't even chew.
Tim narrows his eyes.
Permanent?
'Permanency: Once your voice deepens, facial hair grows, or male-pattern baldness sets in, these traits will generally remain if you stop taking testosterone'
The words slowly churn in your brain as you scroll through the site, eyes flickering from word to word with a quiet intensity.
Potential pain during Sexual Intercourse, a second puperty, worse B.O., oiler skin, bad acne. Your hand runs over your face at the thought, scrolling through effects as little from facial hair to death from blood clots or even liver failure.
It feels like something is sitting at your chest, eating away at your heart as you read through the articles. Your nails chipped away at by your teeth.
If it was a phase, which it still could be - right? You could be bald for the rest of your life, get horrible acne which already took years to get rid of, and even die from something in your body just straight up shutting down.
And sex...
Tim wasn't shy about his needs or wants, only somewhat when trying new things; but he would break into your house sometimes just to do a quickie or give you oral.
You groan, thumb almost bleeding as you chew. So not only could you be bald with acne like a tween boy, not only could you take away your looks like your boyfriend loves so much, but you could also be unable to give him sex.
You can't even think about the risks with gender re-asignment surgery.
"Did Bruce Wayne die or something?"
Your gaze rises when the chewing across from you stops, Duke sitting there - for some reason slurping down his cereal.
"Or are you just getting nervous. Plotting to kill me or something?" He paused, "Answer the second one first..."
"Just exams..." You force out a breathy laugh, "I have a bunch this week and y'know, they're all kinda a big part of my grade."
"Tell me about it." Duke snorts, spoon clinking in his bowl, "Izzys been freaking the fuck out too. No matter how much I tell her she'll be fine."
"Yea." You agree off-handedly, making empty conversation, "I miss Izzy we'll all have to hang out again."
"Speaking of which." Duke plopped his spoon down, "Izzy wanted me to ask you if you'd be down for shopping together. She digs your clothes. Your look. Y'know, all that. Apparently your makeup is good or something." He shrugs, "Pinterest postable."
"Sure, we can go after finals, I'm kinda swamped right now - you get it. But when its all said and done..." You nod, giving him a small smile.
"Thanks, seriously." Duke licked his lips, "She's been freaking out a bit lately. She's never been into the whole makeup thing. Since she was in 'We Are Robin' she was out kicking ass rather than practicing normal kid stuff."
Your eyebrow quirks at that, "You don't need makeup to fit in."
"Yea. She knows. She like your glam though." Duke took a spoon full of mushy cheerios, "Says you're like the 'pinnacle' of femineity." He mutters, "Something like that."
You feel something in the back of your mind burn.
"Thinks your outfits are some vogue shit and stuff too." Duke rambles a little, perking up a bit, "She's pretty fucking into fashion and stuff like that. Or, trying to be. You-"
Duke can barely blink before you're out of the room, much less before your chair - the stool- clatters on the ground.
You barely look at Dick and Jason, accidentally hitting them on your dash up their stairs; shoulders bumping so quickly you almost teeter over. Barely getting an apology out before you're slamming Tim's door shut.
Silence.
Duke pokes his head out of the kitchen gingerly as his two fellow bats just stand there.
Jason snorted, "Nice job, Narrows."
"What the fuck did I do?" Duke threw his hands out, more flabbergasted than upset.
"Duke." Dicks voice creeped in, like he was debating something, "I would totally run for it, y'know. If you don't want to wake up with your phone hacked tomorrow. Your phone leaked on every prank site in Gotham." He grins, quirking an eyebrow, "Maybeeeee, before Timbo gets home?"
"Man, it's always fucking me." Duke groans, already on his way out, "Why is it always fucking me!?"
The door barely creaks open hours later, and you don't dare to move. You know who it is, it can only be one person. You're in his house, in his room, in his bed, in his clothes.
And he's on you.
The bed dips and his breathe is warm on your neck when he presses a kiss to your pulse point, a weak spot for you. You can barely think about what to say to him with how tight your chest is, how heavy your eyes feel, how dry you lips are when you press them together; so you don't say anything, staying quiet even as he hovers over you.
"Babe."
You freeze at how sure he sounds, and you already know it before he says it,
"I know you're awake." Tim sighs, muttering in your neck, "Your pulse is racing."
It's silent, deathly so, even eerie.
"Can you sit up and look at me?" He tries, voice going weak when he doesn't even see you flinch, "P-Please?"
His voice cracks and you can feel your heart break, your body slowly turning over to face him; and you can feel the worry raditating off of him.
"There you are." He jokes quietly, eyes soft as he looks at you. He motions his hands, but hesitates when he goes to touch you. Pausing before speaking, "Come on, sit up."
You do so, the worry evident enough on his face; evident enough to fuel your aching, tired, body to sit up. Yet you can't even face him, body facing the wall instead of him as he kneeled at your hip - weighing down the mattress.
His eyes look over you, scan you, analyze you like one of his cases - gaze not leaving you in the dark.
He doesn't take a moment, "You've been acting weird."
You open your mouth.
"And don't say its from exams again," He sounds desperate, pleading, and you can feel your gut churning in your stomach, "Please, please just- just talk to me. There's obviously something wrong."
You hesitate, voice quiet, "Tim-"
"You don't even have to tell me what it is," He pleads, voice shaky, "You don't even have to- to allude to anything. I can figure it out, you know I can. I've done if before, I'll do it again, if you'll let me. I'll hack into the deepest of data bases, I'll hack into the computers of the most dangerous men alive, I'll hack into the pentagon, I'll go on the wildest of goose chases - just for you. You don't even have to tell me a thing, just say the word. Just give me permission. I'll figure it out-"
"You can't-"
"I'll fix it." He says, words certain, "I'll fix it, I'll fix everything."
"It's not just-" You can't even look at him, voice watery when you turn your head away; hand shadowing your face, hiding you from the world, your world, from him, "You can't just hack it away, i-it's not something you can fix."
He's quiet, firm, "Then I'll learn how to fix it."
You squeeze your eyes shut, crying, "You can't."
His voice cracks now, "Why?"
"Because its not fixable!" You snap, and you can feel the blanket taunt under you when his fingers curl into it, "It can't be fixed its just-"
"Everything can be fixed. Everything can be fixed. Everything." Tim pushed, eyebrows furrowing, "Even- Even if it doesn't seem like it, with time, with love, with you and me together, everything can- will be fixed." He sighs, "It'll be fine, that's what I promised when I started dating you isn't it? I can't back out now, I won't."
"Tim its not that simple." You groan, irritation bumbling up under your skin. Not at him- no never at him. At yourself, at your sheer selfishness. Your selfishness for feeling this way, your selfishness for making him worry, "I can't just- you wouldn't understand-"
"You don't think I'd understand?" He mutters, pursing his lips - and this sudden look of determination crosses his face, "Show me your arms."
You falter, voice going flat; and you almost laugh, you almost laugh, "Are you fucking serious?"
Tim groans, almost tearing the hair out of his head, "How can I not be?!"
"You seriously think its that?!"
"Even if it isn't, I'm asking you to trust me! Please!" He sucks in a breathe, taking a moment to calm himself; hand running down his face, "Please." He's quiet now, like he's whispering a secret to you, "You know I'd never force you to say or do anything, you know I wouldn't do anything to ever make you uncomfortable." He paused, "Unless it meant protecting you." He grimaces, "So please, just show me. Don't make me get on my computer. Don't make me snoop around. Don't make me stalk around for weeks just to find out. Don't make me do this. So just show me."
Silence.
He barely breathes, "Trust me."
A pause.
You hear him release a held breathe, scrambling back to stand in front of you as you scoot to the end of the bed. Sitting on its edge.
There's hesitation when you realize you're not wearing a shirt, or even a sports bra -your go to these days- but you silently peel his sweatshirt off your figure. Kicking off his pants awkwardly.
The fabric pools together like a wet puddle next to your feet, and your hands come up to do an 'x' across your chest - covering yourself, covering something that feels shameful, like it's not supposed to be there.
He doesn't waste even a moment, and he quickly pushes forwards, working through his obvious hesitation given the context of the situation. Eyes grazing over your chest in concern for a moment, confusion, heartbreak at how your suddenly covering yourself from him. Before he probably realizes that's not his course of direction right now.
Apologies, shuddering ones, fall quietly from his lips as he examines every inch of your skin. Scanning. Carving his gaze into your cells. Like if he didn't look ten times over he would miss something.
He moves from your shoulders, to your collarbone, to your stomach, to your navel, to your thighs. By the end of it, he's kneeling in front of you, head plopping down on your closed knees in relief. You can practically feel his sweat seeping onto you, pooling. His lips grazing your skin as he whispers tiny, 'thank gods' into it.
You don't miss a beat when he finally raises his head, gaze searching yours at - and you can barely look at him.
"Is it your family? Your friends?" Tim says quietly, eyebrows arched down in a quiet plea, "Me?"
"I'm fine." You mutter bluntly, eyes wet and avoidant.
"School?" He rakes over your form, "Did I hurt you during sex? Did I say something wrong? Did I do something wrong?"
"Tim-"
"You know I'll change anything-"
"Tim!" You snap, your heart squeezing in your rips.
And you hate it.
You hate how loving he is, no matter how you act, no matter what you do. You hate how he thinks every problem in your relationship is himself. You hate how he's on his knees, on his knees begging you for answer, begging you to trust him. You hate how you're slowly chipping away at him, slowly chipping away at his character with your own selfishness.
"Is it-" He swallows a lump in his throat, looking up at you with those warm, loving, eyes, "Is it your body? Your face? Is that why you've been doing your makeup at 3 AM? Is that why you were crying when I came home? Is that why your heart was racing, did someone say something mean to you? Is that why you're covering yourself?"
You swallow.
He shifts,
"You-" he shifts, concern gnawing at him, "Are the most beautiful girl in the world-"
"I don't want to be!" You sob, the tension in your head finally snapping as your tears fall; curling down your face, "What if I don't wanna be the most beauitful girl in the world?!"
He just stares at you.
And so you're just sitting there, wailing. Crying and sobbing while you're sitting there only in your underwear, with a crazy sense of bed head. Tim kneeling infront of you, and you're not in the best state of mind right now - but you're fairly certain if anyone walked in, they'd say to send you to Arkham.
You wail, "Y-You hiccup don't u-under- hiccup-"
Tim can barely understand you through your blubbering, or that's what you think. Because he's just sitting there, kneeling infront of you like some sort of devoted believer, staring up at you with those wide confused eyes. And your heart feels like its shattering into a million pieces.
Because now you're certain this is the last night he will ever love you.
Because all the pent up emotions, the ones that began to bleed through the depths of your mind days ago, weeks ago, years ago begin to resurface. All the thoughts, all the doubts you've ever had, they're swirling in your head, swimming, running, like a wretch to a finely tuned set of gears.
How you felt like you were going through a phase where you were a tom-boy in 3rd grade. How you forced femineity on yourself to finally get along with the other girls, so the boys would stop bullying you, so you would finally fit in. How you used to scroll through videos, through sub-reddits, envying all the people who completely passed as their true gender. As their true selves - having the freedom to do so, the courage. How you almost transitioned back in 2020 during the pandemic, only to push it off as a 'cringey second phase' before pushing your basket ball shorts aside and buying yet another stick of water proof mascara.
"Hey, hey-" Tim shushed.
And thats when you realized you said it all outloud.
He's quick, rushing to wipe the tears and drool thats blubbering all over your face. Hands firm as they press into your tearducts, not even flinching before sullying his own fingers with your spit.
"I- hiccup- ruin every- hiccup- everyt-thing-" You cry, trying to wipe the tears from your face. He catches your fingers instead, cradling them in his.
Tim doesn't even frown, not even a dash of disappointment on his face as you wailed. He just sat there, grounding you with his hands, with just his mere Prescence, really. Fingers tapping twice against the back of your hands before morphing into a soothing rub, trying to calm you.
"M'-" you sniffle, "M' such a- hiccup- bother-"
A sharp exhale left him, gentle, quiet - disbeliving in your words,
"You're not bothering me," The words are simple, but they naw at your heart when he says them, "I'm always here for you. I just wish you knew that."
Because he's Tim.
Your Tim.
And when his hands curl around yours tighter, comforting - not confining - squeezing? You want to break down all over again.
"I-I am though, you're always talking about how when you first saw me - how it was love at first sight." You rambled, sobbing, "I don't want to be bald, and sexless, and have blood clots, and heart problems before I'm thirty- because that would be so fucking stupid!"
He pauses, words low yet steady, "You're talking about Testosterone."
"W-What if I wake up one day and decide it was all a m-mistake?" You don't even try to stop the tears now, "Fuck- Fuck- what if I wake up and feel like this all over again, just- and I just want to be a girl again? It would be s-so- so stupid- so-"
You sniffle, and he just sits there, listening,
"I'm just so scared." You finally mumble, you finally admit it, "About everything."
"I know..." He says after a moment, hands sliding up to cradle either side of your face, "Not that exactly-" He sighs, "But- I get it. The fear?" His voice is quiet, "All my years as Red Robin- Hell, my whole life. I have spent every day. Every night. Every hour pretending that everything is fine. Because that's what the Drakes did. Because thats what the Waynes do. That's what the bats do." He stands, pressing a kiss to your forehead, "But not you. You're different. You're you. And that's why I love you. I love how soft you are. I love how strong you are. I love how kind you are. I love you. Not some image of you. So even if you're bald, even if you have ten heart conditions? I'm still going to be right there." He sighs, scoffing a bit, "Because the chance for even having those is barely over 20 percent by the way."
"It'll still be different." You mutter, words wet when he presses your foreheads together.
"No. It wont." Tim pushed, "You wont be stupid, or anything less to than everything to me." He breathes in your scent, taking in it, not even minding your messy hair, "You'll just finally be you. You'll be the real you. You'll be the real you, who's hiding under all that makeup and jewelry." He pulls you into his chest, hugging you tight like you'd suddenly just vanish, like you're a thing to cherish, "And it you do wake up one day and decide its all bullshit, if you wake up and decide differently. We'll figure it out together." He snorts softly, "Even if you are balder than Alfred."
You can't help but giggle at that last part, his heartbeat helping to steady your mind before he's leaning down; kissing away all the dried tears from your face, licking away the salt.
"Besides," He leans down, begin to kiss down your neck; nuzzling into you so you're chest to chest, "How many times have I told you to test your hypothesis." A click of the tounge, a smirk, "You can't keep jumping to conclusions."
"That doesn't count." You huff, voice still crackly and he presses a soft kiss to your mouth, "There was no way to test this one."
He grins against your lips, "Only bad scientists say that. Looks like you still have a lot of training. Baby Bird."
You huff, weakly pushing him back yet he goes anyways.
Tim bounds to his computer after pulling away, pouncing into his chair and spinning around a few times before locking in. Pulling up to his computer.
"What are you doing?" You slur a little, tired from your sudden outburst - yet content, settled.
"Doing some research for my handsome boyfriend of course," And he grins when you flush at his words, "Get dressed. We'll buy you some clothes right now."
"I don't have any money..." You mumble sheepishly, watching him quirk an eyebrow at you.
He shakes his head, shit eating grin reaching his face, "Just because you're a guy, doesn't mean you're paying. Not for this. Not for coffee. Not for anything." He swings around as you pull on his sweatshirt, "Bruce is paying!"
__________
Alfred clears his throat, "Goldfish, sir."
A low sound resonates in Bruces chest, sighing as he chose his next move.
Alfred smirks at his next card, "Very well Sir, lets see how well you fend against-"
Bruce head snaps around.
Alfred raises an eyebrow, "Sir? Sha'll I fetch the Bat-mobile?"
Characters: Bruce Wayne x Hurt Musician GN! Reader!
Summary: You were a musician long before you were a hero. Music runs in your blood, in your veins, it puts the air in your lungs. Or, it did.
Warnings: Chronic injury (reader), grief, loss, depression, obvious sadness, talks off feeling useless, cursing.
A/N: This made me cry, I gave up music for STEM bro 😭
You're broken.
Worse.
You're useless.
Your fingers barely move - each bone creaking, letting out the eeriely haunting sound of aching pain instead of the wishless melodies you want them to. The piano rested beneath your grip, silent, desolate, crying out for a master, all of it's potential wasted in your hands.
Your useless, aching, hands.
You were a musician before you were a hero, a prospect most others laughed at when they looked at you now. You were so reckless, so impatient, so quick-witted that no one could ever guess your past. No one could ever guess that you could handle cello strings with such ease, no one could ever guess that you practiced for all those years, waiting, - yearning time and time again, day in and day out, to have your heart filled, your ears tickled, your music drifting through the halls of your home. Filling you. Making you whole. Filling the hearts of others.
You can't do that anymore.
The thought makes you want to cry.
You can't feel a cello's strings verbate under your touch, you can't cringe when a violin right next to your ears goes a prospect too high, you can't laugh when you hit two cymbals too hard together - startling one of your fellow heroes that just decided to wander into your home.
You can't hear the gaggle of the rest of your fellow heroes talking downstairs, deep in the Pitts of Gotham - in a place where bats go to rest, a place villains quake in fear of, a place secrets go to die.
A place you wished you could die, honestly.
You're not even sure if they've noticed you're gone.
Maybe Diana, she was well versed in the arts, and she seemed keen to the panic you felt when J'onn said you wouldn't be able to move your fingers the same ever again.
The panic, the anxiety, the hurt. It must've been clear as day to her. Her words trying to soothe you as you began to silently drown right were you had been standing.
Hal had joked that loosing a finger or two was the least of your worries, laughing languidly in a way you think was meant to cheer you up before he got into a hushed argument with Oliver. The ladder hitting him on the shoulder before dragging him to an ominous corner.
The thought of loosing music hurt much more than loosing the basic motor skills in your fingers.
If you wouldn't write, if you couldn't eat, hell if you couldn't even breathe, it would all be okay - it would all be alright - if you could play again. If you could preform. If you could feel the vibrations traveling through your chest.
It would all be worth it.
A shaky sigh leaves your lips before they purse, laying in wait, trying not to shake as you tried again.
A simple tune.
A simple tune was all you needed.
Something to prove you could still do this, to prove you could still play music, to prove you could still do what you loved, to prove to yourself that there was nothing to worry about. To prove to yourself that the anxiety, the anger you began to felt bubbling in the pitt of your stomach; was nothing more than nonsense.
A simple tune for you.
For no one else.
Your finger snapped down with an eerie click of your bone, barely heard, yet ever prominent. A shot of pain reverberated up your finger, shooting down your spinal cord, shooting down every single nerve that even deserved to exist in your feeble minded body.
White flashed behind your eyes, pain seared in your digit, your bones screamed in agony, a startled gasp leaving you before you cradled the digit. Left gasping for air at the sheer amount of searing pain such a simple movement head put you through.
"O-Oh-" Your voice cracked, the word only whispered as a secret to yourself. Tears pooled out of your eyes all to suddenly, dropping restlessly onto the unplayed keys below, a pathetic sob whimpering from your lips, throat bobbing wetly as you sat there in silence.
You just sat there.
You sat there in your rage, in your regret, in your sadness, in your pity. Because what were you if not pitiful? Not even a single note of music being able to soothe your soul, not even a single pang of noise in the never-ending silence as you sat there.
Sat there in silence.
Sat there in everything but peace.
Sat there letting it all out.
Finally.
Tears rolled restlessly down your cheeks, blubbering up your lip as you didn't even bother to wipe them away.
A small creak in the wooden floors.
Your head snapped back, and Bruce doesn't seem as nearly surprised at you as you see him standing there. Watching, staring.
"Shit-" You barely choked out, trying to hide your tears, trying to wipe them away, trying to hide your face, trying to hide anything really; yet its all fruitless.
You can't even curl your fingers to hide your eyes and that makes you sob that much more harder, a shallow ache coming to your chest, grief, loss.
"Shit I'm s-sorry," You croak, bringing your sleeve up to try and quell the tears - a simple task your fingers couldn't even fathom now, "I-I totally just wandered up to y-your house, huh?"
"It's fine." Bruce answers firmly, his words are unrushed, stiff, cold yet not unkind, something hinged at the end of them, "You left the meeting."
You can't even look at him anymore, a rush of shame creeping up your neck and filthying the tips of your ears. Much more, you're eyes are too red, your voice is too crackly, and you're much too pathetic looking.
Much more than usual right about now.
There's a silence, like he was waiting for you to do something - anything. Like he was letting you stew, not wanting to take over the gears currently swiveling like unhinged motors in your head.
You eventually mutter a small 'sorry', head watching your fingers as they rest useless in your lap.
"It's alright." He answers with the same steadiness, and you can't help but think his tone is somehow helping to keep you calm.
It was the same on missions - always. His voice keeping you grounded even in his anger when you were dazed, even when you were afraid, even when you were keeling over on the ground and into one of your comrades arms.
Its always been the same.
There.
Just there.
His shoes creak in the floor, alarming you of every step he took closer before he stopped beside you, standing tall next to the pianos stool.
A pause.
"May I?"
You blink up at him incredulously - as if you weren't in his house, using his piano without any permission of his own. Somehow forgetting your grief for a moment, you nod; awkwardly shuffling a little aways so he could sit down next to you. His cape as fluid as his movements before he settled.
A tense silence settles over the both of you, and you wish you could be tinkering with your hands right about now, fiddling nervously, cracking every last joint - but you watch them sit limp instead.
Useless.
"I just needed a moment." You murmur finally, apology laced in your tone; you can barely look at him, "I guess I wasn't really thinking."
The house is eerily quiet for a moment before he speaks,
"You weren't. Thinking, that is." And he glances at you from behind the cowl, "But who would in your situation?"
"It's not really a...situation." You murmur, shoulders tight as your shrug them, quaint, "Just me being dramatic, I guess."
"You're grieving something you just lost, something you loved the most. I wouldn't call that being dramatic." Bruce adds, words calm, fluid, "In fact, I'd say you're handling it as well - if not better - than most people."
Your eyes swivel away at those words. Firm, assuring, not leaving any room to second guess them. And you're trying to catch the gaze of anything other to look at but him or the piano. Him or the thing that reminds you most of what you can no longer have.
Your chest burns at the mere thought, aching, longing for something you know you can never have again. Something you know is lost. Something you know is gone yet is somehow still right in front of you.
Your world swiveling, bending, distorting at the tears that threaten to fall again at his words.
Because somehow, you think they're comforting. They feel like a warm blanket on a chilling winter night, a light in your now never ending darkness.
You finally offer a sardonic smile in return, sarcastic "And who's most people? A baby?" You can't deny the words are hiding something deeper, something worse than you'd like to admit, "A child?"
Bruce purses his lips, and you sniffle in silence.
"You'd be surprised how well some children take grief." He paused, as if weighing something in his mind, "Or seem to."
Silence.
You're silent.
He's silent.
You break it, "I feel selfish."
He keeps the silence.
A shaky, incredulous laugh leaves you, empty, and you cave, "It makes me selfish, doesn't it? I wish- Fuck, I wish I had never been a hero now. I wish I had never gone on that mission. I don't wish I hadn't saved those people, but if had meant- if it had meant-..." You hesitate, caging the plump of your bottom lip in your teeth. Squeezing till the skin almost breaks.
"It doesn't." Bruce sighs silently, a hum resonating through his chest, "You're a hero, but you're human first."
"A selfish one."
"Yes." He agrees without a second thought, "We all are. It's in our nature."
You want to snap, hit him, hit yourself, hit anyone, the acid burning through your chest like hot lava, "That doesn't make it right."
"Does it?"
Fuck-
Fuck him and his empty answers, his empty answers that never actually give you anything.
You grit your teeth.
You can't tell what's worse, the bubbling anger that threatens to burst out, that threatens to rip you apart bit by bit. Or the sadness, the grief, the emptiness that threatens to leave you wilting on the ground like some sad, mangled, flower.
"I don't know what I'm going to do." You suddenly blurt out, and you can feel the shame of your openness burn your eyes, burn your neck, burn your brain that tells you to run back, to hide, to stop. This is your colleague, your fellow hero, "It's all I had."
"With or without it. You're still the same person you were." Bruce reiterates, "Friends, family, the League they-"
"No-" You choke, and it feels like you're about to puke, "No, you don't understand. Music, it's all I had, it's all I was. My mom, my dad, everyone I ever knew." Your voice cracks, limp, lame, not even trying to wipe away the tears now, "They all left me. But my music? It always, always, stayed it never left, everytime I came home, every time I came back bloody and beaten to a pulp to my empty apartment. I knew it would be there, I knew it wouldn't leave me like everyone else did. And now it has and I'm-"
You pause and Bruce doesn't interrupt, doesn't try to console you, doesn't try to tell you its all going to get better. He doesn't even tell you that the league is there for you, that there will be other things, other hobbies. He doesn't even try to tell you that he's there for you, yet somehow, his Prescence is grounding enough. Keeping you here, keeping you in this room, keeping you at this piano, in this moment, with him.
"I may be the same person." You surmise, swallowing down the graininess, "I may have the same head, and the same brain, and hell, even the same fucking fingers. But I'll never be the best version of me, not again, not after this."
You look at him, and for a moment; you think something clicks. Like there's some sort of connection flowing through you, connecting you together, joining you like two notes in a melody.
"I love music." You murmur, shaking your head; and you can't help but not block the shaky laugh that leaves you, words soft, quiet now, "I love everything about it."
He's silent, dark eyes staring into yours. Observing every speck of grey that filters through the light, observing the redness around your eyes, observing the tears that fall free from them.
"I love the feeling of the strings indenting callouses so deep that they carve into my bones," You squeeze the flesh of your pointer finger, rambling, "I love the music flowing past my ears, wisping into something more than nothing, wisping into something more than myself, wisping into love, into feeling. Traveling into peoples souls and grabbing them by the hearts, ripping their soul out and into whatever feeling my music gives them."
Your shallow breathing is left filling the air, wafting through it, contaminating it after your rambling. Your face should be heating up, warming up in shame, in embarrassment, in anger that you just expressed your feelings to another person.
But for some reason it doesn't.
It never comes.
"Gotham." Bruce starts, not tearing his gaze away from yours. Yet his voice in quiet, comforting, "It's what pulls me through night after night. Every time I come home, sore and exhausted, I'm at peace." He paused, "Because I know its still there, safe and sound."
You shake your head, smiling in understanding, voice cracking, "You couldn't live without it."
"No." He looks forwards, gaze swarming the piano again, "I couldn't."
Silence.
"It's pretty." You murmur softly, eyes earning his gaze again, and something warms in your heart; something new, something that never flipped over and showed you its belly when you played your violin, "I fly over Gotham often, it's very pretty."
"Pretty." Bruce agrees with a curt grunt, "But broken."
"You're fixing it."
"You can too."
You blink at him, a little peeved at the thought of you asking him to protect Gotham when you were just sobbing over a piano two minutes ago.
Muchless, he had like 100 kids to help him protect it.
Bruce must've become keen to your grimace, because clears his throat awkwardly, "Your Gotham, I mean." His hand reaches out between the two of you, gloved one beckoning yours, "You can start to fix it too. It'll take awhile. But, I believe for you, it'll be worth it in the end."
Your Gotham.
The words reverberate through your head.
You stare at his palm, empty, welcoming, beckoning you to something more.
And you swallow.
Because you're scared.
What if you wake up one day and your fingers reject all your work? What if you wake up one day and they require more than simple pain meds? Need amputation, separation, separation from you? What if you wake up after another mission and find them limp, stone-cold, back to base 1.
Some would think you voiced that out loud, some would think you're all too closed off, all too quiet behind that storm filled gaze of yours.
But Bruce hears it, and he sees it.
Sees you.
"We'll do it," He offers, "Together."
You pause, lashes fluttering lighter over your gaze, and you can't help but agree. Your hand is like stone, uncoordinated, restrained, throbbing with pain and something more; but he takes it anyways. Not forcing your fingers to wrap around his when your palms meet. Both of you just looking away in silence.
Looking forwards.
And for once, you can't help but think.
The silence isn't so loud.
________________
Extra!:
"They're cute." Dick grins, peeking over the side of the corner; grinning shitless at the fact that Bruce -The Bruce Wayne- silent, ass kicking, brooder, is holding someone else's hand.
"Maybe..." Tim groans, "In an old people way." He hisses when Stephanie hits his shoulder; Cass just nodding along silently at their words.
"He deserves it." Duke snorts, "Wonder if they make good pancakes."
"Not better than Alfred's." Stephanie whispers.
"Never." Damian grumbles, eyes sharp as he watches the two of you.
"Agreed." They all nod along together, just watching the two of you sit there. In peace. Together.
"Hey asshole," Jason hits Dick hard against the back of the head, earning a hard glare, "The gangle of cunts down there is asking where Bruce isssssss- Holy fuckkkkkk”
"SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" They all snap at him.
——
A/N- the CW Flash edit that inspired this is here :)
Sometimes we have to give up our dreams in pursuit of something higher. I can’t make a living off music, yet music is my life. Super cheesy, but I will always love music.🥲
hmm mark cooking food for gn!reader because they come home late due to late shift
A Broken Oven Is Better Than a Broken Heart.
Characters: Mark Grayson X GN! Reader
Summary: You and Mark are both heroes of the city, in your own ways. The only difference really is that you get paid - an excruciatingly low amount...low enough that you can't fix your oven when he breaks it.
Warnings: Just some cursing. Spicy scene at the end but only some light making out/ inndeuno, it doesn't go anywhere. Mark is whipped for you, lol.
A/N: You'll see Mark refers to reader as Mx. in two lines, that's the gender-neutral version of Miss/Mr!
Stupid late night shifts.
Stupid hospital.
Stupid career.
You're grumbling as you kick off your shoes, all too aware about how you just tried to swipe your hospital keycard into the crack of your front door; too tired and much too aggravated to understand why it wasn't unlocking.
Much more, the elevator ended up being broken - one of those crazy losers from upstairs apparently putting some kind of wacky science experiment in it and blowing it up. Your landlord kept promising to fix it, nodding his head, blinking blankly, agreeing to no end - just to vanish for six months.
So you tread up the stairs. You tread up, ignoring how your feet burned, how your thighs ached, how you smelt of antiseptic and sweat, how your undershirt is still stained with the puke from room 13 from just 12 o'clock that afternoon.
Your feet drags, breathes heaving - and you wish Mark was there to fly you to your third floor apartment - before your jeys jingle, sliding open your door with relaxing ease.
"Cheerio." You yawn, mouth pulling itself open when you slip off your shoes; practically stumbling towards the kitchen. Rubbing your eyes when you're not met with his needy meows, his paws lifting to beg for 'uppsies', as you walk into the kitchen, "Cheeri-"
You blink,
"Oh..."
You blink again, watching Mark -your glorious, handsome, idiotic, gorgeous, muscular, whatever, boyfriend- hold your cat upside down, holding its hips; shaking the poor feline as it mewed in distress.
You blink.
He blinks back.
Cheerio meows.
"Mark!" You bark, watching his hands fly out in surrender; Cheerio hitting the floor with a thump before scurrying away.
"Look its- it's not what it looks like!" He stammers, watching you scurry over to peer around the corner - satisfied to find your precious feline burrowing into its cathouse.
You sniff the air, nose tipping up at the foriegn smell.
Smoke?
Mark starts, "I promise! I wasn't trying to harvest his organs or anything, I just-"
Eyebrow raising, you look over at Mark and he winces.
"I just- Uh-...Hahhhhh..." Mark sighed, shoulder slouching; those big puppy dogs eyes looking up at you apologetically, "Sorry..."
You huff, already walking over towards the oven, "Usually people explain what they're apologizing for before they do it Lover-Boy." You mutter.
"Yea...I know-" Mark groans, blinking when you go to open the appliance, hand shooting out, "Hey don't-!
POOF
You cough, hacking, spitting out saliva as smoke slaps you right in the face. Pillowing up in thick clouds as you stumble back, hitting the island, and Mark flies, practically slamming into the oven to close the door.
He sputters, "...do that!"
You're rubbing your eyes, coughing, billowing, and when you finally look up, you feel Marks hands hovering over the fat of your arms. Bottom lip pulled tight between his teeth, eyebrows furrowed as he looked over you, checking you, scanning you, looking like some kind of lost puppy looking for a new owner.
Yet, you're sure you don't look as kind, or as lost. Mark's eyes shooting away when your eyebrows curl into a form that match almost exactly to the apparent grimace slapped across your face,
"Speak."
"I-I uh-...surprise?" Mark smiles weakly, motioning towards the smoke filled oven; failing to avoid your smoke filled gaze as he winces.
"Yea, surprise, you fucked up my oven Mark. Again." You spit, crossing your arms with furrowed brows, not letting him escape your gaze, "What the hell?"
"Yea. yea," Mark sighs, rubbing the back of his neck gingerly, "I know, I'm sorry."
"'Sorry' doesn't make it better Mark-" You lean over when he tries to look away, and he looks like he's about to pee himself, "What were you even trying to do? I told you, you and Rex aren't allowed to use my oven to make clay figures anymore after what you cooked up last time." You jab a finger to his chest, "Use the Guardians base, I'm sure they have like 50 million fucking ovens."
Mark puts his hands up weakly, "Ok, 50 million is a little bit of an over exaggerati-" He paused, voice going limp when he saw your face contort into something more sour, "But I get your point! And that's not..." his words drone off with his eyes, "...that's not what I was doing..."
You scoff.
"I'm sorry, really." Mark steps forwards, trying to sooth your choked coughs as he smooths his hand down your jaw; tracing it like he was trying to memorize the bone itself, "I was just-" He sighs, hesitating, "You work so hard, I just wanted to do something nice for you." He paused, "Make you dinner."
You blink.
Make you...dinner?
"Mark..." You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose, aggravation lacing your tone. You dealt with yelling Doctors, yelling patients, yelling techs all night, you could deal with this, "The plastic TV-Dinners are supposed to stay in the microwave, they melt in the oven. That's why its smoking so much."
"What!? No! It's not- I'm not-" Mark groans, hands running down his face as turns his head away, a flush creeping up his neck and flaring up his ears, "I'm not making you some shitty TV dinner..." A pause, "again..." He grumbles begrudgingly, grimacing, "I just-" He motioned towards the smoke filled oven -the poor thing beginning to weep smoke-, motions irritated, "I just wanted to make a lasagna, is that so hard?!"
Oh.
Oh.
"You do so much for this city, for me...you put up with so much. Me misses dates, me canceling-" Mark sighed, hands gently drifting to yours; guiding but not forcing your fingers to lace with his, "I just..." He sighed, "I just wanted to do something for you, for once."
You purse your lips, eyes trained on his fleet ones.
You look at him.
You look at the oven.
Then finally, you sigh.
"That's actually...really sweet." You mutter, pinching the bridge of your nose.
His eyes perk back up to you - happy at the thought that he's not getting his ass kicked to the curb again.
"But!" You snap, and he waddles in place like some dog with a tail between its legs, "I'm still mad."
"I know." He mumbles.
You shake your head, "You are not to ever use my oven again without permission."
"Yes Mx.
You stay firm, eyes sharp, narrowing, "If you ever want to cook, you go and fuck up the Guardians oven with Rex. I'm sure that Sea-Salt guy can afford it more than me."
"Of course."
"Consult your mother next time you want to cook something."
"Yea, sure."
You raise an eyebrow at him and he tenses.
He nods solemnly, "Y-Yes, yes Mx."
You sigh, closing your eyes to cool down for a moment. The anger doesn't go away, but you can feel content seeping in, forgiveness - but the littlest amount- appearing at your boyfriends apparent guilt and eagerness to make it up to you.
You nod with him, "And you will be cleaning this up."
"Y-Yea! Holy shit, yea of course, I wouldn't just leave you to- Uhhh..." He clicks his tongue looking back.
You quirk an eyebrow, "Also, why were you torturing my poor cat?
"Ok- I wasn't- that-" Mark sighs, rubbing the back of his neck gingerly, glancing at the hallway the feline at run off to, "Look, he inhaled some smoke, wheezed, and I just freaked out, okay?"
You pause, face flat, and Mark thinks he's about to get the shit-beaten out of him for even thinking about making your beloved baby simply sneeze before you snort.
Your head snaps away, hand slapping up to your mouth.
"Hey! It's not funny!" Mark basically whines at you, staring as petulantly as a child when you just continue to laugh at him, "I was seriously freaking out, do you know what you'd do to me if you came home to your cat coughing." He shudders, "Much less Dead?!"
"You're so fucking stupid-" You bellow, hand still firm over your mouth. Giggles slipping past with every breathe, even as Mark tries to paw your hand away in annoyance
His eyebrows furrow, "Hey- I am not-! What-!? I thought you'd be more mad?!" Mark sputters, "Why aren't-" He paused, voice going soft in confusion, relief, "Why aren't you more mad?
"Because your first reaction was to hold the cat upside down." You practically cry, and you do, wiping the tears from your eyes. The pads of Marks fingers joining yours all to quickly sweep the tears away, "Mark, what the fuck?" You snort.
"Well what else was I supposed to do?!"
Giggling, you shrug like it's the most obvious thing in the world, "Take him to the vet?"
A pause.
"Isn't that like...expensive....?" He mutters.
"There's no cost on love." You sigh dreamily, and Mark sighs.
"Okay got it...so next time there's an oven fire-"
"There will be no next time." You snap.
Marks laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his neck, sputtering out quickly, "Yea no, you're uh- totally right. Shouldn't even think about that."
A hum of agreement leaves your lips, pecking a small kiss to his chin, "Great."
Mark sucks in a sharp breathe, "I'm seriously sorry though, okay?"
"I know, and I'm seriously mad." You mutters, eyes grazing over his crinkled gaze. His furrowed eyebrows, his petulant pout, "But there's a few days of groveling can't fix, I'm sure you'll get through it."
Mark sighs, chuckling a little, "Yea."
"Starting now."
"Oh."
You tilt your head, finger coming up to trace down his chest, "I'm hungry."
"O-Oh! Yea, I did just completely fuck up your oven, huh?" Mark fumbles awkwardly, looking around frantically, "Let me find my wallet and I can fly us to that little Italian place in Italy we like. Okay?"
Mark yelps rather embarrassing for his strong stature when you yank him in by his collar,
"Not for that, Mark."
You're not sure if the words finally sink in, or if its the wolfish grin that spreads across your face but he finally pauses.
He blinks, eyes lingering down to the hand on his collar,
"Oh." Then he grins, hands finding your waist - molding up the skin, feeling out your figure, "I could get down with that."
"I know you could." You grin right back, not even flinching when he pushes you onto the counter with ease.
Mark's hands dip past the hem of your shirt with practiced ease, traveling from the small of your back and up. His face is in your neck, searching, kissing up the skin and suckling every so often until he has you leaning back; sighing at the contact and arching up into his chest.
His skin is warm, pliant, almost as pliant as him as Mark begins to kiss down your chest, slowly, reverently; reaching your navel with no hesitance at all when your fingers curl into his locks - leading him, commanding him.
Your legs act, wrapping and hooking onto his shoulder, "Was thinking you could eat first."
A subtle blush creeps up his neck, encasing his ears as he blinks up at you with those infuriatingly wide eyes, "I-"
"Ohhhh hellllllll yea! Dinner and a show!"
A sudden voice has you shooting up, kicking poor Mark in the face and sending him back with a small grunt.
"Don't let me stop you love birds," A familiar voice yells, getting increasingly more aggravated, your eyes searching around wildly, jittering, "While I just hang here like some fucking pim-! Ow! Stop that, you stupid cat!"
Cheerio howls, and you become acutely aware of him jumping off the window sill.
You become acutely aware of two orange gloves hanging just outside of it.
"Wait- Wait-!" Mark tries, groaning in agonizing defeat and realization that he was truly fucked this time when you rush over towards the window. Sending the glass pane window flying open, looking down with wide eyes.
"Rex!?" You sputter.
"Hey there babe." He grins, clicking his tongue with a subtle wink, "Gotta say, you look prettttttyyyy hot in those scrub pants." He laughs a little smug, happy. Then he pauses, his face falls flat, his eyebrows furrow, letting out a scream and kicking like it wasn't currently 1 AM, "NOW FUCKING LET ME UP!"
"Mark!" You snap, and your boyfriend runs over without a mere second thought. Taking your place as you step back, your own arms crossing as he reaches down to help his best-friend out.
"Dude, you were supposed to just jump!" Mark urged, trying to ignore your increasingly annoyed look, "I told you, there are bushes!"
"Oh- Yea- sorry, excuse me for not wanting to break my fucking arm again!" Rex snaps, falling flat on his face with an aggrivated growl when Mark pulls him in. He sits up, "Because fuckkkkk you, those bushes are not as soft as they look!"
"Look babe, I can-" Mark starts, head swiveling towards you.
He stops cold.
Uh oh.
You're standing there.
Just standing there, arms crossed, face colder than Cecils after Mark accidentally toppled over the Eiffel Tower that one week he was supposed to be in Berlin, face colder than his moms when he broke that vade vase when he was 8, face colder than Eves when he used to ask her to cover for him when he missed one of your dates.
Your jaw is clenched tight, teeth practically grinding down to dust as you stare him down with a look that would break even the biggest of supervillains.
Everyone knows silence is the deadliest killer.
Of all things.
"oooooo" Rex grins, voice singsong like some child, "You're in trouuuubleeeeeeee." Your head snaps over, glaring him down, and he coughs, "Ahem..." A pause, "Sorry, sir, ma'am, mx..."
"This is all your fault!" Mark whisper shouted, spraying cleaner on the inner oven door.
"My fault, my fault!?" Rex gaps in offense, rather dramatically before jabbing a finger into Marks chest as he went at the cleaner with a rag, "You're the fucking idiot who wanted to put the oven at 500 degrees to cook it faster!"
Mark scoffs in offense, "Yea, only after you said we should do 600-"
"Ahem."
They both wince, looking back at your sitting form; watching you languidly scroll on your phone whilst stuffing pizza in your mouth. Not even sparing them a glance.
Writing to tell you that the Dick x slade’s apprentice fic was scrumptious 😋 not to knock on the smut but I liked the dialogue and introspection a lot!
+ the extra about his dynamics with the other titans
Thank you so much!
I've always loved adding little extra cutscenes with other characters at the end, I always just find them so silly 😭 I think it also just adds the little cherry on top to actually make the story feel that much more enjoyable!
Just the thought of the other Rogues getting mad at Nygma for leaving his trophies everywhere in the Arkham series.
Like not only do they just stumble upon them - in their own territories- but they also have to cope with the fact that he got past their own hired guns, security systems, and even themselves somehow and placed them in every single crevice of their bases.
Not only that, but when they move them and or throw them out; they'll literally just appear again. Over and over. They just can't get rid of them, the trophies are glorified cockroaches.
I bet they're extra pissed when the traps/puzzle ones are introduced in Arkham City, because they can't get rid of them/move them unless Batman comes along and decides they're worth his time.
New voicemail from Joker-
"Hey Batsy, was wondering when you could come on over and get rid of these litle glowing things for me. Big...question marks. They never seem to go away! Thought I blew em' all up, but now they're in little domes I can't seem to crack! Maybe I'm going insane...heh...heh...y'know. Kay, thanks!"
Harley: "Sweetie! The big glowing question marks showed up again!"
Scarecrow: "How...intriguing."
Two-Face: "Riddle me this, bitch!" Punches him in the face
Penguin: "Right, I'll show that rotten, riddle bitch trouble and strife what the crack is when I shove this question mark right up 'is back of his arse!"
Mr. Freeze: Literally does not care, thinks Nora enjoys the new scenery. Thinks of them as nightlights for them.
Ivy: "They better not be poison to my babies..."
Selina: "Eddie, honestly, I'm impressed. You've just got to teach me how you break into these places. Not that I don't like Harvey holding me at gun-point over a glowing pit of acid..."
