syn: amidst a panic attack in the dead of night, your lover offers serenity through the recollection of your five senses
wc: 1k
cw: fluff, loose mentions of a panic attack, not proofread
The familiar contours of your room lose their safety in the dark of this hour. The coat draped over the chair morphs into a looming silhouette as the walls clam inward, compressing the air surrounding your lungs. You reach for a breath, yet the room offers nothing but hollow space, bursting a million shards through your thorax. Your chest weaves hopelessly, two sizes too small for your ribs.
Every anchor point slips; the ceiling's neutral expanse feels low enough to touch, heavy with an invisible weight that bears down on your forehead. Your attempts to blink the distortion away are futile, the darkness refusing to settle as edges continue to blur the entire room with a menacing frequency.
The reason for your body's reaction is an utter mystery to you, as if that mattered at this moment. The cognitive abilities of your mind have gone numb, turning to dust after your jumble of attempts to recognize anything. Everything familiar has become hostile, leaving you marooned in a landscape made entirely of your own heightened senses.
The velvet silence of your room fractures with the soft click of a door hinge. A sliver of the sterile light room the hallway cuts across the carpet, a sharp contrast to the suffocating gloom of the room. Footsteps pad softly across the floorboards toward the bed. Even with your brain turned to mush, you're able to recognize the figure declining to the open spot next to you.
The newly found weight on the mattress, causes the floor beneath you to anchor momentarily. Through the static roaring in your ears, a steady sound emerges from the dark. Low and deliberate, dropping down to meet you in your trench of shadows.
"I’m right here," Damian starts, his tone laced with concern. "You’re safe. Just look at me, beloved."
The boy wastes no time waiting for a respone, given your state, before he swiftly moves in an attempt to calm you down.
"Match my breathing," his voice murmurs, slow and rhythmic. You can hear the deliberate, exaggerated rise and fall of Damian's chest, a tactic most people refer to whenever trying to prevent a panic attack. It was counterintuitive to you really, as your body profusely refused the blueprint. Your lungs reject the rhythm, continuing to catch the phantom glass in your throat, tightening your chest further. Any slow attempt at breathing would only heighten this pain. Panic flares hotter at the failure; you can't match his pace, you can't slow down, and the walls seem to take another step inward.
Quickly acknowledging your worsening spiral, Damian pivots instantly, dropping the demand for breath. A second lingers as his brain racks for a new method of calming your senses.
"Okay, leave the breathing." He shifts closer, voice dropping an octave.
"Forget about everything else and look at me, beloved. We're going to find five things."
Your awareness is forcefully pulled out of the internal vortex teetering in your mind, scattering to him as you silently obey his instructions.
"Five things you can see," he murmurs, hand gesturing slightly to guide your eyes, demanding that your attention past the shadows of the night. You have to hunt through the gloom, anchoring onto the faint, clinical green glow of the digital clock on the nightstand. He motions to the crack of light stretching across the carpet from the hallway door. You blink against the blur, tracking to the pale edge of the white pillowcase crumpled near your shoulder, then to the sharp, dark outline of the window frame against the night sky. Damian gestures once more, this time placing his steady hand on top of your damp ones focusing on your gaze until he notices your eyes rest on his steady, unmoving ones. Sensing the lack of tremble in your fingers, Damian parts his lips once more.
"Four things you can feel." Your eyes dart down, his hands still lay flat on top of yours. The warmth of his solid palms flat against yours slowly lift your hands off your tightening chest. The contact is enough to act as an immediate anchor. For the first time in this dreading dark of night, you become intensely aware of the rough, woven texture of the heavy blanket. A faint, cool draft from the window brushes against the overheated, damp skin of your cheek. Beneath you both, you feel the distinct, deep indentation of the mattress holding your combined weight, reminding you that gravity still works, that the floor is solid.
"Three things you can hear." Damian utters, falling completely still as he forces your sense to listen past the frantic, deafening thudding of your own pulse. It takes a moment for the internal static to clear, but eventually the house reveals itself in the quiet with him by your side. The low, rhythmic hum of the refrigerator vibrating downstairs. The soft, dry rustle of the bedsheets every time your fingers tremble against theirs. And beneath it all, the measured rhythm of Damian's steady breathing, an untold invitation waiting for you to follow his lead whenever you're ready.
"Two things you can smell." He leans a fraction closer, bringing a shift in the stagnant air with his aromatic cologne. Sandalwood and fresh laundry fill your nose as you take a shallow breath. You had accompanied him while picking out this cologne, noting how strong scents were too pungent for the both of you to handle on the daily. Through his cologne, there is the comforting, lingering scent of your lavender shampoo on him. Mixed with it is the crisp, damp smell of petrichor and oncoming rain drifting through the screen of the open window.
"One thing you can taste."
You sit there, taking a moment to ponder how you would oblige to his instructions. Sitting there, in thought, you kept your eyes on him, blinking as your eyes slowly took in his complexion.
Slowly, deliberately so, as if he feared shocking you, Damian shifted closer. The moon was now angled through the mirror, casting a soft hue across your face, illuminating your features. His hand left yours as the ghost of his fingers reached your chin, soft amusement sparking within his eyes. You were leaning in without awareness, slowly, without hesitance. His fingers found their place upon your jaw as he cradled you, as delicately as a chiffon.
Damian's lips brushed against yours with a sense of precaution, still wary of scaring you off. His thumb now moved rhythmically against your jaw, as if he were trying to remember every inch of your face by mapping it. Within the lingering excitement of the moment, you found yourself grounded at his movements, thoughts no longer lingering on the spike in your lungs or the ring in your ears.
Unconsciously, your lips parted in a faint sigh of relief as your hand snaked over his body. Using your reaction as a cue, Damian moved his lips with the slightest increase of intent, kissing you with a greater firmness.
He tasted like spearmint and honey, the sweetness coaxing your thoughts to a much more pleasant blur. One thing you can taste.
Pulling back softly, your breath brushed his cheek as a content sigh escaped you. His eyes met yours with an everlasting sense of adoration, relishing in his success at anchoring you. His hand slid to the small of your back, curling you impossibly closer as he adjusted to match your pace.
For a moment the two of you relished in the newfound calm, Damian scanned your face as his lids drooped in serenity. With the moonlight dawned upon your face, he was able to see the visble flush of your cheeks, along with the slight damp of your swollen lips. His body moved against yours reverently, in an attempt to memorize every ounce of your being.
Your lips curved up at him, the frantic static in your head at last receding into a quiet hum. The night is still the same, but the iron band around your ribs finally dissolves, allowing a single, deep, unobstructed breath to break through.
an: i actually don't enjoy writing for Damian I just thought he fit this idea the best so.. 🤣😬 sorry if i disappointed
It's truly incomprehensible how one could have so much thought. Jason cant even wrap his head around how your sentences flow, they just do. One moment you're rambling about some new movie poster you saw while crossing the street, the next you're on about how every man who listens to Mazzy Star is evil. Seriously, how is one able to hold themselves through a jumble so fluently?
You had decided to stop by his place after your day out, wanting to continue talking about whatever you and your friends had been gossiping about earlier. He happily listened, per usual. Any excuse to listen to your voice was enough for him, no matter the topic...
"Honestly, I feel horrible for her. Like, I understand what she did was weird, but it's obvious the poor girl is going through something..." you've probably gone through the same topic three times already, restating the whole story every time a new detail pops in your head. Jason hums in return, and it isn't until then do you spare him a glance. He'd been messing with the rear fender of his motorcycle, unable to spare you a glance.
Your voice dims, eventually reaching a silence.
It takes a few moments until Jason glances over, brows furrowed.
"What happened after? Did anyone report the incident?"
You looked back for a second before deciding to respond,
"sorry, didn't know you were fixing your bike. I don't wanna keep distracting you."
His furrow only deepened, if that were even possible. "Y're not."
"No need to comfort me" you simply shrug, "I've been trying to work on this habit"
Pft. As if your voluble behavior could ever be considered something negative. Hell, he would go through the Herculean tasks if it meant your voice was the reward.
"I would've told you if it bothered me."
"Huh, thats convincing" you teased.
He sighed, "Of course I care. The way you speak to me eases my restlessness. It's a reminder of your devotion."
You gawk at him, jaw slightly ajar.
"Wow, wasn't expecting such a poetic inference from Jason Todd."
His back is turned now, the tip of his ears pink, "just keep talking. You never finished your story"
You smile at his silly endeavors, relieved at his response, before continuing.
No matter the situation, your boyfriend would rather experience it with your voice occupying the area — regardless of how many times you've repeated the story.
Summary: It had been four years since you left the kingdom of Gotham and joined the League of Assassins. Tonight, you have a mission that sends you right back into the heart of the castle during a Masquerade ball. It all goes to plan until you run into the one person who will know you with his eyes closed.
Pairing: Prince!Tim Drake x Assassin Fem!Reader
Word Count: 11.5k
Content Warning: Regency AU, Forbidden love trope, Angst I fear (clap if you're surprised), YEARNER TIM, minor character death, for the purpose of this fic all the bat boys are Bruce’s bio sons, mentions of blood and sword violence, no use of y/n, second person, some characters may be ooc, open-ended bittersweet ending (see note at the end)
A/N: She's finally here!!!!! I put my whole soul into this omg i really hope you guys enjoy.
•───────•°•♕•°•───────•
The mossy green mask pulling at your hair should have been the first sign that this assignment was doomed.
For what you imagined was the millionth time that night, you adjusted the silk of the mask on the crown of your head. Each time the knot had been retied, it carried some strands of your styled hair entangling them in the silky ribbons of the mask. Unfortunately, the tangled locks didn’t make themselves known until you returned to scoping out the ballroom and the white-hot pinch from your scalp pricked again. After the fourth adjustment, you begrudgingly accepted defeat as the tugging became part of the costume.
The celebration was bubbling and bright. Lords and Ladies from all over came to pay their respects to the blessed couple. Warm lights from the candles were rested on chandeliers hanging low from the arched roof, casting an amber hue over the boisterous room. The clinking of glasses poured with wine and shuffle of dancing footsteps filled the walls of the castle. Stuffy dresses with too many layers of fabric packed the room, leaving minimal to no space in navigating the busy hall.
There was a haunting familiarity that lingered in your stomach during your observation. You couldn’t help but remember the version of yourself that sprinted through the stone floor of the castle in the depths of the night. And if you listened hard enough, you could hear your giggles smothered by the back of the palm of a boy you no longer knew.
While mingling with the other guests, you came to the conclusion that politics was far more boring than you had previously believed. There were more riddles spoken of wars and treaties, than of strategy and efficiency. Too many thin-lipped smiles guarding plans that betrayed gentlemen no more than three feet away. It was a miracle, truly, that these kingdoms were still standing. Taking over the continent would be a cake walk in the name of the Al Ghul’s when the plan began taking motion. Over the course of your painful pleasantries, it became increasingly obvious that men in power do not take women in the same positions as seriously, even if she was ten times more dangerous than they could ever dream of amounting to.
With a deep sigh, you let it go. Domesticating the lords of the land was not your assignment for the evening. There were grander matters entrusted to you after all.
The mission was inherently simple,
Kidnap the youngest prince.
The execution, however, was not.
Planning begun seven moons ago when the announcement of the ball reached the ears of The Great One.
You heard the news, like many others, in town while attending the Sunday morning market. The odor of earth was clear in the air with your heels digging into the dirt. The trees hung low, casting a shadow on the path as the leaves rustled above you. Cracks of sunlight bled through the branches, casting a spotlight on the critters that walked with you. A line of ants, a family of cricket, and a roly-poly danced between your steps.
The distant hum of chaos that came from the Sunday market carried through the otherwise peaceful air. You passed multiple groups who had finished their shopping; families with children holding a new toy, elders with baskets packed with ingredients for their early evening dinner, and nobles with tiny pouches holding their overpriced souvenirs. Each gave you a brief nod and a hesitant curve of their lips while strolling past.
You shouldn’t have been surprised really; this land was feared, not lusted after. The people were not known for their manners, but for their skill.
When the town square came into view, countless stands created a maze of vegetation, trinkets, and small overpriced luxuries. The chatter of animals was aggressive through the whole square while they fought their enclosures. Voices were bargaining over each other at every stand, attempting to make a living for themselves. Never being one to bite back an expression, you couldn’t quite conceal the way your eyes widened when you heard the prices vendors were calling out.
The sun was high in the sky, almost as if she was making a point to demonstrate what this darling planet revolved around. Expelling a heat that rivaled the Inferno you read about in a Divine Comedy during your years at school. You silently thanked the gods for deciding to wear a lighter skirt today as sweat lined your forehead. Despite the weather, there was a kind breeze whistling in your ears carrying the chirps of the birds that flew above. Your pale flats slapping on the cobblestone path ignoring each vendor, while swatting away the beads of sweat threatening your hairline. Your entourage of beasties had seemingly abandoned you to the joys of the market- or more likely, some shade.
When you finally make it to your desired stand, you began examining the different crops on display. In the process of examining the potatoes, Gina strikes up a conversation. You had been coming to this stand every week for the past four years. Gina had watched you gradually be broken down into the rawest form a human could take during your training and then be built back up into something like a soldier. It wasn’t quite as honorable as that, but you did it in the name of your country. It wasn’t for loyalty, but for a debt you would never finish repaying.
While her voice carried with whatever town news was hot at the moment you remembered that the only thing that spread faster than sickness these days, was gossip.
Your tone was light and polite, in hopes of getting a better bargain if she thought you kind today, when she breached the news of the upcoming ball. The eldest prince of the Wayne family had been promised to the youngest Tamaran princess. Taken aback at the news, you stared incredulously at the vendor in front of you as she nodded in confirmation. The news of the engagement is not what came to a shock to you, but rather who. There had been rumors in your youth of the prince being involved with the Grand General’s daughter, Barbara. During your time in their kingdom, you had the luxury of studying at the palace with some of the noble children, and she had been your tutor. On more than one occasion the eldest prince had interrupted your lessons with a mischievous smile and a rose. The flirtation was obvious, even to the children that she taught, but a fleeting romance must have been all the kindness the universe granted them.
Your heart sunk for her, truly it did. Empathy was not a skill that was praised under the Demon’s head, yet no amount of training would make you forget the heartbreak that molded you into this dark twisted being. And for that, you feel for her. You would not wish that amount of anguish on your worst enemy. That level of destruction on one’s soul, that cruel twist of fate, is something so savage, it could warp the minds of the kindest spirits.
In the aftermath of your departure from the kingdom of Gotham, you made a valiant effort in avoiding any breath of information regarding the royal family. Your evasion of knowledge to the Wayne’s came as bewilderment to some of the townsfolk, it was no secret that you were previously involved in their court. Some thought it to be in spite, some believed you above gossip. But in truth, there was a paralyzing fear in hearing the name of one particular prince announced in a betrothment. Some may call it juvenile, but in this sense, ignorance was bliss.
Upon processing the news, you picked three potatoes and tossed them in the wicker basket that laid in the crook of your arm. Handing Gina the three silver coins from your pouch, you departed with your best attempt at a smile. The smile was awkward at best, but she would never comment on it. Over the past four years, she saw the sad excuse of a girl doing anything she could to survive in this broken system. For that she would take extraneous amounts of pity on her. So, with a smile as warm as the sun, she patted your shoulder and sent you on your way.
The original plan was to spend two more hours in the market evaluating other crops and indulging yourself at the stands with foreign gems. Yet with the reveal of the news, you had to return to the castle. You needed to report to the great one.
It happened four years ago.
A few weeks after your eighteenth birthday.
There had been political tension between the neighboring nations for generations. Supposedly the rocky relationship had been resolved when you reached age nine, and the Gotham King had married your Queen.
You were born under the Al Ghul rule. Your father a soldier, and your mother a loyal servant, those were the only reasons you were allowed the luxury of living in the castle- both of them. When the Queen had left your home to go live in the neighboring kingdom, your father was assigned to her royal guard, and your mother her ladies’ maid. Having no other family, the Demon’s Head allowed you to go with them.
While he had an inhumane reputation of ruthlessness, he did not pride himself in being a man who separated families- at least not yours.
Your years in the castle were kind. Studying in dimly lit classrooms along the nobles- where you learned your hatred for alchemy and love for literature; working with your mother alongside the Queen, whether that meant sewing a dress, or helping with taking care of the heir to both nations.
But your favorite part, were the endless nights spent in the fields behind the castle.
Lost in another world as the tall grass grazed your ankle and the dirt pillowed under your hair. It was the closest thing you would get to heaven on earth. The first few years you spent them alone, with the occasional visit of fireflies that came to escape reality with you. Then as the constellations shifted and you grew, so did your company. On nights that used to be reserved for quiet dreams and shallow breaths, were suddenly about a boy who became your religion.
Only under the cold blanket of a full moon where you shared stolen kisses and hidden smiles, did you learn the tragedy of star-crossed lovers.
Neither of you properly courted the other, knowing deep down it was a luxury neither of you would be able to pay the price for. So, you would treasure those nights where his hand was intertwined with yours and the warmth of his palm melted every doubt in your chest. Then as his eyes met yours, you both watched the love born under an ill-fated star become dedicated to something frighteningly fragile. The stillness of every evening consumed you both in a drunken state, where you allowed yourselves this small sliver of peace. Where the world didn’t have to exist with royal expectations and duties needing to be followed. A field where loyalty didn’t mean family ties, but a girl and a boy became fluent in each other.
The grand romance, like every great literary author indulged in, came to a world-crumbling end. Even so, the memories of the plays and books you studied didn’t make the tragedy easier to swallow. Because in this world, you were no Capulet, and he was no Montague. You were simply a girl unlucky enough to fall for a prince and foolishly believe that life is kind to lovers.
You knew that even if you were lucky enough to reach old age and inevitably suffer from memory loss, you’d never be blessed enough to forget the night the world taught you how cruel it could be.
•───────•°•♕•°•───────•
It was a night like any other, the skirt you had donned on that morning brushed upon your calves, billowing with the midnight breeze. You were standing in the field waiting for your fateful prince when the escapade commenced. It read like a scene out of a novel; a bright light appeared behind you and only grew with the mere seconds it took for you to turn. When your neck snaps around, the orange flames growing from the glass windows of the castle lit up the sky. Screams echoed into the field- orders to soldiers, and yelps of fear.
You were frozen staring at the scene playing out in front of you, when they catch your eye.
The League.
There were too many of them, their movements too familiar, too practiced, to be any other threat in Gotham. You could recognize those movements with your eyes closed. Every morning of your childhood when you stared out the shared window, you saw them training, preparing, and killing.
You didn’t know it then, but the rescue mission had been planned for months. The Queen had grown unruly with the King. He did not agree with the ways of her father, the plans he had for combining the nations. The control he wanted to exert.
It was no secret that the Queen was not in charge of your birth state, she was a Queen for the sake of having a title, but her father- The Great One, The Demon’s Head, he who went by the name of Ra’s Al Ghul, was the true ruler of your kingdom.
Eventually, your legs carried you in the direction of the castle. To do what? You weren’t sure, still you needed to be there. Your feet stumbled over themselves eventually making it to the outskirts of the field where dirt bled into stone when you heard it.
The explosion.
Your forearm flew to your face as rubble ricocheted off your clothes. Ears ringing and sparks flying, you fall to earth.
The previously dark night now had embers decorating the sky like some twisted star, and screams carried by the wind. The stone brick lining the walls of the castle no longer carried that solid worn look, while it began crumbling under the weight of the explosion.
There’s a cluster of footsteps quickly approaching, and you hear the unsheathing of a sword before you see it.
The assassins.
You turn, throwing your hands in the air in a poor attempt to portray innocence. The words begging for your life died in your throat, strangled gasps are all that fills the air in front of you. Your voice breaking as you choked on any plea you could think of. The sword deaf to your fear, raises in preparation for a swing when your eyes squeeze shut.
The cold steel makes contact with your neck, a clean cut before a “Wait!” rings in your ears.
Before it can slice further, the sword pauses at the slice in your neck, the warm droplets of blood creating a curvy stream down your collarbone into your bodice. The arm froze at the first syllable and slowly, you open your left eye before the right one follows. Blinking a few times till you can digest the picture in front of you.
The Queen is dressed in a plain black dress with a hooded cape disguising her features. At the sudden appearance, you forget your current predicament and move into a curtsey with a hiss. The blade slices into the side of your neck further and blood begins to drip down faster.
“My darling,” you hear from above you and she extends her hand to help you up from the curtsey. “There is no need for formalities at this moment.”
The sword falls away when you look up at her and the realization begins to settle into your bones. She’s escaping, she’s running from the kingdom. There are few with her and you realize behind her, one of the assassins is standing a few feet away impossibly straight while carrying the young prince over his shoulder.
Prince Damian was unconscious, lost to a world with less horrors than the one you were currently living in. You pitied him. He would wake up in a new home that you knew by heart as an heir to an empire he wouldn’t want.
Now standing at your full height the Queen looks behind her for a moment, the ruins of the castle closing a chapter you never thought would end, and grips onto your hand tighter. “Let us go child, we have little time to spare.”
The blood pouring down your collarbone and the sting rippling through your neck is what kept you from mistaking this as some far-fetched nightmare. She left little room for hesitancy, she was your Queen after all, you had to follow her orders. For a terrifyingly long moment, you just stood there with her fingers gripping your wrist to pull you along with their escape. With a timid nod of agreement from you, she let go and you joined the group through the field. Yet for one moment, you allowed yourself to glance back at the wake. Something breaks in you at the sight of remnants of the explosion, the ruin of the castle, and the heart you left in the field. You knew at that second as it all bled onto the grass there was something lost here that you would never get back.
You find out the next week that your parents never made it out.
Your father was caught in the crossfire, and your mother in the explosion- or that’s what you were told at the very least.
Often times on nights when the bed was too cold, and the sky was too lonely you began to wonder. What would have happened had you stayed behind that night? What would have happened if your prince was in the field? Would you have stayed? Or would you have gone regardless?
Either way, you were an assassin now. You were a member of the league, a highly ranked one at that.
Talia saw something in you that night, something you hadn’t seen in yourself. You were an orphan at eighteen. You had no money, no family, nothing to your name, just an education with no experience. It was unfortunate to be born a woman in some times. Had you been a man, the world would’ve bent to your will, allowing you opportunities to make something of yourself, however, you were not gifted such a luxury. Still, the Queen took you in. She trained you as her own, having no daughters herself, she gave you the honor of being something similar to it.
This would not have been your first choice for line of work, but it was all you had. Beggars can’t be choosers, and at least this way you could make something of yourself. You wouldn’t be loved or adored, but you would be feared. And that was far more important. Because this way, no one could weaponize the heart you would never admit was fragile.
There were days when the League was a blessing, and some when it was a curse. You couldn’t stand to look at blood when you were younger and now? Your hands were stained with countless lives you would never forget. Yet one thing remained, whether it was whispers of souls you’d taken that haunted you or the secret group you trained with, you would never be alone again.
•───────•°•♕•°•───────•
This mission had been assigned by Ra’s Al Ghul himself. Few were allowed in his circle, and even fewer were entrusted to missions directly from him. There were only six of you with knowledge of the mission, if there was even a whisper of an attempt on the youngest prince, war would finally break out between the neighboring nations.
After Talia began shaping you into a weapon of her own creation, he began taking notice. Slowly, over the past four years you began rising in the ranks and became something worth paying attention to.
Damian ran away a little over a year ago in the dead of the night.
You were on your way back from the kitchen with a glass of warm ginger tea. The spoon in your left hand mindlessly stirring the honey when you hear a woosh of air across the small expanse of the frigid hallway. It was rare to hear even a pin drop in the castle, as every being taking residency here had mastered the art of silence.
Your feet are rooted to the floor at the sound. It meant one of two things: an ambush, or someone in a rush. Pausing in the hallway you listen for fifteen seconds, then thirty, then after a minute you hear the slip up. The quiet stutter of a breath of someone trying to mold into the walls.
“I have a cup of tea in my hands that I’d prefer to drink while it’s warm,” you begin as the warmth of the cup seeps into your fingers, contrasting the cold tile underneath your toes. “So, I’m going to give you one chance to reveal yourself before you ruin my night.”
Your eyes are scanning the hallway lit up by the pale cast of the moonlight through the arched window. After a moment of your words being swallowed by the void of the night, you let out a tired sigh and go to place your cup down when there’s a shuffle of footsteps. Lifting your gaze to the intruder, your eyebrows shoot to your hairline and your eyes widen.
Damain Wayne was standing in front of you in plain black trousers and a matching tunic. He had a small bag over his shoulder with some belongings and a hood over his head. The image in front of you caused all the warmth in your fingers to cool instantly. Suddenly, images flash your mind of a night not so different from this one, memories of a life you left behind. A shiver ran down your spine, and you straightened instantly at the realization.
“You’re leaving.”
“You cannot stop me.” He says with a tone of finality. Though if you allowed yourself to decipher it, you’d hear the hint of nerves that are climbing his throat in fear of being caught.
“I won’t try to.” It was a miracle truly that you had not shattered the porcelain cup, your fingers gripping onto it for dear life. If anyone were to ever find out you inadvertently aided in his escape, they’d maim you.
You were now regretting making your routinely run to the kitchen for tea.
Both of you simply remained holding each other’s stares in the depth of the darkness. The turmoil of his responsibilities seemed to finally break him. You couldn’t blame him, not really. Having to be torn between the duties and loyalty of the nation between your mother and father was not an easy burden to bear. There was a fracture in your heart as you really looked at him. Once upon a time in a castle similar to this one, you helped raise this boy and the world did not treat him with an ounce of kindness that you attempted to spare for him.
“They will come for you.” The warning was useless; he was as aware of the fact as you were.
“I know.”
In that moment when you saw the stone-cold look in his eye and the flex of his jaw, it reminded you of another life you once shared. A life over the borders where you were hopelessly in love with his brother. He probably doesn’t remember or even know it, but the Wayne who held your heart in his palm used to flex his jaw in the same determined way when he made his mind up about something.
Your breath stuttered with the memory of the boy you loved and his brother that stood in front of you. Nostalgia is a parasite, it ate you alive from the inside out till you knew nothing, but what could’ve been. Maybe it was guilt for abandoning your prince or possibly hope that life would finally be kind to him, but you let him go. Hoping that the little boy you once knew could become something for himself, and not a projection of what the world wants him to be. You suppose that’s why you didn’t attempt to stop him.
It was quiet for a beat before you lowered your head and curtseyed, “Good luck my prince.”
And before you could stand up to your full height again, he had disappeared in the night. You could only pray now that you would not be caught for your hand in this.
The next morning was chaos when you awoke in the castle. He had left a note for his mother, that he had gone to his father’s kingdom. You had the misfortune of being at Talia’s side when she broke the news to her father. There wasn’t screaming, it wasn’t an act of war, it was worse. It was a silence that seemed to drain the life out of every soul in the room. It was a meticulous level of planning that had somehow managed to slip from right under his nose.
The rage was something close to biblical. He interrogated every single guard that had been stationed that night. He knew the paths and rounds they would make by heart. Sweat began to bead down your neck in anticipation until they remembered your tea runs. It was two days later when they approached you.
You were in the throne room with them and some other guard when she remembered. The Queen’s head snapped to you and asked you so simply if you saw anything on your run of midnight pleasures, that it took you off guard. After recovering from the shock of the question, you answered with a quick “No, my Queen.”
She accepted the answer.
No one ever saw the sigh of relief that rippled through your insides when they believed you, they couldn’t. Because who would even begin to speculate that the Queen’s right hand would allow her son to escape?
Since then, they had begun planning and conspiring to bring the young Prince back to his rightful land. You had been involved in nearly all the previous plans they had tried to execute. They trusted you, you never failed them before, and you knew the Wayne castle better than any of the other League members. You had always been loyal to the cause, to them.
This was your country; your place of birth, and Gotham had swallowed your parents with no apology. They believed there was a pit of wrath that pooled in your stomach that fueled you for revenge against the kingdom. You never agreed with them, but you never denied it either. It was easier to let them believe that. It’s why they trusted you with this mission.
Loyalty was one of the most important qualities to have in this environment. The second being conformity. To be able to bend in any way they ask you to, to go against all your morals and complete the mission no matter the cost.
And you never failed them.
That’s how you find yourself here in the middle of a gala with a mission to bring back their heir. They would never know that you had no intention of returning with him. They would never know that you came in order to warn him. You were loyal to the Al Ghul’s, but you had not been so broken down that you had become a stranger to empathy.
There was not a world where this would make him happy, and you refused to play a hand in the game that would convince Damian Wayne that this life was nothing but pain.
So, with the alias of Cassandra Sandsmark, an Amazonian ambassador, you glide through the ballroom of the gala in an attempt to find him. This ambassador you had taken the role of was traveling here to negotiate the terms of an alliance with the royal family, in what you imagined was to aid in preparations with the war against the Al Ghul’s.
Her ship was taken over by the time it hit the docks.
It was then that the severity of the mission began settling in your bones. In battling the Amazons and taking them captive, you knew you could not afford to be caught. You succeeded in everything they asked of you, you were the model Assassin to them. Never questioning them, never disobeying an order. There was no room for failure now.
Only two other assassins joined you on the mission, two other girls that had been recruited after you joined. You often wondered how they ended up here, how they got to join the league. No one ever spoke much in the group, your team was silent, very few of the assassins knew of its existence. You wished you had gotten closer to them on occasions like this where it was silent and you knew nothing beside their first name.
They accompanied you as Amazonian guards for the ambassador. Each lingering on opposite walls of the ball watching carefully for a slip up. They were unaware of your mission, however. They were here on the assignment that was given to them the night before. While you had been involved with the planning stages from the first night, they were only made aware mere hours before dawn.
Glancing around in an attempt to get this night over with as quickly as possible, you’re interrupted by someone clearing their throat a few steps to your left.
“Pardon me miss but, do you happen to have a dance card?”
Your neck twisted with the same cautiously practiced smile you had been wearing all night at the sound of the voice. The smile lines etched on your face smoothed out and the words died in your throat when familiar blue eyes met yours, all color draining from your face.
Despite the masks every guest had tied around their face, you knew exactly who the man standing in front of you was.
Before departing in the early hours of the morning that seemed eons ago, the guest list of the ball had been brought to you. Talia had asked you to familiarize yourself with it in an attempt to master the role you were going to be playing this evening.
It was impossible to ignore the lurch your heart gave when you read the name of the only boy you ever loved.
Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne
His name was written in Talia’s neat cursive that cut through you cleaner than any weak defense had caused you in the field before. Deep down you knew that he would be in attendance long before the guest list had made its way to your hands, but the confirmation hit you like an anvil to the chest. The ball was being held in celebration for his brother’s engagement. It was logical- expected for Tim to be in attendance, but you still couldn’t swallow it.
Part of you was tempted to pass on the mission to someone else and abandon the silly idea that you could save the prince. To give it to someone who wouldn’t freeze at the nostalgia sparked by a name.
In reality, it would have been the safe option. There was a large possibility that he would know you if your eyes so much as met from across the room, the mission would be damned if he saw you. You’d be charged with treason, and the conspiracy of your appearance would be enough for the looming battle to finally break out. However, there was a forgotten little girl that lived in your memories who was desperate to see him one more time so, you steeled past his name and accepted the risk.
Now with the boy in front of you, unaware of the years of your life you’re reliving in between your ears, you freeze. Just looking into the icy blue eyes that still had the grey specks in them, caused your heart to drop so deep in your stomach you didn’t think it was physically possible.
His eyes are still searching yours when you remember he’s waiting for an answer. Barreling through your emotions, you drop into a deep curtsey staring at his shoes. This was only going to work if you avoided eye contact.
“Apologies my prince,” you begin with a calculated smile. “I am afraid I do not have a dance card this evening.”
“Ah what a shame, I was hoping to show you some of our famous Gotham hospitality.”
Thankfully, the mask was able to hide the surprise in your expression. He had gotten far bolder than you ever remembered him being. You were half convinced that this was not the boy who used to blush in the moonlight when you stared at him for too long.
“Well, you are far more aware than I am, that I am not here to scope out Gotham’s hospitality.”
“Yes,” a deep sigh. “I suppose you are not.” You could have brushed off the comment on him remembering you’re supposed to be an ambassador, but the tone in which the words leave his mouth leave you questioning the meaning. Your heart drops for a moment in fear that he might have discovered you.
“What was it like?” He gives you a quizzical look which allows you to specify. “Growing up in Gotham?” The question was pathetic and completely derailed the original conversation, but you were desperate.
“Oh um-” His head recoils slightly, being caught off guard. It’s in that moment you realized how much you truly longed for him. How much you had yearned for the stolen moments where you bathed in the moonlight together. How much you missed the sound of his voice.
“It was nice,” he begins carefully. “It was lonely at times, but I am aware that I am blessed more than most.”
“Lonely? With so many brothers I find it difficult to believe that you struggled with loneliness.”
He laughs at your statement, and you forgot how much you loved the sound. The way his eyes crinkle slightly, and the dimple he has on his right cheek. It was scary how much of him you still had memorized- how much of him you still knew despite all the years you’d missed him.
“Yeah they are around… a lot more than I’d prefer, but it’s a different type of loneliness.” His words are slowly cutting deeper into you. “They’re my family, they have to be there. Most of my friends don’t live near, and we don’t see each other often. And some… I don’t really see anymore.”
That last part severed the last threads that were holding you together. You knew what he was referencing but you had to school your face, he couldn’t see the way your face fell, he’d know you instantly. And he always hated pity.
“But what about you Ambassador? What was it like growing up in Themyscira?”
Your blood turned to ice at the question, and you were sure he could tell. It was your luck that when it was necessary, the expanse of knowledge you had about other kingdoms from your studies, dissipated. The way his head cocked to the side with a hint of a smirk from the upcurve of his lips made it feel like a tease. As if this was some twisted test, and not an innocent question.
“Well-” you began with a hesitant smile, and the gods answered your prayers.
Some lord walked a little to close, and your satin glove caught onto one of the chains of his suit. Your hand was yanked back with him as he continued walking for a step before he paused feeling restraint.
The lord turns around and bumps into you slightly, unprepared for the proximity. He stabilizes you with his hands on your elbows. His eyes are what you see first, wide and green with an apology lingering in them. He was taller than most of the men here and had ink black hair that was carefully combed into place. He was also devastatingly handsome.
When you finally are able to stand up right without the gentleman’s support he lets go and attempts to unhook your glove from where it got caught.
“My apologies madam,” He’s anxiously rushing out the apology, and it’s almost sweet how nervous he is. “I did not intend to run into you, the hall has gotten a bit tight and I was trying to avoid bumping into someone else.”
“You are quite alright sir, an apology is unnecessary. It was an accident.”
“You are too kind,” he looks like he’s about to start sweating when he looks up at you from his chest. His hands are fumbling while they carefully attempt to not rip the stitching of your sage glove.
“Here, allow me to assist.” You offer with a careful close-lipped smile.
His arms drop to his side instantly, awkwardly opening and closing his fists while you successfully unhook the glove first try.
“I apologize again, truly, I meant no harm. Allow me to introduce myself, I am Lord Rayner- Kyle Rayner.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you Lord Rayner, I am Ambassador Sandsmark,” You drop into a small curtsey, the alias slipping easily from your tongue. “Cassandra Sandsmark.”
“The pleasure is all mine Cassandra.” He answers with an easy smile. “If it possible, I’d like to share a dance with you this evening, if I can be granted the luxury?”
“The ambassador does not have a dance card.” A familiar voice cuts in from behind you.
With the nature of his remark, you expected him to be staring daggers into Kyle’s eyes, but they’re not. His eyes look as if they’re trying to burn a hole into your wrist, the ungloved one.
“Ah well,” poor Kyle flushes to the color of an apple. He seems to sense something that you haven’t picked up on and scratches the back of his neck. “Well, I am needed elsewhere at the moment. I hope to speak with you again before you depart for the evening Ambassador.”
He doesn’t wait to hear your reply before he bows slightly and high tails away from you and the prince. In that brief second, you forget yourself when Kyle scurries away and whip around to look at Tim. You’re prepared to let some nasty words loose on him when he beats you to speaking.
“Where did you get that bracelet?” His eyes are still caught on your wrist. Confused at what could be so intriguing to him about the silver chain, you answer him honestly.
“It was a gift from my parents for my sixteenth birthday.”
He doesn’t say anything, the only indication he heard you was the hum he let out. The crease in between his eyebrows makes a second appearance for the night, and you anxiously slip the glove back on.
“Ambassador Sandsmark,” Grateful for the intervention of whatever was going on, you turn your neck slightly and see one of your assassins, Dahlia. She curtseys in the presence of Tim and then announces, “I apologize for the interruption, I’m afraid I will need to steal you away.”
“Please, no apology is necessary.” Tim decides as his left palm rests above his heart before he bows slightly. “I do wish you enjoy the rest of the gala, and I hope to see you before you depart, Cassandra.”
“Likewise, my prince.” You give him a short bow of the head before walking off as fast as you can manage without being suspicious. Heart hammering against your ribs, attempting to digest the fact that he may have discovered you.
Dahlia whispers your name again and it wakes you from your distraught. “Yes?”
“The heir,” she reminds you. “He has retired to his quarters for the evening according to some chatter I overheard. Eva has already gone to the women’s room to change out of her dress.”
The mission begins to swarm your mind again. You had allowed yourself to get so distracted by Tim, you forgot that you were going to have to pull off the biggest juke of all time.
“Understood.” You whisper to her with a nod. To any onlooker it may have merely appeared that you were discussing the terms of a possible treaty or gossip, when in reality you were sweating bullets, trying to pull off your heist. “Be certain Eva has the horses ready at the edge of the field. And remember, if it hits ten past eleven, you leave. Do not,under any circumstance wait for me.” You look directly into her eyes as seriously as you can. “Have I made myself clear?”
“Yes.”
“Good, if I am discovered it is best that they only find me. If they learn of you or Eva, then we will be the catalysts for the war, and our heads will be mounted on stakes as a reminder.”
You watch her swallow heavily. Dahlia, a weapon as much as any of you, was still new. She hadn’t quite developed the numbness to this line of work that the rest of you had. Her skill was impressive, but she hadn’t been completely broken down yet. A small part of you wanted to save her from it, from the horrors of being accustomed to taking a life- of being able to sleep at night after you’ve watched the life drain from someone’s eyes. It’s why you often chose her for your missions. Her stealth was spectacular, and she never questioned orders; and like this, you could shield her from some of the things you had the misfortune of living through.
Departing the ballroom you both weave down multiple stony hallways, and you keep watch for each other as you abandon the million pounds of fabric you layered on a few hours ago. Stuffing them in some closet, you’re now left in a long-sleeved black tunic and trousers.
When Dahlia walks out after getting changed you see her head for a window. Before she can jump, you grab her forearm and she turns to you with a raised brow.
“Don’t take any unnecessary risks, if you hear a whisper of something gone wrong, you run for the field and leave with Eva.”
“Yes, we’ve discussed this already.”
“Promise me.”
“What?” The confusion in her voice was warranted, no one in the league cared much for promises, nonetheless their teammates.
People died all the time in the field, nothing changed that. But you never wanted anyone to die; you just weren’t given the choice to decide otherwise. Usually, you just let the missions play as they came, casualties were always a constant variable. Even so, with Dahlia, there was a version of yourself you saw in her. A version that hadn’t been lost to the cruelness of the League, a version that still had the innocence to hope. You wanted to spare her as much as you could. So, you stared at her, with all the gravity you could muster to compel her to promise. If this went to hell, she had to leave.
“O-Okay, I promise.”
You let go of her arm and nod toward the window. She stares at you for a confusing moment before disappearing into her duty. You exhale in relief, feeling like a million pounds have been lifted from your shoulders. This was going to be a thousand times more manageable without having to worry about Eva and Dahlia in the process.
Your steps are silent in the hallway, the celebration echoes behind you with the clinking of glasses and fake laughs. Memories of a past life are still carved into these walls and although you recognize all the paintings of myths you’d read about, none of them recognized you. While walking past a mirror you indulge in the reflection. The realization drowns you when you see that you were no longer the girl with a nose in her book, but a girl who could wipe out armies by sunrise.
•───────•°•♕•°•───────•
After sneaking through countless hallways and taking millions of turns, you finally manage to make it to the wing of the castle where the royal quarters lie. One of the perks of being a ladies’ maid for the better part of a decade was learning all the shortcuts and hidden passageways of the castle. If you had counted correctly, it was half past ten, allowing you more than enough time to warn Damian and get out of the castle before anyone can find you.
Approaching the dark oak door, you quietly play with the lock until it gives in and turns. You pause for a moment, listening to see if the guards were on their way back. It was commonly known that at half past, the troops would swap for the night shift; and Dahlia had made sure that you would be granted a ten-minute window to enter without bringing attention to what may be happening behind the door.
When you’re satisfied that no one is in the vicinity you push open the door. Closing it as soon as you enter, your hand dances over the handle to avoid making more noise than necessary. You had to be quick about this because the chances of the young prince calling for help or severing your head from your neck at the jump of the intrusion are scarily high.
Your footsteps are as light as a feather when you rush past the entrance wing of the room. It’s disturbingly silent, these were the times when it was frustrating that Damian trained in the League. He also mastered the ways of an assassin, and it became that much harder to get away with this. Rounding the corner to where his bed lies, you see a lump under the covers.
Against your better judgement, you huff out a breath of air. Of course, it would be just your luck that he would already be asleep.
When you finally round on the bed and rip off the covers, your veins turn to ice.
There were only two pillows where a body should have been.
He isn’t here.
Panic starts creeping into the scars that never quite healed correctly.
They know.
They knew there was going to be an attempt tonight.
They knew that someone was going to come for the prince.
You had to get out of here. And fast.
Unfortunately, while the room was spinning with your shock, you didn’t hear the door open and close behind you. Lost in your thoughts, you stayed staring at the bed trying to plan out what to do next when you hear your name.
And in that brief instant of weakness, your body betrays you, reacting before you can stop yourself.
When your head whips around eyes wide in dread, leaning against the wall next to the dresser stands the man who has haunted all of your dreams since you were thirteen years old.
Your eyes shut in resignation. It was a gamble, a large one, that you would be able to get away with holding a conversation without him recognizing you.
His gaze is piercing right through all the walls you built up. You can practically see the war behind each of his eyes while he tries to debate what to do next.
“Where’s Damian?” You ask him, getting directly to the point, there wasn’t exactly time to spare.
“He’s not here.”
“Yeah I picked up on that.” this used to irk you when you were younger, he had an annoying habit of answering with the obvious. “Where is he?”
“I really hoped it wasn’t going to be you.” He admits, completely ignoring your question.
“Tim I don’t have time for this. I have to warn him.”
“Well then, make time.” The answer comes instantly.
Your breath comes out quick and shallow, Damian’s pillow still in your hand. The intensity of his gaze is becoming too heavy to hold but too intense to break. There were so many years between you, so much left unsaid, so many things done wrong, and neither of you know what to do with it.
So, you stand here. Seconds dragging on as you take each other in, memorizing his face with both of you unmasked in the open. He had matured since you last saw him. The lines on his face hardened and his hair had grown out into his eyes. His shoulders were broader and he had more muscle on his frame.
Something in you cracks when you notice these small changes. When you see someone every day, you don’t notice these things, you don’t notice the miniscule changes in their appearance. This is how you know it’s been too long, when the length of his hair and the muscles on his biceps start looking different.
“He’s safe,” is the only reassurance he offers. “Word got out some time after dawn that there was movement at the docks. We suspected it was going to be an attempt on Damian and by the looks of it, we were right.”
A beat passes.
“It’s not what you think.”
His eyes soften, a melancholic glimmer reflecting on his water line. “Isn’t it?”
Looking around the room, exasperation starts tensing in your bones. “Yes, there was an attempt on Damian, and yes I am involved, but I am not here to take him. I came to warn him.”
You had never begged in your life before, not on the nights you were lonely and wanting nothing but a mother’s love, not in the moment when you begrudgingly took a life for the first time, not even in the field when you wanted nothing more than to be Tim’s. But here in this room, your eyes are wide and your voice is pleading that he’ll believe you.
If this goes to hell, you won’t live to see the summer. If you’re found out, you’ll never get to tell him that you waited for him.
He holds your gaze a while longer before sighing and turning to look at another wall. His fingers go to pinch the bridge of his nose and a screw in you finally loosens, allowing you to drop your shoulders. You hadn’t realized it, but you were white knuckling the goose feather pillow.
After throwing it back on the bed, you turn back and take him in. He’s still in most of the gala attire he was in earlier. He had discarded the suit jacket and mask but still wore the pale tunic and navy trousers.
“How far in the act did I get until you knew it was me?”
“I’ve known you since we were eleven years old.” His head turns back to your direction, and his eyes are squinting in disbelief. There’s a level of hurt you can’t quite find the source of reeking off him. “Did you really think a mask and a fake name was going to stop me from recognizing you?”
It was quiet for a moment. The gravity of the confession weighing down the room and just in this crevice of the castle, nothing else mattered, it was just you and Tim. The dancing and music from a few wings over faded as your chest rose and fell with his admission.
Then right when you’re about to part your lips, his voice comes out quiet. “It was your bracelet.”
“What?” The question comes out with a mix of breathlessness and bewilderment.
“Your bracelet is what gave you away.” He nods to your wrist. “I had my suspicions from the moment you walked into the Gala, but when your glove got caught on Rayner’s jacket, I saw your bracelet and I knew.”
You wanted to cry. This whole mission went to shit because you were too sentimental to take off the damn bracelet.
“You recognized the charm?” After 4 years you imagined he would’ve forgotten what it looked like.
“No, I recognized the chain.”
“The chain?” Confusion is seeping into your voice. “How?”
He merely raises an eyebrow at you. “What do you mean how? I bought it for you. Your mother gave you the charm for your sixteenth birthday and you didn’t have anything to wear it on, so I got you the chain.”
“That’s not true, my father gifted it to me for my seventeenth.”
He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated and a bit embarrassed. He couldn’t believe that you hadn’t seen each other in almost half a decade and now that you finally meet again, you were arguing with him about a fucking bracelet.
“You wouldn’t have accepted it if you knew it was from me.” His voice is earnest in a way you hadn’t heard in a long time. “The spring before I turned seventeen and left with my father for about a month, I was at a market and I saw the chain. I picked it out for you because when the sunlight reflects off it at noon, it shines in the same way your eyes do when you would talk to me about a book” You choke on whatever words you were planning to say, but it doesn’t matter because he continues after a shaky breath.
“When I came back, I knew you would not take it if it was from me. So, I gave it to your father to gift you.”
“Why?” Your voice barely audible when you ask.
“I wanted you to have it, it didn’t matter who it came from.”
“That’s not what I’m asking.”
Tears threaten to fall when you see the familiar wrinkle between his brows for the third time. The very wrinkle that you used to smooth out with the pad of your thumb.
“Why do all that Tim? Why go through all the trouble?”
“You can’t possibly be asking me that?” The question sounds oddly similar to a plea. His voice is desperate enough to melt whatever plaster was holding you together. “You can’t not know.”
You close your eyes and start shaking your head. He can’t be doing this, not right now, not with everything at stake tonight.
“I love you.” He doesn’t hesitate with his confession. He states it like a fact, like it’s logical. He confesses it with a simplicity that undermines the complexity of what you two were.
“Don’t.” Tears have begun falling now, guilt bringing heat to your cheeks.
“It’s the truth.”
“And it’s not enough.”
The bubble of hope encapsulating you two pops. This life that you both desperately wanted wasn’t possible. You knew that long before you left on that starless night all those years ago. You were a ladies’ maid and he was prince. It was a nice dream, but it wasn’t feasible.
“You know more than me, that this,” your index finger moves back and forth pointing between the both of you. “Was never going to come to fruition. Not in the way we wanted. It was nice while it lasted, but it was never going to work.”
His eyes squint and you can hear the sound of a heart breaking. The thing is, you’re not sure whose it was.
“What happened to you?”
You don’t miss the way his face crumples with your response. You never did tell him that you loved him back. It hurt too much to admit. To give him a part of your soul that he can’t hold but a part you would never get back.
The worst thing is that you knew he meant it. Timothy Drake never said something he didn’t mean. Everything about him was calculated and assessed for risks. So, if he told you he loved you, then he was too far gone to consider otherwise.
“I grew up Tim, that’s what happened.”
“Bullshit.” He spits out, and it shocks you momentarily. You’d seen almost every version of him there was, but this, this anger. This is something you’d never witnessed “I grew up too, but I didn’t become that.” He motions to you with his left hand.
“And what is that exactly?” You take a step closer to him, arms crossed, defensiveness building in your posture.
“That is a character you’ve convinced yourself you can play, and you’re in way over your head.”
“A character? Really?” You scoff at him. “It’s called survival Tim. I don’t expect you to be familiar with your life being dwindled down to such a simple objective, but some of us have. Some of us have to do what we can to get by.
“Survival? That’s what you want to call this?” It’s his turn to scoff and take a step closer. “You’re an assassin. You left the castle- you left me,” you try to block the way his words sound like they’re being tortured out of him, “to become a version of yourself I don’t think even you recognize anymore.”
“You think you know me so well, don’t you?” Words are spilling out like venom on your tongue and you’re not sure when it happened. When the longing turned to anger, when it turned into everything you never hashed out- everything you wanted to tell him all those years ago.
“I know you better than you think I do.”
“Oh of course,” you’ve resulted to mocking now, it was a low blow, but you’ve lost your ability to spare his feelings. “How could I forget that the insufferably intelligent Timothy Drake knows all.”
All bite seemingly dies on his tongue. His lips thin as you watch them press into each other and you can see the way his cheeks hollow out when he bites them.
“I-” he stutters for a second, while attempting to figure out how he wanted to word whatever he was going to say next. “I don’t know everything.”
You scoff and take a peek out the window, fireworks are lighting up the sky in celebration of the engagement. There’s a kaleidoscope of colors flickering around the night and into the room. When you turn back to look at Tim there’s a hue of green that lights up the left side of his face, highlighting the blue of his eyes.
“I highly doubt that.” Your voice comes out softer than you intended too.
“Well, I don’t know why you left for starters.”
Those words landed dangerously close to center of your chest. Your breath hitches and his gaze hasn’t wavered from switching between your eyes. He’s scanning, searching for anything that might give you away, anything that might reveal your doubt in the cause you fight for.
The silence in the room is deafening. It’s just you and him, just the push and pull of two souls who knew nothing except the fact that they were forever tied to the other.
“I went to the field that night.” His voice is frighteningly vulnerable. “Against all protests from my father, I went to search for any trace you might’ve left behind- any warning that you might be in trouble.”
He pauses and starts digging into the pocket of his trousers. What he pulls out robs you of your breath for what feels like the millionth time this evening.
A periwinkle ribbon.
The very ribbon that you used to tie in your hair every day.
The same ribbon he used to tug on to get your attention in class.
Your eyes are practically burning a whole into it while he fidgets with it in his hands. The silk catching on some cuts littering his fingertips.
“You kept it?”
There’s a solemn expression in his face. You’re not sure when it happens but there’s no room between you anymore. He’s directly in front of you and with each breath he takes you can smell a faint hint of the champagne he was nursing earlier.
“It was all I had left of you.”
Not being able to hold his gaze any longer, you close your eyes in a sad attempt to stop the tears from making a river down your cheeks. With the hesitancy that some would use to approach a rabid animal, he drops his forehead to yours. His presence is overwhelming, it’s second nature the way your body responds to him, even after all this time. The way he feels, the way he smells, the warmth of his touch, it was all too familiar.
“Why did you leave?”
His voice is hardly audible over the boom of the fireworks, but you can read in between the lines, hear what he’s too afraid to ask. Why did you leave me?
“I had nothing left for me here.” You take a shaky breath. “I had no parents, no money, no experience, no where to stay.”
The weight of his forehead feels heavier now and if your eyes were open, you’re sure you would see his squeeze tighter before he croaks. “You had me.”
You pull back and meet his eyes intently. “And how would you have me Timothy Drake? In the same way you used to, halfway? In the midst of the night as a secret?”
He’s silent and you can’t claim that you’re surprised. This is it- this is what you wanted to tell him for years. That it killed you to be this with him, to be something but not everything. To be almost enough. You were his before you had a say, and the fates mocked you for it. Laughing at you in the field every night when you believed that you had all the time in the world.
Every brick of every wall is screaming at you to stop, to take it back, but you don’t know if you’ll have the opportunity again. So, before you can talk yourself out of it, you confess.
“I loved you Tim, I love you more than you will ever know.” You don’t bother shielding the tears anymore, you’re both crying so there’s no shame in it. “And I’m sorry that this is the first time you hear it. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you back then. I’m sorry that I left- believe me, it was not my first choice of a solution.”
“Then stay.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?” The question is practically ripped from him, anguished in a way you had never seen before.
“I can’t cross them Tim. Even if I wanted too, they gave me something when I had nothing. It would be wrong; it would be unfair.” It was as simple as that. “I am loyal to the Al Ghul’s, it is my land of birth. I will not repay their kindness with betrayal.”
“Kindness?” His eyes look as if they will bug out of his head. “You call this,” His arms flail in front of him, motioning to you and the air in the room that seems oddly thin now. “Kindness? That’s not kindness, that’s assassination.”
The walls that crumbled moments ago were now starting to rebuild. He can sense it too, he sees the way your shoulders tense again. “Choose your next words very carefully my prince, you may be royalty, but you will not dishonor me with your exasperation.”
He sighs, his head tilting back toward the ceiling. It was never supposed to be like this; it was never supposed to be this complicated.
He takes a deep breath before conceding. “Okay,” his eyes meet yours again and your flickering vexation with him seems to finally die out. “I apologize.”
“If you cannot stay then, take this” His right hand slides off the ring on his middle finger and drops it into your palm before you can realize which one it was. His hand cups yours forcing your fingers to close around it while the other one cups your cheek. “Take it as a reminder that I am always yours. Take it as a promise that when this is all over- when it is all figured out, I will have you completely. I will have you openly as my best friend, as my princess, and as the love of my life.”
When you look down into your palm you see the cursive W engraved in black on silver and your jaw drops. This is their ring, the royal family’s signet ring. There’s only one that exists for each member, and one for their significant others.
“Tim I- I can’t-”
“Please.” He begs. “Please don’t deny me, not now.”
His hand cups your cheek and you catch yourself leaning into it. His thumb begins delicately caressing the side of your face, almost as if you’re fragile. It’s been so long since someone treated you like that, as something that could break instead of something to break.
“Okay.” Relenting to his pleas, you slide the signet ring onto your thumb- it being the only one it would fit on.
His eyes flicker to your thumb momentarily, his pupils dilating at the fact that his ring is on your finger.
“I love you.” He whispers again, gaze shifting back to yours. He’s leaning in so that his nose brushes yours.
You both pause at the proximity. Allowing yourselves this small flicker of peace, just breathing each other in. His breath warms your cheek, and you feel the resistance he’s trying to exert.
Doing you both a favor, you lean in.
His lips slide against yours and for once, the world made sense. It made, every vice, every misfortune, every scar worth it. Your hands slide up into his hair and his make a home at your hips, thumbs ghosting your skin in mindless circles. It was gentle at first, then it turns hungry.
His teeth bite down on your lower lip, and his hands move to your back holding you impossibly close to him. Your body flushes against his and one of your arms moves down from its place in his hair to grip his shoulder.
The explosion in your heart when his lips met yours put every firework to shame. Timothy Drake lit up the sky in a way nothing in this universe could replicate.
Pulling back, both of you catch your breath. His forehead falls against yours again only for a split second. Then he’s littering your temple, cheek, and neck with kisses. Each kiss was a ghost of heat against your skin. Each one a promise that he was yours, that he would wait.
Your chest rises and falls complimented by a family of butterflies breaking out of their cocoons in your stomach. You’re about to say something, maybe another declaration, maybe a promise- you weren’t sure, when footsteps begin thundering down the hall.
Your heads whip to the direction of the door.
The guards are back.
For a second, his arms grip you tighter, holding you closer to him. Tim knows he has to let you go, that you can’t stay, that it’s selfish of him to hope. So, after that brief second of weakness, he lets you go.
He lets you go because he knows you’ll come back.
“How are you planning on getting out of here?” He whispers.
Wordlessly, you walk over to Damian’s wardrobe. Rifling through the countless coats made of exotic fabric, under a stack of boots that don’t quite fit him yet, you find a rope. It was a shot in the dark that he’d have it, you never liked leaving things to chance, but when you look back at Tim there’s a small smirk on your face.
“Old habits die hard.” You inform him while holding up the rope.
“I’ll hold the other end”
He decides for both of you. He looks out the window to make sure that no one is patrolling this side of the castle, and luck decides to be kind tonight.
He tosses the old rope over the window, and you climb out. Perched on the windowsill with one leg in and one leg out, you take one last look at your prince. Here in the moonlight, with colors of the rainbow decorating his face from fireworks, he’d never looked so beautiful.
Midnight was forever dedicated to both of you.
He shifts closer and with his free hand, grabs yours one more time. His fingers caressing the ring on your thumb.
“I love you” he sounds so innocent, so genuine that you crack a smile.
“I love you too.”
And with one last fleeting kiss lighting you from the inside out, you disappear down the castle wall. His eyes never leave you while you escape on a night not so different as the first time.
When you drop down the side of the castle with grass under your boots, your hands burning from the friction of the rope, you realize you survived a night you were never meant too. There is at least that much to be grateful for.
When your feet carry you into the field where you fell in love, you realize you never really fell out of it, despite what your brain tried to convince itself. Your heart still belonged to the awkward prince who was too skilled at alchemy. And now, it always would. Because no army or war could stop Timothy Drake from fulfilling a promise.
Especially if that promise meant coming back to you.
•───────•°•♕•°•───────•
A/N:So that was a lot omg, ik it’s kind of a bittersweet ending BUT DON’T LOSE HOPE, if this does well and you guys want it, I will post the happy ending I had in mind for these two so lmk if y’all want that muahahha
"taxes," he muttered, in reassurance. "i would've really loved doing them alongside you."
you nodded, unable to choke out any remaining words. would've. another reminder of the faltering time you two hold together.
if the two of you had different fates, if the world were a little different, a little stable.
"wouldn't it be more fun to see — do — something more grand though?" you quipped, attempting to form some twisted sense of normalcy through banter, within the bizarre
"it was never about the scene. i couldn't give a damn about flying to the moon." a pause, "it was you."
a retch reluctantly poured out of your mouth, no reply followed.
there was nothing left in your soul to say anymore. it banged at the cage of your heart trying to find something, anything, knowing this would be the last conversation the two of you would ever share.
yet, your lips stayed parted. the icky savor of your tears dripping down.
maybe it was stupid, maybe you should've carried yourself better, knowing the risk of getting twisted with someone like him. even if you were cognitively able to process how bizarre and selfish that sounded, if the two of you held onto any sort of dignity in the beginning, this situation would've been out of bounds. yet, 'fate' or whatever the fuck people liked to cast all their problems upon, seemed to always have different playing cards.
your name emerged from the air, his voice wispy,
"hey."
the word didn’t land gently. it pressed into you, small and fragile and unbearable in a way that oozed your insides all wrong.
another inhale, even more uneven than your last
your lungs had forgotten their rhythm somewhere in the middle of all this.
"don’t," you blinked.
it came out quieter than you meant, but it held.
he stilled. paused, like something in him had finally reached the edge of itself.
"i just—" he started, then stopped. his hand twitched at his side, like he meant to reach for you and thought better of it. "you know this wasn't the conclusion i wanted."
you let out something that almost resembled a laugh, but it broke halfway through.
"it was always going to."
that was the first honest thing you’d said all night.
the air shifted in a different light, despite neither lightening or the latter. like the room had accepted it before either of you could.
he looked at you then, really looked, as if trying to memorize something already lost.
"i meant what i said," he murmured. "about all of it. taxes."
"i know."
and you did. that was the problem. it would’ve been easier if he hadn’t meant it—if this had all just been some passing illusion you could peel off and discard. but it wasn’t. it had shape. weight. it had settled into every crevice without your permission.
you dragged your sleeve across your face, smearing the dampness there, grounding yourself in something physical.
"we don’t get that," you added, more steadily now. "you know that."
his jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue.
because there was nothing to argue.
for a moment, neither of you spoke. the silence was no longer empty . it was finished.
your gaze drifted past him, catching on nothing in particular. the world outside this moment already felt distant, like something you’d return to out of obligation rather than want.
"taxes," you said suddenly.
he blinked, thrown.
you huffed, softer this time. "you picked the most boring thing you could think of."
a faint, tired smile pulled at his mouth. "i thought that was the point."
"it was."
you nodded once, more to yourself than to him.
something in your chest loosened, yet not enough to stop the ache, but enough to breathe around it.
you stepped back.
it was small. barely noticeable. but it was movement. it was decision.
his eyes followed it immediately.
"so that’s it?" he asked.
you considered lying. dressing it up into something softer, something that didn’t sound so final.
but you were out of soft things.
"yeah," you said.
the word didn’t shake this time.
he exhaled slowly, like he’d been holding that breath for longer than either of you realized. then he nodded—once, mirroring you.
"okay."
neither of you moved for a second after that, as if some part of you expected the other to take it back.
neither of you did.
you turned first.
each step felt deliberate, like you were placing them carefully to make sure you didn’t falter. you didn’t trust yourself to look back, so you didn’t.
behind you, there was no call of your name. no last attempt to stop you.
just quiet.
by the time you reached the edge of the room, the door, the threshold—whatever this had been—you paused.
not for him.
for yourself.
your hand hovered there briefly before settling.
"we never would’ve finished them," you said, not turning around.
a beat.
then, softer.
"but i think we would’ve tried."
you didn’t wait for an answer.
this time, you exited.
reader x anyone you desire!
an (this ones long sory): I AM SO SORRY. I've lost interest in written during the past few(?) months because my life has just been SO hectic. Gosh, im not sure anyone even knows about this blog anymore. TBHH this has been half complete and rotting in my drafts since my departure BUT i knew i had to push something out so THIS ISNT PROOF READ OR CAPITALIZED!
also yes im aware of how cliche and bad this is IM SORRY GUYS i just needed to push something out! And hopefully I can get back into this blog + be more active because tumblr is so funnnn and I love love love just posting my horrible writing for self indulgence (even if i abuse commas and em dashes, sorry i cant help it!). ok im like lost in my own train of thought but i hope this brought any sense of sadness(?) to some1 BC THIS IS MY FIRST TIME WRITING ANGST like i genuinely think its the best type of genre in fics but god im so bad at it. esp the ending???? im all over the place ahhahaha
OK sorry one last thing it was initially supposed to be like you were witnessing his death or something? But I ended up making the ending more ambiguous, so I hope no one was confused by the ending! Okay bye guys its 3am I have to go to bed ahja...
Gojo's favorite pastime activity was sleeping with you.
Not in a sexual way — no — but in the quiet, intimate way that comes from trusting someone with your most vulnerable state. Being unconscious meant he couldn’t protect himself, couldn’t stay alert. So, more often than not, he simply didn’t rest.
Before you, his nights were occupied with taking up small missions or walking aimlessly around the empty streets of Shibuya, anything to wear off the boredom of night. The softness of pillows was a foreign concept to him, too risky to indulge. Gojo would always excuse it as a waste of time, half-convincing himself that rest was unimportant.
Then you stumbled into his life. Not crashed, no, you were never an interference. Just a gentle presence, nudging him on his sleep habits, concerned in ways that felt strange at first.
It was peculiar, how you somehow made rest feel safe. How your presence alone lulled him into sleep, without even trying. You emitted a silent warmth, an unspoken invitation he found himself answering night after night, and slowly, it became routine.
Gojo didn’t even notice it happening.
In the quiet hours, when moonlight crept in through the windows and the world outside seemed so distant, he found a kind of peace he hadn’t known he was searching for. Not the kind found in silence or solitude, but the kind that came from a shared stillness. You never made a big deal of it. You never forced him. You just let him exist beside you, gently. And in the bizarreness of things, it made him feel constant. It made him forget about the expectations looming above him, the symbol his clan held, all of it was insignificant because he was here with you. Your presence was the lullaby that made him human. Your heartbeat, the metronome. He never told you, not really, but he didn’t need to. You knew. You always knew.
And maybe that was the most terrifying part of all, how easily you slipped past every wall he had spent years building. Not with force, not with pressure, but with patience. With softness. With warmth.
He had never learned how to rest.
But with you, he didn’t have to try.
an: first jjk post in honor of the movie coming out :3 how are we feeling about me coming back ahahha..... i know all my content has been about DC so i hope you guys dont mind my work on other fandoms! ALSO ive been gone for a while whoops... ive been so caught up on school so i lowk lost motivation for writing and (sadly) dc a tad 😞 but im back and trying new things woohoo!!! also dont mind how rushed this was i really just wanted to push out a little something and didnt proof read this! Interaction is always appreciated!
tim was screwed, that much was clear to him. he could barely function regularly, let alone on patrols without the image of you sending him into a love struck daze. he’d even resorted to online web forums to ask for help, or some sort of answer as to why he was acting like this - stupid. he spent hours wasting away just thinking about being with you and the thought drove him mad.
he was sickly in love with you. what were once productive hours had now become him unable to even focus on his case file for more than ten minutes, checking his phone every other minute to see if you had messaged him at all - if you did message him, he’d set anything and everything aside to talk to you and it showed; he was suddenly running late on deadlines, in cases he was missing little details that should’ve been obvious to him. he was bordering madness.
you hadn't even been dating for over a month, but he was completely smitten with you and he had no clue how to handle it. you'd asked him to go see a movie with you, of course he said yes despite seeing that movie a hundred times over - he didn't mind it at all, he’d take any chance to be around you. hell, you even called him on patrol and he picked up mid-fight.
“hello?”
“hey, are you busy right now?” you asked, hearing grunts and clashing noises. you weren't sure when he started or ended patrol, but you wanted to see him. lately, you hadn't spent that much time together at all thanks to all his cases.
“i, uh, no- i’m not busy, why?” he was actually busy fighting off a random group of thugs, but for you that could wait. besides, he hadn't seen you in a few days.
“yeah, sort of, i was wondering if you wanted to come over?” you hummed, there was a little crashing noise and a loud groan. “tim..? y'know if you're busy i can always call back-”
“what? no, i'm not busy,” he cut you off abruptly, “why, is there something wrong?”
“nothings wrong, i just wanted to see you is all - is that okay?” you asked, but his sudden silence had you reconsidering if it really was okay. tim remained dumbstruck by your words, mostly by the fact you had asked to spend time with him; not to do anything, but to just spend time together.
“yeah, that's okay - i'll be there soon, promise.” he uttered before hanging up the call, and finishing off the last of the thugs.
“i'm leaving patrol early, i just remembered i have something to do.” tim spoke over comms, much to his siblings annoyance. patrol was almost over anyways, ten minutes wouldn't hurt anyone
“seriously?” one of them complained. yet tim found that he couldn't care less, usually he was the one working patrol down to the last minute, but now that he had you time was just another expense he was willing to pay - especially if it meant being around you.
there was a knock at your window, opening your curtain and undoing the latch you let him inside. he had tried to hurry, but he was still a minute late - nearly seven if he added it all up. he crept in, trying to be mindful of your desk and the various trinkets you had scattered across it.
“hi,” he muttered breathless, cheeks growing hot when he saw your face. “sorry i took so long.” he added apologetic, a hand on the back of his head as he stood in front of you stiff with a pounding heart. he wasn't quite sure where to look or how to act around you.
“honestly, you came a little earlier than i expected.” you spoke, as if it weren't obvious enough. you were still in your pyjamas, and looked less than presentable - you were still in the early stages of your relationship, so of course you wanted tim to see you at your best; but you felt comfortable being around him like this, being yourself.
“you look really nice today.” he complimented with a bashful look in his eyes, bringing his hands back down to his side. you really did, even if you hadn't done anything 'special' with your appearance like you might've for a date you still managed to leave him at a loss for words.
“really?” you asked, a little surprised.
“yeah, really.” he nodded, fondness creeping into his gaze. your own expression seemed to mirror his as you stared back up at him, before your gaze flitted towards his lips for a brief moment. even after dating for a few weeks, you hadn't kissed yet - at least not on the lips yet. maybe that would happen today, you thought..
just as you leant in a little closer, tim felt his hands begin to grow clammy and hot, a rush of red rising up to his cheeks. “do you think i could get a drink? my throat feels really dry.” he spoke abrupt, in a moment of panic, right before you could lean into him any further. he wanted to kiss you, but right now he was on the brink of losing his mind - he wouldn't know what to do if you had kissed him then and there.
“i- yeah, i'll get it for you.” you sighed with a nod, feeling a little disappointed by his inadvertent rejection as you walked over to the sink to grab him a drink, tim following close behind you and uttering a small thanks.
“so,” he murmured, his gaze turning anywhere but you. fortunately, his heart wasn't beating so hard anymore but unfortunately he was made acutely aware of the fact he had practically rejected you - he felt a pang of guilt in his chest acknowledging it. “anything interesting happen?”
“not unless you find a nine to five exciting.” you shrugged, handing him the cold glass. he wished you would tell him about it, he found everything about you impressive. “did you do anything interesting on patrol?”
he thought back to how he had left his siblings alone to deal with the rest of the night, he was definitely getting an earful when he got back.
“no, i guess not.” he doubled down. this wasn't going half as well as he hoped it would, he was a mess and you were clearly upset - he doubted you even wanted him here anymore. maybe he was being stupid, he should just go for it. he saw how your fingertips twitched, the spark in your eye when you two were about to kiss.
“are you okay?” you furrowed your brows, taking note of his very intense look.
“no- yes? i don't know.” he stumbled over his words, before drawing a hand over his face. “i just don't think i'm doing this right.” he definitely wasn't, not when he saw your face fall suddenly.
“as in..?” you trailed off, if he wanted to break up then you were okay with it. not really. especially not so soon, but maybe you were jumping to conclusions; but it was hard not to when he had that look on his face.
“as in our relationship.” tim had just confirmed your worst fears, and your facial expression soured in hurt. way to be blunt with it.
“are you breaking up with me?” you were really, really confused and even more upset than you were confused. he wasn't even looking you in the eye.
“what? no!” he quickly dismissed, feeling even more panicked, almost knocking over the glass and wincing when he looked up at your face.
“so you're not happy with me..?” you asked, maybe he felt like you were moving too fast? but you had been treading so carefully, that wouldn't even make sense either.
“no, you're perfect - of course i'm happy with you, i just want to be perfect for you.” he confessed, turning to look at you with a conflicted expression. it made a lot more sense now, with all the overcompensating.
“tim, you don't have to be perfect for me - i don't think anyone is.” you reassured, voice soft as you placed your hand over his. “besides, i already love you as you are.” you added.
tim felt that same tingly feeling splay across his chest, his cheeks heating with a red tinge as he looked back at you. “right. so we're okay now?” he asked, still a little unsure.
“definitely.” you nodded with a warm smile and tim felt his nerves ease.
“in that case, can i kiss you?” his free hand reaching up to cup the side of your face, and you melted like putty in his hands.
“please.” you breathed, and his lips finally slotted against yours in a sweet kiss.
bro my fever is destroying me i cant go on like this bro </3 i can barely write i fell asleep like three times writing this SO ANNOYING but whatever smh i probs wont post for another two days tho ugh😓🥀 sorry if ooc i really hope it isnt
im working on a jason fic and also wally fic so expect those later next week yayyyy hopefully my fever calms down so i can post everyday again😛😛 I HOPE U ENJOYEDDDD YAYYY and also over 2500 likes total IS SO COOOL TYSM YAY
It's widely acknowledged that Dick is big on physical touch. Growing up as an orphan and later maturing under the strict guidance of Bruce meant affection was scarce, tenderness became rare, a deeply valued experience for him. With you crashing into his life, quenching the long, dreary years he'd spent touch starved, there was no reason for him to hold back.
If you aren't a fan of PDA, going out in public with him will feel like drenching in hell. This man will NOT let you go, whether its out of sight or touch, you are always near him
obviously you guys are THAT couple in public, everyone's staring — whether out of jealousy or disgust — at how close the two of you are
though obviously you two are cute 🫡
It really doesn't matter where or when, he'll always have a hand on your waist, arm, palm, it'll find its way somewhere.
and trust me he's always glued onto you...
cuddling with him is a whole other ordeal — you'll always underestimate this man's anatomy — no matter how many years spent in his proximity, his flexibility still comes as a shock. He doesn't hesitate to intrude your personal bubble, your space is practically his anyway.
Quality time perfectly pairs with physical touch, Dick loves invading your personal space, but he loves doing it more alongside whatever aimless task you're both formulating.
It doesn't even need to be anything grand, he just loves to have you there with him. Presence is something he's also big on.
You both could be going through a drive-thru, lying on his bed doom-scrolling, going to an amusement park, anything.
Having you both be present, being able to express each other's devotion, that's all he really needs.
You two are definitely the naive, puppy-struck, young-love type of couple 😭🥹
and despite everything, you let him do whatever, because who could really resist Dick Greyson?
JASON TODD 𓂃 ✴︎ ｡ ⋆ (ft. words of affirmation, acts of service)
Jason is there to listen, and act on what he notices.
He memorizes your habits and adapts to go alongside them
It's not even a conscious thought, he instinctively adjusts to react based on your quirks.
Once Jason caught on to your frustration when your hair would stick to your nape, so he started carrying a hair tie around his wrist.
He notices how you squirm when the morning rays hit your eyes, so he makes sure to cover them in the morning, allowing you to adjust to the morning brightness
It's the little gestures he does that show the amount of care he has for you
And though Jason seems to be a man of apathy, during the dead of night, he thrives off your compliments.
It's rare for him to receive words of affirmation in the first place, being red hood and all, though your words fill any potential crevices in his heart
soft "I love you's" and gentle praises through the night stick by him
the strength and lull of your words always leave him in a state of shock
Jason would be a hell of a liar if he said that every word uttered from your lips didn't leave him in a trance, but he wouldn't have it any other way
TIM DRAKE 𓂃 ✴︎ ｡ ⋆ (ft. words of affirmation, physical touch, quality time)
Growing up beneath the shadows of others, it was difficult for Tim to acknowledge his self worth. Praise was foreign, a language reserved for the heroes he never became. While the other robins had the luck of experiencing Bruce's warmth, he knew only the stoic quiet of being overlooked. Maturing meant accepting the stillness of neglect, having learned to depend on himself.
He was the observer, not the observed, meaning when you invaded his life, dazzling him with your devotion, it hit him like a fucking truck.
Obviously the neglect meant he wasn't a bearer of acclamation, ensuing him to melt over any compliment you'd utter, this guy is a fool for words of affirmation, he practically thrives off them alone
Being so consumed by his responsibilities, balancing a relationship isn't always easy. Though, the shared whispers of praise you bore engulfed him, luring Tim like a moth to a flame.
The first time you told him you loved him was the day he reinvigorated 🥹
His yearning for you is a deep burning sensation, even after you've already declared him yours, Tim's longing for you only grows, he's morbid and you are his anecdote.
On the topic of his hopeless pining, he's delirious for your touch
The empty praise he received was nothing compared to the lack of physical contact Tim had ever felt
For a man of words, touch was fictitious in his dictionary
Physical contact is so important to him, especially due to how touch starved he is
If you thought Dick had it bad, Tim's starvation for touch is 10x worse 😭
Pre-relationship Tim had documents on each of your interactions that he’d dedicate hours to, scavenging for hidden messages beneath each “accidental” brush (or so he’d quote)
He was so delusional... 😓(in a sweet sappy way)
One time you pulled his arm back on instinct to prevent him from coming in contact to an open flame — to be honest it hadn't meant much to you at the time, as you were purely helping your friend from a possible injury — but he'd spent WEEKS analyzing if it was a sign, possibly having an underlying message masked under friendship (he was over the moon)
Notes down everything, he's the type to memorize the small details you spur
Even you don't remember some of the things you say, but obviously he knows it by heart
back to physical touch, this man is truly a yearner at heart.
He's not bold enough to fully initiate it, but you notice.
You know how much he longs for your touch, and you happily provide it
By the end of every day, he's practically melted into a puddle of pure adoration and love.
Both of these love languages pair flawlessly with quality time. It's pretty evident that Tim is a busy person, though nearly everything can be set aside for you.
Being someone that's always got their nose stuck in something, you are the force that inevitably pulls Tim out of that loop.
Your close friends joke about how you're the only one that can manage getting him to lie down and actually rest, though it's very much true.
Tim has always been a huge insomniac, but he's able to it set tasks aside to stick around you during the evening 🙂↕️
Your dates heavily include lying around each other's apartments, with a random movie racketing in the background, while you two lie on each other, yapping about nothing in general.
Your relationship complex is one more casual adoration only to be seen by the two of you, though that's really all that matters.
It’s not secret but quiet, one the naked eye could catch on, though you wouldn’t prefer it any other way.
DAMIAN WAYNE 𓂃 ✴︎ ｡ ⋆ (ft. gift giving, acts of service)
I mean it's Damian Wayne, he lived his life surrounded by wealth. Gift giving is practically second nature for him.
It's easy for him to catch on and notice the little things that make your head perk up.
He takes a note of your interests, hobbies, personality, all of it 🙂↕️
Not all gestures are grand, but they're all tweaked to perfection.
You're staring at an item for more than five seconds? You'll find it propped up on your desk by the next day.
He's the type of boyfriend to memorize what type of jewelry you wear, he'll memorize the type of metal you usually sport, your measurements, everything — he'll have it all noted down.
The amount of time and thought that's put in these gifts might cause one to express concern for the boy, but honestly he can't help it, his lover only deserves the finest.
After dating Damian, you never have to bat an eye at your expenses, he's there to offer compensation served on a silver platter
Best believe he's head over heels when he sees you displaying his gifts too
If your wearing an outfit he's gifted you, this man will not be able to keep his eyes off you 😭
completely and utterly whipped, though he would be adamant to admit to anything, having everything is always put through a stoic act, or so he believes.
You're able to see through his acts, besides whenever it's just the two of you, his walls crumble and you're able to see Damian for who he truly is.
And honestly who could blame him?
The most thoughtful man on the planet, he knows what you want before you do.
Though his personal love language varies a bit,
With the weight that comes with being a vigilante, Damian dies through your acts of service.
You alone are enough to help ease the burden he's latched onto everyday, but when you offer support without condescension? He melts.
Every act of thought towards him, no matter the size, speaks volumes
And he always there to returns the gesture
Because love to you both is the actions you take for each other, expressing a language of never-ending devotion.
an: i didn't expect this to be so long aha 😭, my Tim bias is showing, i swear i can barely find ANY fics w/ him so I tried to do my tim girls some justice w this one 🫡 ... guys you actually don't understand the STRUGGLE i faced trying to finish this piece, I actually hate is SM but I had to post something 😓 honestly its just hcs so i guess that could be an excuse to why my writing is a little slack in this!!! Pls i was rlly pondering on if I would even post this because i hate it so much 😾
Situation-ship Texts — ft. Mark Grayson x gn!reader
In which -> texts with your friend Mark Grayson (that you totally don't have a thing for...)
cw: no use of y/n, smau ( >100 wc), reader and Mark are friends, this can be read platonically or with romantic undertones, reader is unaware of Mark's secret identity
an: this was a cute little filler post i wanted to try out!!! First ever SMAU 😭😭 I'm still adjusting to Tumblr and how to use its features BUT I LEARNED HOW TO GET COLORED TEXT TODAY!!! woohoo!
I was thinking about potentially expanding this little thing into multiple parts from friends to lovers 🙂↕️ but lmk if you guys would actually be interested in something like that (it'd probably be a mix of an smau and writing) anyway this was really fun to do!!! sorry for babbling in my authors note guys Im truly just a yapper at heart 😭
It's widely acknowledged that Dick is big on physical touch. Growing up as an orphan and later maturing under the strict guidance of Bruce meant affection was scarce, tenderness became rare, a deeply valued experience for him. With you crashing into his life, quenching the long, dreary years he'd spent touch starved, there was no reason for him to hold back.
If you aren't a fan of PDA, going out in public with him will feel like drenching in hell. This man will NOT let you go, whether its out of sight or touch, you are always near him
obviously you guys are THAT couple in public, everyone's staring — whether out of jealousy or disgust — at how close the two of you are
though obviously you two are cute 🫡
It really doesn't matter where or when, he'll always have a hand on your waist, arm, palm, it'll find its way somewhere.
and trust me he's always glued onto you...
cuddling with him is a whole other ordeal — you'll always underestimate this man's anatomy — no matter how many years spent in his proximity, his flexibility still comes as a shock. He doesn't hesitate to intrude your personal bubble, your space is practically his anyway.
Quality time perfectly pairs with physical touch, Dick loves invading your personal space, but he loves doing it more alongside whatever aimless task you're both formulating.
It doesn't even need to be anything grand, he just loves to have you there with him. Presence is something he's also big on.
You both could be going through a drive-thru, lying on his bed doom-scrolling, going to an amusement park, anything.
Having you both be present, being able to express each other's devotion, that's all he really needs.
You two are definitely the naive, puppy-struck, young-love type of couple 😭🥹
and despite everything, you let him do whatever, because who could really resist Dick Greyson?
JASON TODD 𓂃 ✴︎ ｡ ⋆ (ft. words of affirmation, acts of service)
Jason is there to listen, and act on what he notices.
He memorizes your habits and adapts to go alongside them
It's not even a conscious thought, he instinctively adjusts to react based on your quirks.
Once Jason caught on to your frustration when your hair would stick to your nape, so he started carrying a hair tie around his wrist.
He notices how you squirm when the morning rays hit your eyes, so he makes sure to cover them in the morning, allowing you to adjust to the morning brightness
It's the little gestures he does that show the amount of care he has for you
And though Jason seems to be a man of apathy, during the dead of night, he thrives off your compliments.
It's rare for him to receive words of affirmation in the first place, being red hood and all, though your words fill any potential crevices in his heart
soft "I love you's" and gentle praises through the night stick by him
the strength and lull of your words always leave him in a state of shock
Jason would be a hell of a liar if he said that every word uttered from your lips didn't leave him in a trance, but he wouldn't have it any other way
TIM DRAKE 𓂃 ✴︎ ｡ ⋆ (ft. words of affirmation, physical touch, quality time)
Growing up beneath the shadows of others, it was difficult for Tim to acknowledge his self worth. Praise was foreign, a language reserved for the heroes he never became. While the other robins had the luck of experiencing Bruce's warmth, he knew only the stoic quiet of being overlooked. Maturing meant accepting the stillness of neglect, having learned to depend on himself.
He was the observer, not the observed, meaning when you invaded his life, dazzling him with your devotion, it hit him like a fucking truck.
Obviously the neglect meant he wasn't a bearer of acclamation, ensuing him to melt over any compliment you'd utter, this guy is a fool for words of affirmation, he practically thrives off them alone
Being so consumed by his responsibilities, balancing a relationship isn't always easy. Though, the shared whispers of praise you bore engulfed him, luring Tim like a moth to a flame.
The first time you told him you loved him was the day he reinvigorated 🥹
His yearning for you is a deep burning sensation, even after you've already declared him yours, Tim's longing for you only grows, he's morbid and you are his anecdote.
On the topic of his hopeless pining, he's delirious for your touch
The empty praise he received was nothing compared to the lack of physical contact Tim had ever felt
For a man of words, touch was fictitious in his dictionary
Physical contact is so important to him, especially due to how touch starved he is
If you thought Dick had it bad, Tim's starvation for touch is 10x worse 😭
Pre-relationship Tim had documents on each of your interactions that he’d dedicate hours to, scavenging for hidden messages beneath each “accidental” brush (or so he’d quote)
He was so delusional... 😓(in a sweet sappy way)
One time you pulled his arm back on instinct to prevent him from coming in contact to an open flame — to be honest it hadn't meant much to you at the time, as you were purely helping your friend from a possible injury — but he'd spent WEEKS analyzing if it was a sign, possibly having an underlying message masked under friendship (he was over the moon)
Notes down everything, he's the type to memorize the small details you spur
Even you don't remember some of the things you say, but obviously he knows it by heart
back to physical touch, this man is truly a yearner at heart.
He's not bold enough to fully initiate it, but you notice.
You know how much he longs for your touch, and you happily provide it
By the end of every day, he's practically melted into a puddle of pure adoration and love.
Both of these love languages pair flawlessly with quality time. It's pretty evident that Tim is a busy person, though nearly everything can be set aside for you.
Being someone that's always got their nose stuck in something, you are the force that inevitably pulls Tim out of that loop.
Your close friends joke about how you're the only one that can manage getting him to lie down and actually rest, though it's very much true.
Tim has always been a huge insomniac, but he's able to it set tasks aside to stick around you during the evening 🙂↕️
Your dates heavily include lying around each other's apartments, with a random movie racketing in the background, while you two lie on each other, yapping about nothing in general.
Your relationship complex is one more casual adoration only to be seen by the two of you, though that's really all that matters.
It’s not secret but quiet, one the naked eye could catch on, though you wouldn’t prefer it any other way.
DAMIAN WAYNE 𓂃 ✴︎ ｡ ⋆ (ft. gift giving, acts of service)
I mean it's Damian Wayne, he lived his life surrounded by wealth. Gift giving is practically second nature for him.
It's easy for him to catch on and notice the little things that make your head perk up.
He takes a note of your interests, hobbies, personality, all of it 🙂↕️
Not all gestures are grand, but they're all tweaked to perfection.
You're staring at an item for more than five seconds? You'll find it propped up on your desk by the next day.
He's the type of boyfriend to memorize what type of jewelry you wear, he'll memorize the type of metal you usually sport, your measurements, everything — he'll have it all noted down.
The amount of time and thought that's put in these gifts might cause one to express concern for the boy, but honestly he can't help it, his lover only deserves the finest.
After dating Damian, you never have to bat an eye at your expenses, he's there to offer compensation served on a silver platter
Best believe he's head over heels when he sees you displaying his gifts too
If your wearing an outfit he's gifted you, this man will not be able to keep his eyes off you 😭
completely and utterly whipped, though he would be adamant to admit to anything, having everything is always put through a stoic act, or so he believes.
You're able to see through his acts, besides whenever it's just the two of you, his walls crumble and you're able to see Damian for who he truly is.
And honestly who could blame him?
The most thoughtful man on the planet, he knows what you want before you do.
Though his personal love language varies a bit,
With the weight that comes with being a vigilante, Damian dies through your acts of service.
You alone are enough to help ease the burden he's latched onto everyday, but when you offer support without condescension? He melts.
Every act of thought towards him, no matter the size, speaks volumes
And he always there to returns the gesture
Because love to you both is the actions you take for each other, expressing a language of never-ending devotion.
an: i didn't expect this to be so long aha 😭, my Tim bias is showing, i swear i can barely find ANY fics w/ him so I tried to do my tim girls some justice w this one 🫡 ... guys you actually don't understand the STRUGGLE i faced trying to finish this piece, I actually hate is SM but I had to post something 😓 honestly its just hcs so i guess that could be an excuse to why my writing is a little slack in this!!! Pls i was rlly pondering on if I would even post this because i hate it so much 😾
in which -> tender mornings with your vigilante boyfriend!
wc: 0.6k
cw: slight(?) angst (if you squint), just reader and greyson being a bunch of dorks ♡, no use of y/n, readers gender is up for interpretation!
The sun had barely reached your curtains, emitting rays only light enough to disrupt your slumber. With a groan, your head pushed further into Dick's chest, the lingering smell of cologne infiltrating your nostrils.
Occasions like these were rare, being with a vigilante meant you had to break the conventional rules of dating. Though many would abandon a love that raged like a storm within, you cradled it like a treasure – unwilling to trade it for all the peace in the world.
As your senses slowly stirred back to life, you craned your neck to get a view of Dick's features. His face, in sleep, was something you've never accustomed yourself to. The usual tension in his face was gone. Years of built up burdens were wiped with no trace, leaving him youthful, even boyish, once more.
You felt Dick's body shift, lashes fluttering before his eyes slowly opened. Watching in silence, a smile tugged at your lips. There was beauty in the way he moved, something rare, vulnerable, real. He possessed a unique ability to fill a room by his breath alone.
"Hey," he mumbled, breath ragged from sleep.
"Hey." You mimicked, a smile now fully plastered on your face.
His breath heaved against you, hands shifting to cradle your abdomen before blinking down at you, half-dreaming.
"Were you watching me sleep?"
You shrugged, reaching up to flick a stray hair from his eyes,
"Maybe, you looked peaceful."
He grinned in response, fluttering his eyes once more before finally muttering, "stay a little longer."
You knew it was more of a request than a question, ensuing you to chuckle in response. Staring at him a little longer, you marveled at how someone could look so fragile and potent all at once.
“I have a full schedule today.” A huff slipped from your lips, much to his dismay.
He only sulked in response before pulling you up to pepper your face in light kisses, “just five more minutes?”
Giggling through each peck, your eyes landed on Dick's (now open) ones, and for a moment, the world had slipped away.
Slowly, he leaned in, breath rugged against your cheek.
Your heart hammered in your chest, each beat threatening to rip out. Regardless of how many kisses you’d shared with Dick before, every single one still managed to steal your breath away, leaving you utterly speechless — reminding you of the childish dreams of love you’ve once held close to your heart, the innocent hopes plastered through soft pastels. In these quiet moments with Dick, the old dreams stirred awake, fragile but unforgettable, whispering promises you’ve never experienced with anyone else but him.
The world had edged down to the two of you in that fragile, electric moment. His touch, the way his lips pressed against yours, always pulled something mysteriously raw and fierce from deep inside, molding you both to a state of pure vulnerability and love.
The kiss promised more than words ever could.
Pulling away, he grinned. “Guess I’m not getting any complaints,” he teased softly.
You laughed, the world still whirling around you, “I guess I ten minutes wouldn’t hurt,”
His hand reached out, cradling your cheek, “I’ll take every second I can get.”
You leaned into his touch, eyes fluttering as the warmth of his hand seeped through your skin. Every nerve seemed to ignite beneath his fingertips, grounding you as the world spun. It was a small moment of calm in the chaos of Blüdhaven — exhilarating and tender all at once. You could feel his breath, steady and close, as it pulled you further in, closer than you thought possible.
an: english isn't my native language so i apologize if there are any mistakes, first post on tumblr!!! I've actually never written anything x reader so this is my first... hopefully I didn't make a fool of myself LOL
likes and reblogs r so appreciated, thank you!
my gosh guys i rlly didnt expect this to gather so much traction 🥹🥹 this is like nearly 200 people coming up to you and giving you a hug i love you guys 😭 thank u so much!!!
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