event info: while I’m on vacation, I can’t help but miss writing for yall.. so this is an excuse for me to keep giving you guys fics, and making sure everyone’s in the summer mood !!

I’ve come up with a lot of ideas already, but would love to hear from you guys if you have ideas! Send a request and specify it’s for the summer event 🩵🧡

DISCO LIGHTS ✔︎

Dick Grayson x Reader

HONEYMOON GLOW

Bruce Wayne x Wife!Reader

RED AS A LOBSTER

Jason Todd x Reader

BACKROADS AND HEARTBEATS

Roy Harper x Reader

more to come..

It would mean a lot to me if people reblogged this post! :)

taglist: comment to be tagged!

vampire!bruce loves you. 

he does. really, he does. 

the first time he sees you — through your window from where he had been perched on the roof across from your building — he's stunned. you're just there, curled up on the couch in your living room with a friend. laughing. head thrown back, lips stretched around your teeth. the joy on your face strikes him directly in the chest, slicing through his impenetrable skin and sinking into his heart. 

his cold heart. his dead heart. 

he swears it begins to beat again at the sight of you. 

and your scent. 

he's able to pinpoint it easily amongst the barrage of smells that constantly infiltrate his senses. but yours, yours is special. your scent is warm with a hint of spice, and all you. 

and!! from that point on, he's captivated by you. he follows you, hidden in the dark corners and rooftops. he perches in the same spot to watch you through your window, the roof directly across from your building becoming a second home to him. he's keeping you safe! 

he needs you safe. 

he's memorized the sound of your breathing, the precise measurements of your lungs expanding in your chest, how your ribs accommodate them in their cavity. 

especially your heart. yeah. your heart. 

the sound of blood rushing through it is his favourite. he can practically taste it. right from the aorta. his buds bloom at the thought, salivia pooling in his mouth. 

everything that is human about you, he has memorized. 

and it's even better up close. 

you should get better locks on your windows. but that won't stop him. 

he tells himself that it's to make sure you're okay. that you're still there. that you're still breathing. and you are! he can feel it from where he stands in the dark corner of your bedroom. just beside your head. so close that your scent is even more intoxicating. so close that he can see the twitch of your lips as you sleep. 

he reminds himself that it is only to make sure youre okay. but he would know if you weren't. he would know if something was wrong even if he was on the other side of the city. he would know even if he was in another country. 

because he can pinpoint the notes of your pumping heart amongst the rest. because his ear will always find you. you are a radio, and he's tuned into you.

and he finally, finally after months, speaks to you for the first time after he fights off a man attempting to rob you. 

with his arm wrapped around your waist, keeping you steady as your body recovers from the shock of the man's attack. bruce's gaze reminds fixed on you, pleased at the trusting gaze in your eyes. 

it's all for him. 

he loves you. he's obsessed with you. he loves you, he knows one day you'll realize. but that day won't be today.

he leans in just a bit closer, fingers sliding up between your shoulder blades, 

"it's okay now, angel, you're safe with me," 

an: bringing forth a snippet of vampire!bruce into to the SVU (scissorhvnds vampire universe). this is for insignia btw

jason todd never sits correctly the first time.

no matter where it is—restaurants, manor, home, benches—he cannot get it right the first time. his back, slightly hunched from months of being chained to that forsaken wheelchair, made him stiff and uncomfortable often times.

and he knows what it does to you.

the subtle lift of his hips, the way his thighs flex as he shifts around to get comfortable. he sees the way you try not to stare, the flush in your skin and the way your pupils dilate almost instantly.

especially in his suit.

the cargo pants that hugged him in all the right places, the stretch of the fabric over this lap and his thighs that spread immediately. he’d hang his arms over his legs, hips shifting downward. he’d press his back flush against the back of whatever he was sitting on, enticing eyes just swirling with amusement as the less-than-discreet glances you were giving him.

jason, at some point, had began to weaponize it in his favor.

if you were upset with him, he’d sit across from you. you’d cross your arms and watch him lift his hips, back sliding against the cushion as his legs spread wide. he’d tilt his head, a quiet invitation—a choice, not a demand.

he’d grin so arrogantly when you’d cave, climbing onto his lap and kissing that stupid smirk off his face. his hands would find your hips, adjusting you to sit directly on him.

“i hate you,” you’d mutter, feeling the way his hips shifted and his thighs flexed beneath you.

“yeah, sweetheart? tell me how much.”

⤷ ARKHAM , JASON TODD .

✦ masterlist　╱　dc masterlist　𓏼 ͜͜

summary 𓂃 the arkham knight breaks into his ex's apartment to get batman’s location.

tags 𓂃 arkham knight!jason x ex gf!fem reader , heavy angst , trauma , ptsd , he still has some feelings for reader , unresolved feelings , yearning , hurt/comfort , soft spot for reader , denial of feelings , stubborn!reader , past lovers to ??? , complicated relationship.

wc 𓂃 1.9k

JASON DIDN’T KNOCK.

Knocking was for people who hadn't already mapped every entrance to your apartment three weeks ago. For people who weren't wearing tactical armor and carrying enough explosives to bring down the whole building if things went wrong.

He came through the fire escape window like he always did. Quiet enough not to be heard.

The lock hadn't even slowed him down. He knew his way around it.

You were in the kitchen when he landed on your floor. He heard the soft sound of a mug being set down. Then nothing. You didn’t gasp, you didn’t scream—you didn’t even run. You knew someone was there and your dumbass didn’t run. Still the same.

He found you leaning against the kitchen counter, you arms were crossed, and your coffee was still steaming behind you. You looked the same. Different hair, maybe. New lines around your eyes. But the same stubborn set to your jaw, the same way you didn't flinch when you should have.

"You broke my window," you said. He was a little bit taken aback by the tone of your voice. How it was flat—not scared. Annoyed and not terrified of the fact that someone had just broken into your apartment.

"You know why I'm here."

"I know you broke my window."

"I need the location."

You stared at him. Let the silence stretch. Then you picked up your coffee and took a slow, deliberate sip.

"No."

He'd expected that. He'd even prepared for it.

What he hadn't prepared for was the way his chest tightened when you said it. Not because of the word, no he was used to that, but because of your voice. Because he'd heard that voice say his name over a hundred times in different ways. Some soft, some laughing, some breathless, and some urgent. Now it was looking at him like he was a stranger.

But he was a stranger. That was the point.

"Batman's gone," Jason said. "You have access to one of his contingency locations. I need the address."

"Why?"

"Because I'm going to kill him."

You didn't blink.

"No, you're not."

"You don't get to decide that."

"I'm not deciding anything. I'm telling you what's going to happen." You set your mug down. Took a step closer. He didn't move. "You're going to stand in my kitchen, bleeding all over my floor—"

He looked down. His side was wet. He hadn't noticed the cut from twenty minutes ago. Somewhere between the militia skirmish and her window, his body had just decided not to tell him.

"—and you're going to realize you can't hurt me."

Jason's jaw tightened. Eyes shuttin under the mask.

"I'm not here to hurt you."

"Then why are you here?"

The question landed wrong. Too simple. Way too honest for his tastes. Or rather for Arkham’s tastes. The old Jason might have appreciated it.

He was here because he needed the location. Because Batman had gone underground and none of his scouts could find him. Because you were the only loose thread, the one person Bruce had trusted outside the family, and that meant you knew something.

That was why.

That was the only why.

"I need the address," he repeated.

"And I need you to leave."

"Not happening."

"Then we're at an impasse." You shrugged. "You want coffee? Also, you’re still bleeding on my floorboards."

You turned your back on him.

Deliberately.

Jason felt something crack in his chest because you wouldn't have done that before. You wouldn't have turned your back on anyone before. You were always too careful, too sharp, too aware of every single exit in every room.

But you’d just turned your back on the Arkham Knight.

And that only meant you just saw him as Jason. And, fuck, that made him want to scream.

"You shouldn't turn your back on me," he said. Low. Warning.

You glanced over your shoulder. "You said you weren't going to hurt me."

"I lied."

"No, you didn't."

You poured a second mug of coffee. Black. The way he used to drink it. But he didn't drink coffee anymore. He drank whatever kept him awake during operations. Taste didn't even matter. Mostly because everything was tasteless to him.

You set the mug on the counter between you.

"If you wanted to hurt me, you wouldn't have come through the window. You'd have sent your soldiers. You'd have had someone else do it." Your eyes met his eyes. "You came yourself because you couldn't trust anyone else to do it right. And you came through the window instead of the door because you didn't want to test whether I'd let you in or not.”

Jason said nothing.

"Not to mention, you haven't threatened me once. You've been here six minutes and you haven't even raised your voice."

"Maybe I'm patient."

"No." You tilted your head. "You're terrified."

The word hit him like a bullet, but he just scoffed.

Terrified?

He wasn't terrified. He was the Arkham Knight. He'd survived over a year of Joker's torture. He'd built an army. And he would bring Batman to his knees.

He wasn't terrified of some… some civilian in a kitchen. Didn’t matter that this civilian was someone he’d once planned to propose to sometime in the future. Funny how time works, huh?

But his hands were shaking.

He looked down at them. Gloved. Steady. The shaking was inside, where no one could see. Except you always could. You’d always been able to see the things he tried to hide.

"Just give me the address," he said. His voice was quiet now. "Please."

Please. He wanted to fucking smack himself.

He hadn't said that word in years. Not to anyone. He doesn’t plead. Thats not who he is.

Your expression flickered. Just for a second and then it was gone just as fast.

"Sit down," you said.

"I don't need to sit—"

"Sit down, Jason."

His name.

You said his name.

He sat. But not without berating himself a thousand times in his head for still being weak to you.

The kitchen chair was too small for his armor. He felt ridiculous. He'd spent years building himself into something hard and untouchable, and now he was sitting in your kitchen, bleeding on your floor, being offered coffee he hadn't asked for.

You sat across from him. Didn't reach for his hand. Didn't try to touch him. Good. If you’d touched him, he would have lost it.

"You want to know why I won't give you the address?" You asked.

"Because you're loyal to him."

"No." You shook her head. "I'm loyal to the man who loved you."

Jason's throat closed and suddenly breathing was much harder than it should’ve been.

"Bruce came to my apartment three days after you disappeared," you said. "He looked like hell. I'd never seen him look like that. Not after a fight, not after a case, not after anything. He sat in that chair—" you pointed to the one Jason was sitting in "—and he told me you were missing. And then he told me he was going to find you. No matter how long it took."

Jason said nothing. A part of him didn’t believe those words. It was bullshit—had to be. Why didn’t he find him?

"He was gone for months. Whole nights. Whole weeks. Alfred himself told me he barely slept. He barely ate. He just kept looking. And then the video came."

The video.

Jason felt his pulse spike because he knew exactly what you were talking about.

"He showed it to me himself," you continued. "I think he wanted someone to see it with him. Someone who loved you the way he did." You paused. "He cried, Jason. Batman cried. Right there on my couch. Because he thought you were dead and he blamed himself."

"Good," Jason said. The word came out hard. Brittle. He couldn’t let you see your words were getting to him.

"No. Not good." Your voice sharpened. "You don't get to do that. You don't get to sit there and pretend he didn't care. He never stopped caring. I never stopped caring. We searched for you. Both of us. For months—for a year."

"Not hard enough."

"We searched everywhere."

"Not everywhere."

"Where, Jason?" You leaned forward. "Where should we have looked? Tell me. Because I would have gone anywhere. I would have burned the whole city down. I would have—" your voice broke. Just a little. You caught it before it could fall apart. "I never stopped looking for you. Not once. Even when everyone else told me to move on. Even when Bruce said we had to accept it. I never stopped."

He wanted to believe you.

He just couldn't.

Because if you really had looked that hard, you would have found him. Someone would have found him. Joker's little dungeon wasn't invisible. It was hidden.

But the way you were looking at him—like he was still Jason, like you could still see the boy you’d loved under all the armor and the anger and the years of pain—that was harder to refuse than any torture Joker had ever devised.

"You don't know me anymore," Jason said.

"I know you're still in there."

"Joker burned him out."

"No." You shook her head. "Joker tried. He failed. Look at yourself." You gestured at his armor. "You think you built all of this because you hate Bruce? You built it because you love him. Because you wanted him to see you. Because you wanted him to come for you."

"I wanted him to suffer."

"You wanted him to acknowledge you." You leaned back. "There's a difference. And until you figure that out, you're not going to kill him. Because you can't. Because no matter how much you hate him, you still love him more."

Jason stood up. Your words were grating on his nerves and he hated that you were right and he hated that you could still read him even when he’s covered in heaps of metal.

The chair scraped against the floor. His hands were shaking again. He needed to leave. Needed to get the hell out of this kitchen, out of your fucking apartment, out of the orbit of someone who could still see through him like he was made of glass.

"Give me the address," he said. "Last chance."

"No."

"I will hurt you."

"No, you won't."

He drew his sidearm.

It was a stupid move. Performative. He knew it even as he did it. The weight of the gun in his hand felt ridiculous. You weren’t a threat. You weren’t an enemy. You were just a woman who'd loved him and refused to stop.

You looked at the gun. Looked at his face. Then you looked back at the gun.

"You're not going to shoot me, Jason. So just put it down." You sighed.

"You don't know that."

"I know you." You stood up. Walked toward him. The gun was still in his hand. You didn't flinch. Didn't even slow down. You treated the gun like it was a nerf gun. You stopped inches from the barrel, close enough that he could see the tears you were holding back. "I know you, Jason Todd. I know you're scared. I know you're hurt. I know you've been alone for so long you forgot what it feels like to be loved. But I also know you're not going to shoot me. Because you're not a monster. No matter how hard you try to be."

His hand trembled.

The gun rattled a little.

"I have to kill him," Jason said. His voice cracked. He hated that it cracked. "I have to. If I don't—if I can't—then everything I did—everything I became—"

"You can still come back."

"There's nothing to come back to."

"Yes, there is." You reached up. Slow and careful like he was a bomb that might go off at any second. Your fingers brushed the side of his helmet. "Me."

He jerked away.

The gun clattered to the floor.

He stood there, breathing hard, armor creaking, blood still soaking into his side, and he wanted to scream. He wanted to hit something.

Instead, he just stood there.

"I can't," he whispered.

"Can't or won't?"

He didn't answer.

You didn't push.

You just stood there, patient as stone, waiting for him to figure out what he already knew but couldn't say.

Finally, you spoke. Sighing.

"Bruce is at the old clock tower. The one in Bristol. He's been there for three days. He's injured. He's alone."

Jason froze like he hadn’t expected that. A part of him was relying on the fact that she wouldn’t tell him where he is. A part of him was afraid of facing Bruce as Arkham Knight. Afraid to find out that Bruce didn’t abandon him. And that his hatred was all misplaced.

"Why are you telling me?"

"Because I trust you." You met his eyes. "And because I know you won't kill him. Not really. You'll go there. You'll see him. And maybe—finally—you'll realize that the person you've been trying to destroy isn't him."

"Then who?"

"You."

— — —

He left the way he came.

Through the window. Onto the fire escape. Into the brutal cold of gotham.

He didn't look back. He didn't need to.

He could still feel you watching him. Still feel your eyes on his back. Still feel the ghost of your fingers against his helmet. He wished it was his face.

Jason dropped to the alley below and landed hard. His side screamed but he ignored it.

The clock tower.

Bristol.

Three days.

He had time.

He had time to decide what kind of monster he wanted to be.

But standing there in the dark, blood soaking through his armor, your face still warm in his memory. Jason realized something he hadn't let himself feel since the joker took him.

He didn't want to kill Bruce.

He wanted Bruce to say he was sorry.

He wanted Bruce to say he never stopped looking.

He wanted Bruce to say—

I love you, son.

Jason pressed his hand against bleeding his side and started walking.

He had a long way to go.

© nagumolvr , you do not have permission to translate, steal, repost, or feed my work to ai.

TAGLIST : @rosieposiediditagain @ninininini08

tagged by @bruisedboys !! thank u love u :)

last song: never getting laid by sabrina carpenter

currently watching: mmm nothing as of rn, I can't commit to a tv show 😬

current obsession(s): illit + coming off of phm and a ryan gosling obsession

currently reading: just finished reading until the world falls down, gonna start polybius or the vampire tapestry next!

currently working on: sleepover requests! :) I'm excited about them hehe

currently wearing: a biiiiig t-shirt that I got for free from my uni's baseball team and boxers

last google search: star copy paste

favourite flower(s): calla lillies

last song: hard times - ethel cain

currently watching: maniac on netflix

current obsessions: jack abbot :)), thrifting, supergirl !!

currently reading: dora: an analysis of a case of hysteria - freud (psych :p)

currently working on: dick grayson x reader x wally west, pt 2 of "i'm too old for you" hehhhe

currently wearing: hollister shorts + brandy sleep top :3

last google search: check engine light ford escape 💔

favorite flower: peonies

last song: vivica by jack off jill

currently watching: ouran high school host club, and occasionally house of the dragon.

current obsessions: medieval fiction, court jesters & female knights. my tarot cards & aerion targaryen too!!

currently reading: fire and blood by george r.r. martin for the thousandth time.

currently working on: idk honestly, too much going on in my drafts.

currently wearing: matching red peejays set!!

last google search: a vague description of a embarrassing fic that i remember reading time ago and i wanna try find again!!

favorite flower: lotus

last song: “come back - buddha remastered 2001” - the five stairsteps

currently watching: an old childhood show i used to love as a kid called “house of anubis”, bc i am a sucker for the nostalgia of it all

current obsessions: fortnite, i fear 😭😭

currently reading: tbh nothing atm since work has kept me too busy

currently working on: a jason todd drabble, two bruce wayne drabbles, a michael jackson fic, chapter one of my prince!damian wayne series + a percy jackson request that i have been meaning to write for ages 💀

currently wearing: i’m finally home now, so i changed out of my work clothes into a simple black skirt and a peach-colored top!!

last google search: “when does canada play in the wc again?” lmao

favorite flower: azaleas

Summary & CW: Fluff, implications of suggestive content (at the end), fake dating, friends to lovers, dickbin, creepy guy (nothing bad), reader likes chocolate covered strawberries (if you’re allergic I’m sorry), twinge of jealousy

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: Another piece out the Kiln! Thank you to @mystiquevoid for participating, I loved both of your submissions too much and couldn’t choose, so here’s your second one! We only have three pieces left in the event! If this isn't up to par it's because I had a teensy migraine and it's rushed bc of finals, BUTTT I hope you enjoy <3

One of these days you were going to learn to say no to Bruce Wayne.

The billionaire playboy has been your best friend since you found him hammered at a college party over a decade ago. Harvey Dent was throwing a rager at his apartment across the hall, and you’d popped in for about half an hour before needing to get a breath of fresh air.

Sneaking out the fire escape and climbing to the roof, you found none other than Wayne heir starfished on the cement.

And well, the rest is history.

Currently you found yourself at one of his charity galas because the press was going on and on about him not settling down. Typically he didn’t let it to get to him, he never did before. That was until a little circus boy came into the picture.

Little Dick Grayson, who somehow was a mirror image of Bruce at that age, got harassed once by paparazzi after school, and he lost it. Bruce was seconds away from filing a class action.

The board, legal, and his PR Director, seemed to all come to the same consensus.

Bruce Wayne needed a happy ever after.

At least for the Gotham Gazette anyway.

While it was made very clear that Dick was not to be approached by the media again, Bruce begrudgingly agreed. That’s when he went to the only person he could trust with this. The only person who knew every single aspect of his life and chose to stay. Not out of obligation, not out of the loyalty or friendship, but for him.

Now, after the third conversation with shareholders you genuinely couldn’t have cared less for, you were regretting saying yes.

Bruce’s left hand was intertwined with yours. His thumb rubbing circles on your knuckles, a quiet thank you he spared you for putting up with this. This was your fourth public appearance planned by his PR Director and the media was eating it up with a silver spoon. Dick was currently leaning into you, his forehead pressed into your waist. Your free hand went to running your fingers through the curls that Alfred attempted to tame with mousse.

One thing you learned very quickly about the little acrobat was that he got clingy when he was tired.

Even before the PR stunt, when you came to the manor or went out with them, the moment drowsiness seeped into his frame he clung to the first person he saw. More often than not it was Bruce, but on days he clung to his memories with an iron grip, he’d close his eyes and imagine you were the late Mary Grayson. And you would let him.

“Baby,” you whispered low enough just for the little robin to hear. He lifted his head and the seam from your dress was imprinted on his forehead in red marks. “I’m going to go get a snack really quickly, do you want to come with?”

He got bored at these galas very quickly. Offering him a little escape while Bruce chatted away was sometimes the only thing you could offer him.

He merely blinked at you for a moment, trying to process what you were saying. After the gala is over, you were going to have to have a long conversation with Bruce about how long he let him stay out as Robin. “Nah,” he shakes his head with a smile that makes his dimples pop. “I’ll stay with B.”

“Okay.” You offer him a warm one in return while attempting to fix the hair Alfred couldn’t tame.

Turning to Bruce, you squeeze your fingers around his to quietly get his attention. It’s almost scary how quickly he turns to you, almost as if it’s a reflex. The rest of the group falls away, and his only concern now is you.

“I’m going to go get something to eat, Dick’s going to stay with you.” His eyes briefly shift to the child dressed to the nines at your side. He’s wearing a sleepy grin and eyes that light up the sky. “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay love,” he leans in and drops a kiss to your temple. Your face warms instantly and you pray the foundation hides the blush. “The caterer informed me that your requests are hidden in the corner table next to the orchestra.” His voice is low only for your, and maybe Dick’s, ears.

Through the blush, a smile creeps on your face. “Thank you,” your voice is barely above a whisper.

“Anything for you.”

“Would you two just kiss already oh my go-”

Bruce’s eyes don’t leave yours as his palm falls over the boy’s mouth, bringing his head into his side. Even under the concealer that was painted on his face, you see his own blush bloom.

The boy’s eyes gleam with mischief, and you wouldn’t even notice that he licked Bruce’s palm to get it off his face.

“Behave until I get back, okay?”

“I always behave.” He smirks, way too proud of the way he’s terrorized his guardian.

You raise an eyebrow.

“Fineeeee.”

With that, you turn and glide across the ballroom to the table. People’s eyes linger on you, they always do at these things. It bothered you at first. You’d never shied away from attention, but being on the arm of Bruce Wayne practically quadrupled what you were used too.

Arriving to the corner table near the orchestra, you may actually have to propose to Bruce for doing this. To every gala he dragged you too, he always managed to get a small display of some of your favorite deserts. This time, he had frozen chocolate covered strawberries plated next to some macaroons. Taking a quick peak around to make sure no one’s looking, you pick up a strawberry and wrap your lips around it. Your teeth barely bite through it when you hear your name.

When you meet the gaze of one of the gentlemen you’d spoken to earlier, you almost fail at hiding a groan. This was the last person you wanted to speak too. He’d been giving you weird looks during the conversation.

Then there was the matter of his name. It was as if it was erased from your brain, like it didn’t bother to process who this creep was. Chewing quickly and smiling, he lets out a small huff at the sight of you.

“Seems like I caught you in the middle of something.” His voice is low and a chill runs up your spine.

You give him another bashful and borderline uncfomortable smile, swallowing while searching over his shoulder while responding. “Yes,” a hesitant laugh. “I apologize you caught me with my mouth full.”

“Oh it’s no worries,” a beat barely passed before he replied. “I was hoping to catch you alone.”

There’s a grimace threatening its way onto your features. “Oh?” is all you can really let out. Finding the place you were previously standing, you notice Bruce was no longer where he was and you’ve lost him on the floor. “And why is that sir?”

“Oh please don’t call me sir, it makes me feel so old. Call me Murray.” Ah yes, the conversation you shared earlier finally comes back to you as he says his name. “I did wonder how Bruce managed to capture such an attractive woman.”

Your back straightens instantly as you tense, chocolate covered strawberry forgotten in your fingers. “Well, he didn’t capture me per se, it was more of a mutual attraction.”

He steps towards you, and your heels click back half a step almost immediately following his advancement. His mouth opens, but quickly shuts when his eyes fall behind you. A second hardly comes and goes before you feel the familiar warmth of a large palm on your lower back.

“Hello darling, I hope you’re enjoying the strawberries.” You’re not sure if you should be surprised or not at his appearance, he had a knack for spawning from the shadows. Yet somehow, you manage another smile and nod. Noticing the tension in your stance, his jaw tightens.

Swallowing tightly, he turns his eyes back to the shareholder. Most would miss it if they were only observing the interaction, but you can’t quite ignore the fire that’s burning behind his eyes as they barrel into the gentleman in front of you. “Is there anything else we can assist you with sir.”

Now a brief grimace does claim your features.

Bruce never did like to share.

“N-no Mr. Wayne, just admiring the selection of deserts.”

“Well, thank you.” Bruce’s voice is tight with jealousy and your smirking internally. “If that is all, would you please excuse my lady and I.”

He doesn’t even wait for a reply and sweeps you away. Not sparing anyone a glance, he guides you out the ballroom into a nearby bathroom.

When the solid wooden door pushes open, your heels clink on the marble floor. Not getting the chance to even turn around, you feel his torso pressed to your back. The warmth even through the shirt is evident on the backless dress. He leans down and you can feel his breath on your ear, the subtle smell of champagne and mint.

There’s a spark in the air. The bathroom is silent except for the deep breaths he’s taking. His fingers dance up and down your arms in a feather light touch. Your eyes catch the intimate action in the mirror and your face warms. His eyes are half-lidded and a shiver passes down your spine. He feels it, he always does.

Then leaning further into you, he drops a kiss to your shoulder. Your heart is pounding in your ears. This wasn’t exactly new for you two. You’d known each other too long it was almost impossible for something like this not to happen, the tension was obvious to anyone.

“Bruce,” your voice comes out breathless as he drops an open-mouthed kiss to your shoulder. “We can’t- not here.”

“It’s my gala, I can do damn well as I please.” There’s a finality to his voice that has your thighs pressing together.

And then as if it was the easiest thing in the world, he slips the straps of your dress and it pools to the floor.

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so sorry, my loves!! js been kinda all over the place with final exams, graduation shit + also my new summer job!!

i got a michael jackson fic, a percy jackson req (lol two jackson’s) and chapter one of Between Ink, Oaths, and Duty (my prince!damian wayne series) waiting for me in my drafts left unfinished 😭😭

Last song:

Currently watching:

Current obsession:

Currently reading:

Currently working on:

Last Internet search:

Last Song: Carousel by Michael Jackson (one of my favs and soooo underrated)

Currently Watching: Kevin Langue videos 😭

Current Obsession: Jack Wolfe singing I’m Alive, anddd learning how to play the piano

Currently Reading: Can’t Get Enough By Kennedy Ryan

Currently working on: Clark kent drabble, Ony drabble and Music Producer Stack x Singer Reader

Last Internet search: fonts ( wanted to see if i would use them for a title in my drabble)

Last Song: Speed Demon by Michael Jackson

Currently Watching: Summer House

Current Obsession: God of War: Laufey (can't wait!!!)

Currently Reading: Monsters We Make

Currently working on: donna troy x black!fem reader, trans!male diana prince x black!fem reader, trans!male kate kane x black!fem reader

Last Internet search: Loverboy... (iykykyk)

last song : blue gangsta — michael jackson

currently watching : succession season 4 finale (again lol)

current obsession : sakura haruno (all day every day)

currently reading : a dialogue — nikki giovanni and james baldwin (1973)

currently working on : with love, birdy (tim drake) + the summer i met the graysons (mark grayson x reader x dick grayson) + unnamed barbara gordon phone sex fic

last internet search : catfishing : the wikipedia guessing game (i take this very seriously btw)

last song : dirty diana -- michael jackson

currently watching : modern family s8

current obsession : bruce thomas wayne 4eva and ever

currently reading : moonwalk by michael jackson

currently working on : hal fic (2k event), def more when i finish with 2k event i promise

last internet search : oceanofpdf BYE 😭

last song: is it a crime by sade (i love this song sm)

currently watching: tbh nothing bc i’ve been busying w my final exams

current obsession: michael jackson atm ngl

currently reading: the hate u give by angie thomas

currently working on: a michael jackson fic 😭😭

last internet search: hours calculator (ts was for work)

Summary & CW: Angst, hurt/comfort?, happy ending, friends to lovers, post patrol/mission, reader is struggling with life, they’re like early to mid-twenties in this, second person, no use of y/n

Pairing: Damian Wayne x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: Another piece out the Kiln! Thank you to @mystiquevoid for requesting, I love this fic so much. i got a little carried away 😅It’s also a little self-indulgent and inspired by la la land BUTTTT I hope you enjoy!!

“I think I’m going to move back in with my parents.”

It felt like ripping off a band aid when you finally admitted it. Damian found you twenty minutes ago after his run around town. You wrapped up your own patrol about two hours ago. There was a bruise on your collarbone and a small gash on your ribs your hand was applying some pressure on.

No words had been uttered in the quiet, almost blissful peace before dawn. You felt it once he found you. The bats may have gone through the most intense training regimen, Damian being no exception, but you felt the change in the air when he was near. The temperature drops for a fraction of a second before it warmed again, a mirror of his character.

Noticing your physical affliction and the lack of communication during patrol, indicating a mental one, he simply sat on the edge of the building with you. While he may not have been the picture of patience when you meet him, he grew into a something of a rock in the past few years you’ve known him. He was always there and never pushed you before you were ready.

What truly worried him however, was how still you were. Your feet weren’t swinging, you weren’t twiddling your thumbs, you were a statute. Your face was turned toward the horizon, carefully neutral.

He was the grandson of the Demon’s head, the son of Batman and Talia Al Ghul, he had been in countless perilous situations. Yet this? This petrified him more than anything he had faced in his past.

“What did you say?”

Patrol had left him exhausted in a way only a vigilante can feel in their bones. He desired nothing more than to retire to his bed where Titus would surely be waiting for him, but with your revelation he feels as if he’s been injected with cocaine.

“I think I’m going to back home.”

He pauses, and in your periphery, you see his eyes crinkle with confusion. “Is this not your home?”

“Not for long,” and there’s a laugh that’s more bitter than Drake’s coffee. “My landlord didn’t renew my lease.” His head now fully snaps in your direction, your gaze doesn’t waver and remains focused on the skyline. “Something about renovating the building, I have sixty days to pack.”

“You are more than welcome to stay at the manor. Selina won’t mind and Father is always complaining about his now empty nest.”

“Damian-”

“There is also my apartment. I do not stay there often after patrol and if it would make you comfortable, I would reside in the manor for the time you occupy it.”

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not.” The tone in the air shifts into something serious, and it lulls you in to finally look at him in all his beauty. “I am offering.”

With the last hours of darkness and the small glimmer the stars are casting, he looks ever the Wayne heir. He could be beaten and bruised, yet the regal air never left him. The domino mask had been discarded to his side so he could truly look at you. Yours had been abandoned somewhere behind you when you landed on the roof. Claustrophobia consumed you and it was all too tight, you’d discarded your ear piece, the mask, part of your costume, scattering it on the roof top.

His eyes were dancing back and forth between yours, the green drilling into you- searching for an answer to a question he hasn’t asked. His gaze became too heavy to hold, and you turned back to the scene of downtown .

It was almost therapeutic, the distant sirens, cars honking, voices echoing to the air. You had grown accustomed to the sounds of Gotham over the years. It never slept. It only reinforced that there was no rest for the wicked.

Shaking your head, you give him the answer. “I appreciate it but, I think… I think I have to leave.”

“Why?” A beat hadn’t managed to pass before he asked. You knew it was coming, he wasn’t going to let you leave without a fight, but there was none left in you. Your shoulders slouch with something close to defeat, but not quite there- no it was surrender.

This city had taken you for everything you were worth. Gotham bared its teeth and you took it as a challenge, assuming it was more bark than bite. It drained you for every last ounce of hope you had. And this… this was just it.

“I just- I don’t want to do it anymore Damian,” your shoulders rise and fall with a sigh of acceptance. “It’s been six years, three since I graduated and nothing’s changed. I came here because I wanted to be someone, I wanted to prove to my family that I could do it. That I could be someone they brag about- someone to be proud of. I graduated a year early, landed an okay job, paid my bills on time, and… I still feel this hole in my chest.”

When you catch his eyes again, there’s no judgement on his face- actually there’s no emotion at all for the matter. It never did stop bothering you when he did that. When he puts up a carefully concealed mask the second conversations got emotional. It was never on purpose, it was just how he was raised. Through the past few years you’ve worked with him to deconstruct it, but old habits die hard.

However, in these moments when your voice quivers and your face is painfully raw, it hurts.

“I got the right degree, I landed the good job, I did everything right. So, I don’t know why I still feel like this. There’s a part of me that thinks this is the sign I’ve been searching for. That this was just the final straw.” His eyebrows furrow and it brings you back to the moment, and he’s staring at you too intensely again. Call it cowardice, but as the gravity of his gaze increases, you lay on your back to look at the stars.

“Maybe this city isn’t for me, maybe I was kidding myself thinking I could do this all by myself. I’m still young, I can go back to my parent’s house, stay there for a bit and try to figure it out.”

It’s silent for a minute. A honk from a taxi is heard down below, and a group of girls are giggling walking home from the bar.

“I dreamed a lot when I was younger, I used to have all these ideas about my life and I can’t help but feel that the she wouldn’t be proud.”

Your voice comes out small. This was your deepest secret. One you’ve never admitted, not even to yourself. There was a pointed effort in not looking at him during all this, if you did, you probably wouldn’t have been able to say it. Then, you hear ruffling next to you as he lies back with you on the roof.

Turning your head to look at him, you see that he’s already staring at you. His eyes unwavering with the same intensity.

“I am proud of you.”

You scoff, and he does the most un-Damian thing on the planet. He links his pinky with yours. It’s hesitant and loose, giving you an out if you don’t want physical intimacy in this second.  

“I am proud of you.” He repeats himself. “I do not want you to leave, I want to be selfish and keep you here with me. I want you to stay in this city and spend every night jumping on rooftops with me.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and you can’t move. If you shift even a millimeter, the moment will shatter.

“If it is your past self you are worried of, then you need not to agonize yourself with the thought. My past self- the eight year old who was to inherit the League- would run a sword through my chest at the mere sight of me. We are not meant to make our past selves proud, and there is a peace in knowing that. It would be nice yes, but you are not who you once were. You have evolved, changed, and become a woman I am blessed to know.”

“If your true desire is to leave, I will be there. I will pack the apartment that for the life of me I cannot understand why you love. I will go escort you back to your parent’s house, but I want you to consider what you are leaving.” The grip on your pinky tightens. “It is okay to start over. It is okay to be lost, but do not run from who you are. Do not run from all that you have worked for.”

It was easy to forget how insightful he truly was. There were times when he would snap and just say the snippy thing to get his way. Then there times like this, when he looked at you like you held every answer he was looking for. That there was no where he’d rather be than on some grimy rooftop with you.

“When did you get so wise?” The question is light-hearted in nature, you said it with a laugh lingering in your voice but he took it serious.

“When I met you.”

He truly did have a way with words. It was a wonder that you were ever able to speak in front of him when he made such simple statements leaving you breathless.

“Thank you for this,” you hope your face is as earnest as you feel. “Really I mean it.”

He shakes his head ever so slightly.

“You do not need to thank me for something so trivial. You would have, and have done the same for me in the past.” He gains some sort of confidence and intertwines the rest of his hand in yours. “It is normal to feel as though you have lost your way. This is what your loved ones are here for, to remind you of who you are.”

There’s a smile pulling at your face, the first one of the week, and you can’t help but be grateful for him. For all his vices, his one true virtue was that he was devastatingly honest. You knew he wasn’t lying, and that made you all the more emotional.

As if sensing the shift in the air, he takes a deep breath. A nice transition into something easier to swallow.

“Well,” he sits up, hand still in yours. “We ought to get going. I have an apartment I need to clean after all.”

And although everything wasn't solved, the sky was a little brighter. You could confront the world and all the specifics of starting over tomorrow. Because now in a night with too many stars, you managed to catch the brightest one.  

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🍷 this love came back to me ☆⋆ jason todd x reader

when your beloved car breaks down, fate makes you run back into your ex-boyfriend, maybe after all these years, you and Jason could be something again. ANGST!! more angsty than i anticipated, biker jason welcome back, car girl(?) reader, SCARRED JASON TODD🗣️, to me they’re in their mid-late 20s. open ish ending. inaccurate smoking related text? idk i don’t smoke. i also know nothing about cars so inaccurate car terminology? probably a lot of mischaracterisation i fear i trying to get my groove back

.⋆♱ CAUTIONS reader has a gun. slight stalking from red hood?? jason and reader are mentioned to be smokers and reader smokes a cigarette in the fic

Your hand instinctively moves to your holster around your waist, button flying open as your palm rests on the machine to draw it quickly if necessary as a bike pulls over next to you. You don’t recognise the bike or the person on it immediately, but you watch as the man kicks open the bike stand, swinging one leg over and getting off partially into the street lamplight, his frame becomes familiar to you.