If you’re taking requests can I ask for a good ending version of the werewolf Dick Grayson fic? Maybe instead of Dick pouncing and killing the reader he’s instead hiding yin his room like a scared puppy and reader is trying to coax him out? Idk just something fluffy because there’s a sad lack of werewolf Dick Grayson fics and I need more please
𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐟 𝐰𝐡𝐨… 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝?
𝒾𝓃 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝒸𝒽… you find dick grayson transformed by the full moon in his apartment, but he's.. crying?
pairing: werewolf! dick grayson x fem! reader
genre: romance, fluff, a little silly
warnings: no gore here, still a barista rip
a/n: here is the alt ending to this fic per request! i think this was silly and cute and i am glad there is a werewolf dick grayson audience out there. most of this is the same aside from the ending, so skip to then if you so desire :3
➺ previous
➺ vampire! jason todd
By the time the weekend came and went, Dick had all but proven himself to be every bit of the most perfect man you had originally suspected he would be.
The coming weeks resulted in a couple of more dates sprinkled here and there, a first kiss and an unintentional sleepover after a scary movie marathon, in which he remained the perfect gentleman.
That was just three days ago, and a month had gone by since that fateful night.
Your phone buzzed in your pocket some time ago, but you had only just now had time to check it since the morning rush had died down.
Hey love, not feeling the best. Don't think I'll make
in tonight :(
I'll make it up to you I promise.
sent 6:47PM
Was is selfish of you to feel so disheartened? It's not like you wouldn't see him another day, the two of you had all but declared to everyone but yourselves you were officially dating.
Coffee was probably the last thing he would need if he was sick, he needed rest, not to come out in the cold and have caffeine to keep him up. But, perhaps the green tea blend with some honey might help soothe his throat.. But who's to say his throat even hurts? Surely it could help with a headache or something of the sort..
While you found various reasons to not go over to Dick's apartment with a hot tea in your hands, and found even more reasons as to why you should, you found yourself in front of his doorway regardless.
Oh no, why had you even come this way? It was clear he didn't want to see you, maybe he was contagious and didn't want to spread it to you. Shouldn't you have just asked him if it was okay for you to come over.
The quiet and empty hallway did nothing to ease your anxiety, rolling on the balls of your feet as your fist wavered in front of the door just below the old golden number of his apartment.
Just as you raised your hand to the door, finally having built up the courage to just hand him the damn cup of tea, a loud crash resounded from inside the apartment, shaking through the hallway and certainly stopping you in your place.
A pained groan resided soon after, following by subsequent smaller sounds of rustling and struggling.
Your heart was pounding in your chest, clearly startled by the incident as the possibilities swarmed your mind, worry growing more and more by the minute. What if he had fallen and really hurt himself? What if his sickness was worse than he'd let on? What if someone was inside and hurting him?
Without a moment to spare in the unreal scenario you had created within the confines of your mind, you finally knocked on the door, hand trembling as you called out into the dark.
"Dick? Are you there?"
All sounds of rustling quieted, as if a predator had stepped into a forest alive with the wild, like he was pretending he wasn't there.
You knocked once more.
"Dick, are you okay? I heard a crash."
Once again, silence.
Then, barely audible between the beating of your heart, pounding furiously in your ears, there was a quiet set of footsteps, slow and deliberate.
They grew closer and closer, until they were just loud enough for you to hear through the door clearly.
"[Y/N], please, leave."
Dick was heaving behind the door, voice breathless and strained as if he was in insurmountable pain, like something was really very wrong with him.
Your concern only grew, brows furrowing deeply atop your forehead as you stepped closer to the door.
"Dick, you sound like you need help. Please let me in."
Another groan came from behind the door, low, resounding once more through the hallways. It only spurred your determination more, your hand reaching out to the doorknob, ready to barge in if he insisted on keeping you out.
On the other side of the door Dick was sweating, beads dripping down his body as his muscles stretched and ached. The smell of you was basically filling his home, the pain in his bones being the only thing to ground him from opening the door and pouncing on you right in the hallway. You were too tempting, and he was soon to be too weak to resist.
"[Y/N], you're not safe here. Go."
He tried his best to sound stern, eyes rolling back and jaw slacking as a wave of pain rushed through his body, doubling over as he gasped for air. The pain came and went, rolling over his body like needles, breaking his bones over and over again.
His pain did more to steel you in your resolve than his pleas did, and you grasped the doorknob, the tea in your hand insignificant as you turned the brass and pushed open the door.
When the door softly hit the wall, bouncing towards you from the force, you stepped in to the apartment.
Dick was nowhere to be seen.
His bookshelf, once full of various comics and trinkets of his favorite kind, now laid heavily across the floor, pages peeking out from under the solid wood, stray legos strewn across the floor, glass shattered in chunks and tiny pieces alike. The coffee table, though old and rickety was much loved, now collapsed in on itself, splintered and irreparable.
White moonlight filtered in from the large window in his living room, providing the only light in the dark space, dancing along the wooden floor like a breeze amongst skin.
Closing the door behind you, you carefully stepped into the apartment.
"Dick?"
As far as you could see, there was no one inside. The kitchen remained untouched by whatever chaos had torn through like a tornado, the bathroom door wide open and empty inside.
The silence was disturbed only by your footsteps, occasionally accompanied by whichever debris you stepped stop on your way to the bedroom, the only remaining place Dick could be hiding.
It didn't make any sense, hadn't he been right behind the door just moments ago? Why would he flee so frantically from you?
Concern welled and bubbled in you like boiling water, though it did not provide any warmth in the cold darkness of Dick's apartment, almost a void with the lack of life. Normally, he at least had a fan running or a speaker softly playing whatever new artist he was listening to that week.
Your fingers trembled as the met the surface of the bedroom door, slowly pushing it open, eyes straining to see any sign of him.
"Dick, you're scaring me. What's going on?"
Fright seized your bones, crawled under your flesh, imbedded in your ear drums and clutched your organs tight in its grip. Once again, no response came, the air only filled with the uncomfortable silence that did not suit Dick at all.
A quiet sound, almost undetectable filtered through the static. Rustling, nails scraping lightly against the floor, uneven breathing.
Something about the animalistic nature of the noises were familiar, though it did not stop the trembling of your hands or the stuttering breath as you exhaled as you began to slowly tiptoe around the edge of the bed.
Just as you reached the far corner, a whine resounded in the room, gentle and low. Your brows furrowed, feeling yourself relax just slightly, perhaps stupidly.
You finally rounded the corner, a gasp cutting through the room as you caught sight of the source.
A beast, deformed or cursed, perhaps just born this way laid against the cold floor. What were once hands now exhibiting long curled claws, coarse hair covering every inch of skin, torn clothing doing little to hide the transformation.
Familiar deep blue eyes gazed at you from the darkness, hollow with shame and pain.
Without a moment to waste, you crept closer, dropping to your knees beside him.
Had he suffered this all alone? Did he have any family to help, any other person who had gone through this to guide him?
You recalled the anguished moans of pain from behind the door, feeling suddenly overcome with grief.
Dick's whole life had been like this, hiding, in pain, alone. He had hidden it from you, even though it might've been wishful thinking to believe he'd ever willingly tell you, because he was ashamed of what he had become.
Gently, you reached out and placed your hand atop his arm, swallowing thickly as he flinched under your touch.
"It's okay," you whispered, "I'm here now Dick. I will stay with you."
Tears came through, though you paid them no mind as you slowly eased into him, laying your head atop his shoulder, carassing his collarbone with your fingertips.
"I'll stay as long as you want."
As the night wore on, accompanied by the occasional pained whine from Dick and the shifting of his body, you ended up curled into his side, just as you had done the first time he had ever slept over.
Sure, there was more hair, which certainly came with more of a.. odor.. But he was Dick, and whatever afflicted him so did not change who he was.
Sleep had come in waves, sometimes you'd wake up not even knowing you'd fallen asleep, and sometimes you would awake like you were having a terrible nightmare. Each time you awoke, Dick was still by your side.
Morning came slowly, and though the sun had not yet come in the sky, the moon had gone to rest.
It was awful, horrifying, to hear the cracking of bones as Dick's body contorted once again, returning him to his much cleaner, though equally as exhausted human form.
Dark circles rested under his eyes, lips pale and dry, old t-shirt shredded to tatters.
His eyes met yours once more. They were overwhelming, so full and so eager to speak, gleaming like he was in a trance. They held all of his love for you, teeming with appreciation and gentleness.
"You stayed," he breathed, voice coarse and croaky.
A smile came to your lips, eyelids heavy with unrest and body like lead.
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The city lights shone brilliantly in the dark of night, perched on a rooftop was the ex boy wonder, Nightwing. The harsh wind of winter blew in his hair, messing the strands of onyx out of their rightful place. He looked down to his escrima sticks, twirling it in one of his hands before gazing out to the city once more. It was nothing new, he thought. As much as he adored doing what he did, he couldn’t deny it was rather tiresome most nights, and as skilled as he was, he was always subjected to a few injuries at best. He wiped the dried blood from his lip, graciously given to him from the previous wannabe villain gang. He couldn’t help but grimace at the thought, so many criminals were emerging from seemingly no where, with no real motive other than wanting to be thorns at his side.
Once more, he swung into action. Slithering in and melting into the shadows, stealthily taking out any targets presented. He knew he should be focusing, knew he shouldn’t be distracted, but all he could think about was her. The newest member of the Young justice, the most stunning woman he’d ever met, plagued his mind frequently. Her beauty was that of a siren, her voice the sweetest melody he’d been blessed to hear, and her eyes. Oh her eyes. He would dream of gazing into them during some not to innocent moments. He adored her, loved her even. She was perfect in his eyes, a dream turned reality for him. Not even the endless teasing from his teammates could deter him from clinging onto her, hovering around her whenever he could despite her protests. She was a bit of a loner, charismatic and seductive, yes. But she often chose to isolate herself whenever possible. Whether that was after missions, during patrols or during team building missions. So! He had to improvise somehow, right? He couldn’t ever get more than a few words out of her, usually laced with snark and sarcasm. It was a game to him, multiple bouquets of flowers stuffing her room, to lavish jewels, beautiful hand written love letters to trinkets he believed she’d indulge in. He never signed a name to his gifts, having to stifle a laugh and play coy whenever he’d catch wind of her frustration with her mystery gift giver.
But alas, he couldn’t afford to be thinking about her. Not while he was currently dodging bullets and taking down men left and right. It was a constant, vicious cycle. One he’d been tangled with his entire life. Always having to perform, however that translated to. Circus or battlefield, it was draining regardless. Gods knew he deserved a break, a long vacation with the holder of his heart in a far away paradise. A man could dream. Soon enough, he finished his patrol gracefully, with many criminals that roamed the streets of Gotham now behind bars. Dick grappled back to Mount justice, entering the cave with haste, his eyes searching for her. He entered the common room, where his team was situated. Friends he’d fought with almost all of his teenage years, people for whom he’d led and supported. That’s besides the point, they aren’t the main focus currently. Prior to returning, he’d managed the energy to buy another gift. An ethereal set of diamond necklaces, adorned with pearls that sat snug between the stones. A pretty red ribbon to secure the jewellery box and he was set! Admittedly, he’d spent many thousands on her, and this little habit of his has only started two weeks ago. Had he gone overboard? Of course not! How else would he acquire the love of such a beauty? He called out to his team, “Evening, guys!”, leaving the room before anyone could respond. Tiptoeing around the cave, he reached her room. Leaning his head against the door, he listened for any sounds or presence of life on the room, smirking victoriously when he confirmed she wasn’t inside. He set her gift on her bed and took in her space. Her room reeked of goth, the tall black canopy bed with intricate engravings, the velvet black curtain drape of the bed adding a sense of both privacy and comfort. Her furniture vintage and Victorian looking, and candles accompanied by roses adorned every surface in view. So elegant, so her. Taking a rose, he placed it on top of the jewellery box, once more given with an unsigned identity. Sneaking out of her room, he went about his own nightly routine, showering and dressing himself before doing his hair. Always well kept, especially in her presence. It was rather cute, really. How he’d try to impress her every way possible, always so put together for her. Entering the kitchen, he took out many ingredients and began cooking, taking advantage that most teammates were now preparing to enter the night’s embrace, leaving the only two insomniacs alone. A romantic dinner, for a hopeless romantic.
While he worked on dinner for the two, a nightly routine for the night owls, he hummed softly. His favourite part of the day, coming home and being able to spend time with her, wether he was the one cooking or not, her presence was enough to satiate the longing in his heart. Most of the time. Like clock work, she emerged from her room and graced Dick with her presence. Her stunning hair wet from her shower, and an almost tired look in her gorgeous eyes. His breath hitched when he caught sight of her. She belonged in a painting, he was sure of it.
“What’s on the menu tonight, master Grayson?”, she teased with a smirk that sent shivers of lust down his spine. “Carbonara, doll.”, his smooth voice rung out easily. She hummed in acknowledgment and sat down on the kitchen stool, chin in hand as she watched the man work. She had to admit, he was a sight for sore eyes. Muscles rippling under his shirt, his hair messily attractive after his bath, and his cologne wafting through the kitchen subtly in a way that almost made her want to kiss and mark him. Almost. But there was another pressing matter at hand, one she’d been dying to figure out.
“Dick.”
“Yes?”
“Is it you?”
Now that caught him off guard. Did she know? Had she seen through his attempts at secrecy? “Is what me?”, he said nonchalantly, a skill he’d adapted over many years living alongside his brothers. “The gifts. Is it you?”, her voice firm yet quiet. “I don’t know what you’re referring to, doll. You’ve been receiving gifts? Should I be jealous?”, he casually shot back as a smirk tugged at his lips and sighed internally as she seemed to have bought it. He prepared her plate, giving her a generous amount of the food he’d made, and sat a wine glass down next to it, pouring only the finest wine he’d come across. A perk of being adopted by a billionaire, he supposed. Being able to decipher and build upon an extensive knowledge of the most refined beverages.
“Cheers, love.”
My very first writing piece! Please let me know what you think or anything that could be improved! I hope you’ve enjoyed! :3
Merry Christmas, everybody!! This is a gift for my best friend, @veonfan
I hope you all have a lovely day, whether you celebrate or not, and I hope you enjoy this little drabble.
I don’t think I like it as much as the Jason one because it feels a little rushed, but fingers crossed you’ll like it anyway.
Word count: 1261
Warnings: None
Christmas Eve in Gotham comes with a snowstorm, and your boyfriend decides you’d be perfect for helping him warm up after patrol.
The fire crackles in the fireplace, illuminating the great hall in a soft, glowing light. The clock in the corner chimes the hour; only one to go until Christmas morning (technically) begins. A few more still before your boyfriend and his family will be able to call it a night. Outside the walls of the manor, Gotham is growing increasingly white and frosty. Initially, you and many others had been excited at the first sign of snowfall in the early afternoon. However, as the day wore on and night fell, the pleasant weather became worrying: the snow had grown from a soft flurry of small flakes, to a low-level blizzard. The wind picked up to boot, blurring the whole mess until it was one big white wall.
This development had worried you greatly when it arose. Jumping off of roofs and hunting down criminals was dangerous enough to begin with—in these conditions, it could be disastrous. When you brought up this point, Dick just laughed and pulled you into a hug, attempting to crush your worries—and you—against his chest.
“It’s snowed in Gotham before,” he soothed, tucking your hair back behind your ear. “We’re all used to it by now. Besides, poor conditions usually make the baddies just as hesitant to go out as we are.”
You raised a brow at this, thinking of several villains and their escapades that could be brought up to prove him wrong. “Oh, really?”
Dick laughed. “Yes, really. Besides, it’s Christmas Eve. Don’t look at me like that—there are at least a handful of rogues who likely have something better to do. Have a little faith, would you?” The grin splitting his handsome face widened, and he wiggled his eyebrows at you. “Where’s your holiday spirit, babe? Don’t you believe in Christmas miracles?”
Your scoff sounds more like a snort, and you have to laugh. Leave it to Dick Grayson to ease your worries with a smile and a joke.
“You’ve been dating me for how long? I thought you’d have figured out you were dating the grinch by now.”
“You’re awfully cute for a grinch, if that’s the case—“
“Tt—Grayson, can you stop your incessant flirting and move already?”
You laughed again, and Dick shook his head. Leave it to Damian to pull everybody back to reality, the little brat.
“What, a guy can’t even properly say goodbye to his girlfriend? On Christmas? What is this world coming to?”
Damian made a disgusted noise and took his leave, deciding he’d rather not deal with Dick’s nonsense.
“Well, you heard him, birdy boy. Besides—it’s not Christmas just yet.” You smiled up at him, smoothing the edges of his domino mask over his eyes before standing on your toes to kiss him goodbye. “Try to come back in time for the actual holiday, alright?”
Dick hummed in response and stole another kiss. “I’ll give it a shot, just because you asked. I love you, (Y/N).”
“I love you too, Dick. Now get going—Damian looks like he’s about to go from nice to naughty.”
And with that, off went your boyfriend and his family, out to save the city. And here you were hours later, watching the fire dance and waiting for their return. Without realizing it, you begin to doze off, lulled by the warmth of the flames and the blanket wrapped snugly around you. Some time later, you find yourself roused by the couch dipping next to you. Something tugs at the blanket you’re cocooned in, and after a moment you find yourself wrapped up in a strong pair of arms, with your cheek resting against something solid but soft.
“Dick…?” You mumble drowsily, a deep breath in answering your question for you when your lungs are filled with his scent.
“Hey, (Y/N). Merry Christmas.”
A smile curls your lips up at the edges, and you sit up to rub at your eyes. Your lovely boyfriend has somehow managed to nestle himself under the blanket with you- not that you’d complain. He’s wearing a faded pair of jeans and the black sweater with blue stripes across the chest and sleeves that you know is his favorite. He looks tired, but just as unharmed as he did when he left. You hum in relief and lean up to press a kiss to his cheek.
“Merry Christmas, Dickie bird… Did everything go ok?”
Dick gives you a lazy grin, and a lazy kiss to match. “Unless you count Jay bitching about the cold, everything was great. No perps out and about, looks like they all decided to be smart and stay out of this blizzard. Just like I told you. B decided we could call it a night early.”
You nod, leaning your head back against his shoulder and getting ready to settle down. “That’s a relief… where are the boys and the big man?”
“Bruce’s still down in the cave with Damian. Tim decided to fix up some equipment to handle the cold and snow, and somehow he roped Jason into helping him. They’ll probably be up soon…”
There’s a smirk in his voice at the end of his explanation, and you lift your head again to give him a suspicious look. He’s plotting something. You open your mouth to call him out on it, but it’s too late. Within the span of a few seconds the acrobat has you flipped over and pinned on the couch, with his still fucking freezing hands under your shirt, tickling you.
“Richard John Grayson!”
Dick cracks up at your indignant squeal, like the gentleman he is, and proceeds to continue torturing you while you laugh and writhe under him. Eventually, he stops, leaving you heaving and panting while you try to get your breath back. His hands are pressed against the small of your back, and he rests his chin on your chest so he can grin up at you. Once your sides aren’t splitting anymore, you find it in you to smack him in the shoulder and attempt (key word: attempt) to glare at him.
“Care to explain that totally uncalled for and unwarranted assault and breach of my trust?”
The dark-haired man just continues to give you that cheeky grin of his that he knows you can’t be angry with and wiggles his fingers lightly underneath you.
“My hands aren’t cold anymore.”
“Dick.”
He laughs and feigns hurt, looking up at you with kicked puppy eyes. “Aw, that sounded like an insult rather than my name. I’m hurt, babe.”
You roll your eyes, but find yourself chuckling again. You can’t seem to do much else with such a goofball around.
“I think you’ll get over it,” you murmur, becoming occupied with combing your fingers through the mess of his hair. The raven-colored strands are slightly damp, but you can’t tell if it’s due to a shower in the cave or the snow outside. The two of you fall into comfortable silence for a while, you playing with your boyfriend’s hair and your boyfriend occasionally rubbing now-warm circles into your back.
Dick lifts his head from your chest. You look down at him happily, brushing his bangs back from his eyes. The smile on his face is softer than it usually is, and your insides melt into slush when he leans up to press that smile against your lips in a gentle kiss.
“Merry Christmas, (Y/N),” he whispers against your mouth. You close your eyes with a smile of your own, forehead pressed against his.
𝒾𝓃 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝒸𝒽… your coffee shop regular dick grayson comes to your shop every day, except for one day of each month. coincidentally, it always falls on a full moon...
pairing: werewolf! dick grayson x fem! reader
genre: romance, horror
warnings: you're a barista (rip), dick literally bites you, some swearing, blood, gore, you die (again)
a/n: i am going to eventually make another vampire jason but i had an idea to make this a little mini-series while i try to spark inspiration for my others! thinking i should maybe do like mad scientist or warlock or dragon bruce.. decisions...
➺ vampire! jason todd
"Thanks for coming in!" you call out, smile fading once the polite couple stepped out the door.
With a sigh, you turned back to the glass cup you were busy polishing, removing the water marks from them since the property manager was too cheap to let the owner install a dishwasher. Ultimately, no one would really care either way considering most people took their coffee to-go. Except for one particularly charming regular, Richard.
You remember the first time he walked into the shop, stumbling over himself and the crooked scarf around his neck, shoes littering snow along the freshly mopped floor. Though you had half a mind to scream in frustration, since he had been your only customer in nearly two hours and you were meant to close in just thirty minutes, he smiled and let out a breath, nearly tripping over his own two feet as he stepped up to the counter.
Something about his smile was so enticing, perhaps the slight imperfection, perhaps the canines that poked against his lips when he grinned, perhaps it was just that his smile was directed at you.
His speech was much more refined that his walking, flawlessly placing his order and chatting with you kindly about your day. It wasn't often customers were so conversational, and the few who were typically made your day. Richard was no different.
He'd arrive at 8:15pm every day on the dot, the same grin, the same frazzled hair, the same clumsy demeanor.
Sometimes, when you were feeling generous enough to stay and make sure the espresso machine was a little more clean than usual, or when everything was stocked to the brim, you'd let him stay while you finished closing up. Of course, your dedication to do your job so diligently had nothing to do with him, you just wanted to keep your job since your manager had started to get displeased with how late you stayed every night.
Which again, of course had nothing to do with Richard.
Tonight should have been no different. If you were being honest, seeing him come in every night had been the highlight of your day. You didn't light up when any other regular came in, didn't have his order waiting, fresh and hot, worried he would change his order and it would be for naught, but he never did anyways.
Except tonight, like the past three months, he did not come in at 8:15. You suspected he wouldn't be in at all for the night, his coffee long cold and stale by the time you turned off the open sign in the front window.
Oh well, surely he'd be in tomorrow. Maybe it was.. strange of you to notice, but there was always one a day month Richard wouldn't come in. The next day he'd return, sheepish and apologetic like he had missed an appointment with you, always leaving a much heftier tip than his usual (which was already always generous).
Closing down the shop went much quicker than normal, though you were sure to hear about the things you didn't go out of your way to do like most day. You couldn't be bothered to care much, it's not like you were supposed to do it all anyways.
The night air was unforgiving against your skin, a light jacket and winter hat just didn't cut it when the sun fell from the sky, settling a chill deep in your bones.
Otherwise, the night was like any other, locking your door behind you and falling into a slumber after a shower, preparing to work again tomorrow.
Your suspicion had been proven correct when 8:15 came, the small doorbell sadly dinging as the years had worn it down. Richard adorned that typical smile you had seen times before, slowly unwrapping his scarf and stepping towards the counter.
"Hi [Y/N], how's today been?"
Despite your curiosity, eager to know where he had disappeared off to, you had to remind yourself that Richard was merely a regular at your coffee shop, and you were just the barista. What he did outside of this building was none of your business.
The smile you gave back was as warm as you could manage, sliding him his cup while you went back to wiping down the espresso machine.
"Hey Richard, was wondering if you'd make it in today," shit, you hadn't meant to say it out loud.
For a moment his grin wavered, tilting downwards at the sides as he let out a tense and airy laugh, taking a small sip of his drink.
God what an idiot you were!
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything, I just, you come in everyday so," you began to ramble, eyes desperately avoiding his as you wiped the sanitizer dipped rag along the very clean counter, wiping up spots that did not exist.
Silence permeated the space with ease, filling the room with an awkward tension that had never existed between you and Richard. It was unsettling, and unnatural. Something of a freak accident caused by none other than your inability to stop talking when you were nervous.
Every few moments your gaze was flicking upwards to where he stood, trying to read his face in the mere moment you looked at him. Was he mad? Did he think you were rude since you had been so invasive?
"No, it's alright. I guess it is only natural to miss me."
Back was that charming grin, teeth gleaming under the incandescent lights as you scoffed in response, a smile sliding across your face despite your effort.
Richard was good at this, dissolving the tension in the room. He had the ability to make all of your days stress melt away with just a few words, and as stupid as it might be, you found yourself growing a little crush on him. The world would rue the day you finally got the courage to ask him out.
"You can call me Dick, you know. Richard is so formal."
His brows tugged together and upwards, gaze teasing as he once again drank from the coffee cup in his hands.
Once again you found yourself grinning.
Conversation came easily after that, mostly thanks to Dick and his ability to make conversation from anything and nothing. By the time closing came, he was sat at the lone bar stool along the counter, watching and talking as you finished closing up.
"Well, until tomorrow, Dick." you said, having just finished locking the front door of the shop as he stood with you outside.
You expected his usual response, something flirty like I look forward to it, or don't miss me too much. Instead, you were surprised when he stood still in his spot, suddenly very interested in the way his scarf laid across his neck.
"Actually, I was hoping I could maybe walk you home. Keep the weirdos away and whatnot."
Something in you was reminded of all the horror stories you'd heard online about men like Dick. Smooth and suave, more attractive than average, friendly. Men like him who had turned out to be much more dangerous than they let on, and while you wanted to believe he was different than that, how much did you really know about him?
This was perhaps more than you had been hoping for, the chance to talk with him outside of your work setting, to really get to know him and maybe get more than a barista and patron relationship with him.
"Dick, that's really nice, but I'm not sure that's such a great idea.."
Trying to put it as politely as you could, you couldn't stop the way your stomach churned when his smile deflated, even if it was just a miniscule amount. Had he really been hoping you'd say yes?
"Ah, I'm sorry. I just thought maybe we were getting along really well, I don't wanna make you uncomfortable or anything-"
"No, no!" You cut him off, waving your hands in front of him as you stepped closer to him, a shy smile coming across your face.
"I.. we do get along. I just.. want to meet you when it's not approaching midnight. At least for the first date."
First date.
The words came out so seamlessly.
The world, oh the world was doomed. You did say they'd rue the day, and it appeared the day had come. God, what had you done?
Dick's eyes met your, wide with surprise at your forwardness. Another airy laugh came from his chest, the smile returning to his lips once more.
"Yeah, good idea. Can I see you this weekend?"
Those fateful words had changed the entire course of your week.
Dick still came in every day after, the smiles holding a little more than just polite chit-chat and flirty remarks that always left you flustered.
By the time the weekend came and went, Dick had all but proven himself to be every bit of the most perfect man you had originally suspected he would be.
The coming weeks resulted in a couple of more dates sprinkled here and there, a first kiss and an unintentional sleepover after a scary movie marathon, in which he remained the perfect gentleman.
That was just three days ago, and a month had gone by since that fateful night.
Your phone buzzed in your pocket some time ago, but you had only just now had time to check it since the morning rush had died down.
Hey love, not feeling the best. Don't think I'll make
in tonight :(
I'll make it up to you I promise.
sent 6:47PM
Was is selfish of you to feel so disheartened? It's not like you wouldn't see him another day, the two of you had all but declared to everyone but yourselves you were officially dating.
Coffee was probably the last thing he would need if he was sick, he needed rest, not to come out in the cold and have caffeine to keep him up. But, perhaps the green tea blend with some honey might help soothe his throat.. But who's to say his throat even hurts? Surely it could help with a headache or something of the sort..
While you found various reasons to not go over to Dick's apartment with a hot tea in your hands, and found even more reasons as to why you should, you found yourself in front of his doorway regardless.
Oh no, why had you even come this way? It was clear he didn't want to see you, maybe he was contagious and didn't want to spread it to you. Shouldn't you have just asked him if it was okay for you to come over.
The quiet and empty hallway did nothing to ease your anxiety, rolling on the balls of your feet as your fist wavered in front of the door just below the old golden number of his apartment.
Just as you raised your hand to the door, finally having built up the courage to just hand him the damn cup of tea, a loud crash resounded from inside the apartment, shaking through the hallway and certainly stopping you in your place.
A pained groan resided soon after, following by subsequent smaller sounds of rustling and struggling.
Your heart was pounding in your chest, clearly startled by the incident as the possibilities swarmed your mind, worry growing more and more by the minute. What if he had fallen and really hurt himself? What if his sickness was worse than he'd let on? What if someone was inside and hurting him?
Without a moment to spare in the unreal scenario you had created within the confines of your mind, you finally knocked on the door, hand trembling as you called out into the dark.
"Dick? Are you there?"
All sounds of rustling quieted, as if a predator had stepped into a forest alive with the wild, like he was pretending he wasn't there.
You knocked once more.
"Dick, are you okay? I heard a crash."
Once again, silence.
Then, barely audible between the beating of your heart, pounding furiously in your ears, there was a quiet set of footsteps, slow and deliberate.
They grew closer and closer, until they were just loud enough for you to hear through the door clearly.
"[Y/N], please, leave."
Dick was heaving behind the door, voice breathless and strained as if he was in insurmountable pain, like something was really very wrong with him.
Your concern only grew, brows furrowing deeply atop your forehead as you stepped closer to the door.
"Dick, you sound like you need help. Please let me in."
Another groan came from behind the door, low, resounding once more through the hallways. It only spurred your determination more, your hand reaching out to the doorknob, ready to barge in if he insisted on keeping you out.
On the other side of the door Dick was sweating, beads dripping down his body as his muscles stretched and ached. The smell of you was basically filling his home, the pain in his bones being the only thing to ground him from opening the door and pouncing on you right in the hallway. You were too tempting, and he was soon to be too weak to resist.
"[Y/N], you're not safe here. Go."
He tried his best to sound stern, eyes rolling back and jaw slacking as a wave of pain rushed through his body, doubling over as he gasped for air. The pain came and went, rolling over his body like needles, breaking his bones over and over again.
His pain did more to steel you in your resolve than his pleas did, and you grasped the doorknob, the tea in your hand insignificant as you turned the brass and pushed open the door.
When the door softly hit the wall, bouncing towards you from the force, you stepped in to the apartment.
Dick was nowhere to be seen.
His bookshelf, once full of various comics and trinkets of his favorite kind, now laid heavily across the floor, pages peeking out from under the solid wood, stray legos strewn across the floor, glass shattered in chunks and tiny pieces alike. The coffee table, though old and rickety was much loved, now collapsed in on itself, splintered and irreparable.
White moonlight filtered in from the large window in his living room, providing the only light in the dark space, dancing along the wooden floor like a breeze amongst skin.
Closing the door behind you, you carefully stepped into the apartment.
"Dick?"
As far as you could see, there was no one inside. The kitchen remained untouched by whatever chaos had torn through like a tornado, the bathroom door wide open and empty inside.
The silence was disturbed only by your footsteps, occasionally accompanied by whichever debris you stepped stop on your way to the bedroom, the only remaining place Dick could be hiding.
It didn't make any sense, hadn't he been right behind the door just moments ago? Why would he flee so frantically from you?
Concern welled and bubbled in you like boiling water, though it did not provide any warmth in the cold darkness of Dick's apartment, almost a void with the lack of life. Normally, he at least had a fan running or a speaker softly playing whatever new artist he was listening to that week.
Your fingers trembled as the met the surface of the bedroom door, slowly pushing it open, eyes straining to see any sign of him.
"Dick, you're scaring me. What's going on?"
Fright seized your bones, crawled under your flesh, imbedded in your ear drums and clutched your organs tight in its grip. A low, dark growl resounded through the room, cutting through the silence like the sharpest of blades.
Whatever it was, it was not human, and last you checked, Dick had only been thinking about adopting a dog.
Light filtered in through the room suddenly, and you were reminded violently that Dick had a large window in his room, just perpendicular to his bed.
It's footsteps came quietly, scratching against the wood like it had claws long unkept and dangerous, slowly approaching like any predator approached its prey. Your mind was screaming, begging for you to move, to turn and run, to call someone, anyone, to come back tomorrow and find Dick with a runny nose and cough and tell him about this horrible nightmare you'd had.
Dark brown hair, coarse and thick, caught in the glimmering moonlight. A beast nearly double your height, standing on it's muscular hind legs, a faint dripping every few moments as saliva fell to the floor from it's snout.
This time, the darkness that enshrouded you was not from the lack of light in Dick's apartment, rather the large monster that had come to stand before you.
Your body had not stopped trembling, vibrating violently, eyes so wide with fear they might just pop out of your skull.
Stuck in place, feet glues and limbs much too stiff, you had no intention of eyeing the creature, observing it and learning anything about it, however only one thing caught your attention; a familiar looking blue crewneck, torn and shredded against the torso of the beast, embroidered letters long gone.
A realization came far too late. His pleading, his once-a-month disappearances, the destruction of his apartment.
"Dick-"
It was lunging, fiercely grabbing your arms, nails digging deep into your skin, nearly penetrating the delicate bone. The wide maw of the beast opened as it snarled, and then it clamped down firmly around your throat, unforgiving.
·⁀ ༄.°✈ a year ago, stella doyle was given a raving letter of recommendation for the gotham gazette by none other than clark kent, her former coworker from metropolis' daily planet. one night, she stumbles upon something she definitely should not have seen.
₊ ⬩ * ' * SYNOPSIS ⬩ ₊ ⋆ ₊ ⬩
—LIVING IN METROPOLIS after the death of her father, Stella was constantly reminded of painful memories that would never leave her. After her shitty boyfriend finally moved out of her apartment, she was made aware of how painfully lonely she had become. Her dear friends Clark and Lois help her get a job at the second biggest newspaper she knew of, the Gotham Gazette.
After a heartfelt goodbye, she is on her way to a city that proved to be just as dangerous as her hometown of Metropolis. Most of her work day consists of furiously editing her own stories and fighting to be recognized in the publishing room, while also hiding from those in the office who think poorly of her.
Moving miles away from her closest friends is the hardest thing she's ever done, but she soon gets to see her dear friends when wedding preparations begin to pile up.
Stella makes the poor decision to go down on a dark alleyway on a cold night, and finds herself in a bind with both a villain and a hero. When she nearly kills her savior, and herself in the same moment, she is reminded painfully of her mortality.
After that, there's a strange string of instances where her hero returns to her air without fail, like he is looking over her.
Is it possible she's made an impression on this acrobatic vigilante? What happens when she falls for him, along with a charming and charismatic regular at the coffee shop she frequents? Who was she supposed to choose?
The man who saves her life, again and again, haunted by mystery and anonymity, or the kind and gentle man who disappears for days on end?
₊ ⬩ * ' * AUTHOR'S NOTE ⬩ ₊ ⋆ ₊ ⬩
—MY BABY NIGHTWING I LOVE LOVE LOVE,, i am actually preparing these masterlists when the poll is going on to decide who i will be writing for first, but i have already set everything up mwahaha :33
as for all of my fics, the only thing that is set here is the name! there is no specific description of appearance including race, hair type, weight, etc. it’s just a little easier to keep a character consistent with a name i feel, and i hate the look of y/n or (y/n) and such.
genre: romance, action, fanfiction, angst
warnings: this will feature mature content; depictions of violence and death, fighting scenes, injury, mature language, sexual themes and scenes
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a/n: FINALLY the chapter guys, sorry! holiday season got away from me and then i had a pretty bad depressive episode in which i literally could not escape from until yesterday, so here it is!
enjoy :3 - kitty (•˕ •マ.ᐟ
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A wind chill warning had been in effect for the past two days.
As winter time approached, the city began to ready for snow. Autumn lasted for what felt like a minute, though it was Stella's favorite season. It always felt like the leaves changed in mere moments, quickly falling and becoming buried beneath the snow before she could even blink.
Though it wasn't much different in Metropolis, the bustling city moving far too quickly for her to even catch up. It had been exactly one year today since Stella packed up and moved to Gotham City.
She could still remember the sad smiles on the face of her friends Clark and Lois, who were expected to marry soon. She remembered promising to make it to their wedding, which was only months away now. Clark was the reason she was even able to move to Gotham City in the first place, and without his help, she was sure she would've ended up in the worst state of her life.
After the death of her father, her boyfriend at the time had been quick to dump her and leave her to rot in her endless despair. Something about how she was "too sad to be fun".
Clark and Lois had been there through it all. They had helped pick up her slack when her grief felt too heavy, stayed late at the office with her, brought her coffee and invited her out when she was holed up in her much too lonely apartment.
When the chief editor of the Gotham Gazette reached out to her for an open position, she all but jumped at the chance.
For nearly a month it was a secret. A series of phone calls and trips over the weekend to get coffee with different people, various meetings where she would repeat the exact same answers to the exact same questions asked by people she wasn't sure she would ever see again.
Nearly a week passed before she got the email.
Upon opening it, promptly accepting the offer after screaming and jumping up and down in joy which no doubt would upset her grumpy downstairs neighbor, she packed everything up and found a cozy apartment on the outskirts of Gotham City with Clark's help. Apparently, crime in Gotham City was worse than in Metropolis. She thought it couldn't get any worse than intergalactic aliens vowing to destroy the Earth.
This is also how she came to find out about the infamous Bat-team, or Bat-family, or whatever Gotham City called them. Various vigilantes who would sometimes work with the police to capture criminals and derail various crimes. It was a dream for an investigative journalist like herself.
Now, she was running for her life at least once a week. Drug dealers, petty criminals, close chances with some of the bigger and more dangerous villains. As much as it was terrifying, it was also exhilarating and made for excellent stories.
It was cloudy today, and she could barely tell that it was still day outside. She sat idly in the pit, surrounded again by more bustling people, some on the phone, some running for the printer, some taking nearly an entire pot of coffee to their desks because they knew already that they would be staying late.
Luckily for Stella, she had been anticipating the next weekend off for the sake of visiting Lois to buy her bridesmaid dress for their wedding. Her stories had been thoroughly edited and meticulously crafted over the course of the past three days, so all she would have to do today was get them approved by her boss and schedule them to print tomorrow. Then her long weekend would begin at last.
With a sigh she leaned back in her chair, eyes flickering between the various cubicles surrounding her with her coworkers, people she still had yet to know very well.
She knew that the man who sat across from her just got divorced, and he was pretty insistent on keeping the cat. She knew that the woman who sat across the isle to her left had just started dating a new guy, which was apparent by the frequent giggling as she checked her phone and by the giddy gossip where she spilled much more than she probably should've. She also knew that she wasn't very well liked among her peers, though she was clueless as to why.
Clueless wouldn't be the right word, more like, unmoved.
Cathy, an older woman who had been working the obituary, celebrations and rented columns for the past seventeen years had approached her with something of a scowl, insisting that Stella was far too focused on her own life.
What was that even supposed to mean? At the time, she just remembered being confused and hurt at the revelation that her coworkers thought poorly of her. But at the same time, she had gone out of her way to start conversations, she had offered to help with stories, to give contacts, to do the menial work for her coworkers focused on the meatier part of their work. What could that woman possibly have meant?
The same woman was chatting with an older man a few rows away, holding some folder in her hand and going over the various contents. As if she could sense that Stella was thinking of the moment, she glanced up and made eye contact with her.
Stella was quick to duck into her cubicle, cringing at the embarrassment rising in her chest. Great, now her coworker thought she was selfish and a stalker.
"Doyle," a voice barked out, deep and coarse.
Her gaze snapped to the man approaching her, dressed in the stereotypical attired of slacks with his undershirt and suspenders exposed, a thick mustache resting upon his upper lip.
He was at her desk in moments, slapping the thick manilla folders onto her desk with an unreadable expression on his face. Stella never liked that about him, he was always too hard to read.
"These look fine. Before you leave, make sure you clear it with publishing."
Stella's hurried thanks fell on deaf ears as he turned on his heels to leave immediately after he spoke, and though the cold behavior would typically throw her off, she was more than pleased that he was leaving at this very moment.
With a quiet grin on her face, she tried to act casual and get up from her chair to head to the next floor down, where she would find a quarter of the floor owned by the Gazette where the publishing offices resided. Thankfully that was enough to keep most of the unsavory gossip away, and she hoped maybe they would be nicer.
After nearly thirty minutes of waiting to speak to her columns publisher, he all but snatched the files from her hands, took a much too deep sigh, and with a short and unkind voice he said-
"It would've just been easier for you to fax the copy or email me the file. I don't need all this, it's useless."
Feeling simultaneously dejected and excited, Stella made her way back to her desk, discreetly collected her things, and decided to browse shops in Metropolis for bridesmaids dressed while she waited for the clock to strike five.
When the time came, she opted for the lone stairwell instead of the overcrowded elevator full of people who would no doubt send her glares through the peripherals.
After descending six floors she pushed the metal bar and stepping into the side alleyway, greeted with litter scattered across the neglected cement, she let out a breath of air like she had been holding it in for eternity.
The walk back to her home was not short, and though she lived in a somewhat safer part of town, she was no stranger to cutting through dark alleys and side streets to get home.
Oh how she hated winter.
Darkness had already began to creep into the streets, though they were busy with the typical end-of-day traffic, cars backed up multiple blocks and stopped at a single light. The usual big city type of traffic that someone would tell a horror story about.
Stella could hardly hear her own footsteps over the flurry of nine-to-five workers, everyone trapped in their own worlds as they made their way home for the evening. It made her think of Cathy's words for a fleeting moment, maybe she had been too concerned for herself after all. Maybe that's why she chose to take the stairs instead.
Sirens sounded distantly through the air. Flashing red and blue lights were parked just up ahead, at the typical crosswalk she would use to get to her street. Foot traffic was already backed up, and she could see an amassing crowd of people she had no interest in getting stuck in.
If she just took the right side street before and went a few blocks before crossing, she could just walk the blocks back without taking too much time to get home while avoiding whatever incident occurred.
The wind whipped against her skin as she turned, blowing through her hair as she regretted leaving her scarf hanging on her coat rack this morning. Though her collared peacoat and gloves warmed her, it did little to prevent the cold gust creeping into whatever openings it could to touch her skin.
By the time she had walked just two blocks she was shivering.
A suspicious looking alley caught her attention. It was about halfway through the next block, and it would still allow her to avoid both car and pedestrian traffic while she made her way back on her original path.
It looked empty, and it sounded quiet, but in the streets of Gotham, any place could quickly become a crime scene.
Surely she could just run through it if she was scared enough. Or maybe she would walk through and be just fine. The most she could run into was some mugger, or maybe a homeless person trying to shelter themselves from the cold. It always made her sad to see the people in power in her city neglect the people who needed them.
Like a siren's song had called her to the sea, she decided to take the risk, and changed her direction.
She looked around cautiously, trying not too look suspicious while also trying not to draw any unwanted attention to any passerby's. Should anyone follow her into the alley, she was limited on her options. A small can of pepper spray that she had used a handful of times remained hooked to her keychain, along with a multitool that she always had a hard time getting open.
All of this to say she would not fare well in the case of any such circumstance.
But of course, it is such her luck.
"Well, what do we have here? A lady, walking home alone?"
The voice might as well have belonged to someone made of slime with the way it made Stella shiver. Up ahead, a man dressed in a worn looking hoodie and some jeans stepped from behind a dumpster, and though men on the street who approached her in such a way typically had a sleazy grin painted on their faces, his face was as unfriendly as his intentions.
Trying to ignore the stranger, Stella simply stepped as close to the opposite building wall as she could, avoiding eye contact with the stranger while she tightened her grip on the keys in her front coat pocket.
"I believe the gentleman was talking to you," a dry and grating voice called out.
Two more men stepped from behind the dumpster. One of them looked to be around the same age as the first, dressed in a similar hoodie and dark pair of torn jeans. The other man made her stomach twist as she realized she must have really gotten herself into trouble.
He was an older man, not quite grey but not young, wearing Italian leather paired with a Cuban cigar tipping on the edge of his lips. He looked like a stereotypical gangster, but the old-fashioned cane and the scar on his face made him much more dangerous.
"I.. I don't want any trouble," Stella's voice trembled, her heart drumming loudly in her ears as she realized the severity of the situation.
She must have walked up on some sort of shady deal or dirty business, a suspicion confirmed once more when another man appeared with a large duffle bag thrown over his shoulder. Drugs? Money? A dead body?
Possibilities ran through Stella's mind as the men circled her.
The pepper spray probably had enough to get at least two of them, but that would mean the other two could subdue her while she was aiming. If she just randomly sprayed towards all four, it was more likely that it wouldn't hit any of them. Would she be able to outrun them? She cursed herself as she realized that she had switched out her typical platformed loafers for a small heel that matched the color of her turtleneck.
"Well, I'm afraid you've simply come to the wrong place, at the wrong time."
They descended on her like wolves, maws dripping with saliva that cast a shine on their fangs. She could barely think before she was moving, turning to run back down the alley, a scream that was caught in her chest, burning and tearing through her throat as it tried to escape.
This kind of fear was unlike anything she had ever experienced. Her mind was racing, her body was moving before she could think, and she wasn't even sure she was conscious right now. Her breathing was abnormally steady, though she could practically feel the adrenaline pulsing through her veins.
She was running before she realized it, heels clacking, pounding against the cold pavement. Her hair was whipping behind her, her coat feeling far too heavy on her shoulders, her purse hitting against her side every so often.
Closer and closer she got to the end of the alleyway, and she could still feel the ghosts of the men chasing her, their shouts falling short as the sound of the wind blocked out the noise.
If it hadn't been for the wind, maybe she would've hurt their disgruntled shouts as two of the men were struck down, crying out in pain. Maybe she would've heard the man that was right behind her as he finally grasped the edge of her coat, just nearly tugging her backwards until suddenly-
There was high pitched screaming.
Suddenly, the wind increased tenfold, the weightlessness she had been feeling went net zero as if she was in zero gravity, and her heels no longer dug against the concrete as she ran.
Without realizing it, she had clenched her eyes shut so tight she thought she was going to start seeing stars behind her eyelids. It took her far too long to realize that she had been grabbed after all, a tight grip around her waist, a large body pressed against her back. Oh no, she thought, they had caught her.
As her eyes opened, blurred headlights and stop lights whizzed past, and she was falling closer to the ground by the second, another bought of screaming ensuing.
"Calm down, I've got you," a voice said.
If only that had been any solace to her.
What on Earth did this strange man who had grabbed her think would happened when he appeared from behind and launched into the air with her? What kind of gang was the Penguin running now, some sort of advanced-technology-stealth-drug-dealing-bullshit?
"No, let me go!"
Stella was instantly struggling against the grip. Her arms were nearly slipping out of her jacket now, the sleeves tugging her unpleasantly as she searched for something, anything, below that would mean she might survived. Jumping from the height she was at meant almost certain death unless she could somehow land on a roof or balcony.
Her assailant voiced his displeasure at her shuffling, his grip tightening further as he launched them into the air once more.
As they seemingly flew through the air, only the tops of the tallest skyscrapers and the stars ahead of her, Stella made a decision.
If she was going to die, would it be at the cruel hands of some crime lord in Gotham City? Wouldn't she rather at least chose her death, in this case, plummeting to the man-made Earth below her, possibly striking a building or car or lamp post? As gruesome as it was, what was her other option? Be tortured, abused, or made some sort of inside agent?
The night air was calm when they reached the peak of their rise, the wind stilling as they rose above most of the city rooftops.
Gotham had always seemed so unkept. Streets covered in litter, people unkind and unfriendly, shops with flickering lights, most people struggling to keep their heat running during the cold nights. It was a city that only highlighted the typical American's struggle, aside from the elite wealthy and politically important in Gotham City. Scum of the Earth who couldn't care less who was dying on the streets, who couldn't keep their promises of bettering the state of the city or building community.
From above, higher than she thought she would ever be, Gotham City changed.
Groves of people huddled together seemed so small, so insignificant. Lights twinkled and glittered, moving in poetic motion like the tide crashing against the shore on a beach. She probably could've seen the shore from here, could've watched the dark waves move gently as they overlapped one another.
Time did not slow as she began to slip, the man holding her shouting in a panic. Her purse tumbled off her shoulder, and they began a descent. As if they were a comet hurtling towards the gravitational pull of the Earth, everything happened too quickly for her to react.
"No!"
Her arms were freed from the sleeves of her coat, and the wind chilled her to the bone once more, her hair flooding her vision as she began to fall.
How much time had passed, how close to the street was she? Had it been ten seconds already, maybe twenty? How much longer until she would inevitably hit the pavement? Would she feel it at all?
Slowly her eyes began to close, the air leaving her lungs. It was surprisingly peaceful for a moment, where she accepted her death. At least it would be on her terms.
Peace was violently ripped from her as a body collided with her side, no doubt bruising her ribs at the very least.
In mere seconds, someone had wrapped around her, hands cradling the back of her head, an arm stretching over the expanse of her back while holding her tightly, one leg pressed in between her own. She couldn't help but thing for a moment it might've been an angel.
The crash was devastating.
She felt the impact of the concrete roof reverberate through whoever had caught her. Her elbows scraped and clothes tugged as they rolled several times, though the grasp never wavered. They were only stopped when her back met the top of a rooftop unit.
Years seemed to pass until she could open her eyes again.
Everything was blurry, her ears ringing and her heart pounding once again, though faintly in her ears. It was a moment of incoherence, unable to grasp her surroundings or the very man who still had his arms wrapped around her, heaving pained and uneven breaths.
A second crash came, her head rushing and hammering like her brain was trying to escape her skull, her lungs burning like she inhaled fire itself, her body aching and stinging.
It was almost three minutes later when she finally was able to clear her head enough to squint at the man before her, now unconscious as his back slowly met the rooftop, his grip finally lost on her. Her heart was still in her throat when she caught sight of the symbol on his chest, gasping for breath.
a/n: guys i have a question and that is how do you feel about the transparent divider instead of the white background? i think it'll work better for both light and dark mode, but on the computer dark mode still has white boxes. anyways, hope you guys enjoy this one is a little longer than my usuals :p
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"Oh my god, what the fuck do I do?"
Stella's voice came out in barely a whisper, her hands trembling violently, her legs weak like they were made of jello when she tried to stand. Though the seconds were ticking by, she felt like she was moving in slow motion, stuck in some kind of quicksand.
Her lungs were still burning, but she was breathing, much too quickly in fact. Her head was still pounding, but her vision was clearer.
Nightwing's suit was torn in various places, blood soaking the frayed edges and smearing along his skin. Ragged breaths were coming out in uneven bursts, his chest rising and falling with miniscule sporadic twitching of his fingers and wrists. Was he still conscious? What if he had hit his head and he couldn't get up? What if he had some sort of internal injury and he was bleeding out inside himself?
Various scenarios ran through her mind, keeping her frozen in place like an ancient being stuck in a slab of ice.
It's not like she could call the police, they would try to unmask him, right? To be honest, many officers in Gotham City were as scummy as the criminals they slammed into the concrete and cursed at on the daily. They would not be a reliable help to her.
Why couldn't Batman plaster his number somewhere, or sell mini bat-signals for people who needed him?
After a moment of thought, she paused. Wasn't Nightwing a part of the bat-family, or crew or whatever they called themselves? Surely, he had something that would be of use, someone who would answer some sort of distress signal?
Adrenaline was quickly leaving her body, the aches and pains growing with each passing moment. Her eyelids were becoming heavier and heavier as the exhaustion began to settle in. She had to act fast before she ended up passing out on the cement roof, or both of them would be in trouble.
Trying to stand proved to be futile, her muscles screaming in pain as she tried to push herself up to stand. Biting her lip as she squeezed her eyes shut, she tried to push through the mental block that would allow her to ignore the sensation, managing to just stand on her knees. If it meant crawling on her hands and knees to make sure the both of them survived, she would take that chance.
Tough Portland cement scraped against her knees, the stinging insignificant in comparison to the rest of the pain her body was in. She would have to tell Lois and Clark she couldn't make it this weekend after all.
After a few excruciating moments, she reached where her savior's body laid unmoving. Maybe she should try and see if he was awake first? Or she should try to lay him out flat, that's what you're supposed to do right? What if she gave him CPR? Her father was an EMT, but everything he taught when she was young left her memory like a fleeting dove.
"Okay, I can do this, just find a phone or something.."
Her shaking hands neared his body, eyes frantically searching for any sort of equipment that might have been of help in this current moment. All she could find was some sort of heavy gloves with tiny buttons that she couldn't be sure wouldn't kill her if she tried to use them.
What were her other options if not the gloves? He didn't wear a belt like Batman, and wasn't carrying any weapons, how had he even saved her in the first place? Surely he couldn't actually fly?
Suddenly her eyes trained on a small blinking blue dot. Relief filled her body like juice filled a cup, like creamer filled a bitter coffee. A small black earpiece was nestled into his ear canal, and seemed to still be receiving a signal. She could only hope that it was connected to someone, somewhere.
Dizziness swarmed her, shaking her to her core as her eyes nearly rolled back. A wave of nausea overcame her, and she just barely managed to refrain from spilling even more bodily fluids onto her rescuer.
To steady herself, she placed her hand atop his chest, completely unintentional, but an overall poor decision all the same. Immediately he stirred, weakly thrashing as he gasped for air.
"No, wait, stay still-"
As she once again reached her hands out, meeting his chest, she tried to push him back down against the rooftop. Sweat was building on the skin she could see was visible, he teeth bared as he clenched his jaw, straining to try and push himself back up. His hands circled her wrists, shaking but still firm.
"Calm down! We have to get help," Stella pleaded.
Fighting against an infamous vigilante was proving to be both easier and harder than she thought it would be. She blamed it on their respective injuries, but he was still managing to overpower her even if just slightly.
When he finally managed to get his back off the rooftop, pushing Stella back just slightly against the roof, he let out a prolonged sound of pain, his hand coming to grip his side.
Stella knew she had to do something, but she wasn't sure what now. He wasn't going to let her touch any of his equipment, and there was no way he was coherent enough to understand if she were to try and convince her to use his earpiece.
"Your earpiece, tell them where we are. You have to tell them to come get you."
Nightwing wasn't listening, his head carefully rolling back and forth as he continued to grip his side, gasping for air and he kept trying to get on his feet. At this rate, he was going to get himself killed by falling over the edge, or getting caught by one of the many people who likely had vendettas against him for his sense of justice.
She was barely pushing through the pain at this point, her eyes stinging hollowly with tears that could not build as her body tried desperately to repair herself.
Her vision began to blur, and she tried frantically to try and get something out, anything that would persuade Nightwing to call from help in his own haze of pain. As she collapsed over onto her side, darkness swarming her vision, she finally heard him speak, rough and low.
"Batman, I need-"
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Something was vibrating next to her, insistent. It stirred her from her dreams and made irritation rise in her chest. Her brows furrowed while her eyes remained shut, trying to find the strength to drag her arm over to turn off whatever it was that was disturbing her slumber.
Consciousness hit her like a bucket of cold water had been poured over her head when she finally managed to move her arm across her body, pain striking her all over again. She cried out, eyes opening wide as her whole body tensed. Confusion clouded her mind, the dim morning light shining through her dark curtains.
How had she gotten home?
Her small apartment was dark aside from the sunlight, dawn just peeking over the various high rise buildings that made up Gotham City. Clothes remained tossed atop her dresser, some falling off the hangers in her closet, every bit of chaos that she had left her apartment in the last time was exactly the same.
Had Nightwing brought her back? Surely not, he could barely move himself.
Gritting her teeth, she finally grabbed her phone, wincing as the screen light hit her sore vision. Someone was calling. She answered without reading the caller ID.
"Stella, where are you? You said you would come in last night, me and Clark have been worried sick," Lois's voice came through the speaker, worried and angry all at the same time. She worried about Stella more than anyone else.
"Lois, I got attacked last night," her voice was gravelling, dry and scratchy from her long night of sleep.
She could hear Lois began to freak out, and she couldn't help but tear the phone from her ear as she clenched her eyes shut, trying desperately to swallow the pain in her throat. At least now her body felt like it had been hit by a normal sized car instead of a city bus.
"We were already on our way there, we will be there soon and you're gonna explain yourself!"
Just minutes later there was frantic knocking at the door, Lois's voice sounding throughout the apartment all the way into her bedroom. When she heard the lock began to turn, she was much more relieved that Lois had kept the spare key she had all but forced out of her hands before she moved. "In case of a emergency" she'd said, and an emergency it proved to be.
"Stella?"
Her heels were rushing into the apartment, pausing for a moment to look around the living room until she came rushing into the bedroom. There was the sound of the front door locking, as well as the sound of a bag hitting the floor as quieter footsteps followed.
Looking out of breath, and as if she had just been hit by wind from a leaf blower by the look of her hair, Lois entered the bedroom and rushed over to Stella's side.
"Oh god, what happened? Are you okay?"
The bed bent slightly as she sat at Stella's side, gently brushing back the knotted strands of hair that had fallen in front of her face. Clark appeared in the doorway soon after, his brows furrowed when he saw the state of his friend.
"Yeah, just ran into some bad people and then got saved by another guy by falling onto a roof."
Lois blinked at her, letting out a sigh as she brought her hand to her forehead, trying to alleviate some of the stress she had been caused by Stella's current description of the situation.
"Clark, could you grab her some water?"
He nodded without a word, quietly walking out of the room to the small kitchen. Stella was glad she remembered to do the dishes.
Turning back to her friend, Lois's hands gently held onto her arms as she sat up, grimacing at the dreadful ache that once more burned in her muscles. She said nothing as she waited for Clark to return, only opening her mouth with more questions when Stella finished half of the glass.
"Okay, let's rewind. Tell me the whole story."
Despite the itch that still existed in her throat, and the heavy lead-like feeling of her limbs, she began to recount the whole story for her two journalist friends. If she didn't know any better, she would've thought they were looking for a story from her, not that they even lived in Gotham in the first place.
When she finished, she felt a pit grow in her stomach. What if someone had come for her and Nightwing, but they had been too late? His injuries were surely much worse than her own, and she didn't recall waking up at all before now.
Clark was unusually quiet, his brows furrowed and arms crossed. Stella was sure he was going to chastise her for her unsafe actions, say something about how she should've called him when she was on the rooftop, that she shouldn't have trusted a random masked vigilante even though he had previously saved her life.
Instead, he simply stepped forward and placed a hand on Lois's shoulder.
"I'll be back. I'm going to go check on something."
Him and Lois shared a look that Stella couldn't quite read, something that happened often, secretive and sly. She learned long ago that it would never make sense to her.
After he had left, Lois let out another sigh, giving Stella a small smile.
"Well, I'm really glad you're okay. We can wait to get your dress, or you can always just order something online. I think I would prefer to know that you weren't out there making decisions that put you on top of a roof."
A small smile came to Stella's lips, and she rolled her eyes at Lois's words. She was being the same friend that she had always been, and she was glad.
For the next few hours, Lois helped Stella to the bathroom to brush her hair and start the shower, standing outside the room the entire time in case she fell or needed any help, though Stella insisted she would be fine. With the burn that occurred every time she breathed, she wasn't so sure she believed it either.
When she was scrubbed clean of the previous nights debacle with her favorite body soap and her hair was clear of any debris, Lois had ordered takeout to be delivered to their apartment. Stella thought she was fussing far too much as she ordered her to sit on the same couch she'd had since she left her college apartment, taking the initiative to help clean up the stray trash that Stella had collected around the space over the last week.
"Lois, I know how much you hate cleaning up after people, you don't have to do this," Stella said, feeling far too guilty for making her friend worry.
Lois simply let out a small airy laugh, continuing to fold the throw blanket and place it on the back of her couch.
"I do, but you do things you hate for the people you love."
This time, when the tears began to well in her eyes, they were not hollow. They were warm and salty and real, and even though she had been in plenty of physical pain over the past twelve hours, the kindness that came from her closest friend finally unplugged the well.
Her cries came out in long ugly bursts, barely able to breathe as Lois came to her side, gently hugging her to make sure she didn't squeeze too tight.
By the time the tears finally dried up, the takeout had been eaten through sobs and Clark had once again entered the apartment. A small smile came to his face at the scene of his precious fiancée comforting one of his closest friends.
Both of them had insisted they would stay the night, Clark offering to sleep on the floor without any blankets or pillows while Lois would take the couch with the single thin extra blanket that she kept around for hotter days. It took nearly an hour to convince them that she would be okay, that if they wanted to stay she would pay for a hotel room for them.
After much negotiation and Stella shoving fifty dollars in Clark's hand to pay for half of the room, she made sure to lock the door carefully after them.
As much as she tried to hide it, just spending a few hours with Lois and Clark had completely drained whatever energy she had replenished last night.
The sun had already mostly disappeared from the sky, once again hidden behind tall buildings, even though it felt like the day had dragged on endlessly. In her dim apartment, she found herself sitting back on her couch, staring at the TV that she had yet to turn on.
What had come of Nightwing after all?
She couldn't help but feel responsible for the entire incident. She knew it wasn't smart to cut through the alley, that it was far too dark to be safe, even though she was nowhere near the heart of Crime Alley. She had been the one to get herself in trouble with the Penguin, and she had been the one to fall from the sky which is what caused Nightwing to shelter her from the crash on the roof. If it wasn't her fault, who's was it?
Her stomach growled, reminding her that despite her fatigue, she would need to eat if she wished to replenish any of her energy without sleeping the day away.
Sighing, she dragged herself over to the small kitchen. She hoped there was some leftovers or something in the fridge, maybe a microwave dinner in the freezer. There was no way she was going to be able to cook now.
Before she find anything to satiate her hunger, the quiet sound of her bedroom window sliding open caught her attention.
Shit. They had come for her despite it all.
For a moment she cursed herself for not buying a firearm the minute she moved to the city, or at least a taser or some sort of weapon, because now all she had as a potential weapon was the cast iron skillet her father had gifted her that was far too heavy for her to wield right now.
It was silent.
Deciding her only option was to hide, she quickly ducked behind her island countertop, cringing once more as the fire ignited in her muscles from the movement. Whoever had opened her window either hadn't stepped foot in the apartment yet, or was exceptionally soft-footed. A quiet creak of her floorboards much closer to her than she would've liked told her they had already made it in.
Her heart was racing, echoing in her eardrums as she tried to come up with some sort of way to protect herself. Maybe she could just call Clark, and if he didn't pick up, at least he'd get a voicemail of her murder. It would scar him, but it would be some evidence.
She held her breath as she slowly reached for her pocket, intending to carefully slip out her phone and make the call as quietly as possible. Her hands met an empty pocket, and she cursed herself.
With no phone in her grasp, she would either try to plead for her life, or run for the front door and hope she wasn't apprehended before the person who'd broken in got to her.
Just as she had willed herself to make a break for the door, a hand touched her shoulder.
The scream that left her body was more packed than she could've though it would be, sheer terror bursting from her abdomen as she turned and tried to get away from the person who had grabbed her. Before she could, he called out to her.
"Wait, it's just me, don't run."
Where had she heard that voice before? As much as she should've just kept trying to get away, she found herself stopping for the stranger instead.
Despite her better judgement which resounded through her as Lois's voice telling her to "get the hell out of that apartment and run", she took a deep breath and turned around, coming face to face with the person who had scaled the side of her building just to try and convince her to stay instead of run.
Her eyes widened at the sight, the black suit looking flawless despite the state she had seen it in the day before, as if he had never been injured in the first place.
"Nightwing," she whispered, breathless at the sight of him.
He was fully suited up, and she was sure that he was either readying to go out for another night of crime fighting, or did so just to hide his identity from her. Assuming from the fact that he knew where to find her in her apartment, he or someone he knew had been the ones to bring her home last night just as she had suspected.
Without saying anything, he took a small step forward, looking quite stiff.
"I wanted to.. make sure you were okay."
Silence enveloped the both of them, bouncing off the walls of her apartment and stifling the air.
What was she supposed to say to that?
A random man had entered her apartment after she nearly got him killed last night, surely risking his life once again to even get inside. What was she to start with, thanking him, or apologizing to him?
Before she could say anything, he had already started towards the bedroom again, no doubt getting ready to leave through the window again instead of using her front door.
"Wait! Don't go," she found herself calling out to him abruptly, the words tumbling out of her before she could stop them.
He paused in his steps, his head turning towards her after a moment. Although she could not see his eyes, and no smile appeared on his face, there was a reason he stopped when she called out to him. Maybe he really had been concerned for her after all.
"I just.. thank you. And I'm sorry. For everything," Stella's voice gradually quieted as she spoke.
A wave of embarrassment washed over her, and she felt so silly. What would a man like Nightwing care that she was thanking him, that she was apologizing? All his job including was catching criminals and saving lives, there was no need for him to stick around for the aftermath. But then again, if that were really the case, why had he shown up in the first place?
For a moment he just stood, gazing at her out of mask and saying nothing. Then he turned his head back in line with his body, no doubt getting ready to leave once again.
"You don't need to thank you apologize to me, I was just doing my job."
"But I almost got you killed. I mean, you look like you're going right back out there. Did you even get your wounds treated? Shouldn't you rest or-"
The sound of his heavy boot touching the floor silenced her as he faced her, and she swore there was something of a smirk on his face, just barely a whisper of it.
"I deal with dangerous people every day, yesterday was no different. A little more exciting, maybe."
Was he.. cracking a joke?
All Stella could do was look at him incredulously, a small smile of her forming when she realized that he really spoke those words aloud. It seemed that Nightwing wasn't as stoic as Batman had a reputation for being, despite their partnership.
Suddenly, his faced hardened, the smirk disappearing as he once again spoke.
"Listen, I know you got hurt yesterday too, which is part of why I'm here, but it's not the only reason." he said, his tone as serious as his face.
Two things came to mind for Stella; one— she stumbled upon something much more serious last night when she interrupted the Penguin and his lackeys and two— that he suspected she tried to see his face under the mask. The only question was, which one was he referring to? Was he going to question her about the Penguin, or threaten her for exposing his identity? Surely he knew she was a reporter, after all, he knew where she lived. Maybe that's all he knew.
"Do you remember anything last night after I woke up on the rooftop?"
Well, that's not at all what she was expecting.
"No," she said slowly, her brows furrowing, "Is there something I should remember?"
Nightwing shook his head, saying nothing for a moment. He seemed almost relieved at her response, though there were no obvious changes in his body language.
After another few moments of silence, he awkwardly brushed his hands on his sides. If Stella didn't know any better, she would assume he was a Midwestern man with the gesture. It made a small smile come to her face once again.
"I have to go," he said, finally turning once again and making his way into the bedroom.
Stella followed after him as quickly as she could manage, catching him just as he swung one leg over her windowsill.
"Wait!"
He paused, turning back to her and looking at her through the white covers that concealed his eyes.
She was going to see him again, she decided. Whatever happened while she was asleep was a mystery to her, but he knew something and she was going to find out. Not only that, she was going to find out what the Penguin was doing in the alleyway that night. A criminal journalist she was not, but curious she was anyways, even if it meant endangering her life again.
"If I walk down another dark alleyway, will you be there to save me again?"
This time, a smile did pull at his lips, causing Stella to blink blankly at the sight.
"I wouldn't suggest you get yourself into trouble just to see me again."
Without another word, he ducked under the window and swung his other leg over the sill, disappearing into the night.
Stella stood in that same spot for minutes more, her heart racing and body much too tired to even think about eating anymore. Nightwing had just flashed a brilliant smile at her, and it intrigued her all the more.
Content: A God whose hand’s only bore life, smitten by the god whose nature sought to destroy. Two unlikely souls entwined in a sacred affinity, the dance of Life and Death, a romance etched in the skies.
Tw: nudity, suggestive tone implied.
WC: 2k
Yin and Yang, push and pull. Life and death. That was a dance performed since the beginning of time. The balance needed so that the cosmos don’t devolve into chaos, so that all may know the value of life, and the importance of death. Sat on his throne, dressed in the finest of fabrics and engraving of pure gold, a halo of light surrounding his raven hair, was the God of life, Dick. The benevolent ruler of the universe, creator of all life and love, protector of souls. Everything the god touched, life would prosper. His sacred space, the realm to which he resides in, what could only be described as paradise, paled in comparison to his longing for Death.
He ran a thumb over the carved intricacies of his throne, his pink lips curled into a pout as his soul sang in longing for his counterpart, needing her presence always beside him. The god of life was rather.. clingy, to say the least. Such a primordial would be expected to act impartial, however he was absolutely taken by his love. Huffing and puffing, he bridged the distance to her realm without much difficulty. A cold, lifeless interval, wherein his love resided. Death. Such a misunderstood primordial being. She wasn’t evil by any means, contrary to popular belief. Merely continuing the cycle, no matter how intimidating, or outright spine chilling her presence was, she cared for the souls she looked after and justly punished those who have led less than desirable lives, allowing them to atone and relive the pain they’ve caused before their souls may evolve. She was anything but cruel, forgiving in fact. Comforting the souls of the lost, the sick, the injured and the young, a solace for their frayed souls.
Death. So just, so equal to all, so final. It was beautiful, really. How the creations he’d created with his own essence and loved so dearly would always be in her sweet embrace when the time called for it. Almost as if a piece of him would always be with her, cared for in the darkness of the underworld and in her cold yet loving embrace. At least that’s how he viewed it. The God of Life promptly arrived to the gates of none other than the terror of most entities. Calling out to his love, rather obnoxiously, he entered her realm. Death was.. difficult, to say the least. Authorative, hard headed, cold and incredibly standoffish, she was. But hauntingly beautiful, her entire being called out to the god of life’s like no other, akin to the sea nymphs that lured unsuspecting sailors into the trenches of the dark ocean depths. The moon to his sun, the counterpart to his being, his soulmate. The flower to which the beast of his jealousy guards ever so fiercely. None other designed so perfectly for him, and he for her, an indestructible bond so pure shared between the two divinities, a bond so etched into their souls unlike anything ever seen. She was always so curt and dry, never sparing another glance or thought to other beings of the galaxy, never paying any mind to the fruitless dramas that roamed the community of the gods, focusing solely on her duties. He however coaxed another complex faction of hers since the dawn of time, albeit subtle. Wether it was how he’d always pique her interest, her eyes trailing him wherever he’d advance, or the softening of her gaze and even the way she’d pepper gentle kisses to the slope of his nose and the contour of his jaw in the comfort of their realms, he knew deep within his being that he was loved.
”My Death! Where are you, my love?”, he yelled as he passed her soulless garden. Decaying roses, bare and withering trees along the edges of the stream of souls, dried soil and thorned vines covering the masses of the land, but he could only see beauty in it all. Beauty in her. He made his way to her throne room, the very same one to which all beings would enter and be passed judgment upon. His silk, white robes dragging at the stone as he walked to her, his eyes sparkling with sincere, unmistakable endearment as he eyed her form perched on her throne.
“My Death, there you are. I’ve missed you. Still brooding?” he teased, a smirk tugging at his lips as he kissed her knuckles. “No smile for me? Not even happy to see me? You wound me, dear. I shall die by the cold hands of death herself. Poetic, no?” He complained with no real malice, only meaning to rile her up. It’s fair to say he isn’t the only one who draws out a different narrative from the other, as she always brought out his mischief, his inner most chaos, and yet still displayed in ways that were reverential to her.
“Must you always be so boisterous in your arrival?”
A deep, velvety laugh escaped him as his eyes fixed on her alluring face, the softness of her plush lips pleading to be kissed. “I am simply expressing my enthusiasm for finally being in your presence after eons of not being in your graces, beloved.” She gave him a deadpan expression as she replied, “it has only been an hour since you last left.”
“Guilty as charged.”
“You’re hopeless.”
“For you.”
She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t suppress the fond smile that graced her ethereal features, in turn igniting a deep sense of satisfaction in the aforementioned god. She lifted herself from her throne and wrapped her arms around his neck, nuzzling his chest as she inhaled the naturally intoxicating aroma of the earthy and slightly Smokey notes of her beloved.
“Ah, so you do have a heart.”
“Must you always ruin the moment?”
He gasped dramatically, almost shifting his weight completely on her as he feigned faintness. “Beloved! Must you always be so cruel to your husband?!” He bellowed out, his loudness echoing in the throne room in such a way that almost caused him to wince, the weight of his body crushing his beloved and nearly making her loose her footing.
“Ugh! Dick!”
“You remember my name!”
They both knew well she’d intentionally said it with a dual meaning behind her words, but they’d chosen to ignore it for now. He wrapped his hands on the back of her thighs, hoisting her up so that she may wrap her legs over his waist. He pressed a reverent kiss to her collar bone and to the sternum of her chest, nipping lightly at her cleavage before meeting her gaze once more. He simply admired her beauty, one so unmatched and unique, one that plagued his mind and has during his entire existence. A beauty so special he could worship until the ends of time. The look in his eyes could only be described as love-struck, pupils blown wide and his lips parted as he imagined the feel of once more capturing hers in a kiss. She was perfect, the epitome of beauty to him, no other could ever hold candles to his beloved. He closed his eyes and buried his face in the crevice of her neck before setting her down once more.
“Come with me.”
“Oh?”
That piqued his interest, curious eyes searching her face for any inkling as to what she had planned. She took his hand in hers and turned around, leading him from the throne room to her private chambers, and he couldn’t help but notice how hypnotically her hips swayed as she walked. The soulfully tied divinities navigated through the large expanse of the underworld before arriving at her bedchambers, entering the adjoining bathroom. His eyes scanned the area, a large crystal bathtub, that could truthfully be classed as pool due to its sheer size, coated in rose petals, candles situated on every surface of the room. He inhaled deeply, the sweet scent of vanilla tickling his senses.
“What’s this, beloved?”
“I’ve missed you.”
His heart flipped and his chest tightened with affection at her declaration. The love he felt coursing through his veins only sizzled beneath his tanned skin. He gently backed her up on the sink, forehead resting against hers as he kissed the corners of her mouth.
“Let me help you.”
Slowly, he placed his hands on her shoulders, his thumbs gently rubbing the nape of her neck. “Hm, my love, so beautiful..” His fingers found the straps of her dress, slowly slipping them off her shoulders and lowering them down her arms to expose her skin. Ever so gently, he ran his hands over the now exposed skin, admiring her like it was the first time he saw her nude body.
He slowly untied the back of her dress, lowering it further, the soft, silky material falling to her hips. “My beautiful mistress of death..” He gently pulled her body against his, his hands trailing over her bare chest and stomach. He continued to shower her in kisses, his lips moving down her neck and shoulder, his hand exploring her body. His mouth soon found her ear, his breath warm against her skin as he whispered quietly.
“I’m the most fortunate god in the whole universe.”
Kneeling down, he slid the dress completely off of her, gently lifting her legs and pressing kisses from her calves up to her thighs, worshipping her form with the purest of devotions. Once done, the god stood in between her legs, arms wrapped around her waist as he lowered himself to press a chaste kiss to her lips, tongue darting out to lick along her bottom lip, seeking entry into the warm cavern of her mouth. When permitted, the muscle danced with her own, exploring the familiarity of her as he tugged her impossibly closer, the feeling of her soft hands coming to unrobe him sending shivers down his spine. After the soft material of his clothing had pooled at his feet, he hoisted her up once more and slowly sat in the bathtub, his beloved straddling his lap as he continued the kiss, calloused hands palming at the softness of her skin, then moving to cup her face and run his digits through the silky strands on her head. The aroma of vanilla wafted through the room, the gentle flicker of the flames licking divinely on her features, illuminating her beauty even more. He pulled back only to catch his breath, the sensation of her bare body on his enough to make him want to abandon everything and spend eternity in the safety of her arms. He wordlessly pulled her flush against him, her soft curves contrasting with the hard planes of his hard chest and abdomen, lips coming to pepper kisses on her temples as he began to wash her. Skilled fingers massaging at her scalp, rinsing and repeating his steps before applying the conditioner to her strands. He loved to cater to her, his presence in the cosmos was designed for this. To love her, worship her as she should be. He then began to soothe the knots out of her tense shoulders, lips suckling at her neck, leaving evidence of his love in the physical form, gently washing her stresses away.
After completing their routine, lovingly caring for the other in such cherished ways, they simply continued to hold one another, whispering sweet nothings as the worries of their days melted away into the abyss of the forgotten. The warm water washed over the pair as they embraced, their bodies moulding into one, testament of their affections. Their skin slick and smooth from the water, arms around each other, relishing in the security provided within each other, the consolation of their presence a soothing balm to their souls, a comfort only they could find in each other away from the rest of the cosmos.
In the quietness of their moment, in the safety of their embrace and the intimacy thick with their love, there truly is no other place the god of life would rather be.
