The corner's café ☕️

with bonus mr. gray

Little scenario where Damian and reader are in a very new relationship and Damian has issues expressing himself and his feelings. <3

a/n : ok i loved writing this one <3 tysm for requesting!!

cw : afab!reader, mostly soft but a little smutty too so 18+ not suitable for minors, don’t like, don’t read, aged up characters, everyone here has a breeding kink.

; bruce wayne

he already feels whole with the family he has. all of the children he already has is enough.

that doesn’t stop him from thinking about having something that’s half him and half you though.

especially if you’ve been married a while. he’s getting older. you two only have so much time.

Hell yeah, Corbeau is a very responsible Gyarados owner and that includes letting it splash around like it’s still a little magikarp.

Or, he even just goes straight to corbeau. Your freaky evil clone is trying to make a move on me again 🥺🥺🥺 can I get rid of him pleasies 🥺🥺🥺

the evil mold spore was defeated by the power of poly <3

Omg 🤣 it’s giving Chris Pratt’s son’s favorite superhero being Captain America haha. Have a little piece about this bc I love me some spideytorch and dad!johnny 🤍

The other favorite superhero 🕸️

At first it wasn’t that weird for Johnny, because fair, the kid’s inner circle is full of superheroes, so it’s only normal he likes one outside the family. It’s okay if he wants a few things, everyone likes uncle spidey. But then…it turns into Spiderman EVERYTHING.

Toys? Fine. Shoes? They light up, so they’re fun. Fine. Toothbrush? Weird flex but okay. Pajamas? Johnny liked the F4 ones more to be honest but fine. Human torch lunchbox replaced for a spidey one? Ouch. Now the bedsheets too?? When is it gonna end???

But do you want to know where Johnny draws the line? The moment you show him the invitations for your son’s birthday.

SWING BY TO MY BIRTHDAY PARTY 🕸️🕷️

The absolute look of betrayal he gives you is everything. “What have you done??”

“It’s what he wanted, Johnny,” you chuckle.

“Absolutely not. Swing by? Seriously?”

Batfamily x Vampire!Reader 1.4k words, graphic descriptions, use of [y/n], female reader

The frenzy in the batcave hasn’t ended since they discovered the details of the mugger’s death. Donner Lukas, that was his name. No kids. No known spouse or partner. His face took up half the batcomputer, below, the image of his corpse, printed and lying on Bruce’s desk. You should’ve felt worse.

The Bat hasn't noticed you yet. An unexpected plus of your vampirism is that your brain had rewired nearly every aspect of your subconscious, including the way you walk and hold yourself. You're quiet and graceful in every place you used to be clumsy. 

Bruce sits at the Batcomputer, he’s been at this since you came in. Damian was upstairs, you suspect, sparring with Tim, judging by the smell of sweat and hormones. You’re tired of their endless battle.

You think about your interaction with Bruce from last night. You’re almost embarrassed by how meek you became in front of him. You’d gotten so confident these last few years, so to be reduced to a quiet, stuttering, wide-eyed child? It was perplexing to say the least. You figure it’s because you were so shocked by the sudden confrontation, and like a fish out of water, you panicked.

Your gaze drifts to the picture on Bruce’s desk. You hadn’t actually seen the aftermath of the murder. You briefly falter when you realize that's what it was, a murder. Does that make you a murderer? The thought leaves a sour taste in your mouth, so you brush it away. You come forward, steps quiet, fingers gentle when you pick it up. 

He lies there, slumped against the alley. His body was hardly resemblant of anything human at all. His head was crushed, no features to be found. His body looked like it had been sawed in half along the frontal plane by a dull knife. His organs sprawled around him, half shredded. There’s a beige-pink stringy mush around him, you think it might be his skin.

The gun he originally held is gone, there's a chip in the mortar behind him, like he fired off in his panic and hit the wall. His hoodie is shredded. There are visible claw marks in the cement and in the remains of his body. 

You don’t feel disgusted until you remember that this was once a human. You imagine yourself, rabid, clawed, fanged, tearing a screaming man apart. You wonder if he was loud, if there were any kids outside playing that heard his screams, if anyone bore witness to what you did, if it scarred them, if they had nightmares. You wonder if mothers tell their children about what you did, if they use it to scare them. You wonder what kind of damage you’ve caused. How many people are scared to leave their house because of you. 

Do people ever feel empathy for the fox that kills the sheep? You’re only hungry. You have to do this to survive. It’s not your fault, you didn’t choose this life.

How many people have to die before you’re no longer a victim?

The picture is your undeniable proof, evidence of what you’d done. You’ve become one of the monsters of Gotham. Another thing that goes bump in the night, that haunts this city. Another thing for innocent children to fear, like you used to.

The picture is taken out of your grip. Hands place themself on your shoulders, carefully pulling you away. Bruce peers up at your face from where he’s sitting, his face pulled in an expression you hardly see directed at you. You think he’s worried. He stands.

“You shouldn’t have seen that.” He says quickly, his face pulled into an unfamiliar expression. After a brief moment of hesitation, he grasps the back of your head gently and pulls you into his chest. One hand smooths your hair back, the other rubs your back softly. He’s hugging you. Your entire body prickles, a strange cold-heat rises from your torso to your cheeks.

“Hey, hey..” He mumbles, stroking your head. “It’s.. uh- you’re fine.” He murmurs awkwardly.

After a moment, your hands lift and you cling to his shirt, the fabric bunches in your hands. It’s not the first time you've hugged him, but it’s the first time since he disappeared, the first time he’s attempted to comfort you since you were eight. Your cheeks burn hot in embarrassment. You take advantage of the moment and burrow into his chest. Soon you’re crying, and he holds you tighter, murmuring soft words you can’t decipher. He holds you there for a while, and you might’ve needed this more than you thought, because you don’t let go until he’s pulling back. He keeps one hand on your back, but the one that was on your head moves to your cheek. He pulls you away to look at your face. His lips are pulled into a frown, eyebrows furrowed

“I’m sorry.” He says. “You shouldn’t have seen that.”

You look delicate like this, he thinks, and he feels horrible. You were the only kid he had that never joined his crusade. Never begged for the cape, never had to. You’d never seen the brutality he had. This though, this case was beyond some of the things even he’d seen. It was grotesque. He was hesitant to let Damian work on it, and now you, unaware and clean, had stumbled upon it.

He leads you over to a couch. One that was only there because Dick had demanded it be so many years ago, when he still wore the cape. 

You’re still sniffling when he sits you down. Your eyes are red from crying, but besides that you look healthy, it almost makes him smile. Absent from you are the eyebags and dark circles that plague his other kids, your skin looks bright, you’re clearly taken care of, if your hair and physique are anything to go by. He’s relieved. At least one of his kids is okay.

He doesn’t know you didn’t always look like this. He doesn’t know that the only reason you do is because of the man in the alley and those traffickers in the warehouse and the thousands of other things you’ve used to sustain yourself.

“We’ll catch whatever’s doing this.” He murmurs, smoothing your hair back. It’s meant to be soothing. 

“You shouldn’t worry about it.” He continues. “But.. make sure you hurry home after school. It’s safer that way.”

You nod numbly. You doubt he’ll notice if you actually do, but the fact that for once he’s worried about your safety is enough to make fresh tears come. You feel silly, crying for that, but god you missed when they cared about you. He sighs softly and sits by you, tucking you into his side. 

Maybe all you needed to do was ask for help when you needed it, maybe you should’ve said something when you first turned. But it’s too late now. He’s seen what you’ve done, and when he finds out it was you, all of this will disappear. 

You feel disgusting, because you should be disgusted, you should hate yourself for what you’ve done and who you’ve hurt, but instead you’re elated.

A warmth spreads through your chest despite your anxiety. Bruce is here, hugging you, comforting you like you’re important, like you’re good.

You don’t really care about Donner Lukas. It’s what he symbolizes. What you really care about is what you are. You hate not being human, you hate that you know this makes you a monster. One of the things you hate the most is the fact that you’re not upset, not the way you should be. When did you lose your humanity? You should’ve thrown up when you came to. You should’ve wanted to die. You didn’t think about who the man was, you didn’t mourn him. You only mourned yourself. 

You must be very, very sick, but you push all those thoughts away and try to ignore what lingers, because here is innocence. Here is your worried father, deciding you were more important than this crime. He’s not disgusted with you, he’s not upset, he’s worried. So, like the leech you are, you cling onto him. 

Taglist:

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Batfamily x Vampire!Reader 2.7k words, graphic description of violence and aftermath, use of [y/n], female reader

November 12th.

Winter starts early in Gotham.

It’s cold, but not as cold as it should be. Your friend stands beside you shivering.

“You sure you don’t want my jacket?” You ask, eyebrows raised in concern as you eye her. 

“I’m fffine.” She says, teeth chattering. “Aren’t you freezing?”

You shrug and move to peel off your coat anyway. Jen doesn’t protest when you drape it over her shoulders, but she doesn’t move to actually put it on. Her subtle way of declaring she’s against the idea, you suppose. 

“You’re gonna get sick.” She mutters as you fix your scarf over your nose. 

“I think if anyone should be worried about getting sick it’s you.” You mumble. “Is that your mom’s car?” 

Her head snaps up eagerly, and you chuckle to yourself as she darts over to the passenger door.

“Wait!” She yips, turning quickly. “Let me give you a ride!”

“I’m okay!” You call back, “Alfred’s coming for me!”

She hesitates for a moment before climbing into her seat. “You sure you’ll be okay?”

You smile and nod, her mom waves and you wave back. “Call me when you get home okay?”

“Okay!!!”

You watch her drive away for a few seconds before checking your watch. 3:50. The manor’s pretty far from your school, but not 50 minute drive far. You know Alfred, if he hasn’t gotten here yet, it’s more than likely he forgot. Plus, the sun will be setting in an hour or so, if you wait any longer before giving up, you won’t get home before dark. With that in mind, you start the walk home.

It’s pretty rare for Alfred to forget you like this, but with all the chaos going on at home, you can’t really blame him. Especially when you are the direct cause of the entire mess. It’d been a tough year. Senior classes were much harder than you’d anticipated, and you were just a teenager. Stress and anxiety was bound to mess things up once in a while. 

Your teachers had all upped their workload at the same time in preparation for the half-way point exams. You’d dedicated all your free time to studying and cramming for the pop quizzes and class competitions. So much so that you’d forgotten your feeding schedule. Unfortunately, it was easy to miss hunger pangs and dismiss them as stress-related stomach cramps. You hadn’t realized you were hungry until it was far too late, and a disoriented walk home from the movies found you face to face with a mugger. 

When you’re deep in bloodlust, it's hard to tell what’s what. The entire week before that had been like a plotless nightmare. Filled with migraines and dizziness and nausea. When you came eye to eye with that man, adrenaline in his veins, blood pumping, his heartbeat in your lungs as he demanded your belongings, you blacked out. You woke up three hours later, curled up under a cardboard box in a dumpster. A dumpster that you noted, was nowhere near the alley you last remember being in. 

You were pleasantly warm, sleepy, and no longer in any pain, which was all very nice, but the sticky-dry feeling of matted blood drying to your skin and clothes was enough to rouse you. You pulled yourself out, sharp nails retracting into your fingertips as you did. 

You kept yourself to the shadows when you transformed, disappearing into a puff of grey smoke and reappearing as an ugly little vampire bat. The first issue was getting back home and getting clean before anyone saw you. The second, perhaps bigger, issue was what the hell happened to the mugger.

Sneaking in was easy. You could practically see their heat signatures through the walls, smell Bruce’s cologne, hear Damian’s pacing. If your senses were right, and they almost always were, there were four people inside the manor. Bruce, Alfred, Damian, and Tim. You flew into the open window of the restroom on the third floor, nearby your bedroom. 

You looked even worse than you expected. Your entire body was red, like you’d been dunked in paint, it dried in patches and flaked off into dust when you moved. Despite the clarity of mind and ease of movement that came with fresh blood, you felt sick. There was something thick and fibrous under your nails, pieces of thin pink membrane that clung to your body like a second skin. The sickness was mental, of course, remnants of being human. Your mouth tasted warm in a lovely way and you were a little perturbed at how normal this all was. Your reflection looked monsterous, hair matted with blood, body red, eyes glowing faintly.

You heard the news in the morning. A murder in Newtown, a body ripped to shreds, Gotham News declaring it an animal attack. The damage was done though, the Bats had heard what had happened. 

Two years ago, when you first became a vampire, a similar thing happened. You didn’t know what you were then, you thought you could tough out the hunger pains. Wayne Manor was distracted, everyone in a frenzy, no one noticed when you got sick, or when you disappeared. You wandered the slums of Gotham for three days. Pale, sweating, vision so sharp it made you nauseous. No one went up to you, no one asked if you were okay. Your new senses overwhelmed you, your new body screamed in pain. Eventually, a man found you. Ushered you into a warehouse, practically dragged you while your body betrayed itself. Hands tugged at your wrist, your hair, your clothes. It was when that hand grabbed your face, squished your cheeks together painfully, that something snapped.

You came to your senses an hour later. An ocean of blood and bodies staining the ground. You ran.

You woke up stronger the next day. The blood was exactly what your body needed to nourish your new form. To finish adapting to this new life. Your vision was clear, the colors you saw were brighter, the darkness didn’t blind you, you could even see heat signatures if you tried. Your muscles fibers were denser, tightly packed, your bones were stronger, your skin was clear and soft, old scars lightened, injuries faded in hours.

All at the cost of thirty four lives. Not innocent lives, but human lives. Lives you hadn’t even realized you were taking. It perplexed the world, scared it. But eventually it was brushed under the rug the way stuff always is in Gotham. Dark Seid took the blame, and you got better at this new life. Better at hiding, covering up, getting blood without killing. You broke into bloodbanks, used animals, even drugged criminals to poach their blood on occasion. You didn’t kill, you didn’t leave bodies or witnesses. Still, people whispered. You were an urban legend deep in Gotham. The creature in the shadows. Some called you Karma, some called you Fate, some called you The Beast.

The Bats never forgot what happened, it didn’t make sense, it didn’t fit the apparent answers. But it never happened again, so they had no cause to pursue the issue, no reason to spend time pondering a mystery when they had real issues to worry about.

But now it had happened again in Newtown, and you knew Bruce wouldn’t let it go.

And now here you are, walking home. It’s cold, but temperatures don’t really bother you anymore. 

4:20. You have half an hour to get home before the sun sets and you’re not even halfway there. You made good time, nearly two miles in thirty minutes, but you live over twenty miles from school. You could run, if you kept yourself at a human pace you could get home in a little over two hours, but sprinting in Gotham while wearing clothes clearly not made for exercise is usually a bad sign. People might think you were running from someone. You decide, instead of running or walking, to catch a train. 

At 4:38, you exit Gotham Train Station and hail a cab. Cabs are risky, you never know who’s behind the wheel till you get in, but it’s miles of bridge and forest from here, and there's no way in hell you'll be caught alone in the forest in the dark. You’re lucky, because the person in the driver's seat today is an older gentlewoman who seems as relieved to have you as a passenger as you are to have her as a driver. You get home at 4:49.

The manor is empty, but you can hear the sounds of footsteps and voices in the basement. You stop by the kitchen to get something to chew on. Contrary to popular beliefs, vampires could eat human food. They didn't need to, but it was nice to be human, even if it was only pretend.

You bump into Alfred on the way out.

“Oh! Miss [Y/n]!” He says, a polite smile on his face.

“Hi Alfred.” You smile and nod. Expecting him to sidestep you and move on. He seems like he’s about to, until a thoughtful expression crosses his face.

“When did you get home?” He asks.

“Just now.” You answer, he frowns.

“I was supposed to pick you up tonight.” He says, his words almost sound like a question.

“It’s fine.” You say.

“How did you get back?”

“I took the train and hailed a cab.”

“Ah.” He nods. “I’m terribly sorry miss, I must’ve gotten caught up cleaning.”

“It’s fine, Alfred.” You say and step to the side. You nod at him, and walk away before he can say something else. You can’t really be mad. It’s your fault they’re all so stressed, even if they don’t know that. You try to ignore how he looks at you as you leave. 

When you were bitten, you distanced yourself from him, from all of them. Originally it was to give you time to pull yourself together, but as time went on, you never really got back to normal. Sure, you were used to being tucked away, you weren’t a vigilante, nor did you have any interest in being one. You weren’t a part of the family business, and sometimes that meant you weren't at the forefront of their minds. They still cared about you, but they were busy, they had responsibilities, lives of their own, complexes and complexities you could hardly understand. It didn’t mean they cared about you less, it just meant that you weren’t always a part of their world. 

Sometimes you wonder about that though. It’s easy to tell yourself you're part of the family, it’s easy for them to say you are, but when it comes down to it, when the answer is more than yes or no, could you really say you were?

You could go days without seeing any of them, they were always so busy, you knew that. Even when one of them could finally be convinced to take a break, it would be selfish of you to demand that that precious time be spent with you, especially when you were so boring, so uninteresting. You couldn’t demand their time, especially when you didn’t need it. Not like how the others need it, not like how Damian needed their love, like how Tim needed their patience, like how Dick needed their time, like how Cass needed their care. You didn’t have issues like Jason, you didn’t need somewhere to stay like Duke. You were just there. You were simple, easy. 

But none of that was really true anymore, was it? You did have an issue, you did need time, care, patience. You needed someone to look at you and tell you you weren’t a monster. That it was okay to cry over your kills, that you weren’t bad for doing what you needed to to survive. But you never had any of that before, so how could you ask for it now? When it requires coming clean, putting a bigger burden on them, explaining that you’ve been lying for two years. How could you ask for that? 

You learned on your own, did everything on your own. You learned to be okay, be content, to find love in your friends, to find patience in yourself. And you’re okay now, sometimes. It never solved the original issue, but you could ignore it until you felt better. You could cry at night and feel pretty in the morning, you could wrap your arms around your head to drown out the pounding and wrap your arms around yourself to love what no one else will. What you’ve convinced yourself no one else will.

You’re okay being here, even if there are nights you wish you weren’t sometimes. Even if some nights you wish you weren’t anywhere. 

Breathe out. Don’t give control to your pain. Look at the walls when you walk to your room, appreciate the architecture, think of something bigger than yourself. Look at the paintings on the walls, think of your ancestors and the lives they lived. Bump into your father on the third floor.

“[Y/n]?” 

His hands land on your arms to steady you. It’s instinctive on his part, you didn’t stumble at all. Too balanced with your inhumane body. 

“You’re cold.” He murmurs, eyebrows furrowed when he makes eye contact. His voice is deep, you haven’t heard it in a while.

“Just came in.” You say. He stares at you for a while. You can almost see the cogs turning in his brain, remembering who you are maybe, or realizing he hasn’t seen you in awhile, or something else you can’t figure out.

“Where’s your coat?” He asks, his palms rubbing up and down your arms. It’s a gesture meant to be fatherly, you think. You don’t see him much anymore so the gesture is just awkward, but the rare attention gives you pause. You don’t know how to talk to him, you realize. Besides the one-off family dinner once a month, you almost never see him, even at those dinners, if he tries to talk to you, it's awkward. He hesitates when he asks how your day was. Asks about friends like he's questioning if you even have them. Asks about grades like it actually matters to him. You realize this might be the first time he’s talked to you without a reason in over a year.

“Gave it to a friend.” You murmur, torn between making eye contact and avoiding it. “She was cold.”

“Oh.” He breathes, then takes a step back like he just realized he may be crowding you. “..thats.. nice.” He hesitates. “But you could’ve gotten sick. You shouldn’t do that next time.” He straightens. Like he’s remembered he’s your father and can be authoritative. He doesn’t know how to talk to you, you realize. He doesn’t know you. You stare at him for a moment. For no reason at all, your eyes start burning.

“Okay.” You say, voice weak. “I won’t do it again.”

Looking at him like this is overwhelming. He’s just a few feet in front of you, tall and elegant and imposing. You think he’s as lost as you are. You think you might be scared of him.

“Did you eat dinner?” He asks after a moment.

You stare at him, mouth open like you’re going to say something, but you hesitate. Does he care? Is he going to ask you to eat with him? Did you eat? 

“Yes.” You mumble.

He looks at you like he doesn’t believe you, but he nods anyway.

“Alright.” He says slowly. 

“I.. I think I’m gonna go to bed.” You mutter, he nods.

“Right.. good night [Y/n]” He says.

“Night, Bruce.” You say quietly and pad off.

He turns around when he realizes what you’ve said, but you’ve already disappeared into your room.

Bruce?

When did you start calling him that?

Taglist:

@cookiepersona @crispybelieverworld @bat1212 @4rachn3 @kat0-twt @murdersofcrowbars @whyamihere96 @leilakeila @cj-ghostemoji-destielpie @willowkarmachance @fictionalbakery @sous-les-sakura-blog @alwaysunabashedduck @b1uff @shapeshifterexile @meeeeeeee-stuff

I’m so excited for this movie ^_^