DC ✢ When He Realised He Loved You
DC ✢ When he realised he loved you
Characters: Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian and Clark.
B R U C E⠀W A Y N E
The moment had been a quiet revelation, in a silence so profound it frightened him. The kind of silence that followed the first crack of thunder, one moment loud and undeniable, the next building with tension, waiting for it to strike again.
You were sitting in the library of the manor, an arcane book resting open upon your lap, the fire crackling softly behind you. He had just returned from patrol — broken, bloodied, and defeated.
You looked up, eyes wide, alarmed at his state and asked, ‘Bruce?’ You had spoken as if he were not the Batman, not an emblem of vengeance and grit, but a man, just a man, whose hurt mattered.
Something in him gave out. Not in an ostentatious, cinematic collapse, but in the subtle yielding of defences too long held taut. His mind, a fortress of rationale and boundaries, fell silent.
She sees me, for all I am, it whispered. And yet she stays.
He had not believed in unconditional love since the alleyway. But in that moment, with the stench of blood from his suit and the leaden weight of the city upon his back, he saw love for what it was — not a sanctuary, but a quiet understanding, and a choosing. And she had chosen him.
It terrified him. Because now he had yet another thing to lose, to protect, something that was not abstract. It had a name. A voice. A laugh. It sat in his home and softened his world.
He had never been the same since.
D I C K⠀G R A Y S O N
It crept up on him — not a wave, but rather a tide. Quiet and constant and utterly irreversible.
You had fallen asleep in his bed, still holding a game controller, your brow furrowed even in your unconsciousness. He watched you in the blue glow of the screen and thought, God, I’d die for her.
And then came the laugh — low, bitter, surprised. Because of course he would. He was always ready to die for someone.
But this felt different. This was not a compulsion, a sense of duty. It was not about legacy or guilt. It was about you. And the way your presence grounded the part of him that had always been just suspended above the world, half-grieving, half-trying.
He remembered kissing your forehead before leaving for patrol that night. Slow. Lingering. The kind of kiss that was not about want, but reverence.
That was when he knew.
Love was not a thrill. It was a weight. And he had never wanted anything to anchor him, to tether him to this sphere, more than you.
The realisation made him smile. And then it made him ache.
J A S O N⠀T O D D
Jason felt it like the first rays of sun upon his back after a piercing winter, it flooded his system, warm and compelling. It struck him all of a sudden — new, unfamiliar, and… unwelcome. He did not want it. He had not asked for it.
You were brushing your teeth, half-asleep, wearing one of his old shirts, humming a song under your breath as though nothing was wrong in the world, as though it were not in a state of disrepair just beyond the window. And while watching you, he could believe it for a moment too.
Jason stood in the doorway, paralysed. Because he had seen too much tragedy, too much carnage. He could hardly believe that a quiet instant of peace, like this, could even exist, let alone in his reality.
His first instinct was to run. Not literally — he could never leave you. But to emotionally retreat, to steel himself for the moment this fleeting softness was stolen from him.
But you looked at him. Just looked — toothpaste foam and all — with a kind of amused concern, and asked, ‘You okay?’
After everything he had been through. He was not sure he had ever been less okay.
He loved you. He loved you with a passion that made him feel unworthy, as if he had tainted something holy.
A voice in him protested — said it was weakness. Said this would end in catastrophe. But he ignored it, just this once. He stepped forward and kissed your temple.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Just tired.’ But he was not. This was a lie. His mind was reeling.
He did not sleep that night. He lay awake memorising your breathing.
T I M⠀D R A K E
It was a question you asked that did it. Something ordinary, like, ‘Did you eat today?’
Tim wanted to laugh because it was such a cliché, wasn’t it? But clichés exist because they are true. No one ever asked him that, not like you had, not like it genuinely mattered.
Then you brought him a coffee, one of those orders so tailored it was essentially an identity. You did not need to ask what he wanted. You simply knew.
He blinked down at the cup, then at you, and suddenly the task he was completing meant nothing.
He felt the world tilt. Quietly. Like the axis of his orbit had shifted. And it had.
Love, to Tim, had always been a puzzle he did not have time to solve. A thing for normal people, with normal lives, for people who lacked the responsibility he had garnered.
But there it was — simple, unassuming and irreversible.
He did not tell you. Not for a long time.
But he began cataloguing what made you smile. The way your face changed after a laugh, crinkled and carefree. He noticed the way your eyes sparkled just a little brighter when you spoke of things that made you passionate, and how the corners of your lips turned up when you were lost in a quiet thought.
This love became his sustenance, it was the first time in years he feared forgetting something.
D A M I A N⠀W A Y N E (Aged up as Batman)
It had infuriated him. The sheer idiocy of it.
Love was chemical, juvenile, a distraction. Or so he had been taught. So he had believed.
And yet there he stood — across from you in the garden, where you were speaking to a stray dog as if it were royalty, and something in his chest pulled.
At first, he mistook it for contempt — annoyance at your softness in a moment where he was attempting to be serious. But then you looked up, grinned, and said, ‘I think she likes me.’
And the words caught in his throat. Not because he did not believe them, but because he liked you. Against every grain of his upbringing.
He wanted to scold you, retreat, build walls. But instead, he asked the cat’s name.
That was the beginning. The fracture.
He loved you. In an old, mythic sense. In the way poets spoke of their love — fierce, unyielding, as though it could bend the very fabric of time.
And that it did, time slowed every time you entered his concentration.
He began to dream of futures — a concept once as foreign to him as mercy.
He has not told you. But he will. In his own time. For now, he will continue to relish in it, and continue in this alluring descent.
C L A R K⠀K E N T
He did not realise. Not at first. Because what he felt for you was too immense, too intrinsic, to label with as small as a word as love.
It was not until you fell asleep in his arms, mumbling about a stressful day, completely unaware of the god you were held by, that it hit him.
You did not see him as Superman. You saw him as Clark Kent. You simply saw him. The man. His hope. His grief.
And he realised then — you are his tether.
He thought of Krypton. Of its loss. Of the gaping emptiness it had left as soon as he had learnt of it. And for the first time in years, he did not feel hollow. He felt… full. He realised, that the planet could never have been home to him like she was.
You snored softly. He laughed. Then cried.
Love, he realised, was not loud. It was simply your hand over his heart. It was your laughter in the next room. It was your body next to his.
He had not fallen in love. He had found it, unexpected and irrevocable, and for all the power he had been bestowed, this force had left him helpless to resist.
And now he guards it with everything he is. Because you are not just his world.
You are his home.
If you're interested, I've since posted a follow-up called 'When he admitted he loved you' linked, here. Every comment and piece of advice is welcomed and appreciated <3
More Posts from The-halloween-jack and Others
DC ✢ When he admitted he loved you
Characters: Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian and Clark. This is a companion piece to another headcanon called 'When he realised he loved you' linked here. Though, you can still read it independently.
B R U C E⠀W A Y N E
Bruce did not say it in a quiet moment — for such moments were rare. Though, when they did find him, he spent them with you in silence. Not with words but simply by being near, by existing in your presence.
No. It came during an argument. One of those arguments that shakes the very foundations of a relationship — not because of what was said, but because of what had never been, what was expected.
You had asked him — raw, wounded — what you meant to him. What all this was. Why he kept forming barriers between you, when all you had ever wanted to do was break through.
His answer had been frigid. Precise. Calculated and sharpened. A blade forged from old habits, Bruce wielded it with an unconscious mastery, a last-ditch defence mechanism perfected over decades.
You left. Not in fury, but in heartbreak, disappointment — the kind that does not cry, does not scream, but simply broods into silence. Your absence rang louder than a slammed door, louder than any yell you could have mustered.
Alfred did not speak. Just passed Bruce in the hallway with the kind of look that had once made him sit straighter as a boy. And now, it made him feel small once more, as though he were still a child.
Time passed and still, silence.
He found you in the garden, beneath a sky now thick with stars, the sun had still been gleaming when you had hurried away. You had not been crying. You were still. And in that stillness, he saw the damage he had inflicted upon you.
‘I can’t seem to protect what I love,’ he said, words fractured, conflicted. ‘Not my parents. Not Jason… Not you —’
You turned. Not startled by the confession, but by the break in his voice. You had never seen him like this before, never so fragile.
‘But I do. I love you. I want… I need you to know that.’
It was not cinematic. No kiss. No arms thrown around shoulders. Just him, standing before you, hollowed by an atypical honesty, praying you would believe him — even if he was undeserving of that trust.
And you did. You believed him. Bruce could see it in the ease of your countenance, in the smile that now warmed your face. But even so, he apologised as though he had committed a most heinous crime.
You pulled yourself to your feet, still wordless. And enveloped him in your arms.
‘I love you too, Bruce.’
D I C K⠀G R A Y S O N
Dick meant to say it casually — with that charming nonchalance that usually came so naturally to him. He had rehearsed it, even. Smiled in the mirror once or twice. But it never felt right, never felt adequate. It was too simple a word to describe what he felt for you.
But love, he discovered, should not wait for perfect timing.
It came unexpectedly late one evening, while a movie played in the background — some low-budget film neither of you had been truly watching. Your head was on his shoulder. His thumb was tracing invisible shapes into your side.
And then — suddenly breathless, it had grown too large to contain, he could not hold it any longer,
‘You know I love you, right?’
You blinked like someone newly roused from a dream, and looked at him as though he had spoken in a foreign language. Dick was not confident he had not.
When you remained quiet, he chuckled, uneasy. And brought his hand to the back of his neck, in a nervous, boyish manner.
‘I mean — I have. For a while. I just didn’t want to ruin it by...’ He trailed off, not quite sure what he was saying.
You remained quiet for a few moments more, contemplating. The juncture of silence stretched taut, he held his breath. And then you smiled.
As soft as the moonlight now shining through the curtains, you whispered, ‘I love you, too.’
He kissed you gently, as though he were trying to make up for all the times he had not said it sooner. In that moment, he was not Dick Grayson, he was not Nightwing or the Boy Wonder — he was simply someone lucky enough to be loved by you.
To this day, he cannot for the life of him remember the movie that had been playing. All he could remember was that smile — the way it had already lit up your eyes by the time it reached your mouth and the enthralling, glowing warmth that had flooded his system.
J A S O N⠀T O D D
You were stitching him up again — hands steady, breath shallow, a routine so familiar it hurt. Nothing fatal. Nothing new. His form was half-draped in shadow, skin cold under your touch. You sat cross-legged before him.
‘You’ve got to stop doing this,’ you murmured, not for the first time and certainly not the last.
He did not answer. Because what would he tell you? Not the truth, you would not want to hear it. Every stitched-up wound felt like proof that you cared; he could not resist the temptation. He did not believe you could love a man like him, but when he felt your gentle fingers work over his skin, he let himself consider it; he let himself yearn.
‘I’d die for you, you know?’ he muttered. Off-handed. As though it were the most obvious thing, as though it were as easy as breathing.
A frown turned your face. ‘That’s not comforting, Jason.’
And then — something unspooled. A thread that had been pulled too tight for too long. Jason sighed.
‘What I was trying to say… What I meant was… I love you —’ He looked into your eyes, gaze piercing, willing you to see the truth of it.
The words had flooded out like a barrage breaking open. ‘That’s all I’m trying to say. I’d die for you because… I can’t picture a world without you in it. I wouldn’t want to.’ He shivered at this, at the concept of a sphere you did not grace, the very notion made him ill.
You stilled. Hands held suspended above him, pausing their work.
He was not looking for a response — only a release; he had needed this off his chest. But you gave him one anyway.
‘I love you, too.’ You had uttered it so softly, had Jason not already been watching your lips, he may have missed it. His breath caught — not in fear, but in awe — as though his lungs had momentarily forgotten their most natural function.
Your words felt like electricity brimming beneath his skin — like every nerve had been awoken at once. A new fullness bloomed within his chest, as though the ribs could no longer host his heart; as if it had suddenly grown too large to contain.
He spoke up again, softer this time, ‘I’ll try to live for you too. That part’s harder. But believe me when I say I want it. More than anything.’ He gave you one of his rare smiles, and your heart jolted.
You silently placed the first aid materials to the side and leaned in, placing your head against his shoulder. After a short while you shifted, leaving scattered kisses across his fading scars, lingering on each for a moment, he felt that same electricity once more.
Your hands ghosted over him like he were something precious, as though the ruin of him was worth loving, and that was the message you were trying to convey, what you were trying to have him understand.
Jason did not sleep that night. Not out of pain or panic, but because he was afraid it had been a dream. That peace, for someone like him, was more fragile, more fleeting than any reverie; and he could not stand the idea of waking up.
T I M⠀D R A K E
You both had been working late, each focused on your own tasks, yet relishing in the silent company of one another; the peace of it. Tim sat at his desk, while you lay across his bed, legs swinging behind you with a pen in hand.
Tim had asked you to stay at the manor for the night, but you had gently refused, reminding him you had work in the morning. You got up and walked over, placing both hands on either shoulder. You then pressed a kiss to his temple and whispered in his ear.
‘I better head off now.’ He leaned his head back into you, and his eyes met yours, smiling.
And then — too casually, too instinctively — he said, ‘Okay, love you.’
The words had flowed out like a torrent. A sudden, unexpected failure in his system.
Then a silence dropped like a stone in deep water — sudden, heavy, and irreversible; absolute.
He froze. His eyes were wide, as though the phrase had been spoken by an imposter, by someone else within his skin. He had known this fact for a long time, it had only been a matter of time.
‘I didn’t — I mean — that wasn’t—well, it was, but —’ He stopped. His words crashed over each other, panicked and sputtered.
You tilted your head. Shock the dominant expression on your face.
‘You love me?’
He nodded, slowly, it would be silly to deny it; to lie. Shame crept into the corners of his expression. What if he had said it too soon? What if the word drew you away? Then suddenly you smiled, as though you had been waiting for this exact failure, this exact slip-up.
‘Well… that’s good,’ your whisper was tender. ‘Because I love you too.’
And just like that, his spiralling mind halted. His thoughts — so often a storm of what-ifs and whys — were suddenly still.
And in that stillness, something shifted.
The tension in his shoulders eased and melted away. He let out a breath he had not realised he had been holding — shaky, but smiling. It was not his usual tight-lipped smirk, nor the polite upward curve he would give strangers — this one was real. Quiet, disbelieving and full.
You leaned downward and rested your forehead against his, your hand moving to cradle his cheek. Tim leaned into it like he had been starved of its softness. You spoke through a grin.
‘Maybe I should stick around. Was that your plan all along?’
D A M I A N⠀W A Y N E⠀(Aged up as Batman)
Damian did not like the word love. Not at first. The word felt paltry. Trite. A flippant syllable never built to hold the sheer weight of what he carried for you.
You had just bested him in sparring. You always did, but only because he allowed it — Damian would sooner impale himself on his training blade than admit it, but it was not as though you were unaware. You had thought it cute, an adjective you would never dare utter to his face.
Damian had no shortage of self-pride. The fact he was willing to sacrifice it, simply to please you, always left you breathless.
You extended your hand to guide him up, but he simply stared at it from his place on the mat, his gaze shifting upward. You were standing over him, a barely contained smirk donning your features.
‘You do not understand what you mean to me,’ he said, voice low and filled with a thousand ulterior meanings, though they bled through, his tone turning earnest.
You did not speak. You simply waited.
‘This feeling,’ he tried again, ‘it disrupts everything. My training. My thoughts. My plans. Everything. It… it…’ He trailed off, not sure how to finish what he was saying, not confident that the words capable of conveying these feelings were extant across any vernacular, it seemed too implausible.
You smiled, faintly. ‘You mean love?’
He flinched like you had cursed. But then — after a moment — he nodded.
‘Yes. That.’ It was not enough, but he figured he would concede. ‘I feel it. Unwillingly. But truthfully.’
You laughed, it was warm and bell-like. It struck something tender in him, something still learning to hope.
‘I love you too, Damian.’
How was it, that word he had held with such contempt, such scrutiny and scepticism, was suddenly so weighted, so gorgeous uttered from your lips? How was it so impactful now it was directed towards him?
He looked away, not from shame, but from overwhelm. He had fought assassins, atrocious criminals, and the weight of his father’s legacy — but never had he felt something as all-consuming as being wanted, as overwhelming as the thought of your love.
C L A R K⠀K E N T
He had told you on a rooftop. Not because it was histrionic, but because it was distant — far above the world’s inescapable noise, yet still beneath its stars.
You were talking about something entirely ordinary. Rent, perhaps. The cost of your water bill.
But he was not listening, not truly. He watched as your lips moved and thought only of how he yearned to kiss them, to wake up to them each and every morning.
And then he looked at you. Really looked. And the words came like wind through the ether — soft, inevitable.
‘I love you.’ He had cut you off, but it needed to be said. He could not have lived another moment without these words held suspended between you.
You smiled, easy. ‘I know.’
But he shook his head. Shifting closer. There was an ache in his voice, a gravity to it.
‘No. I love you. Not in the way people say when they’re hanging up the phone. Or when they leave for work in the morning. I love you like… like…’ He paused, eyebrows furrowed, ‘I’m not sure I can put it into words —’ He places his hands on either side of your cheeks.
You stopped breathing.
‘You’ve given me something no one else has,’ he said, his voice near breaking. ‘Not because you wanted a hero. But because you saw me — as nothing more than a man. The farmboy. The one who still forgets to fold his laundry, after you’ve already asked him five times…’
You let out a sudden laugh, but it was not for his joke, your joy at his admission could not be contained; it surged out. You kissed him.
‘I love you, too.’ You murmured, Clark could hear the smile within your voice. Then he thought of the stars glimmering upon them, they shone bright, yet still somehow paled in your comparison.
I was thinking of expanding upon the Jason Todd section and turning it into its own one-shot, would anyone be interested in that? Every comment and piece of advice is welcomed and appreciated <3
Déjà Vu ✢ Jason Todd
Synopsis: When the reader's comms grow suddenly silent, Jason Todd's worst fear takes shape — not just the possibility of losing someone, but the cold, inescapable echoes of a past he could never bury. As he fights his way through the grime of Gotham City, one truth becomes undeniable: some nightmares never cease, they resurface. Jason Todd x Reader, female pronouns.
Warnings: Angst, graphic descriptions of violence, mentions of death, mentions of past domestic violence. Masterlist
Notes: This is my first Jason Todd piece after many years of reading them. Hopefully, it is the first of many <3
Words: 3,181k
The first hit split her lip.
The second sent her to her knees.
The third stole her breath, left her gasping, hands splayed in the warmth of her own blood beneath her.
‘Oh, sweetheart.’ He drawled, ‘I have to say, I love the symmetry of this.’
The Joker laughed, one hand gesturing to her, the other twirling the gruesome crowbar between his gloved fingers like a baton. Y/N spat red onto the warehouse floor, teeth bared with something akin to a smile, though it was distorted with her wrath. ‘Go to hell.’
He tutted, shaking his head as though he were a disappointed teacher. ‘Now, now, don’t be like that, darling. You should be honoured! Not just anybody gets a starring role in one of my reruns.’
Her knees remained on the glistening crimson concrete as she forced herself upright, muscles shrieking with the exertion. Y/N could feel the blood seeping into the fibres of her clothes; it was quickly turning cold. She was trembling. Weak. But she refused to stay down, to yield. She knew what this very situation had done to Jason, witnessed the wreckage it left in its wake. The man it had turned him into.
She would not grant Joker the satisfaction of her fear.
He sighed dramatically. ‘Honestly… I was hoping for a bit more fight from you; after all, I did a number on you.’ He waved the crowbar, a looming threat. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll keep the rest quick. After all, we wouldn’t want lover boy to catch the show.’
Jason.
Her heart slammed painfully against her ribs. She could not comprehend how he knew what Jason was to her. They had always been so careful.
He was coming. Y/N knew it; she could feel his pending presence like a tempest looming in the ether. But he would not make it here in time. That was the whole objective. The Joker had planned this, crafted it. It had all but nothing to do with her, he stitched it together like a grotesque puppet show designed solely to torment him.
Just as he had before.
Her whole form rattled with each sputtered breath; she swore she could feel her fragmented bones shift within her, but she forced herself to move, to push forward. There was something she yearned to tell him, something he needed to know; it was long overdue. If she could only stall, draw out this awful night, but she could only stretch so far before it would splinter. She could feel it; her life was drawn like a string, taut and thrumming. She feared with one more blow, it would snap under the strain.
Y/N could not bear the thought of him finding her like this, discovering her body; it left a bad taste in her mouth, it burned bitter; she choked on it.
The Joker noticed this. His wicked grin stretched wider, more daunting, eyes alight with sick amusement. ‘So you do have some fight left in you. That’s adorable.’
Then, he swung and her vision erupted with stars, they burned with a white-hot agony.
She barely felt herself hit the ground, as though her body was not hers anymore, it was something distant, something leaden, she could already feel reality receding. A small, bitter part of her recognised the poetry of it. Saw what the Joker was trying to achieve, the symmetry, as he had called it.
Y/N had spent so long learning how to crawl her way back from death. This could not be the exception.
The Joker crouched beside her, his shoes shifting against the concrete, she watched them from her new place on the floor and stared as the newly shed blood glistened from his soles.
‘Aw, don’t check out on me just yet, peaches. The real fun hasn’t even started.’
He reached out for her face as if in a caress, his gloved fingers grazing ever so gently down her cheek as though he had not just beaten her within an inch of her life. Bile rose in her throat at his touch; it burned like acid.
She could barely see him now. Her vision was oscillating, black setting in at the edges. But she could hear him. She could feel the suffocating weight of inevitability settle over her like a burial shroud.
Jason was not going to make it; this realisation settled like a cold, unforgiving weight in her chest, smothering each breath she took. The fragile threads of hope she had held onto retreated into the abyss. Her heart ached as the cruel truth settled over her; Jason would arrive too late. He would never hear the words she so desperately longed to convey; the unspoken confession burned in her chest, restricted by time.
She was not going to survive this, the Joker would never allow it. Jason would find her like this, broken, derelict. She would not get the chance to explain.
He leaned in close now, breath hot against her ear; it sent a shudder down her form. ‘I adore the symmetry I’ve created thus far, there’s only one thing left to do; I want him to see the damage I’ve done.’
‘Y’know,’ he murmured, still close to her face, voice low and sweet like the whisper of a lover, ‘he’s never gonna forgive himself for this.’
She ached to tell him he was wrong, that Jason would endure. That she would be okay. That he would not be unmade by this. But the words curdled in the warmth of her throat, thick with blood, the murk coiled around her like a patient tide; she was already ebbing from the world, conceding to its darkness.
Joker pulled away, sighing. ‘Ah well. C’est la vie.’
He stepped aside, allowing a red glow to seep into her stunted view, steady, unrelenting, and ominous. Her wavering vision had the numbers mangle into indistinct shapes, but she required no clarity. Y/N already knew what they meant. She braced herself, eyes fluttering shut.
Jason could feel it like a thrum, like static in the air, like pressure boring into his skull. He grew tense, as though a spectre gripped the back of his neck in an unrelenting grasp. The comms had gone silent. Her comms. She never went silent.
His fingers wreathed tighter around the throttles of his bike as Gotham blurred past him, neon lights receding into its gloom as he tore through the streets. The city was too loud, too alive, too unaware of what was festering beneath its surface.
His mind clawed at the last words she had said before the line cut out, ‘I’ve got it, Jay. Don’t worry.’
But he did worry. He always worried. And now that worry had shifted into something sharp and breathless, twisting deep in his chest; he fought for air.
A crackle in his ear. Tim. ‘Jason…’
‘Where is she?’ He did not like the desperation in his voice, but he could not quell it.
A pause. Too long. Too weighted.
Then, a sigh. ‘An abandoned warehouse off of Dock 52.’
He was already turning the bike. Already forcing the engine to its limit. He ran red lights and tore through intersections, deaf to the horns, blind to the people, heedless to everything but the address burning itself into his mind, searing to his vision.
A warehouse.
His stomach plummeted. He knew what that meant.
He knew what would happen there.
He knew what Joker planned to do.
His pulse pounded in his ears. His breath turned shallow, quick and useless. His grip on the handlebars was white-knuckled, and his mind — his mind was a reel of tainted memories, a horror film of times gone past. This was not happening. This was not happening. This was not...
‘Jason.’ Dick’s voice this time. Steady. Trying to ground him. It only made it worse.
‘We’ll get her.’
But Jason already knew he was too late. It could never be that easy.
The flames licked and devoured the crumbling ruins around him, their heat pressed against his skin, yet somehow, he had never felt colder. It was the awful crimson that had first caught his eye; her body, once so strong and sure, now lay in a heap, decrepit and ghastly in a pool of her own blood. He did not recall making his way to her beaten frame, but abruptly, his knees had hit the concrete, a hollow, sickening sound swallowed by the vast emptiness of the desolate space. With trembling fingers, he reached for her and pulled her into his embrace.
Blood crept up his knuckles, stark and seeped within the crevices of his pale, illuminated skin.
It crept beneath his fingernails.
Her blood.
His hands shook violently with this foul revelation. The warehouse smelled of rust and rot, of soot and smoke, of something macabre. Shadows stretched against the walls, twisted structures caught in the flickering light of bare bulbs, but Jason could not see them. He could not perceive anything beyond her.
His breath was trapped somewhere in his ribs, clawing at his throat, fighting its way out as a broken, trembling sob.
No. No, no, no, no...
She was still warm.
That was the worst part.
Her body had not yet caught up with the brutal finality of her death. He had been close, so close. The blood that seeped from her skull was fresh, staining the floor, staining him, sinking into the creases of his clothes, into the cracks of his skin, imbibing itself into his very bones.
He glanced unwillingly to his side and saw a joker card weighed down by a battered crowbar. It was left there to taunt him; he felt a stinging pain rise in his throat.
He already knew this story.
He had lived this story.
Jason pressed a shaking hand to her cheek, fingers skimming over the torn skin of her temple. Her head lolled, lifeless, into his palm. His vision blurred. The world was shattering around him, the air closing in too fast, too tight.
This was not supposed to happen. Not again. Not to her. Not her.
A choked sound wrenched itself from his throat, raw and brutal. He wanted to tear the world apart, wanted it to burn, wanted to take everything Joker had ever touched and reduce it to ashes, bone and dust.
But there was no world left to destroy. His world lay broken in his arms.
‘Jason...’ a voice called from somewhere behind him. Distant. Muffled beneath the rush of blood pounding in his ears. ‘Jason, we need to... ’
‘No.’
It came out hoarse, a ragged snarl carved from the wreckage of his throat. Hands were on him now, Dick’s, maybe Tim’s, he did not care, they tried to pry him away, tried to separate him from the only thing that mattered. He wrenched free, curling over her like a shield, as though if he were to hold her tightly enough, he could put her back together, force her into place, will her soul back beneath her skin.
He loved her.
And he had failed her.
Jason felt something unravel within him, something fragile and irreparable. The grief inside him was not humane. It was raw, feral, a grief that gnawed at the edges of reason, hollowing him out until only the cavern of what he had been remained.
‘Jason,’ Bruce said, he did not remember him arriving. Bruce was quieter than the others, as if his words would be enough to stop the sky from collapsing, as though it would be enough to salvage what had already been destroyed. ‘We need to bring her home.’
Home.
The word felt like a mockery.
He swallowed back the scream rising in his chest. She was his home. His arms curled tighter around her, his forehead pressing against hers, his breath shuddering as it ghosted over her cooling lips. He wanted to wake up. He wanted to rewind time. This could not be real.
But there was no waking up from this.
Joker forced her from him in the same manner he had taken him from Bruce. And this time, Jason had been the one who arrived too late.
History had repeated itself.
And she had fallen victim to it.
He was still holding her hand.
It was cold now, sickly. She looked like stone under the low light of the cave, sculpted into something reverent, something holy. If he were any weaker, he might have prayed. But there was never a god in Gotham, only ghosts, only graves.
His grip tightened.
‘Jason,’ Dick had murmured from over the threshold. He had the tone of someone who knew he had already lost his battle but was too stubborn to walk away. ‘You need to rest.’
Jason did not answer. What was the point? None of them understood. Not Bruce, who had watched him succumb to the same fate, but had seemingly not suffered the same. Not Dick, who had watched on. Not Tim, not Damian. They had not been shattered and put back together wrong. They had all known loss, but none of them, none of them, had lost her.
They tried again, in softer voices. Even Alfred, placing a hesitant hand on his shoulder, spoke to him like a wounded animal. Jason did not move. He did not blink. He barely breathed.
They would not take her from him.
Eventually, they left him with her. Hours passed, or maybe minutes, or maybe lifetimes. He did not know. He just stayed, his thumb running absently over her knuckles, tracing circles into the skin. He should have been there sooner. He should have known. He should have...
Her fingers twitched.
Jason flinched, tearing his gaze from the blank, hollow of her face and down to their hands laying connected, both now dried crimson with her blood. The movement had been so slight he almost thought he had imagined it. His chest was hollowed out, a cavern scraped raw, and his mind was cracked wide with grief. He must have been seeing things.
Then it happened again.
Her breath hitched. Her shoulders jerked. A sharp inhale wrenched her back into her body, into the cage of her skin, into the cold and then to him.
Jason scrambled to his feet, the gurney rattling with the force of his pushing away. The world tilted, his stomach plummeting because this was not... this was not possible. His hands shook as he pulled away, as he stared down at her, heart hammering like a war drum in his ribs.
‘What... ’
‘Jason,’ she whispered, barely audible, as though she was speaking through water, through a fog, through the thousand miles that should exist between her and life.
He stumbled back. No, no, this was not... it could not...
She pushed herself up on her elbows, slow, deliberate, blinking the haze from her eyes. Her gaze swept the room before settling on him. He looked wrecked, as though he were unravelling at the seams.
‘I… I don’t... ’ he choked out, but his voice barely worked. ‘I held you. You weren’t breathing. You were dead.’
‘I was.’ Her voice was solemn, yielding.
He took another step back, shaking his head, trying to force this into something he could make sense of. But there was no logic here, no reason. Only his own past being referenced before him.
She watched him for a moment. Then, gently, she reached for his hand.
‘Let me explain.’ Her voice was soft, pleading.
Jason moved, did not resist, just let himself be drawn back in. The contact burned through his clothes, through his skin, down to the bones that had once shattered against the Joker’s crowbar, just as hers had.
She exhaled, steadying herself, and then began.
‘I was seven the first time I died.’
Jason felt something splinter in him, he drew in a quick breath.
‘My father…’ she trailed off, lips pressing into a thin line. A flicker of something old and ruined crossed her face before she buried it again. ‘Though he didn’t mean it. He was by no means… kind. And he…’
She halted her words a muscle in her jaw twitching.
Jason’s fingers tightened in hers. His heart was still hammering, still trying to keep up with a reality that had seemingly stumbled sideways.
‘My… return shocked him.’ Jason did not like the implications behind her words, they made him sick, but he let her continue.
‘He needed to know how I survived it; he hated the uncertainty. So he…’ She paused again, eerily composed. ‘...experimented. I always woke up. I always came back.’
Jason’s stomach twisted, nausea creeping up his throat like acid. This was too vile. Too raw. The thought of her helplessness, her fear, and the cycle of pain she had been subjected to was enough to debilitate him. The air suddenly tasted like metal, sharp and bitter, but it was nothing compared to the taste of rage searing through his veins.
He stepped back and stood still, his fists clenched so tightly that his nails bit into his palms, but still, his breath remained steady, almost serene. The world around him felt muted, like a muffled beat, the edges of his vision fading to red with the sudden weight of this truth. He could not believe that someone meant to nurture and cherish her could cause her such anguish. Anger, raw and relentless, rose, it begged for vengeance. Wherever this foul man resides, he must pay; but not yet.
He watched as she sat pouting, she was not happy that he had drawn himself away from her, so he stood forward once more and grabbed her still outstretched palms.
She quickly enveloped his hands, grounding him. ‘I was afraid to tell you,’ she admitted, sheepish. ‘I thought you might look at me differently.’
Jason let out a hollow, humourless laugh. ‘Differently?’
Her lips twitched, almost amused, almost sad. ‘I know it’s ironic, if anyone would understand, it was you. I know, it’s a lot.’
A lot. Right. That was one way to describe the phenomenon. All Jason knew was that his world had imploded, that the grief that had so recently shifted him into something unrecognisable, was chased away with relief coiled so tightly in his gut he thought he might shatter beneath it.
But all he did was drag her forward, arms closing around her so tightly he could not be sure where he ended and she began.
‘I was going to bury you,’ he rasped against her shoulder, shaking. ‘Bury you.’
‘I know,’ she whispered, fingers curling into the leather of his jacket. ‘I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner.’
He exhaled shakily, pressing his face into her hair, trying to anchor himself to the warmth of her; the solid weight of her in his arms. Alive. But the moment ended too soon as light flooded suddenly into the room. Jason and Y/N turned, eyes narrowing begrudgingly toward the interruption, only to be met with a group of gaping faces that stood shocked beyond the threshold.
Every comment and piece of advice is welcomed and appreciated <3 On a side note, the reader's ability to come back from the dead and the father's experimentation that then follows was inspired by a character from a different source material. I'm not going to say who because it is a spoiler for anyone who may end up watching the show, but I wonder if any of you picked up on the allusion.
One Little Difference ✢ Draco Malfoy
Synopsis: Draco and Y/N had been friends as children; their families were of high status, and it looked like they would spend the rest of their lives together. But all of this changed when Y/N was sorted into Gryffindor and became estranged. Worst of all, she fraternised with the enemy.
Draco Malfoy x Reader, female pronouns.
Warnings: There aren't any unless you consider silent pining bad. And angst, of course.
Words: 1,475
Masterlist
Draco knew he could never have her; his family would never allow it. Y/N was a blood traitor with her mud-blood friends and a lack of respect for her pure ancestry.
He yearned to return to the days of chasing each other through the old ornate manor, their laughter echoing through the tall chambers. They had always been close, attached at the hip. But as they grew and their parents bestowed their prejudice and hate upon them, Y/N rebelled whilst Draco conformed.
This difference acted as the catalyst for the decay of their friendship.
She had never seen the world like they did; she gazed upon muggles and their innovations in wonder and awe. Draco tried pleading with her to understand the importance of her status but to no avail. Y/N was an embarrassment to her family’s name and a stain on their bloodline. It came as no surprise to anyone when she was sorted into Gryffindor.
‘It’s better this way, Draco.' His father, Lucius, had said over an issue of The Daily Prophet one morning of his summer holidays,
‘Her family, your mother and I had been discussing an arranged marriage once you were older. It is good Y/N's true colours were revealed before we could have made that mistake.’
Draco’s heart had sunk at his father’s words. Her true colours did not matter to him; he wanted her anyway.
As Draco sat alone in a compartment of the Hogwarts Express, he thought of how his life would be different if that wretched sorting hat had placed Y/N in Slytherin. He would not have to hide his reddening cheeks when she spoke and avert his eyes as she looked his way. He would be free to love and be with her, have children and grow old with her.
It had been the longest Draco had gone without seeing her. In the last few years, domestic life had not been easy on Y/N; her parents finally kicked her out early in the summer. From what he had heard, she had stayed at the Weasley’s. He bet she had hated imposing herself on them.
That was the worst part about her being in Gryffindor; in their first year, she very quickly became friends with people Draco considered his enemies: Harry, Ron and Hermione. There were many reasons why Draco did not like these three, though he was too proud to admit that the main reason was that he was bitter; they got to be her friend, to know and love her without pressure from their families.
When he gazed out the window of the immobile train, he saw something that made his stomach contort in pain as though an unseen force was twisting his insides.
Her hands were intertwined with someone he hated more than anybody.
Harry Potter.
When had this happened? He thought they were only friends. Though the longer he watched them, the more the opposite seemed true.
They were together; Harry and Y/N were in a relationship.
As the aftershock of the pain he felt echoed hollowly in his stomach, he drew the blinds of the compartment shut; he could not bear to watch them any longer. But shutting them out had not been as easy as Draco had foreseen. Everywhere he looked, he saw her with him. In every corner of the castle, they stood, smiling at each other, holding hands and leaving small kisses on each other's cheeks. Draco saw them sit together in his classes, staring into each other's eyes in the great hall over meals. And though Draco tried not to let it bother him, he could not help but imagine himself in Harry’s place; she was supposed to be his.
It had been years since Draco could call Y/N his friend, and although he pined for her from a distance, he accepted that they were estranged. But the reality of her loving someone else rattled him to his core, and just like a spoiled child whose toy was being played with by another, he wanted her back, to snatch her from Harry’s arms and never return her.
He needed to speak with her, beg her to see reason. Surely, all those days of laughter and fun as children would amount to something; surely, she would remember the person he used to be.
He decided to speak with her after charms class; he noticed she was usually alone then, her friends heading to different lessons.
As Professor Flitwick called the end of their class, Draco watched as Y/N quickly collected her things and exited the classroom; he had to rush to put his belongings together and follow her.
But by the time he left the room, she was halfway down the grand hallway.
‘Y/N! Wait up!’ Draco could not remember the last time he spoke her name out loud; it felt strange on his tongue, as though it shocked him on its way out. She turned, skin creased between her brows, her face donning a bewildered expression. She, too, seemed shocked that he had called out for her,
‘Y/N, I need to speak with you; it’s important’ he pleaded,
With surprise still evident on her face, she opened her mouth to speak,
‘Draco, I don’t have the time, my next class is in ten…’ He grabbed her elbow and began pulling her to an empty classroom; despite her protest,
‘Draco… What are you…’ she trailed off, instead staring at him, eyebrows furrowed once more. Draco stood back and nervously scratched the nape of his neck, realising for the first time that he had no idea what he was going to say,
‘What is this about? I thought you didn’t talk to me anymore.’
Draco cringed, remembering how he had given her the cold shoulder in their first year. She had still wanted to be his friend, and he had pushed her away.
‘Look, I’ve noticed you’ve been a lot closer with Harry this year…’ Y/N's eyes sharpened, daring him to say more,
‘And?…’ she spoke carefully, with a warning; she already knew where this was headed,
‘I just think that… that,’ his words cut short; he knew he was out of line and had no right to have an opinion on the matter. He took a different route.
‘I just can’t believe you chose to be friends with him, let alone partners; you could have picked anyone in this school, and you chose him.’ His words made Y/N gasp in shock, but he continued nonetheless,
‘Did our friendship mean nothing to you? Did the fact I loved you mean nothing?’
Although Y/N looked angry, her eyes softened slightly,
‘Draco, did you ever stop for one moment and consider that this has nothing to do with you? You and I are not friends, Draco. You saw to that… I loved you once too, no, I loved a kind, sweet boy by the same name… but he died a long time ago, quelled by his very own father.’ Y/N's voice rose and trembled; Draco could see that talking about this upset her; once again, he felt the twisting pain in his chest.
‘None of this would have happened, though, if you were sorted into Slytherin…’
He continued, but Y/N interrupted,
‘But I wasn’t, was I? Don’t you see that our houses have nothing to do with this? You’re hiding behind them; you’re too scared to admit that we grew apart because you were a bad person.’ She took a deep breath,
‘Good people don’t bully and belittle first years and think people are lesser because of who their parents are. Good people don’t bully anyone; they’re kind and compassionate. And they’re selfless; not everything that they do is for themselves. And that is not who you are anymore.’
Draco could no longer see Y/N before him; she became shrouded by his tears, the truth of her words leaving him feeling winded, like blows to the stomach. Everything she had said was true. Of course it was; she had just unknowingly described herself.
Kind, compassionate, selfless.
Y/N was a good person; she was the best person in his life.
And he pushed her away because of one little difference.
As Draco stood in silence, unwilling to respond, Y/N’s frustration grew,
‘You know what? Forget I said anything; you won’t change.’ She muttered, ‘I need to get to class.’
She pushed past him to get through the door, looking back as though she were going to speak again, but decided against it. She shook her head and left.
Draco did not try to speak with her again; he knew nothing he could say would change her mind because she was right. He was a bad person, and she deserved better than him.
That is what she had with Harry Potter.
And as much as it killed him to watch, he could admit that.
Every comment and piece of advice is welcomed and appreciated <3
Author's Note: I have written a second part to this one-shot that I posted many moons ago, here is a quick reblog to hopefully get it into circulation again before the new part is posted. I never planned for a second part, but it kind of happened anyway and I think it works well. I thought it would be fun to explore the aftermath of this event, and how it would affect some of the characters of Mystic Falls. Keep in tune! It should be up within the next day or so.
The Day Before ➳ Damon Salvatore x TerminallySick!reader One-Shot
Synopsis: The reader knows she is dying and to save Damon the pain of her death she makes an extremely difficult decision.
Damon Salvatore x Fem!Reader
WARNINGS: Angst, Death.
Masterlist
A/N: This is my first time writing for Damon Salvatore, hopefully this is the first of many.
Words: 1,538
Keep reading
ｒｅｖｅｎａｎｔ - ｔｗｏ
PART TWO OF 'REVENANT' SERIES Damon Salvatore x Winchester!Sister!Hunter!Reader The Vampire Diaries x Supernatural Mini-Series Synopsis: Y/N Winchester was tired of living in her brothers' shadows; she needed to do something for herself for a change. When she heads to Mystic Falls, a town she was always warned to stay away from, she finds she may have taken on more than she can handle. Will she be able to eradicate the supernatural from the uncanny town? Or will she find herself tangled amongst it? WARNINGS: Drinking, Descriptions of Violence. Words: 2,103k Series Masterlist <Previous Part | Next Part >
A month had passed, and Y/N still found herself in the preternatural town of Mystic Falls; with every passing moment, her case became more thorny and twisted. Though, there were two things of which she was certain.
Vampires in this town did not succumb to their usual prison of daylight; the only logical explanation for a lack of night prowlers was that they simply did not need to prowl at night.
Secondly, the reason Y/N could not get any information from the townspeople was because they genuinely did not know anything; she had the nagging feeling their minds were patched up with fake accounts of nefarious events that they were unfortunate enough to witness. Y/N shuddered to think that maybe her memories had been played with, too; after all, she would not know. Y/N took to writing down everything she uncovered; if she were right about the memory tampering, all of her evidence and theories would be there to rediscover.
Y/N begrudgingly gazed upon her tenuous evidence in the form of a journal. Countless farfetched “animal attacks,” both historical and recent, missing persons and hospital break-ins. She knew three blood bank robberies had occurred within a fortnight, and yet no action had been taken by order of the sheriff. It was redundant to attempt a case so premeditatedly shrouded by the authorities, whose ill-judged aims of keeping locals nescient only paved the way for more of these “animal attacks”.
The stalemate the young Winchester found herself in was beyond frustrating; she could not deaden the voice calling for her brothers’ help in her head, though her stubbornness prevented her from doing so. The further this case progressed, the more impossible it became, its virulent tendrils unfurling in every which direction.
But the vampire case was not the only thing that frustrated Y/N; she found herself becoming quite comfortable in the uncanny town. Remaining in the same place for a couple of months gave her a strange sense of stability she had never experienced before. She found herself building relationships, and as depressing as it was, for the first time in her life, she could confidently say she had friends.
The renowned Mystic Grill played a pivotal part in this; every other night, the locals would flock to the establishment, blissfully ignorant of the wary pastimes of their councillors. It was the seemingly tight-knit nature of Mystic Falls that first attracted Y/N to the town, and although she had only resided there for a short while, she had already begun receiving invites to their extravagant founders' events.
Of course, Y/N was wise as to what these seemingly inconspicuous gatherings really were, though she still found the fact she was already being invited heartening.
Though friends and a sense of community were not all that was new, Y/N tried desperately to quell the feelings she had growing for the sardonic Damon Salvatore. Of course, she had had fleeting crushes before, but this time, she found herself infatuated. She was kicking herself for ever allowing it to happen. She would go out of her way to see him, convincing herself that she was only investigating the case, trying to get into the inner loop of the founders' council. Deep down, Y/N knew she was lying to herself.
The sound of a knock on her motel door snapped Y/N from her thoughts. Hastily shoving her journal under her bed and tucking her wooden-bullet-filled revolver in the waistline of her jeans, she strode over and glanced through the glass peephole, finding Caroline, an overbearing but lovely girl Y/N had come to call a friend, standing on the other side clutching what looked like a flyer. With a sigh, Y/N heaved the faulty door open,
‘Hey Caroline, I wasn’t expecting you here; excuse the room, it’s a mess.’
‘I don’t know why you stay here; I keep telling you we have a spare bed.’ Caroline’s response was doubtful; she already knew what Y/N would say,
‘I’ll get my own place eventually; for the meantime, I’m happy staying here.’
Y/N liked the idea of staying in Mystic Falls, continuing the relationships she already held dear. She thought of her brothers and how long her anonymity here would last; how long did she have before they found her and forced her back?
‘Oh well, I didn’t come here to judge your living conditions; I came here to give you this.’
Caroline held out the piece of paper Y/N had thought was a flyer, though upon closer inspection, she could see it was an invitation to a ball.
‘Another event?’ Y/N’s words were incredulous,
‘I know, we always have them, but you need to come to this one.’
‘I’ve needed to attend the last few founders' events.’ Y/N’s fingers formed quotation marks as she spoke; Caroline ignored her jab,
‘Elena, Bonnie and I plan on heading into Richmond to find gowns; you’re welcome to join.’
Although Y/N acted as though she held herself aloof from these girly hangouts, between being an only daughter and living on the road, they had been something she had never experienced before, and she could not help the excitement and giddiness she felt every time she was invited.
‘Okay, I’ll see if I can make it… Will Damon be there?’ Caroline’s eyes rolled so far back into her skull that Y/N was worried they would be stuck there.
‘I’ve told you a million times, and I’ll tell you again. He. Is. Bad. News.’ She very carefully emphasised each word. It was Y/N’s turn to roll her eyes,
‘You know, I don’t understand why you’ve got such a big problem with him; you can tell me you know.’
‘Just trust me, okay? You don’t want to get mixed in with him; it doesn’t end well for anyone.’
Y/N wished she would heed Caroline’s advice; she could not afford to get mixed in with anyone, bad news or not; her lifestyle did not allow it. Though for a century and a half now, it seemed Mystic Falls was in constant danger from the Supernatural, would it be that unforgivable if she stayed and protected these people? Protected her friends?
Y/N quickly learnt that Caroline was a fan of advice; if anything happened, she had an opinion about it. For the most part, Y/N found it endearing; she could tell it came from a place of care. So why was it that she was so vehemently against Damon? What was it about him that caused Caroline’s dismay? These questions riddled Y/N’s thoughts as she sat alone in the very spot she met the dark-haired man, knowing that it would not be long before he sat in the vacant space beside her.
‘Why the long face?’ The satirical voice she had come to adore sounded from her left, and the face in question quickly shifted to a grin,
‘I knew you would be showing up soon; that’s enough to cause despair in anybody.’ Or at least Caroline, Y/N thought sardonically. Damon’s hand quickly covered his heart, his expression mocking offence.
‘You wound me.’
Damon pulled the stool next to the Winchester girl out from under the bench and lowered himself onto it with a hefty sigh, catching the eye of the young bartender,
‘House bourbon please…’ He glanced at the empty crystal glass clutched in her hand, ‘make that two,’ he added,
‘Thanks.’ She muttered,
‘You know, I’ve noticed you never buy me drinks.’ He teased, eyes crinkling with his smile, Y/N scoffed,
‘Nice try, Damon; I’ve seen your house. You don’t need me to buy you drinks.’ Her eyebrows furrowed,
‘What is it that you do for a living any way? How can you afford a house like that?’ Damon did not answer, instead, he waved his hand dismissively. He never answered personal questions; it was beyond frustrating. However, she understood she was being hypocritical; none of her new-found friends knew anything about her, nothing real anyway. She continued,
‘It doesn’t look like you have the time for a job; you spend all your time here.’ Y/N spoke with fake judgment; she spent a fair amount of her time here as well. She raised her eyebrows expectantly, hoping her statement would elicit some sort of answer, but to no avail; Damon simply took a sip from his glass and moved to another topic,
‘Did you get your invite to the ball? I heard the girls were going to get gowns. ’ His tone was teasing as he wiggled his eyebrows. Y/N rolled her eyes,
‘Yeah, I’ve also been invited to the shopping trip; I don’t know what I’m going to get; I've never been a dress person.’
‘Well, whatever you end up wearing, I’m sure you’ll look stunning; that’s something we have in common.’ Y/N's cheeks heated at his comment; she should be used to it by now; their whole relationship was built on cheap pick-up lines.
‘You flatter me.’ A chuckle escaped with her words,
‘Speaking of the ball… Were you going with anyone?’ His words were hesitant but aired with confidence,
‘You’re kidding, right? You’re just about the only person I know in town.’ Y/N was incredulous,
‘Well.. in that case… I suppose I better take you.’
Two days passed, and Y/N found herself in the back seat of Elena Gilbert's SUV, trying desperately to quell the feeling of giddiness settling in her stomach; the idea of a girls-day-out excited Y/N in a way she had not anticipated and although she had tried very hard to act aloof, she fears she had not been successful.
Every time she complained about dresses, shoes and jewellery, Caroline, Elena, and Bonnie shared knowing looks.
The day passed slowly, Y/N quickly learning to nod politely at the dresses she believed were only ordinary and gush over the ones she thought were stunning. By the end of their trip, Y/N knew that the girls would pass as goddesses at the ball, their embellished gowns complimenting each one of them wonderfully. Though she had not foreseen how difficult it would be to come to a decision herself, each dress she tried on never quite hugged or sat the way she wanted it. But when she glanced up at a mannequin she had yet to see, the dress she knew would be hers lied upon its shoulders.
The burgundy gown adorned a tight-fitting velvet bodice, its sweetheart neckline drawing out to meet hanging chiffon off-shoulder sleeves. Y/N thought the skirt looked like deep gushing blood as it extended from the pointed waist of the bodice to the floor, its chiffon overlay flowing delicately to meet the rest of the dress on the ground. Complimenting the dress was a pair of long gloves made to match its ornate material and a necklace of warmly coloured pearls encrusted with a brilliant red jewel. It was utterly perfect.
She drew closer to the gown, fingers stretching out to glide over the impossibly soft textile and called the saleswoman over, asking politely if she could have the dress and accessories to try on. As she held it up before her in the changing room, she was astonished to realise the material was even more stunning up close.
She took timid steps from the changing room, treating the gown with utmost care. As she turned the corner, Y/N heard subtle gasps come from her entourage, her cheeks suddenly deepening to a pretty shade of vermillion.
‘Oh my goodness, Y/N, you’re stunning’, Bonnie spoke earnestly, Elena nodding in agreement.
‘Hot and sexy are the words I’d use; whoever you’re bringing is a lucky guy’, Caroline added. Y/N was sure she suddenly looked culpable; Caroline’s eyes narrowed.
‘You know, you never mentioned who was taking you, only that somebody had asked.’ Caroline’s voice was suspicious,
‘Well, um…’ Caroline raised her eyebrows as though she was already anticipating Y/N's answer,
‘Damon may have asked me the other night.’ Caroline closed her eyes and sighed,
‘Y/N, he’s bad news; how many times do I have to tell you before the message sinks in?’ Her tone was frustrated,
‘You’ve never actually told me why he is “bad news.”’ Y/N’s fingers formed quotation marks around her last words. Bonnie, Elena and Caroline exchanged glances; they knew something they were unwilling to disclose to her, and Y/N would find out what it was.
A/N: I wanted to add a reference for the dress Y/N found, though I could not find one that matched what I pictured, so I decided to draw what I was envisioning instead.
Here is a link to the image: https://i.pinimg.com/750x/60/af/61/60af61d9f9d20b5a4afa52cc71505831.jpg
The Day Before ✢ Damon Salvatore
Synopsis: The reader knows she is dying and to save Damon the pain of her death she makes an extremely difficult decision.
Damon Salvatore x Reader, female pronouns.
Warnings: Angst, Death.
Masterlist
Notes: This is my first time writing for Damon Salvatore, hopefully, this is the first of many.
Words: 1,538
Y/N’s heart sunk as she glanced down at the beads of blood glistening on the tissue she clutched in her hand, she had received news the day before that her cancer had metastasised to her lungs, though she did not realise that her condition would worsen so swiftly.
Y/N knew she would not be able to hide it for much longer, every day she became more crippled and with every passing moment her façade threatened to unveil.
Her friends had experienced too much loss and the idea of adding to it made her stomach churn sickeningly. She would not allow them to grieve her; which is why she was leaving.
Through clouded eyes she began bundling all of her possessions into a small suitcase, she did not pay much mind to what she grabbed, it would not need to last her very long.
Though when she reached a small photo album sitting on her bedside table her heart jolted, with shaking hands she flipped open the small winsome book, and sure enough, smiling back at her were the faces of her beloved friends.
She brushed her fingers over each and everyone of their grins, smiling through her tears as she recalled the moment she had taken it. Though her hand halted when she reached the last face, she could have sworn she felt her heart beating in her throat.
Damon.
It had not yet occurred to her that she would never see him again. The pain she felt at that realisation was crippling. She would never feel his gentle caress against her body or his lips on her cheek; Damon’s touch was lost on her forever. All that she had to carry her to her deathbed was his picture and her feeble memory, and that would never be enough.
Before she met him Y/N would not have believed a love so potent was possible, though she was very agreeably proved wrong. Even while living in Mystic Falls with all its theatrical and apprehensive infamousness, Y/N had never been happier. And that was entirely the work of Damon.
Y/N knew her death would break him and she knew the kind of person Damon became when he was broken. If she left without an explanation he would eventually make his own assumptions and any assumption he made surely could not hurt him like the truth.
She knew he would try and find her, she could only wish he was never successful. The decision she was making was far from easy, but it was easier than knowing he was mourning for her; hurting because of her.
Damon was always abundantly clear on the life he wanted for them, he yearned to turn her and live for eternity at each other's sides. Though Y/N was never sure what she wanted, she did not want to be rash and he respected that. Though now any chance of her accepting his vision was lost perpetually. She could never become like him, the possibility was lost the moment she was diagnosed with cancer; vampire blood could not fix her now.
Y/N was riddled with guilt and regret, she knew she should have said yes when he first told her what he wanted; because now in the face of death, she yearned for it too. For months the abstraction of the undying life she could have had with Damon had been eating away at her. She laughed humourlessly at the malevolent irony of her situation.
Y/N could not bear to spend another second thinking of the near future and what could have been, so to ease her mind she thought of the day before. The day that, albeit unknowingly, would become their final moments together. It was not a grand affair, they had simply spent the day in each other's company.
They watched TV, had a nap and Damon had even offered to cook dinner, and even though he failed miserably it had still meant so much to her. She believes he noticed she was feeling unwell and was doing what he could to make her better.
But it was the final moment that had meant the most to her; when he wrapped her in his arms at the end of the day as he was leaving and whispered that he loved her. Tears ran hot down her cheeks at the realisation that it would be the last time she heard him say those words.
A sudden feeling of lightheadedness had Y/N rushing to sit on the edge of her bed, she should not be stressing herself out like this, she knew it would only worsen her condition. Though she could not stop the unfathomable feeling of guilt stewing within her, It made her sick; she could not leave him without so much as a goodbye.
Going against everything she had planned since her diagnosis she turned to the messily packed suitcase and began unravelling it.
Another wave of sickness overcame her, though this time disparate. Y/N felt her body go slack, her possessions slipping from her weak grasp and falling back into their places in the case. Her body slipped downwards from the bed and found itself docile against the floorboards.
She had started coughing up blood again when the realisation crushed her. This was it. Just as she decided to see Damon karma unfurled its caustic tendrils and enveloped her. She swore she could feel the life depleting from her body. Y/N felt akin to a spectre as darkness shrouded her being like a void, plunging her into nothingness. She was lost to the world. Her glassy, lifeless eyes stared above her; forever immortalised with the fear of never seeing him again.
Y/N had not been answering her phone and Damon knew the consternation he felt brewing because of it was completely irrational, but he found himself headed to her house regardless; he wanted to see her anyway.
When Y/N’s house met his line of sight the sound of a lack of life immediately registered with him, he could not hear her breathing nor the beating of her heart and there was certainly no sound of her usual bustle.
He concluded that she must not have been home, though before he could turn around to leave he noticed with furrowed eyebrows that her car was still in the driveway. He picked up his pace as he closed the rest of the distance.
He pushed open the creaking old door and when the smell of her exposed blood met him immediately, his heart was sent into a panicked frenzy. Before a second had passed he used his speed to send him straight into her bedroom. But the macabre sight on the floor halted him. He discerned that her skin was the colour of death and the stillness of her frame was much the same.
He repudiated this thought as he felt the veins grow black beneath his eyes, his fangs coming to meet his wrist. He sped to her limp body and placed his bloodied arm against her cold lips, they remained unmoving.
‘No...’ he barely gasped out, ‘You need to drink this Y/N, it’ll help you.’
He shook her shoulders, her whole body moving with the disruption. Damon’s vision dimmed through the welling of his tears. He forced her taut jaw wider trying to force down his blood. He choked down his sobs as he continued to plead with her.
‘Please drink, you need to drink… Please.’
His weeps quaked in his chest, unwillingly observing her lack of heartbeat. He removed his wrist from her lips, replacing it with his mouth and breathing air into her empty lungs. He placed his hands on her chest and tried desperately to recall the steps of resuscitation, but his efforts were futile.
With an all-consuming sense of despair, his hands fell slack from her inanimate frame and he acknowledged what he had known all along.
She was dead.
The sobs that passed his lips were inhuman in sound, with shaking hands he used the pad of his fingers to gently pull the eyelids over her glassy eyes. Damon then pulled her torso up to his chest and rested his chin on the top of her head.
For the first time since he had arrived the sight of a half-packed suitcase entered his concentration. He realised hollowly she had been trying to leave. She knew she was dying and was trying to leave anyway. He wanted to feel angry at her, but no emotion could supersede the severe sense of dejection he was under.
Who knows how long he would have been living in blissful ignorance, thinking he resided in a sphere where she still existed, a world where she still lived.
Damon knew he could not live in a world where she did not exist. This was a pain he could not overcome, a pain he would not overcome. Her death left his humanity in shreds, and Damon knew at once he could no longer function with it extant. His emotions left him like a flame getting put out, the enthralling love he had felt for her the day before all but a memory.
Here is the link to a second part if you're interested. I thought it would be interesting to write Damon with no humanity, Part two.
Every comment and piece of advice is welcomed and appreciated <3
I really enjoyed reading your DC headcanons! Your characterization in particular is really really great! I'll be looking forward to reading more as you post them :)
Ahh thank you, you're too sweet!! I'm glad you've been enjoying them. Hopefully, I'll have some more out soon! <3
ｒｅｖｅｎａｎｔ －ｆｏｕｒ
PART FOUR OF 'REVENANT' SERIES Damon Salvatore x Winchester!Sister!Hunter!Reader The Vampire Diaries x Supernatural Mini-Series Synopsis: Y/N Winchester was tired of living in her brothers' shadows; she needed to do something for herself for a change. When she heads to Mystic Falls, a town she was always warned to stay away from, she finds she may have taken on more than she can handle. Will she be able to eradicate the supernatural from the uncanny town? Or will she find herself tangled amongst it? WARNINGS: Descriptions of a dead body. Mentions of Murder. Words: 2,724k Blog Masterlist / Series Masterlist <Previous Part | Next Part >
The faint light of a street lamp shone through the limpid drapes of the modest motel Y/N Winchester had called home for nearly four months. Upon opening her eyes, a feeling of apprehension settled in her stomach; today was the day of The Founder’s Ball, and the idea of Damon being her date both thrilled her and left her stricken. She had still not shaken the possibility of Damon being a vampire, albeit trying desperately not to entertain the thought.
She had hoped to sleep in this morning, though it seemed her body had other plans. Sighing, she turned over and glanced at the cheap alarm clock on her bedside, squinting at its bright red glow.
It was 3:46 a.m.
She wanted nothing more than to roll over and go back to sleep, but she knew she had better things to do with her time. Icy air pricked her skin as she heaved the heavy canvas quilt off her body. As her hands abraded over her bare arms, trying to create some form of heat, Y/N shuffled over to the thermostat, involuntarily shivering when the temperature of the room, glowing blue on the small screen, met her eyes. She bumped it up five degrees, cursing the extra cost it would induce on her already unaffordable room tab.
To successfully lead a life of hunting, financial fraudulence and deceit were a necessity. Usually, this would not have been an issue; Y/N possessed many fake cards with false names. However, quite suspiciously, she recently discovered that each of these cards, one by one, had become unusable and ceased to work. Y/N concluded, quite disgruntled, that this would have been her brothers' work. She supposed they were trying to draw her out of hiding.
Luckily, obtaining false money was not a foreign practice for her; her brothers did not know this. The small sum she had managed to acquire would have to do for now.
Y/N drew back the sheer drapes enough for her eyes to peer through, beside her building shone an old flickering neon sign, proclaiming the service station adjacent to her was open. Satisfied, the corner of her mouth turned up; she had wanted a coffee very much and there was no time like the present. While shrugging on her hoodie, which she had permanently borrowed from Dean, Y/N noted dejectedly that its smell of gunpowder and motor oil left her feeling homesick. Maybe she missed her brothers more than she let on. But she knew now was not the time to wallow in sadness.
She collected her keys and walked out of the door, locking it behind her.
The thunderstorms Mystic Falls had experienced in the previous three days had been bordering apocalyptic; Y/N, much to her vexation, had spent the entirety of the storm boarded up in her quaint motel room, wishing uselessly that she had not been rained in.
The young hunter had found herself restless. A 19-year-old girl named Amelia had gone missing in the area. Although the circumstances surrounding her disappearance were labelled as suspicious by authorities, apparently, it had not yet been long enough to presume her dead. Y/N wished her assumptions were not always so grim, but her uncanny pastime forced her to be pragmatic.
Realistically, going missing in this town meant she was most likely dead or hidden away as a blood-thirsty monster.
Y/N could not decide what was a better fate for the poor girl.
The Winchester thought that she at least deserved to have someone look for her, to make sure she was not still out there, even if what she expected to find was a harsh caricature of who Amelia once was. And the town authorities did not seem to think their services were necessary.
Y/N knew what she was attempting to do was nearly impossible. Alone, she could not search the area needed to uncover a hidden corpse, and it was not exactly a chore where she could enlist the help of her friends. Nonetheless, she found herself trekking through the tenacious sludge the rain had left in its wake; her socks damp and toes stinging from the cold. She understood that she did not have all the time in the world; the impending doom the evening’s ball left looming over her shoulders had her shivering deeper than the frosty morning ether. However, she persisted anyway.
Two and a half hours had passed when Y/N spied something out of the ordinary, and she could not believe her luck.
The young girl cringed slightly; she knew thinking of it as "luck" was a bit distasteful.
A rectangular concave of sodden earth could be seen under a scattering of leaves. Its shallow trenches with water congregating inside told Y/N the sunken ground had been caused by the rain, though its distinct shape still clashed with the surrounding natural terrain. A feeling of uneasiness settled in her stomach; she was almost sure of what she would find underneath. The burial probably would have been well concealed had it not been for the unbridled downpour of water.
Another half hour had passed before Y/N had completely uncovered the body from its prison of earth. Her nose wrinkled; the pungent smell of decay, now swarming the air. The young hunter had experienced no shortage of death in her lifetime, but the sight of the girl before her, lying bloated and green had Y/N staring through glassy eyes. This girl was younger than her. Her parents, no doubt, would be waiting, in anguish, for her to return home. Desperately anticipating a reunion that will never occur. Y/N quickly swallowed against a lump in her throat. Trying not to let her tears spill.
The most wicked part of this, Y/N thought, is that they will never get any closure. Mystic Falls’ authorities, so closely entwined with the vampire-aware council, already knew she was a lost cause. That is why they were not looking for her.
She reached out with a shaking gloved hand and tried to turn her chin gently to the side, the rigour mortis had not yet subsided, making it more difficult. However, she found what she wanted. Two little puncture marks barely visible on the slimey distended skin confirmed what she already knew.
This girl was murdered by a vampire right under her nose. How were they eluding her so effortlessly?
Y/N decided she would not rebury her, but rather send a message to the negligent authorities. She was confident that they were completely infiltrated by the town council and knew her message would reach the right ears.
She opened her backpack and got the supplies for a note; she knew she was acting both rashly and carelessly, but something needed to be done.
With her still-gloved hands she tore a page she knew she had never touched from her notebook and began to scribble
Dear whoever reaches her first,
I’ve decided to take responsibility for these “animal killings” myself. Given no one seems as if they are capable or care enough to do the right thing.
Y/N weighed her note down with a nearby stone a couple metres right of the burial, she then grabbed her golden lighter from her pocket and some accelerant she had in her backpack. The dampness of the area made for a difficult task, but eventually, the macabre burial was engulfed in roaring flames. Y/N tossed her shovel on top as well as her notebook and pen, knowing it would not do for any of this to be found and watched satisfied as the items crumbled to near nothing.
After her belongings and the girl were burnt beyond recognition, she gathered some green leaves and piled them onto the blaze. She did not have much time to leave given any moment the leaves would begin to smoulder and billow up into the sky. She did not want to be anywhere near the area when the suspicious smoke was investigated. With tears still thick in her eyes she turned and hurried away.
The short drive to Caroline’s house in the early afternoon had been nerve-racking, never before had she experienced an event of this stature, and to say she was nervous would be a gross understatement. Caroline had been safekeeping her gown, neither girl thought the ornate garment should have spent its time hanging in the dingy motel Y/N currently called home. Caroline also insisted on doing the young Winchester’s makeup, declaring that Y/N’s modest gathering of supplies simply would not do.
The Winchester had spent a good hour scrubbing her body vigorously from head to toe. She had been covered in a thick layer of grime from her early morning escapade, and she had to make sure she was pristine and perfect for Caroline’s audience.
She stalked tentatively up the front steps, and with barely enough time to lift her hand to knock, the door had already begun to swing open, a grinning Caroline on the other side, with pearly whites on full display. Her smile almost sent a shiver down Y/N’s spine.
‘You don’t know how much I’ve been looking forward to this.’ Caroline reached out and grabbed her wrist, pulling Y/N along with more force than she thought her capable of. Finally, they halted in front of a mirror and Caroline had Y/N by the shoulders impelling her into a vanity chair.
‘So… What's the plan?’ Caroline spoke causally once Y/N stopped struggling against her and settled into the seat.
‘Well… Caroline… I don’t know…’ She rolled her eyes at Y/N’s lacklustre response.
‘Why did I see that coming from a mile away? Don’t worry, I’ll handle it.’ Caroline spoke as though she were burdened by this fact, but Y/N knew that she would love the opportunity to use her as a real-life doll.
Y/N decided very quickly that she did not like people doing her makeup. She sneezed when her face was dabbed with powder. Her eyes prickled and watered uncontrollably when Caroline attempted to coat her lashes in mascara and ended up having to put it on herself only to be scornfully slapped when she got it on her eyelid that Caroline had spent ten minutes blending colourful eyeshadow to perfection.
If she had a dollar for every time Caroline had scolded her, she could afford a luxurious holiday across Europe.
Nevertheless, by the time Caroline had finished with her, not only was her face veiled in a modest yet flattering coat of makeup, but her nails glistened in a deep blood-like crimson; Y/N was fortunate that they already had a decent length to them albeit needing some desperate shaping. Caroline had Y/N sit completely still with her hands placed before her on the table, she was not going to let anything like the mascara fiasco occur again. Meanwhile, Caroline had also taken the time to place Y/N’s hair in an elegant coiffure. She looked simply stunning.
‘You've done brilliantly’ Y/N’s smile was earnest,
‘Well, I’d take all the credit, but you don’t look half bad on your own’
Y/N ducked her head, feeling betrayed by the burning in her cheeks.
‘Thank you’ She muttered.
As Y/N waited the rest of the time needed for her nails to cure, Caroline put herself together so quickly it was astonishing. And now, she too, looked drop-dead gorgeous. After checking if her polish had set and nodding when satisfied, Caroline spoke up,
‘We haven’t got ages, Damon will be here to get you soon.’ Y/N could tell Caroline was trying to play nice but she could not completely hide her resentment as she voiced his name.
‘I suppose it’s time for our dresses!’ She continued, quickly leaving the room and entering again, holding garment bags above her head.
Y/N would be lying if she said she was not excited, she had not seen her dress since Caroline had whisked it away to her house. Y/N grabbed the dress and fled for the bathroom.
As she zipped back the bag, careful not to snag any fabric, she was once again taken by its beauty. The crimson skirt of chiffon flowed like a sea of blood, the expensive velvet bodice holding tiny details of flowers barely visible to the human eye. The gown, while contemporary, held hallmarks of an old Victorian frock; Y/N’s memory had not done it justice. A smaller bag next to the dress held her accompanying gloves and jewellery.
She slid the gown over her body with unparalleled care and spent a good few minutes bringing the zip up to her mid-back, it was a harder task than she had anticipated and she considered asking Caroline for help, though, she could hear a hushed conversation from the room she had just left. Y/N was certain Damon had arrived and she was not about to walk out half-dressed. After fasting her necklace and pulling the gloves to reach just over her elbows, she smoothed out the ornate fabric of the skirt while taking a deep breath.
She looked at her profile in the mirror.
The woman casting back in the reflection looked like a stranger to her. She seemed as though she came from another world; a better one. Y/N never could have guessed that this lady spent her time hunting monsters, eating cheap, greasy takeout and sleeping in dilapidated motel rooms. Never would she have fathomed this woman had spent the earlier part of her day burning the corpse of a murdered girl.
The lady before her should belong to a lavish home with every sumptuous possession she could dream up. If only that were the case.
This time Y/N looked at her reflection critically.
This would be the first time she had seen Damon since investigating the town’s archives and she had not completely convinced herself that Damon was not a vampire. On the other hand, she knew there was absolutely nothing that could be done at this moment, so she inhaled deeply in a redundant attempt to quell her nerves and exited the bathroom.
She could swear her heartbeat would be heard for miles.
In the middle of the living room, he stood in a fitted black suit, with a rose of deep crimson attached at the collar. It matched her dress so perfectly she considered for a moment that it was not a coincidence. When she reached his eyes she spied that his jaw was left agape. Though quickly, as if attempting not to look caught by surprise he twisted his mouth into a lopsided grin. She tried not to appear smug at his obvious admiration, though she was sure her expression betrayed her. Suddenly, she was quite aware she no longer felt nervous.
‘Y/N, you look stunning.’ He spoke fervently, she felt her complacent expression rapidly shift to one of abash and when she said nothing he continued,
‘I brought you these, I thought they would suit your dress’ He held up a bouquet of the same flowers on his suit jacket and looked at Caroline, who had been lurking in the corner, knowingly. They had not been a coincidence.
‘Thank you, Damon, they’re lovely.’
Caroline offered to place them in a vase to keep them fresh while they spent the night out, when she left for the kitchen Damon stepped closer. He grabbed both her hands and stared intensely into Y/N’s eyes. She was sure he was trying to dazzle her, and it was working.
‘We can leave now, Caroline’s getting a lift from Elena.’ Y/N only nodded, her mouth agape, just as his had been. He began to draw her towards the front door and she barely had enough time to pull herself together and call over her shoulder,
‘See you soon Caroline. Thank you for your help!’
Damon opened the passenger door of his 1969 Chevy Camaro and gestured for her to take a seat. He ended up needing to help shove the fabric of her puffy skirt into the foot space, Y/N giggling as it continued to billow out from the door. After what seemed like ten minutes, Damon finally settled into the driver’s side and started the engine.
As they sped down the street leading to the lavish venue of the ball she realised that in Damon’s presence she no longer worried about vampires, hunters and missing persons. She could not have foreseen the effect he had on her considering her unwelcome suspicions of him.
TAGLIST:
@venomsvl
@serenity-fujakante
Detective Comics ✢ Masterlist ✢ The Halloween Jack
All my DC pieces are written with different iterations in mind, but they are not plot-specific, so you can picture your favourite <3 All my works, minus headcanons, use female pronouns for the reader. Besides this, I keep the reader undescribed, the only filler I use being 'Y/N'.
B R U C E W A Y N E
One-Shots:
Asphyxiated ✢ Y/N’s once-adoring relationship with the charming Bruce Wayne begins to unravel as his nightly disappearances and distant demeanour create an insurmountable chasm between them. Unaware of his double life as the infamous Batman, Y/N is left to wonder where she went wrong, seeking solace in an old friend, Jonathan Crane.
Fleeting Moments ✢ Y/N and Bruce Wayne share quiet moments of love amidst the chaos of Gotham. In rare stolen hours between nightfall and dawn, she clings to the man behind the mask, not aware of the double life he leads. She watches as bruises form across his skin and holds him through his restless nights, grateful that, for once, he is by her side. (Prequel to Asphyxiated)
Hostage ✢ When Bruce Wayne hears of an active hostage situation the reader, his long-term partner, is involved in; he has no option but to take action as the Batman. (This is an older work, I am currently in the process of editing it.)
Enigma ✢ Bruce Wayne has a secret that he has been keeping from the reader for over two years, fearing his vigilante escapades will only draw her away, completely unaware the reader holds a secret of her own. (This is an older work, I am currently in the process of editing it.)
Drabbles:
Coming soon...
J A S O N T O D D
One-Shots:
Déjà Vu ✢ When the reader's comms grow suddenly silent, Jason Todd's worst fear takes shape — not just the possibility of losing someone, but the cold, inescapable echoes of a past he could never bury. As he fights his way through the grime of Gotham City, one truth becomes undeniable: some nightmares never cease, they resurface.
Disarray ✢ She had become his sanctuary, the one unshaken constant in a life fractured by violence and resurrection — the only person who saw beyond the wreckage and chose to stay regardless. Jason Todd returns to the person he considers his home, only to find it in disarray.
Tether ✢ When a battered Jason stumbles into an alley and finds unexpected refuge in a stranger’s kindness, it sparks a fracture in the walls he’s built to survive. Trust was never a luxury he could afford, but as survival blurs into something more, Jason is forced to confront the most dangerous risk of all, love.
Drabbles:
Coming soon...
D I C K G R A Y S O N
One-Shots:
Late-Night Escapades ✢ Blüdhaven, well past dusk, is irrefutably no place to wander. Though, Y/N ventures out regardless, in need of a few essentials. She knows it is irresponsible, she knows what Dick would say, but the store is just a few blocks away...
Drabbles:
Coming soon...
T I M D R A K E
One-Shots:
Coming soon...
Drabbles:
Coming soon...
D A M I A N W A Y N E
(Damian Wayne will be aged up in all my work. Though, upon request, I would be happy to write something platonic for a young Damian.)
One-Shots:
Coming soon...
Drabbles:
Coming soon...
C L A R K K E N T
One-Shots:
Coming soon...
Drabbles:
Coming soon...
H E A D C A N O N S
Characters: Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian and Clark.
What scares them and how you help them cope.
When he realised he loved you.
When he admitted he loved you.
There is just something about DC men...
Ephemeral ✢ Elijah Mikaelson
Synopsis: Elijah Mikaelson reflects on how knowing Y/N L/N has transformed his centuries-old existence. As he battles his deep feelings for her, he grapples with the stark reality of their pivotal difference: he is an immortal vampire, and she is a fragile human.
Elijah Mikaelson x Reader, female pronouns. Warnings: Angst. Words: 1,549k Blog Masterlist
Elijah Mikaelson stood before the grand windows of his family’s ornate home, the cool evening air shifting past the open panels to brush against his skin as he gazed out into a darkening sky. He recalled the countless nights he must have done exactly this, looked out at the same unchanging ether; and he wondered how it could look so different now that he knew her.
As the day had faded, Elijah watched the stars emerge. Each one, ancient and arcane, acted as a reminder of the centuries he had lived, the countless battles he had fought; and the endless nights spent as alone as he felt in this moment.
Never in his millennia of existence had his thoughts been so entirely consumed by one person, Elijah was no stranger to affection, but he never would have thought it possible to long for someone so strenuously. Y/N L/N had unknowingly captured his heart, and it seemed to him that there was nothing he could do to emancipate it.
She was wholly unaware of the effect she had on him; he was confident of this. Their friendship was simple, filled with laughter and shared moments that left her satisfied while making his heart ache with bittersweet longing.
How could he justify what he felt?
She was human, beautiful and kind, fragile and fleeting. Elijah was a creature of the night, a thousand years old and burdened with the malice of his past; he was a monster. He had observed as the times shifted around him, and never once, through the ages he bore witness to, had he felt contempt at his affliction. Where once relished in his power and eternity, he now drowned in it.
Each day, as she grew closer to her inevitable end, he felt the smothering weight of his affections grow heavier. He could not bear to witness her aging while he remained unchanged and eternal. Their livelihoods contrasted so glaringly that it left a bad taste in his mouth; he could never have her.
Elijah could not quell a venomous voice calling for him to turn her. As much as the allure of her immortality beckoned, he felt the burden of this reality pressing down upon him. He could not shake the conviction that to grant her such a gift would be a selfish act; one that robbed her of the life she deserved. He envisioned her vibrant humanity, the warmth of her character and the fleeting moments that made her so undeniably precious. To turn her into something she was not, to take away her chance to live fully, to love and to age as she was meant to—could he truly bear that?
Elijah sighed, raking a hand through his dark hair as he took the final sip of amber liquid from his crystal tumbler. As much as it pained him, he kept his distance, aiming to shield her from the dangers that came in correlation with his world. He was a friend to her, but that is where it ended. He feared that if he were to reveal his affections, she might recoil, horrified at the thought of his love. But most of all, he feared his love would bring about her end; no one ever lasted long in Mystic Falls, and any connection to him would make her a target.
Elijah thought of when he first met her half a year earlier, a friend of people often his adversaries in this uncanny town. She had not yet known about the covert world she lived in, and he had watched as she took it in her stride amidst the disarray of Mystic Falls.
From the moment he had laid eyes on her at a gathering hosted by the Salvatores, he was struck by her effortless charm, at the time, blissfully unaware of the lurking dangers that danced at the edges of her reality.
As the weeks went, and the unsavoury pastimes of her friends became known to her, he noticed how she remained steadfast in her support, never flinching when they faced danger; an innate strength that both captivated and terrified him. Her involvement placed her in danger and he could barely stomach it, but he knew that any attempts at her preservation would break down his faux illusion of causal amiability.
What had surprised him was her sufferance towards his family, although they had her given plenty of ground for aversion, you would not have known it. Elijah found himself drawn to her, her honour and kindliness not only painting her as a person of trust and potential ally — but as someone who illuminated his perpetual existence.
He turned from the large florid windows and drowned in his dejection. Elijah closed his eyes and pictured a life with her, relishing the shimmering mirage of the woman he believed he should never have.
Y/N sat cross-legged on her bed, flooded under the dim moonlight that illuminated her bedroom from her window. A familiar warmth was blooming in her chest in the wake of her dream. She had dreamt about him again, and although she was met with nothing but hollow images when trying to recall it, Y/N knew it to be true; she could feel it. Elijah was a figure of quiet strength, his kindness genuine but conditional, his presence commanding yet tender. She understood fully that beneath his charming facade lay a man capable of heinous things, artfully concealed behind layers of warmth and grace; it was this complex duality that both captivated and unsettled her — but people would never see this side of him had they not given him reason.
Y/N pulled her knees closer to her chest and rested her chin on them, staring out the window into the dark. It was late—too late for most people, but sleep rarely came easy these days. Not when her mind kept spiralling. Beneath the surface of her admiration lay a deep-rooted ache—a longing she feared would remain forever unreciprocated.
There were moments, fleeting but sharp, where she would catch the slightest glint in his eyes—an intensity and tentativeness that contradicted the calm and collected way in which he perpetually carried himself. She could not place its catalyst — never quite conclude the reason for his apparent indifference.
She watched him with others; he was always courteous and kind, and though he extended the same civility to her, it felt hesitant — as though he was keeping his distance. Not out of aloofness, no, that did not seem right to her. He was always kind, always careful with his words. He never pushed too close, never showed too much emotion, and sometimes it made her wonder whether all the little exchanges—their shared glances, the gentle touches on her shoulder—were nothing more than an act. A way of being nice out of obligation, out of courtesy. A politeness reserved for the human in the room.
Y/N sighed and her gaze dropped to her hands, maybe she had been putting too much weight into the moments when he had leaned in just a little too close, or the times he had lingered with her in conversation — the moments that had fueled her affections. After all, he is a man who had lived through centuries… what could a fleeting human like her truly mean to him?
She loved him; a love she had no right to feel and no place to nurture. Every time he looked at her, even from across the room, her pulse quickened and her breath hitched. She loved him in the way a person loves what they cannot have— she felt it in the back of her mind, like a dream that fades from memory in the first moments of the day, real but unattainable — lingering in the crevices of the mind. It was the gentleness of his touch, the way he always seemed to know exactly when she needed comfort and the way his presence made the world feel lighter. It was the quiet intensity of him, the way he carried the weight of centuries and still found space to be kind to her.
And despite everything—the danger, the distance, the uncertainty—she could not stop loving him. It was as if her heart had chosen him without rhyme and reason — irrevocably, nothing could alter it now. Even if he never knew, even if he never returned the feeling, she would love him.
In their quiet moments, she often imagined what it would be like to confess her feelings. Would his rejection give off the same biting sting as his indifference? Would he retreat into a demeanour even more distant? Would he disappear altogether, her confession too much to entertain?
Y/N bit her lip, contemplating the stark reality of their worlds. She was human, with all the fragility that came along with it. While he was a vampire, ancient, and burdened by its accompanying history and murk.
Their disparity was overwhelming, and Y/N felt as though she were drowning in it. She closed her eyes and sunk back into her pillows; picturing a life with him and savouring the fallacious warmth it designed. She wallowed in her desolation and the reality she believed she could never have.
I'm wondering if I should do a second part for this, let me know what you think. Also, this has been posted off of a relatively long hiatus, I recently started a university course which, unsurprisingly, has chewed up all of my spare time.
Anyone waiting on the next part of my 'revenant' series, I'm sorry for the long wait, I promise I'll dive right back into it when my holidays roll around soon enough. But with a spare week between countless assignments, I felt like writing something new, and this was the result.
Every comment and piece of advice is welcomed and appreciated <3
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𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨, 𝐦𝐲 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐈'𝐦 𝐚 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐜𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭 ☀︎ 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 ☀︎ 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐦𝐞 ☀︎ 𝐀𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧 ☀︎ 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐩-𝐭 ☀︎ 𝟐𝟏☀︎ 𝐈 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐃𝐂 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐕𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬
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