Enigma ✢ Bruce Wayne

DC ✢ What scares them and how you help them cope

Characters: Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian and Clark.

B R U C E W A Y N E

Bruce, for as long as he can remember, has always suffered in silence. A perpetual brooder.

People have come and gone in his life, but he has never been comfortable opening up to them.

And for the longest time, you were no exception.

Though, as time passed, and an intimate familiarity grew, you began noticing a shift in his behaviour. Where he normally would have isolated himself in the Batcave, overburdened himself with his work, he instead began seeking you out.

In those moments, he would gently approach you, and you would offer him comfort. That was when he finally opened up about his deepest fear, losing the people he loves, especially you.

He is terrified that, despite all his vigilance, one day he will be unable to protect those closest to him and the thought of losing anyone, of them being taken from him, is something he cannot bear to face.

He still does not show his vulnerability easily, but when you are there, he is not as afraid to let his guard down, even if only for a brief moment.

He will never admit it, but he is always so grateful for your presence. Whether it is a quiet moment holding your hand, your steady voice in his ear, or simply leaning against you, he finds comfort. He lets you sit with him, no words necessary, knowing you will stay with him.

D I C K G R A Y S O N

Dick has always been the life of the party, the one who could crack a joke to break any tension in the room, always for the benefit of others.

But as you spent more time with him, you began to notice how he would sometimes go quiet, how his smile fell a bit too easily when he thought no one was looking.

You would see the insecurity flicker across his face; like he was afraid he was not good enough. He was afraid that one day, he would let you down, it would push you to walk away from him and he would be alone.

On the rare occasions that Dick opened up about his fears, it was never in big, dramatic moments. It was during quiet, vulnerable times when you were curled up on the couch, or after a mission where he had felt everything had gone wrong.

He would admit to you, softly, that he worries he is not enough for the people he cares about. That maybe, despite all his effort, he could fail them.

When you reassure him, he would brush it off with a laugh, but deep down, it comforts him more than he lets on. And from that moment, he tries harder to show you just how much he values you.

J A S O N T O D D

Jason’s tough exterior had always seemed nearly impenetrable, to everyone who knew him and you had not been an exception to this rule.

When you first met him, Jason did not want to let you close. He pushed you away. Any attempt at trying to comfort him was futile.

Beneath this façade, there is a deep-rooted fear of being forgotten and unimportant, as though his death had been just another part of Gotham’s tragic history, another statistic.

Slowly, you began to perceive beyond his mask of resentment. During late-night conversations, when he allowed his frustration to ebb away, Jason would reveal just how much he fears that Gotham — or worse, his family — will not remember him as the person he is now, the person behind his carefully constructed veil, the boy he once was.

When Jason lets his walls down, it is never in public. It is solely within quiet, private moments with you, his eyes soft and vulnerable in a manner only you have ever known.

Over the years, you have learnt that showing patience and care, letting him know you are there even when he is at his lowest, is one of the most important ways to help him feel like he matters, to prove you see him for everything that he is, to prove you love the man beneath the veil. 

T I M D RA K E

Tim has always been the strategist, the planner; constantly running scenarios in his mind to ensure things go right.

However, with that constant need for control comes an intense fear of failure and not living up to the expectations he has placed on himself.

Early on, when you spent time with him, you noticed how tightly wound he always was; always thinking, and nearly always overthinking.

There were nights when he would finally collapse into bed, eyes wide with worry, unable to rest. You would feel this unease radiate from him throughout the night.

Tim never truly usually let his fear show, but one night, after a particularly difficult mission where he felt responsible for things that had gone wrong, he finally admitted how much pressure he felt to always be perfect.

You comforted him with a soft smile, telling him that it was okay to not have all the answers and that he, like everyone else, was allowed to make mistakes. You helped him realise the unrealistic expectations he had placed on himself. 

Since then, Tim still overthinks, he still plans, but, at the very least, he has learned, with you by his side, that it is okay to let go sometimes.

D A M I A N W A Y N E (Aged up as Batman)

Damian was fierce and proud, he never outwardly showed weakness if he could help it. His fear was simple, he was terrified that someone would see through this, that he would be perceived as feeble or unworthy of his name.

When you first met him, he wore his arrogance and pride like armour, it was designed to keep people at a distance.

However, as time progressed, you began to notice cracks in this façade; moments where he looked at his family and felt like he was not measuring up.

Damian never directly opened up, but you saw it in the way his shoulders tensed when his father praised others or when he failed at something that he believed should have been effortless.

One day, you found him alone, practising relentlessly in the training room. His frustration was palpable, and when he finally stopped, he turned to you, admitting woefully that he was afraid he would never be as good as his family and never live up to his father’s legacy.

You had been shocked, you had yearned for him to be open with you and had already resigned to the fact it likely would not happen. Despite this, you were quick to reassure him, reminding him that his worth was not measured by perfection, but by who he strived to be.

Over time, he began to trust you more, slowly letting you see the person beneath his well-constructed bravado. Though he would never admit it, your support meant the world to him.

C L A R K K E N T

Clark, the ever-hopeful, never-giving-up superhero, covertly harboured a deep fear of losing control — specifically, of accidentally hurting those he loves with his less-than-ordinary abilities.

His fear was embedded in the idea that his immense capabilities could go terribly astray, causing harm to someone he holds dear.

It is a quiet fear, one he does not often voice, as he does not want to burden you with it. But you can sense it in the way he is constantly holding back, constantly choosing to act in ways that minimise risk, even if it means sacrificing your mutual need for physical affection. 

One evening, after a particularly difficult escapade, where unbeknownst to you, his powers had nearly hurt an innocent bystander, you found him standing in front of the window, his hands clenched in silent frustration. He had been bitterly reminded of how dangerous he could be. If he lacked control for even the briefest of moments, you could be lost to him forever. 

You walked up behind him with the intention of loosening his hands with your own. At first, you made no impression on his unyielding frame, but eventually, he melted into your touch and let you intertwine your fingers. You gently asked him about it, and he admitted his fear, his voice softer than usual.

At this you embraced him, hoping you were not pushing any boundaries after this particular admission. You let him know that you trusted him entirely and that you believed he had an unwavering ability to protect, despite the weight of his fear.

From that night on, while Clark still remained cautious and vigilant, he knew that you were there to support him and, at the very least, you were not afraid of him. 

This is my first-ever attempt at a Headcanon, so any advice would be much appreciated <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

The Halloween Jack ✢ Main Masterlist

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'.

Where you can find me: 𝔭𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔞𝔠𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱 | 𝔞𝔯𝔠𝔥𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔬𝔴𝔫

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M I S C E L L A N E O U S

One Little Difference ✢ Draco Malfoy 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. 

Other characters I will write for: Thomas Shelby, Peter Parker, Charles Xavier (McAvoy), Robb Stark, Jon Snow, Gendry Baratheon, Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester.

C U R R E N T⠀S O N G⠀F I X A T I O N

The Day Before ✢ Damon Salvatore ✢ Part Two

Synopsis: The reader knows she is dying, and to save Damon from the pain of her death, she makes an extremely difficult decision. However, the aftermath of this decision takes a great toll on Damon and the people who know him. Damon Salvatore x Reader, female pronouns. Platonic!Stefan Salvatore x Reader. Platonic!Caroline Forbes x Reader. Warnings: Angst, Death.  Notes: This is part two to a one-shot I posted a while ago, this piece will not make much sense without having read it. 

Masterlist |Part One

Words: 1,859

Stefan could tell something was awry the moment he stepped through the doors of the old boarding house. The air inside was palpable, as if every molecule was weighed down with a tension — a stillness that pressed against his heightened senses, thick and unnatural. Damon was sitting in front of the fireplace, his silhouette stark against the warm glow of the flames, though there was nothing warm about this scene. His posture, Stefan noted, usually so full of restless energy, was eerily composed. Too composed. His gaze was fixed ahead, unblinking, the light flickering in his eyes was like a dull echo of something that had long since burned out.

Stefan took a careful breath; he was not sure why, but his instincts screamed that something was wrong.

The blood on Damon’s hands was subtle at first, easy to miss, but it did not take long for the dried crimson to catch Stefan’s eye, it crept up Damon’s knuckles, stark and seeped within the crevices of his pale, illuminated skin.

‘Damon?’ 

Stefan called out, his voice cautious, wary, like he was approaching a predator lying in wait. But there was no answer. Damon did not so much as flinch, his expression a mask of chilling indifference, eyes as lifeless as the logs slowly burning to cinder before him.

Stefan swallowed hard, the dread inside him growing heavier by the second. 

‘Damon,’ he repeated, stepping closer, his shoes tapping softly against the hardwood floor. He kept his voice calm, but he struggled to hide the tension underneath. 

‘What happened?’

For a moment, it was as if Damon had not even heard him. He remained silent, his face void of any feeling; it was as if he was not even present in the room—like his body was there, but his mind, his soul, had retreated somewhere unreachable. The lack of reaction was more terrifying than any outburst, more unnerving than any fit of rage. Damon, who thrived on conflict, on drama, was sitting there… deadened.

Stefan clenched his fists, trying to keep his voice steady, but he couldn’t suppress his rising panic. 

‘Damon, talk to me. What did you do?’ 

Stefan’s gaze shifted, once again glancing at the blood-encrusted upon the hands of his brother. 

Still nothing. It was as though Stefan’s words were dissolving into the suffocating silence of the room. And then, finally, Damon’s eyes flickered, just barely. He turned his head slowly toward his brother, his movements languid, almost robotic. When he spoke, his voice was hollow, stripped of the usual sarcasm and wit that would linger in his tone. It was flat and mechanical. 

‘I did what I had to.’

Stefan’s heart pounded in his chest, his mind racing. That lifeless tone, the vacant look in his eyes—it was all too familiar. He had seen this before. Damon had turned it off. He had flipped the switch, shut down his emotions, locked away everything that made him… him. Stefan’s stomach twisted with dread.

‘No,’ Stefan whispered, more to himself than to Damon. His pulse quickened, the realisation like a slap to the face, stinging and sharp. Damon had turned it off, but why? What had driven him to this point? What had happened?

He took a step closer, his voice firmer now, though his urgency seeped through. 

‘Damon, what did you do?’

Damon did not respond immediately. His gaze drifted lazily back upon the flames, as if Stefan’s question was of no consequence, as if nothing mattered anymore. 

‘What I had to,’ he repeated, his voice cold and empty, devoid of the fire that usually burned beneath his words. 

‘What I needed to. It doesn’t matter now.’

Stefan’s hands twitched, frustration boiling beneath his skin. He could feel Caroline approaching behind them, her presence like a ripple disturbing an already tense atmosphere. He did not turn to look at her, but he could feel her eyes on Damon, wide and fearful.

‘Damon?’  She whispered, her voice soft, hesitant, as though she was afraid to speak too loudly. She took a cautious step forward, her gaze shifting between the brothers. 

‘What’s going on? Why—' She broke off, noticing the dried blood on his hands. Her face paled. 

‘Why do you have blood on your hands?’

Stefan shook his head slightly, his thoughts racing. He felt sick; unease crawled up his spine in an icy shiver.

‘He’s turned it off,’ he muttered, his voice barely audible.

Caroline’s breath hitched, her eyes growing wide with alarm. 

‘No…’ Her voice was thick with fear as she looked at Damon, whose expression remained indifferent as if none of this concerned him. 

‘Why? Why would he do that? What happened?’

Stefan’s heart dropped. The pieces were falling into place, but he did not want to believe it. He did not want to accept what Damon’s cold demeanour was screaming to him, wordless. He needed to see Y/N.

Damon stood up slowly, his movements deliberate, his eyes not even bothering to focus on Stefan or Caroline. 

‘I wouldn’t wait for her,’ he said, his voice flat, devoid of any emotion as he turned toward the door. Stefan shuddered, it was as though Damon was in his head, maybe he had been. Then his body tensed, Damon's words registering with him; a rush of panic flooded his system. 

‘Damon, what did you do?’

He did not answer. Without another word, Damon disappeared in a blur of supernatural speed, the door slamming shut behind him with an ominous finality. The room fell into a suffocating silence once more, but now the silence was darker, heavier with the weight of what they did not know. What they did not want to know.

Caroline’s voice trembled as she turned toward Stefan.

‘What does he mean? Stefan, what happened?’

Stefan clenched his jaw, his chest tightening as dread settled over him. They needed to find out.

The sun was setting as Stefan and Caroline approached Y/N’s home, as they got closer, it became apparent what was wrong, it hung in the air like an unspoken fact, they knew there was only one thing that could push Damon to this state, one event that could force him over the edge. Neither of them wanted to admit what it meant; they evaded this truth so its awful pending reality could not hurt them, but the silence around the house was heavy with foreboding.

‘Do you smell that?’ 

Caroline asked, her voice shaking as she stepped inside the house, the faint scent of blood hitting her like a physical blow.

The knot in his stomach tightened as they ventured deeper into her house, everything was still and quiet; his senses told him no one was there, but the lingering smell of blood stood in sharp juxtaposition, unmistakable and overwhelming. Every creak of the floorboards, every gush of the wind against the windows, seemed so much louder with the absence of life; it felt like a warning.

The bedroom door was left slightly ajar, and Stefan hesitated, his palm on the handle, before pushing it open. 

His breath caught in his throat.

There, crumpled on the floor, lay Y/N’s confronting form, still and cold, her skin as spectral as the moonlight now filtering in through the curtains. Her hair was splayed out across the floor, and her eyes were gently shut, as though she were only sleeping, but the sight was uncanny, they would never open again. Her limbs were unmoving, her chest motionless, and the scent of blood, stronger now, lingered around her like a haunting reminder of what had happened.

Caroline gasped, stumbling back as tears sprang to her eyes. They had already known this, but they did not want to believe it; the confrontation had been too much to behold.

“No... no, no, no...” she whispered, her voice breaking as she brought her hands to her face. 

“Oh my God, Stefan…”

Stefan could not speak. He stumbled forward and dropped to his knees beside the girl, his hands shaking as he reached out to touch her. Her skin was cold, by now, the warmth of her vibrant life was long gone, perpetually a memory. His throat tightened, his chest heaving with a deep, aching sense of loss. 

Not only was she his brother’s love, but a friend of his own, and he had cared for her deeply. Y/N had made his brother happy in a way he had never known, a fact he was grateful for, but she had also been there for him, her kindness and compassion knowing no bounds. 

He stroked her hair and tucked it behind her ear, while a terrible burn at the base of his throat rose and shifted into a choked sob. He realised at once that she must have died alone.

And Damon had found her like this, horribly sallow and confronting.

He must have tried to save her; Stefan’s eyes numbly caught the dried blood upon her lips. He had given her his blood, but it had been too late. The emptiness within Damon’s eyes, the cold detachment—it made more sense now. Damon had not just lost her. This was not just death. 

He had failed her.

‘She was trying to leave,’ Caroline whispered through her tears, her gaze locked on the half-packed suitcase on the bed. She was trying to look anywhere but the girl lying lifeless on the hard floor.

‘I think she knew she was dying... and she didn’t tell us.’

Stefan closed his eyes, the weight of this truth crashing down upon him, she had knowingly left without a goodbye. Damon had found her like this. He had tried to save her. And when he was unable, when he finally realised he was too late, it had ruined him. The love he had for her, the hope he had surely held onto—only made this so much worse. Stefan found himself wishing he had been there for him, even if it did not change anything, and he imagined it would not have, Damon would still be gone now. 

His chest ached with the knowledge that his brother, despite not being there at the time, would have felt every second of her death because he could not save her. Damon had turned off his humanity because the idea of living without her had been too painful. It had destroyed him.

Caroline wiped her eyes, and her voice trembled with fear. 

‘What are we going to do? If Damon has no humanity... Stefan, he’s dangerous.’

Stefan’s fists clenched, and his mind raced. Damon had always been volatile, but this was different. He had nothing left to lose now. 

‘We have to find him,’ Stefan said, voice steady despite the turmoil inside him. 

‘Before he does something he can’t take back.’

But his words were meaningless, as he glanced towards Y/N’s desolate corpse, Stefan could not shake the gnawing fear, or rather, the fact that it was already too late. Y/n was dead, and Damon had gone with her. He leaned down, placing a soft kiss on her forehead in farewell, knowing full well that he was kissing his brother goodbye along with her.

Every comment and piece of advice is welcomed and appreciated <3

Hey!

Can you please add me to the tag list for Revenant?

Thank you ❤️

Of course! I’m glad you have been enjoying it <3

I normally post my writing here, though I thought some of you guys might (hopefully) like to see my artwork too. Anywho, here is a portrait of my beloved, Jason Todd <3 Let me know if you guys would be interested in seeing more.

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...

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

Hostage ✢ Bruce Wayne

Summary: 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.

Bruce Wayne x Reader, female pronouns.

This piece is not plot-specific, so any iteration of Bruce will work. Though, I wrote it with Robert Pattinson in mind.

Warnings: Angst and Mentions of Violence.

Masterlist

Words: 1,117

The news hit him like a wave of paralysis; his distress unfathomable. Had he not felt it at that moment, he would not have thought it possible.

‘Breaking news: we are getting reports of an active hostage situation underway at Gotham City Bank, it is understood that a gang of four armed thugs are holding several civilians and staff hostage on the ground floor of the complex following a failed attempt at robbery. Here is live security footage showing hostages restrained to furniture as thugs demand free passage past authority. Viewer discretion is advised.’

The image of her face on the screen ignited white-hot anger within him. They had her, and she was not safe. The thought twisted his stomach agonisingly. She had been working the afternoon shift when the thugs stormed in; donned in conspicuous balaclavas. She was the one to alert the police, the security footage now showing her tied to a desk chair; a gun to her temple.

He turned from the screen located in the corner of the cave; his actions becoming automatic. With frantic hands, he dressed in his suit, and mounted his bike; he had no time to spare.

Dusk was falling. His symbol already illuminated the developing night sky as he sped through the empty streets of night-time Gotham. He could not remove the image of the gun to her head from his mind. After everything he had been through and everything he had seen, nothing had given him such fear. He gripped the bike’s accelerator harder, and yet, at its fastest speed it still felt like a crawl. 

The flash of red and blue acted as a signal to turn the back way; the shadows were his biggest advantage. He turned swiftly down an ill-lit alleyway to avoid the attention of civilians and authorities, slowing for the first time as he approached the back of the bank. He spared no time as he jumped from his still-running motorcycle and kicked down the door of the emergency exit. Normally he would go for a more stealthy approach, the element of surprise and fear he inflicted as he emerged from the shadows always giving him the upper hand. Though he was single-minded as he stormed down the dark halls of the bank, following the sounds of voices. But for the first time since he had seen the news story, he halted.

What if this careless approach had her shot? He could be the reason she was killed.

The very thought of it made him sick.

One of the thugs stood guard by the open entrance of the hostage room, Bruce silencing him before he even had the chance to reach for his rifle. Noiselessly, he slid the unconscious body down the wall, circumventing the attention of the others. 

He looked upon the scene from the shadows of the doorway, his gut clenching as he observed the gun still held to Y/N’s temple. He noticed the determined look covering her features, but her eyes still showed the hints of her fear.

Bruce saw red as he slowly lurked towards the man stupid enough to hold a gun to the woman he loved. 

He had been spotted. But it didn’t matter. 

Their fear had them appear as though they were shrinking in on themselves, dissipating under the sheer weight of his glare; even through his mask, he was sure they could see his hate.

He saw the relief register on Y/N’s face, she knew he would come for them; for her. 

He grabbed the man with the gun by his neck, he wanted to threaten him, make him fear for his life. He wished the man would live the rest of his life looking over his shoulder; fearing that he is lurking somewhere in the darkness. He wanted to grab Y/N and escape with her, to be able to tell her she is safe. To pull her to his chest and never let her go.

But he could not do either of these things. It would only make it obvious he was associated with her, it would put her in more danger. 

So instead, he briskly cut her from her restraints while still holding onto the man, snatching his gun and handing it to her. He felt better now she was armed. 

‘Untie the other hostages, and move towards the front doors’ He whispered in a low voice, making sure only she would hear.

He approached the remaining two thugs slowly, their bullets deflecting from his suit. He pulled the man he was still holding in front of himself as a shield; their shots halted immediately. Bruce took this opportunity to run at them. 

It was not a fair fight, each was incapacitated before they had the chance to throw their first punch. By then the authorities had swarmed the room, placing each of the offenders in handcuffs. But Bruce only had eyes for Y/N. And she was nowhere to be seen.

An ambulance had already taken her, alongside the other hostages.

He wasted no time in leaving.

He stood in front of the door to her hospital room, pushing it slowly forward.

Y/N sat on the bed, a shock blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She looked at Bruce with a small smile.

He moved over slowly and sat on the side of her bed, grabbing her cheeks,

‘Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?’ His eyes shot frantically across her body, resting on a bruise forming around her eye. He had hit her. Again he felt the white-hot anger he had grown familiar with these past few hours. She grabbed his hands and pulled them down to her lap.

‘I’m okay, you made sure of that’ she said softly,

Her voice at that moment was the sweetest sound he had ever heard.

Bruce once again grabbed her cheeks, pulling her forehead to his lips for a kiss. He then pulled her to his chest as he had wanted to back at the bank, he never wanted the embrace to end. 

He felt tears begin to roll down his cheeks, and not before long he was sobbing. She rubbed circles into his back and whispered to him that everything was okay. That she was okay. Y/N was the one who had just been held hostage with a gun to her head, and still, she was comforting him. But it had all come crashing down, how close he had been to losing her forever, and he could not handle it.

‘I’ll never let anyone hurt you again.’ He whispered,

‘I promise you…’

Thank 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.

I'm going to post a follow-up called 'When he admitted he loved you' sometime soon, if you want to keep an eye out. Every comment and piece of advice is welcomed and appreciated <3