Déjà Vu ✢ Jason Todd

This is seriously the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. 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

ｒｅｖｅｎａｎｔ － ｆｉｖｅ

PART FIVE OF 'REVENANT' SERIES Damon Salvatore x Winchester!Sister!Hunter!Reader  The Vampire Diaries x SupernaturalMini-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 violence. Words: 3,127k Blog Masterlist / Series Masterlist <Previous Part | Next Part > A/N: I am so sorry this part took so long to come out.

Dusk set over Mystic Falls as Damon and Y/N made their way to the founder’s ball, the street lamps they passed under casting a golden hue against them. Y/N could feel her heart beating in her throat. Three times she had attempted to take a peek at Damon on the sly and three times he had already been looking her way. She did not know what scared her more; his lack of attention for the road ahead, or the fact he was seemingly staring at her. Y/N’s heart leapt as she discerned Damon’s hand lying open-palmed beside the handbrake, she knew he meant for her to grab it, but she could not force her suspicions out of her head. The calmness his presence brought her could only be short-lived. What if her unwilling intuition was right? What if he was a vampire? Once again, she thought back to the archives in the civil hall, one of the documents, dated 1864, had displayed both his and his brother's names.

Y/N swiftly quelled this concept, she was being ridiculous. Damon was a Salvatore, one of Mystic Fall's most cherished founding families, she had spied him with Liz Forbes working to eradicate vampires; she had known all this since the day she met him. 

But she also recalled her original assumption, from their first meeting at the grill; she had thought he was one of them. But no, he could not be.

For a town so engrossed with tradition and heritage, would it be so outrageous to assume he and his brother were named for their late ancestors? And besides, a hunter could not love a vampire; it would go against her very nature. Her very reason for existing.

Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat after this internal admission; love. She loved him. Warmth unfurled in her body like the first summer day after a most grim winter. She was in love with Damon Salvatore; everything about him. 

She loves his stupid jokes, his dark hair and crystal blue eyes, and the way he looks at her with them. She loves the things he says, and everything he does and every time they part she loves knowing she will see him again.

She took a quiet breath and placed her hand in his, fingers entwining. When she peeked at him once more his lips were turned into a smile that creased his eyes, and she realised abruptly that she also loved his smile; more than she had ever loved anything. No, she did not believe he was a vampire.

Y/N let her love for Damon settle into every alcove of her being, she felt it from her fingers to her toes. But most of all she felt this love proliferate in her heart. It was something she had been so sure she understood. She loved her brothers, and although it had always been harder to admit, she also loved her father. But this was different, it was all-consuming, so insufferably intense, yet despite all this; calming. She had never felt she belonged anywhere, never found her place in this world. And somehow, in this uncanny town that she had only planned to inhabit briefly, she had found a home in the comfort of Damon's presence. 

She could not believe, after everything she had been through and everything she had witnessed, through all her short-lived stays in unfortunate towns, that she would fall for someone so easily. For the longest time, she had held herself aloof from relationships; as though she was above them. Y/N understood that any bonds she formed would never amount to anything more than ephemeral, fleeting. But Y/N had also known falling in love with Damon would be as easy as the phrase proposed; as effortless as falling; and fallen she had. Her love for him was now as certain as the sun rising in the east and setting in the west, and she did not want to believe it.

‘You know, I thought you’d never take the hint’ He said, smirking now, and brought her hand first to his lips and then to rest upon his knee. She felt a blush flood her cheeks and she was sure they glew vermillion. His affections had never been this blatant before.

‘I love how easy that is.’ He continued when she did not speak and with her most recent revelation fogging her thoughts, she realised suddenly that she had no notion of what he had meant.

‘How easy what is?’ Her breath came in quickly as she tried to function normally. To behave as though she had not just become aware of the certitude with which she loved the person sitting beside her. Though when his smile faltered, she knew she had failed, and she wanted nothing more than to see him smile again.

‘It’s easy to make you blush, it’s become a pastime of mine… something I’m very good at.’ He said this earnestly, though there was an air of jest to his comment. Her cheeks felt hot again, this time in embarrassment; after all, she did blush a lot. 

He removed his hand from hers leaving it feeling cold and vacant, and lifted it to her face, reposing the back of his fingers against her cheek. He stared ahead at the road, with one hand on the wheel and an expression seemingly far away, and just as she dared thought he would mutter something profound, he opened his mouth to whisper,

‘Exhibit A, you’re blushing again. I get it though… I’m charming.’  He turned to her again, his smirk returning, and this time Y/N smiled with him. He always had something stupid to say.

The rest of the drive to the venue had been silent, though Y/N's thoughts had never been more deafening. She loved him. She loved Damon. She ran away from home and fell in love with the first man she saw. Y/N suddenly felt sick. If Dean were here right now she knew she would never live this down, she supposed that would mean her brothers could never find out. They pulled into a car park.

‘Y/N, are you alright, you’ve been acting strange.’ Her performance had not been as foolproof as she had thought.

‘Yes, I’m fine, it’s just… I’ve never been to anything like this before.’ She was surprised with how natural the lie came across, she could tell Damon believed her. He rolled his eyes and grabbed her hand again.

‘You don’t have to worry, I won’t let you embarrass yourself.’  He lifted her hand to his lips and gave a sweet kiss, never breaking eye contact. Heat flooded into her cheeks for the umpteenth time that day and she wondered if she had gotten it all wrong, maybe this supposed love was nothing more than a school-girl crush; she was certainly acting like a school-girl. 

Damon let go, got out of the car, and began making his way to the passenger side. Y/N knew what he was doing and quickly rushed to get out of the car herself, despite everything that had happened and everything she realised about him, she was not going to let him dote on her; she was too proud. 

‘Won’t you let me be a gentleman for once?’ He groused in fake chagrin.

‘But Damon, that would be unlike you…’ She smiled easily like everything was right in the world.

‘Why must you always offend me?’ He admonished, as he linked his arms with hers. Y/N’s attention quickly shifted to the sound of music and chatter coming from the ornate Lockwood mansion. She breathed in deeply and closed her eyes, only now becoming aware she had not lied before, Y/N was nervous; socialising had never come easy for her. 

‘Don’t worry Y/N, you’re fine.’ Damon used his free hand to lift her chin, and he smiled at her encouragingly,

‘If we stand around any longer, we’re going to be late.’

The ball was already in full swing as the unlikely couple, arms linked, made their way through the grand doors. Y/N gaped in awe at the opulent chandeliers and sweeping floral arrangements adorning the sumptuous room; she had never beheld anything like it. For a moment she allowed herself to ponder all the period dramas she had watched in dingy motel rooms depicting such scenes, standing in this grandiose setting made those childhood evenings seem a lifetime ago. 

The dulcet tone of one of Chopin’s many waltzes flowed from a piano standing in the corner of the makeshift ballroom and Y/N observed as gowns twirled in a beguiling amalgamation of colour, she shuddered at the thought of joining them; she would not be caught dead dancing. 

‘May I…’ Damon unlinked their arms to instead hold his hand up in an offer, he wanted to dance,

‘No… Absolutely not…’ Y/N gasped, ‘I need to have at least 20 more drinks in my system before I do something like that.’ 

‘Come on Y/N, you’re at a ball, live a little.’ Damon’s mouth turned into a lopsided grin, she assumed he was happy to discover something that unsettled her, her responding look was scathing.

‘I wasn’t kidding about the drinks.’ 

The Winchester grabbed his still outstretched hand and guided him to the bar she had spied opposite the dancefloor. Already placed upon an embellished silver platter sat countless glasses of champagne, she grabbed two, and turned toward her dark-haired date.

‘Champagne is crucial for a great evening’ She said mirthfully, handing him a glass, 

‘I suppose we better have some then’ Damon's voice turned grave, his change of tone startling her. She gazed up at him in shock, Damon looked over her shoulder, eyebrows furrowed; she followed his line of sight. A man had just walked into the building, he had dirty blond hair that sat in curls upon his forehead. She was bemused to realise she had never seen him before; was he new in town? 

Damon grabbed both their glasses, eyes lingering on the man and placed them back on the platter.

‘We’ll have some later… May I?’ Finally breaking his gaze, he held his hand out for her to grab, his tenseness unsettled her, she could tell he was making an effort to remain calm. She took his hand and together they walked past the make-shift ballroom and towards a hallway, Damon leading her away by the small of her back, but when the enigmatic man from moments earlier turned the corner behind them, his grasp shifted further around her waist,

‘Klaus… What a nice surprise.’ Y/N noticed the way Damon’s tone turned ever so slightly at the word ‘nice’, as though it left a bad taste in his mouth. She wondered who this man was, and why his presence had Damon tightening his grip on her waist, pulling her closer. She watched in trepidation as his stance became more guarding, shifting forward marginally so that he was now standing between them. Her stomach dropped, Damon was scared of this man, and that scared her.

‘My date… was just leaving, going to get us drinks.’ He lied easily, gesturing to the bar the way they had come, now letting go of her completely to instead stand between them.

‘Damon… I…’ Y/N started, 

‘I would like a bourbon, neat.’ He turned to face her fully, eyes pleading, she had never seen him this timid.

‘She can get drinks in a minute, I don’t believe we’ve been introduced, my name is Klaus Mikealson.’ 

Klaus held out his hand for her to take, and if Damon had not been acting so strange she would not have thought twice about taking it. He was perfectly charming. However, he also gave the impression that this introduction was not merely optional, so with a deep breath and one last look into Damon’s beseeching gaze, she connected her hand with his.

‘Y/N Walker.’ She said simply, not wanting to grant Klaus any more than this.

‘You look lovely this evening, Y/N.’ 

She felt his eyes look her up and down, measuring her and when his gaze promptly halted on her upper left arm dread washed over her being like a torrent. He lifted his hand once more, moving the fabric of her sleeve upward. The body tape she had carefully placed had seemingly come undone.

‘An interesting tattoo…’ He spoke his words inquisitively, though a divergence in his tone told the young Winchester that he knew exactly what it was. Klaus’s grip shifted to above her elbow as he turned to Damon, 

‘A hunter… you brought a hunter into our midst.’ Damon took a step back from him, a feeble attempt at getting closer to the girl, but it was redundant. After months of no detection, Y/N could hardly believe her cover could be thrown so easily, by something so negligible. Klaus quickly pulled Y/N towards him and placed his hand under her chin as if in a caress, but the seething look in his eyes told her it was anything but.

‘This isn’t personal, love, consider it housekeeping. I prefer to keep my town hunter-free.’ 

His other hand cut into her chest, like a hot knife through butter, a feat she did not believe possible. She looked down at her body, her stunning crimson gown growing a darker red beneath his hand and acknowledged what she had known from the moment he had seen her tattoo, Klaus was a vampire, and she was going to die. He had chastised Damon for bringing a hunter with him, and she could think of only one reason why. All along, her intuition had been right and she had deluded herself into thinking otherwise; all because she loved him. As she looked into the harrowed expression contorting his features, she considered for a moment that maybe he had loved her back; but none of it mattered now.

The taste of blood on her tongue was accompanied by the appearance of a searing white-hot pain now strewing through her chest. It was agony like she had never known. Pain she would not wish on her worst enemy. 

Y/N knew she could not survive this. Dark spots replaced all colour as her vision began to recede, and her knees collapsed beneath her. Before the world could fade completely the pressure of Klaus's hand disappeared, followed by a crash opposite them; she imagined Damon must have torn him from her, as she was now being held up by his shaking arms. She opened her eyes long enough to spy all her closest friends making their way towards them, the commotion must have caught their attention.

Their faces were grim but unsurprised, and she wondered dejectedly how many of them were in on this secret. How could she be so out of touch? To not suspect her own friends? They made their way straight to Klaus, to restrain him, she presumed.

The world blurred fast around her and for a fleeting moment, she let herself believe that this was the end. But with the feeling of a cool breeze shifting her hair, she realised she was being moved. Towering trees enwreathed her peripheral and her rapid breath turned to white vapour in the air. Damon, hands quivering, placed Y/N delicately on the damp forest floor as though she would break at the slightest touch.

‘No… Y/N…’ Damon winced, it was the most dreadful sound she had heard. He was hurting. She forced her eyes open to look at him and immediately wished she had not. 

Black veins appeared beneath the eyes she had come to adore, but they were no longer the pale blue shade she loved, the whites had turned red and inhumane. He lifted his wrist to his mouth which, to the young hunter's horror, had formed fangs and made a small gash. Y/N pressed her eyes shut again; she did not want to believe it. She felt Damon clutch onto her jaw, and despite forcing it open, his touch was benign, as though he worried she would disappear under his grasp. 

She tried to close her mouth, she understood what he was doing, but her attempt was futile; he was too strong.

‘Please Y/N… You need to drink this… Please. ’ He shook her shoulders in desperation and she felt her whole body moving with his disruption, the pain in her chest intensifying. She told herself the pain was a good thing, it meant she was alive. He forced her jaw wider trying to force down his blood; she was not cooperating. Sobs quaked in his chest as he persisted in his pleading,

‘Please Y/N, I’m trying to help… Please.’ His weeps were gut-wrenching, and despite everything she had learned, what she now knew about him, she still did not want to hear him hurt like this. She stopped struggling and let the awful, hot, liquid pass her lips. 

Her affliction receded and the relief was beyond anything she had ever experienced. The heavy state of stupor Y/N had just been under seemed to subside immediately. She lifted her hand to examine her chest and its stark bareness unsettled her; as though everything that had happened since she met Klaus had been nothing but a horrendous nightmare. But then she discerned that blood had defiled her stunning gown, beneath where his hand had been. Klaus had tried to take her heart, but no such wound was in sight; she felt sick.

Damon had healed her; he was a vampire.

‘Damon… you…’ She started but Damon grabbed her head and pulled her in for a desperate kiss, his tears mixing with the blood on her cheeks. All at once, the world fell away and the sole thing she cared about was the blue-eyed man before her. But all too soon, with a relieved exhale, he broke their kiss and placed his forehead against hers holding either side of her face tenderly.

‘You’re okay… you’re okay…’ The words were directed at Y/N but it sounded like he was reassuring himself, like he was trying to convince himself she was truly there.

‘I thought you were… I thought…’  He mumbled, she cut him off,

‘I’m fine Damon, I’m okay… I promise.’ She whispered.

It was at this moment that the full events of the day struck her. She recalled all her late father’s lessons, everything she had learnt from him to make her the hunter she is today. And despite all these lessons, and all his warnings, she loves Damon; she loves a vampire.

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Enigma ✢ Bruce Wayne

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

Bruce Wayne x Reader, female pronouns.

Warnings: Slight Angst

Masterlist

Notes: I’ve seen this movie in cinemas 3 times now, and I’m going again this week, I seriously need help.

Words: 2,056

Every time he sees her the feeling of guilt low in his stomach is sickening, everything he does is to make Gotham a safer place, for the civilians; and for her. So she can walk down the street and not have to worry about the evil lurking in the shadows, the people who would hurt her. Never again.

Though his job is dangerous, it would only be too easy for someone to find her in the event of his identity being revealed. And the thought of any harm coming to her kills him.

He likes to believe that he is keeping her safe by holding information from her, if she knows nothing, the information cannot endanger her, though his better judgment knows it is his selfishness. Once the truth is out, she could very well want to leave him; and Bruce could not handle any more loss.

He hates to deceive her, always making excuses for his frequent absence, leaving her alone in his bed at night, hoping he will make it back before she wakes to his cold, empty side. He wants to spend the rest of his life with her, but the likelihood of such a thing becomes less and less believable every time he leaves his home clad in the suit of the caped crusader.

He already feels her becoming more distant, when he returns home it is often to an empty bed. Though he tries to believe she is only staying at her apartment, the idea is unlikely, it had been months since she started staying with him. And when he intends to leave a note explaining his sudden disappearance, he realises with a sinking heart that she herself is already gone.

She had not been answering her phone, he could feel his panic settling in as he scrolled through all the missed calls, Y/N had been quite distant as of late but he could always rely on her to respond. An uneasy feeling fell in his gut as he came to the conclusion that something must be wrong. It was as if he turned on autopilot, his body beginning to move without the intention to; robotic as he dressed in his suit and mounted his bike, speeding from the bat cave without a second thought.

His dread fell further when he reached Y/N’s apartment, the silhouette of a hooded figure climbing from her window and expertly making their way down from the fire escape. They withdrew quickly into the shadows. He knew he should follow them, if they had done anything to her he fears all sense of morality would be out of the window; they would not live to tell the tale. But at this moment he only had eyes for Y/N, he had to know she was safe. His thoughts were hollow as he rushed to her apartment window, climbing frantically up the fire escape the figure had just gone down. 

When he reached the window the sight halted him, not a single thing was out of place, the view no different from every other time he had been there. Though even without the signs of struggle he expected to find, he still stalked quietly through the apartment looking for the girl he loved. It felt wrong, she was neither at his house nor her own, and she was not answering her phone. Not knowing where she was or if she was okay unsettled him as nothing had before. Who was the figure? Were they the key to her sudden disappearance? 

Bruce believed he knew Y/N better than anyone, and one thing he knew for sure was her inclination of having everything in place, so when he spotted a single book pulled further than the rest, contrasting vastly with the picture-perfect view of her home, he decided to investigate.

Upon pulling the book, the shelf broke its seal from the wall, slowly turning to reveal more storage behind it. Bruce sighed at the revelation, there was nothing more obvious than a secret passage within a bookshelf. Though what he found was shocking, the walls were lined with weapons and in the middle, stood a bare mannequin, one which could easily have been holding the cloak of the figure he saw earlier. Bruce remembered news articles and stories describing the work of a new vigilante prevalent within Gotham, known only as Enigma. 

It could not be her, he would not believe it; the thought of her deliberately putting herself in danger horrified him. He pictured all the ghastly things he had seen behind his Batman façade, the idea of her seeing these things too making him sick.

He decided to follow them, to confirm the figure he saw wasn’t her, he feared they would already be too far gone; but he found himself climbing from her window and following their path anyway. His fears were confirmed true when he drew deeper and deeper into the shadows of the dank Gotham street, but no traces of the uncanny vigilante could be found.

He mounted his motorcycle once more with a sense of helplessness, with no way of finding her his only option was to make his way back and wait harrowingly for her return. It was not like Bruce to stand aside, he felt powerless. He hoped to find her sitting on the settee watching the television or laid in front of the fireplace reading a novel, but he knew this was just wishful thinking. It all seemed far too correlated, the secret storage compartment, the unknown figure stalking from her window, her frequent unexplained absences… 

Bruce had thought she was drifting away, that he was losing her. But was it possible that it was her; that Y/N was the Enigma rampant within Gotham’s media?

He derided the thought, but it was hard to dispute. He knew he was being incredibly hypocritical. Every night as his symbol shone through the murky clouds of Gotham’s night sky, he lurked in the shadows, taking it upon himself to decide the punishment for Gotham’s most heinous criminals. So why did the prospect of Y/N doing the exact same thing trouble him so much? Bruce knew it was because he could never ensure her safety, every time she would leave dressed in her alias, the possibility of her never returning home was large; it terrified him.

He entered the hidden basement of Wayne Manor Estate, a place he had reconfigured into the bat cave just over two years ago, immediately changing from his suit and wiping the makeup from his eyes. On his way to the exit, he was met with the stricken appearance of Alfred, who began to speak,

‘You haven’t seen Miss L/N by any chance? She left in a hurry earlier, and she hasn’t been responding to my calls’

‘She hasn’t been responding to mine either, Alfred, I’ve just returned from her apartment; she is nowhere to be found’ He responded curtly, careful to hide the distress in his voice.

Bruce considered telling Alfred about the silhouette he saw leaving her window, and the theory he had comprised. But quickly decided against it, he was not certain she was Enigma. He did not want to say anything in the event it all amounted to nothing.

Bruce’s eyes rested on his security footage, his heart giving a leap when he saw the face he had been looking for all day, she was using the elevator heading towards the main living space.

‘Speaking of which, will you excuse me, Alfred? I believe I should go and ask about these missed calls, see what she has been up to all this time.’ And without adding anything further he swiftly exited and made his own way to the living area.

Y/N sat reading a book on the brown chesterfield settee beside the fireplace seemingly unaware of the distress she had placed Bruce through the past few hours. She continued to read, fully engrossed in her novel and completely oblivious to his presence. He cleared his throat.

‘Jesus Bruce! How long have you been standing there?!’ Her expression was startled, her hand held above her heart.

‘Not long, I’ve only just gotten home’ 

‘Why haven’t you been answering your phone?” Bruce continued before Y/N had the chance to respond. Her eyebrows furrowed as she pulled the small device from her front pocket, 

‘Sorry Bruce, I didn’t realise you had been trying to call me… Oh, and Alfred too… I must have had my phone on silent’ She looked sincere as she spoke but Bruce knew there was more to be said.

‘Where have you been all night? You had me worried.’ He prompted, hoping she would be forthright.

‘I was at my apartment’ It was the answer he had been expecting but not the one he wanted to hear.

‘I know you weren’t there, Y/N, when I couldn’t find you and you weren’t answering my calls, which is very unlike you, I went to your home, you weren’t there 

She looked hurt, and opened her mouth to dispute.

‘Bruce, why couldn’t you have waited for me to come home? Don’t you trust me?’ Her voice was offended.

‘Trust you? I trusted you completely. But you have to understand that I have a high profile, I’m often the target of attacks by the Gotham anarchy. And our relationship isn’t exactly secret. When you weren’t responding I was terrified, I thought someone had hurt you…’

‘I went to your apartment because I needed to know you were okay. Trust me, I knew I was being irrational. But you weren’t there and you’re telling me you were, and now you’re asking for my trust?’ 

‘I don’t expect you to tell me everything, Y/N, I don’t need to know everything. But I do need to know you’re safe, can you at least give me that much?’

Y/N was taken aback, it was obvious he loved her but he had never been this outspoken before. She didn’t know what to say, she could not lie again, he would know; she hated to lie. He continued when she failed to respond.

‘Y/N… Are you the Enigma they have been talking about…?’

A small intake of breath turned into a gasp, her eyes set wide on her face. It was the only answer he needed. They continued to stare at each other, the air tense, as though it would snap at any moment. Once again Bruce spoke,

‘Please… Y/N…’

‘How?… How could you possibly know?… I was always so careful…’ She spoke softly, her tone incredulous.

‘So it’s true then? Why must you do this? It’s dangerous, you could get hurt…’ Bruce’s eyes softened as he spoke.

‘For months after I was attacked and those men got away, all I could think about were the people being hurt in my place. It’s unlikely they would have just stopped after my encounter with them. I had to do something, they weren’t the only criminals out there, the streets of Gotham is riddled with them.’  

Bruce wanted to be upset with her, but he knew he could not be, after all, was he not doing the exact same thing? Once again he thought about all the times he had left her in the night, all times he had missed her calls with no explanation as to why. He knew it was time to tell her, it simply could not wait any longer, it had been eating away at him for over two years now. But she still trusted him after all of it, it was time to test that trust. 

For the first time all evening he felt a sense of relief, he had always been worried she would want to leave him, that the revelation of this most secret pastime would be too much. Though the likelihood of that occurring now seemed doubtful.

‘Y/N… There is something I should say…’ He averted his eyes, he did not want to see her face as his hypocrisy registered with her.

‘I am The Batman…’ 

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

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:

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@serenity-fujakante

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

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

ｒｅｖｅｎａｎｔ －ｅｉｇｈｔ

PART EIGHT OF 'REVENANT' SERIES Damon Salvatore x Winchester!Sister!Hunter!Reader  The Vampire Diaries x SupernaturalMini-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 violence. Words: 3,351k Blog Masterlist / Series Masterlist <Previous Part | Next Part (Coming Soon) >

After three-quarters of an hour, the hairdryer was still running. Dean had been half-asleep when he registered the faint whirring sound from the bathroom and realised it had been going for far too long. He was still sitting hunched with his hands over his face, exactly as he had been when she left the room with a slam of a door; after he had spoken those dreaded words. 

‘He didn’t have a choice, I would’ve died then too…’  Y/N had muttered when he had asked how this could happen. He remembered her tears as she spoke, they had made her eyes look like glass.

‘Well, maybe he should have let you…’  

The words sent a chill through him; how could he have said that to her? But was he wrong? Would she not be better off?

His mind had briefly wandered back to the case — the ghouls, the bloodstains — but the moment stretched, and the realisation hit him. His pulse kicked up, sending a jolt through his body as his eyes snapped open.

Y/N was not in her bed. Y/N was not anywhere.

The grim image of her body upon the old wooden table, paired with the awful, rusty scent of her blood, made him flinch as if he had been struck.

He stood up fast, his heart lurching in his chest as his feet steadied on the cold and grimy motel floor. The room was quiet, too quiet. The only sound was the damn hair dryer still buzzing in the air.

He got up and moved toward the bathroom without thought, like a man possessed. The door was shut, and a sliver of light spilled out from under the threshold, illuminating the dusk-darkened room. 

He placed his hand on the doorknob and was met with no resistance; it was already unlocked. The hairdryer’s hum intensified through the now-open door as it oscillated on the edge of the sink.

But there was no sign of Y/N.

There was no beloved sister standing there, her back to him as she dried her hair in the mirror, as she had done a hundred times prior. He hesitated at the doorway, and then his heart stopped. The bathroom was empty.

Empty. She was missing, and in transition, how could he be so irresponsible? How could he let himself drift off? She was dangerous now; she could hurt someone. He counted the hours back in his head since he had last slept and was kicking himself with the realisation of just how long it had been; he had needed to be awake and alert for her, and he failed.

He moved quickly, tearing through the small space and flipping the shower curtain aside frantically — as if he did not already know she was not there. He stared at the moulded, derelict tile walls in dismay, noticing the scent of soap still lingering in the air.

His breath came faster. His brain was scrambling to catch up with what his eyes were telling him. He spotted her old, bloodied clothes sitting discarded on the porcelain of the toilet seat, they were the only possessions of hers that remained, the room was bare. A flash of movement at the edge of his vision made him snap his head up — the window. It was wide open.

‘Shit.' He muttered, noticing the high pitch of his panic. 

He spun on his heels, stumbling back into the room. His gaze darted to the bed, and for a second, he convinced himself that maybe…

No, she was not there; he knew this.

Her things were missing, her bed was made, and now he was left wondering how far away she had gotten. He flipped his phone open and dialled her number, his fingers moving nimbly as a reflex, yet still trembling horribly. He had called this number many times in the past few months, and like clockwork, each time, he would be met with her voicemail; tonight was no exception. He snapped the phone shut and threw it to her bed.

Dean’s stomach clenched and he leaned over placing his hands in his knees. No. No. He wasn’t going to let her go down this road. Not after everything they had been through. But what could he do? It was already too late for her. 

‘Sam!’ His voice was sharp, frantic, the kind of desperation that hit with the force of a freight train.

Sam had been standing behind him, getting up to follow Dean in his alarm, his face already clouded with worry before the scene of the bathroom had even registered before him.

‘She’s gone,’ Dean snapped, pacing the small room, his mind running in a hundred directions at once. ‘She’s—‘ He cut himself off, eyes locking on the open window through the door. ‘She’s gone, Sam. She—‘

Sam was already moving toward the door, his face drawn, filled with a dread that was becoming all too familiar. ‘Surely, she can’t be far. We need to find her…’

Dean shook his head, his frustration boiling over. That is not what he meant. He did not mean she was missing, he meant that she was gone. ‘What the hell, Sam? She’s not some lost puppy we’re gonna find wandering down the road! She’s a damn vampire, and she…’

He had already begun to mourn her; she had died in their arms. He had stared at her decrepit corpse for hours, refusing to accept the actuality before him. He remembered the way he had pleaded for it not to be true. Now, she walked again, but it was not the same; it could never be the same as it was. It seemed like a sick, twisted joke.

‘Dean, we don’t know that. She might not have done that yet—’ Sam interrupted him, avoiding the specifics, not only to placate Dean but because he could not stomach the idea himself; he did not want to see her that way, he did not want the image in his mind. 

His voice was softer but firm, pulling his brother’s focus back. He continued,

‘She’s our sister, Dean. We don’t know what she’s doing. She could be in danger.’ Sam shuddered,

She was not in danger herself now, but the one who is dangerous; Y/N was the threat now, and the notion made him sick.  

‘No, you don’t get it,’ Dean’s voice dropped low, dark. ‘She’s gone, Sam. We both know it.’ His eyes burned with a venomous anger; his hands balled into fists at his sides. As his bitter words flowed, he believed them more and more. He knew if they went looking for her, she would never be found. She does not exist on this plane anymore; the girl he loved, his sister, was lost perpetually. 

‘She’s lost to us. She’s a damn monster now, and it doesn’t matter what we say, or how many times we look at her like she’s still the girl we raised, the sister we loved. That’s not her anymore.’

‘She’s dead… She died — in our arms last night,’ Dean choked on his words as he desperately tried for air, why was it so hard to breathe? Why was the room spinning? 

‘It was my fault, I should have died… Not her.’ The words were barely spoken, coming out in a gasp, Sam could barely make them out, needing to follow the movement of his brother’s lips. 

‘That girl we saw today, that’s not her, it can’t be; she was a fake.’ Dean shook with vexation once more, with Y/N, with himself, Sam was not sure.

He froze, his heart skipping. He had not seen Dean this angry in a long time — swallowed whole by rage. Sam’s shoulders began to quake with his own agony; he registered a distant and inhuman cry, he did not have enough time to wonder where it was coming from before he realised they were his own sobs. Why did they sound so far away? Why was he so disconnected from his own body?

‘Dean…’ His voice faltered as he looked at his brother. It was not just anger that shook him. It was grief. Grief, mingled with guilt and a twisted, violent kind of regret. The kind that made you do things you would have never thought of in a hundred years.

Dean shook his head; the words tumbling out in a dangerous rush. 

‘I’m not going to save her, Sam. I’m not going to pretend she’s still the person we knew. ’ He turned sharply, pacing to the door. How had he found this resolve so suddenly? Had he not yearned to find her only moments earlier? Dean struggled to recall when she had become the stranger he pictured now, the monster. She had not looked like a monster when she awoke from her death, when they had realised what must have happened. 

‘She died last night, killed by those god-awful ghouls. She’s not the same. And if we don’t do something about it, people are going to get hurt. It’s time we finish this. Her case. And the supernatural problem that ruined her life. Our lives.’

Sam stepped toward him, with words already on his tongue. Surely, he could not mean that. He could not possibly be suggesting they hunt their own sister. But Dean was already halfway out the door.

‘You’re not—’ thinking straight,  Sam wanted to say, but Dean was already gone.

With a moment of hesitation and a breath of bitter air, Sam followed him out.

Dean's fingers tightened around the steering wheel, his knuckles tense and pale, as he drove toward the town. That awful, revolting, loathsome town. The anger — his blinding anger — throbbed through him, it thudded in his ears and pulsed within his veins. He could feel it in his gut, a gnawing beast that told him he had to finish what she had started. He had to rid the world of whatever vile supernatural force had taken his sister away from him. And if that meant tearing Mystic Falls apart, so be it. If that meant killing the vampire who had turned her... then that is what he was going to do.

Damon Salvatore.

The name felt like bile in his throat and burned like acid. The more he thought about ‘it’, that repulsive creature, the tighter his grip on the wheel became. He knew the bastard had to die. If not for him, Y/N would not have become the thing she was now; the abomination. She would not have disappeared into the night. She would not have lost herself andhe would not have lost her. It was Damon who was to blame. Damon was the cause of all this.

He had no sympathy. No understanding. Not when it came to hurting her.

And hurt her he had.

Deep down, hidden beneath layers of wrath and chagrin, Dean knew why he was acting this way. He knew that if Y/N had truly died, he would be doing absolutely everything in his power to bring her back, and he would not have rested until he was successful. He would have done anything. But now, he could never bring her back — save her from this fate. If that abhorrent vampire had left her alone, she would be salvageable, even if it meant Dean needed to die in her place. 

Dean’s jaw tightened, his gaze hardening with each passing mile. He barely registered Sam’s quiet words beside him. ‘Dean, stop. We have to think of this rationally —’

‘I’m not stopping, Sam,’ Dean cut him off sharply, his voice low, strained and cold. 

‘We’re going to Mystic Falls. And we’re finishing it.’ His eyes flickered to Sam briefly, and for a moment, the weight of what he was saying hung in the air as tears filled his eyes. ‘I’m done, Sam. I’m done— ’

Sam watched him quietly, trying to gauge if there was any part of the man he used to know in the eyes staring out the windshield, his brother. But it was hard to tell, the burning in his eyes showed a stranger. Dean was consumed — swallowed whole by something darker than grief. He was already lost, and Sam feared there would be no bringing him back.

‘Listen to me for a second, would you?’ Sam's voice was heated, raised for the first time all evening.  ‘She had vampire blood in her system, did you ever stop and think about what that means?’ Dean began to speak, but Sam raised his hand, silencing him with a scalding look that Dean saw in the corner of his vision. 

‘She said she would have died anyway, their blood heals people, that… vampire —’ The word made him cringe, ‘obviously, saved her life.’ 

Though, Sam did not understand; it did not make sense. Why would he save her? A hunter. Why was she with him in the first place? How could she bear being near him? Knowing what he is. But it did not matter, it did not change what he already knew.

Dean started again, but Sam cut him off.

‘She died on the ghoul case… with us, we killed her, we did it — not him.’ 

Sam gazed out through the windshield as tears clouded his vision, streetlights turned to indistinguishable dots of light as they loomed closer. This realisation stung and cut his throat like small blades as he expelled ragged breaths. But he continued away,

‘But she’s still here, Dean. She’s not gone — not yet, anyway,’ He gasped out, ‘She holds the same memories, the same personality, it’s her. And if we can get to her, we can help her.’

‘Dean, we don’t even know if she is in Mystic Falls, what if we’re leaving her behind?’

But his words fell on deaf ears; Dean stared forward as if he had said nothing at all, and Sam slumped back in his seat, defeated. Staring numbly at the dark silhouettes of trees as they flew past them. 

Y/N stood in front of the grand fireplace in the Salvatore boarding house, the warmth of the crackling fire barely reaching the chill that had settled deep within her. The flames danced in hypnotic patterns, casting flickering shadows on the stone walls, against her skin — yet all she could see before her were the faces of her brothers.

She let her fingers graze the mantle, her eyes tracing the cracks in the stone as if they might conceal the answers to the questions she could not bring herself to mutter. She could still hear Dean’s voice, sharp and angry, his words slicing through the distance between them like a blade. 

Well, maybe he should have let you…

His words had cut off, he knew he had gone too far, but she knew it was what he truly believed. He had thought she was better off dead. He would rather she was not here. 

She pondered that reality for a moment. Suppose she had died the night of the founder’s ball. Maybe it might have been easier. Maybe she would not have needed to feel all this grief for her brothers. But then she thought of Damon, and she realised, halfway content, that she was glad that did not happen, at least for him. She remembered the way he had cried over her, pleading with her to drink his blood. At least she was certain of this much; she could not leave Damon, she could not bear to hurt him. How could that dreaded night already seem a lifetime ago? It was only the night before the last. 

She had believed, once, for a very brief moment in time, that this affliction might only be temporary—that there was still some thread of humanity she could cling to. That her brothers would save her. Bearing witness to years of their escapades had her believing there was nothing that they could not do. And this was just another problem, another puzzle to be solved; but she knew that was selfish — to expect so much from them. 

But that did not matter now, and she had never truly believed it and the reality of what she had become quelled that fragile hope regardless. This was her reality now: vampires do not age; they never change. They did not get to go back to the lives they had before.

And she was no exception. 

She could almost feel their rejection, the weight of their disappointment hanging in the air, suffocating her with every harsh breath. Deans anger had been cold, unforgiving. It was the kind of rage that came with the loss of something precious. And Sam, sweet Sam—his conflicted, sorrowful gaze had been the worst of all. She could almost hear his voice, trembling with the desperate hope that maybe he could fix her. But she knew better now.

She was beyond saving. She had not even wanted to save herself, she had been wholly ready to die, to let Damon’s blood dwindle from her system, till her death caught up with her once more. 

A familiar ache of longing twisted in her chest as she thought of them. The brothers who had raised her, fought for her, loved her in ways that no one else ever had. The brothers who were now lost to her forever. How could she go back to them now, knowing the truth of what she was? How could she let them see her like this? They would hate me, she thought. They already do.

She imagined the look on Dean’s face as he looked at her—disgust. His words were harsher than the coldest winter she had known, biting at her soul. He would see the vampire she had become and reject the parts of his little sister that remained. 

Nothing, she thought. He would see nothing left of me.

And yet, she would miss them more than anything. She would miss the way Dean always teased her, even when he was angry. She would miss Sam’s soft smiles, the way he would always try to protect her, even when she did not need it. She would miss being family—the thing that had once meant everything to her. It had all slipped away, and in its place was this hollow, aching void.

But she knew deep down, past her surfaced dejections, there was no void. Her love for Damon had settled into every crevice of her being, and with all her regret came a guilty, unexpected sense of relief; she was glad she had forever, an eternity to love him. He was her family now, and she could not find it within herself to regret this.

Behind her was the sound of soft footsteps. The familiar, grounding presence of Damon. She did not need to turn around to know it was him; she had grown so used to the weight of his presence, the subtle way he filled the silence between them. When had this happened? It all felt so quick.

He did not speak. Instead, she felt his warmth press against her back, his arms sliding around her waist, pulling her against him. His head found its way into the space between her shoulder and neck, and she instinctively leaned into him, the comfort of his touch a stark contrast to the cold emptiness of her loss.

For a moment, she closed her eyes, letting herself absorb the silence, the feeling of being held. But the ache inside her did not fade. It only deepened. Her brothers were gone—the life she knew was gone—and all she had left was the man who had turned her into this being.

And she could not even bring herself to regret it. She loved Damon; she loved the way he made her feel, even when it terrified her.

She stood there, motionless, with Damon’s arms around her, staring ahead at nothing. She mourned the girl she had been, but when she thought of what she had gained—when she felt the weight of Damon’s arms around her—she knew she would not trade any of it.

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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