Prompt from: oroburos69
I don't own Batman or any related characters. They all belong to Bob Kane and DC Comics.
Prompt: Unrequited love
Author's Note:
Okay, so I hope this piece turned out okay. As a part of my Wishlist 2011 fandom listing, I listed Batman (Comics), Batman (Nolan), and Batman: the Animated series. To be honest, the biggest experience I have with the Comics is several of the Joker graphic novels as well as a few that didn't have the Joker in it by Paul Dini. And my only experience with Cassandra Cain is from my reading of the novelization of the No Man's Land arc. I hope my prompter enjoys what I've written, and I hope I did these characters justice. Please review to let me know what you think!


She was beautiful. She moved through the air like a fish swam through water, and she made him want in a way that he hadn't in a long time. Ever, possibly.

Batgirl, his enemy. She fought evil like him; monsters like him. The likes of Killer Croc did not deserve to even look upon her liquid beauty. But he was used to taking what wasn't his. So he looked and he wanted and he lusted.

Time and again he faced off with her, and the Bat, and every time he did something that he would never admit to anyone but himself. When it came to her, he pulled some punches. And he knew she could tell. Her face was ever obscured by her all-engulfing black mask—unlike the others of the Bat Clan—but he could read her expressions just as clear as day. She showed him confusion each time they battled. Confusion, laced with contempt.

But Croc was used to contempt. From her, though, it was different. He did not know her eye color, her hair color, or even the color of her skin. And in the dark of the night, after a fight against her and her mentors when he had barely scraped away—despite his enormous size and strength—he liked to imagine her as a monster. Like him.

Did her skin have scales too? Did she even have hair? Or was she much more mammalian, covered in hair like a lioness? The thoughts and imaginings kept him warm in the cold nights in the waters of the Gotham Sewers.

It took a couple of years of courage, but Killer Croc had finally decided to give in to his instincts. He lured the Bat Clan into a scuffle—he was pretending to snag some cash from some floating charity yacht or something—and he slowly, methodically, broke Batgirl off from the group. He clubbed her over the head with the first heavy object he could find in the floating casino (he knew she was strong; that she could take it), tied her up, and fled the scene. As he trekked his way back to his subterranean hideout, he amused himself with how long it would take Big Daddy Bat to figure out one of his brood was missing.

He tied her again to the strongest chair he could find in his lair, sat down across from the bound Batgirl, and waited for her to regain consciousness. She did so slowly, shaking her head as beautifully as she moved her body.

"Where am I?"

Her words were strange without the heat of battle to back them. They seemed unsure—even for the situation—and like they didn't want to fit into her mouth. She shook her head again, locking her black-covered eyes with Croc. She snarled. He felt his cold, reptilian heart race.

"Croc! What have you done? Let me go before you regret it."

Her voice grew deeper with the threat, deeper than her initial words had been, and Killer Croc grinned, pushing himself to his full height to tower over her.

"You're with me now, pretty."

His voice was rough and deep, much deeper than hers, like gravel on velvet. He swallowed, trying to control the natural menace to them. He did not want to frighten her… not like he did others. He tried again.

"I snagged you away from the Bat."


Straight to the point. Like her fighting, she didn't like to dilly-dally around. Croc felt a rumbling deep down in his stomach that had nothing to do with food. He leaned in to her, so close that their faces almost touched. And his emotions soared to see that his dearest did not flinch or look away. She stared straight at him, unafraid and strong. Croc rested his hands on either arm of the chair, gripping it as tightly as he dared. Her strength was intoxicating.

"I like you," he chuckled. "I like you much, much more than the rest of your friends."

She straightened her back as best she could, cocking her head slightly to the right.

"Is that so?"

He nodded, moving even closer now. His breath was on her face, and he knew that it smelled sour from numerous half-rotted animals. But, again, his beauty did not flinch.

"So, I look like a scrumptious meal to you?"

He chuckled, shaking his head.

"No," he growled. "At least, not in the way you think."

He could feel the realization of his words rolling off of her. She did not hide her surprise well. But she recomposed herself, and he watched the form of her lips twist into a sly smile.

"I see your meaning now."

"Do you?"

"You want me. You lust for me. Why did you not say so in the first place?"

Her question caught him off-guard. Could this be true? He searched her hidden face, trying to find some facial tick, some sign of deceit. But there was none. She was just as fascinated by him as he was by her. His tongue snaked out, wetting his perpetually dry lips. He leaned in, tempted by the moment to run it over the spot where her lips remained frozen in that smile. He resisted. His hands grasped her arms at the elbows, and he dragged his fingers down to her wrists.

"Do it," she whispered.

His nails caught her ropes and tore them free, and he followed up by releasing her entirely. He gripped one of his massive hands around the back of her neck and pulled her so close to them that their lips almost touched.

"Yes," he groaned.

He was blind. Blinded by that one moment where all his dreams might have come true. She played him, landing a hard kick to his groin and vaulting over him like his height was nothing but a minor nuisance. Stars burst and danced over his eyes, and by the time they had cleared, she already had him bound in chains.

"Disgusting," she spat, lording over him. "I would never be with you. You're nothing but a monster."

He snarled, trying to snap at her.

"That's the pot calling the kettle, bitch!" he growled.

She froze and chose not to reply. So he kept going.

"I can see it in your movements. I can see it in your fight and your spirit. You're a monster too, sweetheart. We're two of a kind."

She was shaking, angry. She pulled a fist back, ready to pummel it into his face. But she stopped, urging the limb downward until she withdrew a communicator from her belt.

"Batman. I have him. I'm sending you my coordinates."

"Understood. Good job."

She shoved the communicator back into her belt and scoffed.

"I'm nothing like you."

Like always, he could read her. And she wasn't sure if she believed her own words. As she put her back to him, he laughed, long and hard, as the two of them waited together for the arrival of the Bat.