bbsaeko

Latest Posts by bbsaeko

barista (t.d.)

Pairing: Tim Drake x Reader

Word Count: 6.2k

Summary: You have a big, fat crush on your regular—Gotham’s very own friendly neighborhood coffee addict, Tim Drake.

A/N: Please compliment me about the banner I worked very hard on it <3 Also Happy New Year!!!

Getting a job in food service was honestly the last thing you wanted to do. You had heard enough horror stories from your friends who had taken many summer jobs unlike you. They often complained of insufferable superiors, bad working hours, and even worse pay and even though their stories of annoying Karens were extremely entertaining, you didn't think you'd be any good at handling them yourself. Unless your boss was okay with you cussing them out.

So, when your parents brought up you getting a job, you had vehemently refused. It's not like you particularly needed the money, however, they made a good point about needing to gain experience and how you were practically a rotting pile of flesh since you had begun summer break.

You couldn't argue with their points, even you knew that you needed to get back into a routine and get some fresh air. However, a job as a barista was the last thing you wanted to do.

But when your parents mentioned that you'd be working at your aunt's cafe, you were quick to change your tune. You always had a blast with her, and she'd definitely pay you well, lest she face the rath of her older sister, your mother. Plus, she often claimed that you were her favourite niece, despite not having any other but you supposed it was the thought that counted. Plus, you'd make extra money that you could use for pretty much anything.

So, now adorned in an apron, you stood behind the counter and took orders. Your aunt oversaw the pastry making and baking while you were in charge of the register and making drinks.

The thing you liked the most about your aunt's cafe was that it was a rare find for many customers. The cafe was the perfect space for people to sit in the quiet and get some work done. There was rarely ever any rush unless a big party came, however even then you were never really spread thin. You suppose you should feel bad that your aunt wasn't getting much business but she more than made up for the lack of customers with her overpriced coffee and cakes. But you would never tell her that. Besides, she made most of her profits from custom cake orders.

That's not to say that you didn't get any customers, you had very many loyal regulars that were always polite and would always strike up a conversation with you. Most of them were residents from the high-rise building above the shop so they were usually pretty wealthy and thus knew how to tip well.

And of course, the most loyal customer of them all, Gotham’s very own coffee addict; Tim Drake.

You take back your previous statement; he was definitely the thing you liked the most about the cafe.

You would have been down bad if he had just been just good looking; with blue eyes that were unusually bright and clear, like as though God cut the fabric of the afternoon sky and the clear blue ocean and made his irises with them. His pale skin and dark hair definitely made them seem even brighter.

He was so good looking that your customer-service-smile had frozen onto your face when he first entered the cafe, barely hearing his order over the thumping of your heartbeat and your brains incessant chatter trying to tell you to pay attention to what he was saying. Eventually, you had to apologize and ask him to repeat his order in your stupor, giving the excuse that you were new even though you had been there for more than 2 weeks.

He just smiled politely and told you not to worry before fishing his wallet and paying for his drink, tipping 50%. He wasn't just gorgeous but also well-mannered and sweet. You were down so catastrophically, cataclysmically bad.

The next time he came in, you learnt his name by pretending you needed to write it down on the cup and he casually commented how you didn't really do that last time. You said it was because he had been the only one in the store last time even though there was only one additional customer there. And you all were aware that you didn't bother to ask for the other customer’s name.

Tim continued to come almost every morning for the next couple of weeks and once you learnt how to actually comprehend the words coming out of his mouth instead of just listening to angelic singing every time he looked at you, you realized he was actually very interesting.

He'd always strike up a conversation with you and sometimes you'd take your lunch break and sit with him at the table while you talked. He was hilarious and intelligent and creative and the more you talked with him the more your plain attraction turned into affection before you knew it.

"I see you like Red Robin." Tim commented casually, noticing the insignia pin that you had on your apron. You glanced at the enamel pin that you had bought from a bodega on an impulse out of instinct before nodding, "Yeah, he's my favourite amongst the bats."

"Oh really? How come? Most people really prefer Nightwing, like me."

You shrugged, "I dunno, I just feel like he doesn't get enough appreciation as compared to the others. Plus, he makes the papers the least often."

"So, what? You felt bad that no one pays attention to him?"

You shook your head, clutching the screen as you typed in his order that you had already memorized. A brown sugar shaken espresso that you had convinced him to try just once, and he had immediately been hooked onto. You obviously added a couple extra shots of espresso for his caffeine addicted self.

"On the contrary, the fact that he's not seen in the paper probably means that he's getting the job done quietly and efficiently. Or maybe not. But that's just my guess. He's not bad looking either."

Tim chuckled, passing you his card, "Don't let him hear you say that; he might just swoon at the compliment."

"Well, I haven't actually seen his face, so I can't say with full certainty."

Tim lingered by the counter while you made his coffee, speaking loudly due to the absence of customers at this time. You had once mentioned that this was your least busy time; you wondered if he visited during that time, so he'd get to talk to you for longer.

You shook your head, reminding yourself not to get a big head as you pulled a double shot of espresso, quickly adding it to the shaking glass with brown sugar.

"I bet I’m better looking."

You really hadn't meant to laugh as hard as you had; you just pictured Tim Drake, with his posh posture and Gotham elite personality, sniffing at Red Robin as he tried to critique and compare looks. You were fairly sure that Red Robin was a head taller than him as well. The more you thought about it, the harder you laughed.

When you finally managed to wipe the tears from your eyes, Tim was still standing at the counter with a star-struck expression, pink beginning to paint his porcelain skin in beautiful blooms. You bit your lip, smiling in apology. He must have been quite embarrassed at your boisterous laughter.

"S-Sorry, you caught me off-guard." You explained, still giving him a sheepish smile as you grabbed a napkin and straw for him. The red had made its way up to his ears and down his neck before disappearing underneath the hoodie he was wearing.

Great, you had a crush on the guy and just laughed at the thought of him being better looking compared to a guy you had never even seen before.

"It's fine, it was meant to be a joke, so I suppose I’m flattered."

"No, I was being mean, you're definitely better looking." You teased, "If I ever meet Red Robin, I’ll definitely let him know that."

"I’ll hold it to you." He joked, grabbing his drink.

Having a crush was way more physically taxing than you had remembered it being. Every time Tim was around you, your heart slammed so sharply against your ribcage you would get breathless, and your stomach would twist into so many knots you'd find your abdomen getting sore.

You'd grow visibly excited when it was around the time for him to enter the store, making sure everyone else's orders were fulfilled so that you could give him as much of your undivided attention.

After being hopelessly infatuated and pining for him for a while, you had thought that you had gotten used to the incessant butterflies flapping their fingers against the walls of your stomach. However, Tim continued to prove you wrong.

You had just finished wiping down the steam wand of the espresso machine, when the bell above the store door had jingled, telling you that you had a customer.

When your eyes landed on the man standing behind the register, you couldn't help but freeze, stomach squeezing so tightly you could feel your heart crawl up to your throat, stopping you from welcoming him inside.

Tim Drake was wearing a suit.

His hair was styled for the first time you had ever seen him; dark tresses neatly gelled away from his face aside for a couple strands that tickled his nose.

You clenched the cloth in your hands so tightly you could feel the rough fabric beginning to slightly burn your skin. A part of you wanted to collapse into a puddle on the floor, already knowing how weak your knees had gotten at the site of him adjusting his watch. Oh, you wanted to dissolve into a pile of warm syrup, and you bit your lips to hide a dopey, lovesick grin.

Another, more repressed part, wanted to grab his tie in a single fist and yank the handsome man toward you, climbing over the counter and kissing him all over until his white shirt was stained with your lip gloss, his immaculate hair was messed up by your fingers and his cologne had rubbed off on your skin instead. You forced that part of yourself into the corner because she seriously needed a time-out.

"Um, hey?"

This was the first time he had spoken, clearly noticing how you just stood awkward frozen in time. Oh god, his voice was so much more attractive than you remembered. This wasn't fair.

"H-Hi, where are you going off to so prim and proper?" You asked, pulling yourself together by pinching your thigh so painfully that you could feel a bruise beginning to form.

"Oh, I just have a meeting at work. I do most of the work from home, but I’m needed in the office today." He explained, handing you his card like clockwork and you nodded, stepping away so you could start making his drink.

"Wow, how adult." You mused, shaking the tumbler quickly before pouring it into his cup and handing it to him.

"You look good, by the way," His warm fingertips grazed against your own when you handed him the tissue and straw. You watched as a bashful smile grew on his face at your compliment, making your heart flutter like a feather floating through the wind, "Much better than Red Robin."

He rolled his eyes, small smile turning into a full-blown grin.

***

This was the first time since you had met Tim that he hadn't come to the bakery alone and thus it would be the first time in a very long time that you actually had to take the order instead of automatically input his drink order.

Unfortunately, it would also be the last time you would be taking his order. You were supposed to work at the coffee shop for the rest of the month, however you had gotten an opportunity from your professor to be a part of his research team for the next semester and he required you to begin early. Which meant that you would no longer have the time to work for your aunt.

You had yet to tell Tim, upset at the thought of not being able to see him every morning from now onwards.

You had thought long and hard about it last night after you had confirmed your participation on the research team; you didn't want it to be the last time that you spoke to Tim tomorrow, you wanted him in your life.

So, you came to the conclusion that you would finally confess to him. You didn't want to continue the pining and end up in the purgatory that is the friendzone so you figured it would be the least risky to admit your feelings to him on your last day there. If he said no, you'd no longer have to run into him again every morning. If anything, he might be relieved that his regular coffee runs wouldn't be awkward from now on.

However, there was one new detail that was going to make your plan more embarrassing—

"This is my older brother, Dick." Tim introduced and you nodded, recalling when he talked about his extremely big family. Also, there was no one in city who wasn't aware of the Gotham prince, Dick Grayson, the oldest son of billionaire Bruce Wayne. Your eyes flittered between the both of them; despite being adopted, they shared a striking resemblance to each other.

You gave him a kind smile, "It's nice to finally meet you, Tim talks about you a lot."

"Good things, I hope." He responded, ever the ray of sunshine and you found yourself turning toward him like a lone sunflower. You realized he had that effect on people, the other customers also were privy to his presence. It was almost like he had a halo shining on the top of his head. The term 'Prince of Gotham' was certainly well-earned.

"Those are state secrets." You joked, playfully winking at him and he gave you a good-natured grin.

"So, what will you be having today?"

Tim ordered his regular and Dick got a matcha along with a vegan cheese tart for 'Dami' who you assumed was Tim's youngest brother Damian.

Tim held his card out for you to pay for their drinks and you inhaled sharply, digging your heel into your other foot to strengthen your resolve.

It was now or never, (Y/N).

You shook your head, trying your best to remain nonchalant even though your stomach was taking a rollercoaster ride, and you pins began to prick at your toes from how hard you were stepping on it with your other foot.

"it's on the house."

Tim tried to protest but you shut him down, not even making any moves to try and take his card from him, only handing him his receipt with the order number on it.

"Don't let your boss find out you're handing out freebies to everyone." He teased, sliding his card back into his wallet and you dug your nails into your palm, trying not to chicken out in the last second.

"Actually, the freebies are only for the cute customers that the barista has a crush on." You replied smoothly, grabbing the filter for the espresso machine and not looking back at Tim, afraid of his reaction.

Oh god, was your voice shaking? You tried your best to remain collected on the outside even though on the inside your heart was erupting like a volcano, magma flowing through your veins and setting your entire body ablaze.

You spared a small glance at his older brother, embarrassed that he was here to witness this. A sizzling heat began to run up your neck and to your cheeks, fingers stiff as you tamped the coffee.

A chuckle brought you out of your stupor and your stomach sank. It wasn't the usual laugh that Tim had, instead a mirthless sound that made you look back up at him, only to find him staring at the receipt you had given him, now crumpled him in a tight fist.

"Glad I’m the exception then," He said through gritted teeth, "I’m gonna go."

He left without making so much as another glance at you and your cheeks coloured in humiliation when you had realized his brother had seen that whole interaction with an equal expression of shock and pity that made you quickly bite down on an ice cube to prevent any tears from lining your lashes.

You quickly made the drinks, reminding yourself that it was okay since you were never gonna see him again, keeping your customer service smile on until his brother had left the store and then some before you finally let it fall.

***

"Dude, what the hell is wrong with you?" Dick asked, placing Tim's coffee order on the console of the bat computer, already finished his matcha. The coffee had long been watered down; the ice had melted in the Gotham heat on his walk back home since Tim had just left him there at the coffee shop.

The younger brother ignored him, staring at the screen with a glare that began to get increasingly annoyed. When it became clear to him that Dick wasn't going to move from his side until he got an answer, Tim finally sighed "I’m sorry for ditching you at the coffee shop."

"Apology accepted but that's not what I meant. Why were you so mean to that poor girl? I mean if you didn't like her, you could've at least turned her down gently."

Tim scoffed, incredibly peeved, "Are you stupid? She was clearly asking you out! I've been going there for like 2 months now and she's never been so blushy and nervous before you walked in there with your stupid tall height and stupid big grin and stupid good looks!"

Dick's jaw dropped open; blue eyes wide with shock. Wasn't Timothy meant to be like the smartest and most logical one amongst them? As far as he knew he was also acknowledged by R’as Al Ghul himself as a remarkable detective. Hell, he had discovered the dark knight's secret identity when he was nine.

And yet—

"Are you fucking stupid? She wasn't asking me out! That cute little flirty compliment was clearly directed at you!"

Tim still looked upset, though Dick could clearly see that he was beginning to doubt his conclusions. Thank goodness, he didn't inherit Bruce’s or his brother's stubbornness.

"So, you like her but thought she was hitting on me, so you got all emo?" Dick deftly deduced, watching as an embarrassed rash spread across his pale skin, "Dude, you really hurt her feelings. I think she was about to cry when you walked out like that."

You had really tried to look like Tim's exit hadn't affected you and to an untrained eye it probably would've looked like that, but Dick noticed how you were chewing down on your bottom lip til it bled just to prevent from crying.

Tim's eyes now raised to him, now completely uncertain with a touch of guilt and Dick sighed.

He wasn't the son of the greatest detective for nothing, but it wouldn't take years of training to know what a lovesick boy looked like. He had found out that Tim had been visiting this particular coffee shop every day at the same time when he flat out refused to have Alfred’s French press in favour of driving across town to the penthouse, he'd sometimes sleep in just to get coffee.

Tim would never refuse Alfred’s French press unless he was unconscious. Or dead.

Which lead Dick to do some sleuthing.

Didn't take any effort to check his credit card statement and find out that he had been visiting this particular store every single day. Which is really the reason that Dick tagged along that day, to meet the girl who had so clearly captured his little brother's attention.

He was honestly giddy when he realized that you were shooting your shot right in front of him. Oh, he could see the wedding happening before his eyes already, where he would very obviously make his groomsman speech, telling the crowd how he had been there the day you finally became a couple.

But Tim merely crushed up the paper receipt in his hand before storming out and he was left alone in the coffee shop, having to watch as Tim's future wife kept her gaze anchored to the floor while she tried to make the coffee that she had just given them for free. He left a fifty in the tip jar right then.

This would not be the last time that his brother would do something stupid throughout the duration of your relationship. He supposed you might have dodged a bullet due to the misunderstanding but Dick was biased toward his brother and so he felt obligated to try and get you both together.

"Are you sure?"

Dick pinched the bridge of his nose, "Tim, she didn't even speak to me after you left because she was so upset that the guy she had a crush on brutally turned her down."

His eyes narrowed still, "Are you sure?"

This time Dick had had it. He grabbed Tim's ear, unaffected by his shouts of pain and curses at him as he dragged him toward the elevator, "Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne, you go back to that coffee shop, apologize for being a jackass and ask her out. And you better take her to a fancy ass restaurant on your first date to make up for this mess."

"Okay! Okay!" Tim conceded, finally ripping his brother's hand from his ear and he crossed his arms, "You know, this wouldn't have even happened if you hadn't been a nosy ass and followed me to the coffee shop."

"This wouldn't have happened if you weren't an idiot either."

***

Tim had been silent during the patrol and while he wasn't the most talkative, it was unlike him to be this quiet. They were already an hour into the patrol and batman had yet to hear this voice of his son over the comms, but he didn't ask about it. He'd inquire about his son's personal life after patrol when he was back to being his parent and not his partner.

Something was definitely off however, since even Nightwing was more on the quiet side of the spectrum that night, which was extremely out of the ordinary.

It all had to do with what happened right before patrol--

Tim really hoped that Jason wouldn't kill him for stealing one of his motorcycles that he left at the manor but honestly it was the fastest way for him to get to the coffee shop without getting stuck in Gotham traffic. And really if Jason didn't want anyone to be using his motorcycle, he really shouldn't have left it in the garage with the keys there for anybody to take. Hadn't he learnt his lesson after Damian had tried to take one of Bruce’s cars?

Even though there were still a couple of hours for closing time, when Tim entered the store, you were nowhere to be found. Hearing the bell, your aunt had answered from the kitchen instead, telling him that she'd be right there in a moment.

When she finally emerged, wiping her hands on her apron, she stopped, recognizing Tim as a regular but he could tell that she didn't really know anything about him or even his name, "What can I get you?"

He angled his neck, trying to see if someone was in the kitchen but when he couldn't spot anything he turned back to your aunt who waited patiently, "Um, is (Y/N) not here?"

"Ah," She shook her head, "Since it was her last day working here, I let her go early."

Oh, Tim really should've had his coffee today because the caffeine withdrawal was starting to make him hear things. He could've sworn he just heard your aunt say that it was your last day working at the coffee shop.

"Last day? What do you mean?"

Tim returned to the Batcave just in time for patrol, shoulders hunched over and a pitiful frown on his face that had answered Nightwing’s question before he could even ask how it went. He didn't say anything else, just walking over to the change rooms without so much as a glance to his father or younger brother.

Understandably, your aunt refused to give your phone number to Tim considering she had no idea of your relationship with him. If there was any relationship anymore. You clearly had every intention to not be in his life anymore if he had turned you down, explaining why you decided to confess on your last day.

He had asked your aunt to pass his number to you but there was no telling whether she actually would or if you would call him even if she did.

And in retrospect it would be fairly easy for him to find your number or address or which university you went to, but how was he meant to explain how he coincidentally managed to run into you before explaining the misunderstanding and confessing his feelings?

His mind was wracked with questions, and he continued to beat himself up for thinking that you had been flirting with Dick in the first place. If he hadn't been such an idiot, he could've avoided this whole mess and could've avoided upsetting you.

Now even if he managed to find you, there was always a possibility that his reaction managed to turn you off and change your mind.

"Woah Timmy isn't that the girl you like?"

Dick's voice cut across the unusual silence for that night, ringing in his ears so suddenly that for a second, he didn't even register what he had said.

However, when he did, it was almost comical the way his head lurched up like a meercat, spotting Nightwing’s figure a couple of buildings away and immediately grappling toward him, nearly throwing himself off the side of the terrace trying to spot you.

You stepped out of Gotham university, hands clutching a binder to your chest. Tim wasn't sure what had his heart beating faster—the sight of your frost-bitten nose, tinged red from the cold—or that you weren't alone.

You were laughing with a man who, much to Tim’s dismay, was undeniably good-looking and wearing a lab coat, which meant he was clearly smart and shared your interests and oh you both were going to get married, and he was going to be alone and coffeeless for the rest of his life.

"What are they saying?!" Tim leant over the edge of the roof like a right fool.

"This is beginning to get creepy, baby bird." Dick commented from behind him, but all Tim could tell him was to shut up because he couldn't hear just what had you giggling so animatedly.

"it's great that undergrads get a chance to be on a research team; I know it might not seem like much but it's gonna look great on your resume, (Y/N)."

You narrowed your eyes teasingly, "You're just saying that because you're relieved someone is gonna be doing the literature review and wash your empty beakers."

The junior assistant, a postgrad student was in charge of showing you around the lab and giving you a list of your responsibilities. Since it was short notice, you were going to have to learn the ropes quite quickly so as to look competent to the other professors.

He laughed, patting your shoulder and you could've sworn you heard a sound similar to a bird shrieking from above you, "You caught me there. But you'll get your name on your first research paper so that's there."

"I am but a modern-day Cinderella." You grinned, walking with him til he reached his car. He sat in the driver's seat, not yet closing the door when he called out for you just as you were beginning to walk away, "Are you sure you don't want a ride home?"

You smiled but shook your head, "No, thank you, maybe next time."

You watched him pull out of the parking space before driving away, wondering whether you should wait for the bus or just take a cab back home. The next bus wasn't for another 25 minutes, and you didn't want to wait around in the dark, however, a cab would be four times the amount you'd spend using the bus.

You suppose you could've called your father and asked him to pick you up from the university, but he had just gotten home from work, and you would hate to ask him to have to come and get you.

You sighed and muttered underneath your breath, "I should've just asked him to take me home." before beginning your trudge home. A part of you was scolding yourself for taking possibly the most dangerous route home but the other part reminded yourself that it was unlikely for anything to happen.

Besides, you had seen Nightwing patrol the area earlier that night and it was way too early for the bats to turn in for the night. With any luck, he was still roaming around here.

***

Looking back, taking a shortcut through an alleyway wasn't the smartest plan you had ever made. However, you were lucky enough because it seemed like the bats had been watching over you for the night; you didn't even have the chance to get mugged before Red Robin has scared off your potential attackers. You hadn't even noticed them creeping up behind you.

You simply stared at him, starstruck. It was the first time you had ever come into contact with the Gotham cryptids and you had least expected an encounter with the most elusive of them, Red Robin.

You had known he had black hair but through a screen it had really looked more like oily snakes that had further cemented your belief that they were demons.

But up close, his hair was soft and silky, he smelt of sweat and grime but with a slight tinge of cologne hidden underneath. You continued to stare at him, feeling like you could tattoo the sight of him onto your retinas.

"Um," You began, not sure how to even begin the conversation. Should you thank him for saving your life? Or apologize for being an inconvenience. Instead, you found yourself following his gaze to the lapel of your lab coat, only to find him staring at the Red Robin insignia pinned there. It was then you had been reminded of the same interaction with Tim Drake.

"Just so you know, you're way better looking than Tim Drake."

You were in slight awe of Red Robin and also still heartbroken over Tim Drake's scorn earlier that day, so you felt the need to settle the score with him even though it would clearly never make its way back to him.

Afterall what were the chances that the vigilante Red Robin knew the trust fund baby Tim Drake? They didn't exactly run in the same circles.

The masked man just stared at you in surprise, quite frozen after your declaration and honestly you couldn't blame him. He had just saved your life and instead of thanking him you began complimenting his good looks while at the same time insulting a completely random man, when really you had no business doing because you didn't really know what he looked like.

Though the more you stared at his face, finding your eyes drawing lines down the same jawline, cupid's bow, and nose bridge, you couldn't help but find similarities between the man you had just compared him to—

You physically shook the thought out of your head.

"Okay, then," You finished, finally turning around to walk away from him, having had enough of standing awkwardly in the middle of the alley, "Thank you agai—!"

"(Y/N), wait!" His gloved fingers clasped around your wrist, and you cut yourself off abruptly, staring up at him in surprise. It seemed his response had surprised him as well, considering the way he continued to stare at you. You couldn't really see his wide-eyed gaze due to the domino, but you could tell from the slight gap of his mouth and the raised brow.

Your lashes fluttered as you lowered your eyes to the hand still around your own, his voice echoing through your head. He had a modulator but this close to him it felt like you could hear the voice underneath it. His voice was crisper, cleaner and lighter underneath the automated depth, you could hear it just slightly through the syllables of your name.

You looked back at the whites of his mask, "How did you know my name?"

You weren't accusing him of anything, at least he didn't think so, not from your voice. You sounded genuinely curious and your eyes ping-ponged over his features, trying to find something. Then he noticed the ways they slightly narrowed before you whispered, "Tim?"

His jaw went slack, eyes going so comically wide now that you had just known you knocked the hammer right on the head. He took a step back, finally releasing your hand and you cupped your gaping mouth, in shock yourself.

"Wait seriously?! I was just guessing! Why on earth would you make it so obvious!" You chastised.

"I’m sorry, ok?! I didn't have any coffee today and so my brain isn't braining today!"

You crossed your arms over your chest, "And who's fault is that? You're the one who stormed out of the cafe after rejecting me—after I literally gave your drinks for free!"

Red Robin—Tim winced, rubbing the back of his neck as his gaze fluttered guiltily away from yours, "That was...not my best moment."

"Not your best moment? You acted like I spat on your whole family and condemned you to death!" Okay perhaps you were being a tad bit dramatic, but it had been an extremely long day, and you kept being presented with new information which was a lot to take.

You were just a girl, for god's sake!

"Ok, in my defense, I thought you were confessing to my brother—not me! So, if anything, I was upset that you might like my family a little too much!" He retaliated and you gaped at him, incredulous.

"You are just—wow, unbelievable." You finally breathed. Truthfully, you didn't know what to even do now, something told you that you weren't going to be able to walk home completely unharmed. Since you knew his identity, the worst that could happen was that one of his bat friends was hanging over you to put you out of your misery. Best case scenario, you'd sign an NDA and be on your merry way home.

"I’m sorry, (Y/N). This is all my fault, I was being an idiot earlier and I got insecure cuz I thought you were asking out my brother which stung cuz I’ve been crushing on you for like months now." He finally admitted, holding his gaze low.

If you hadn’t been deafened by the sound of your heart pounding wildly in your chest at his confession, you would’ve given him a hard time about how nervous he seemed—just as you had been before he so brutally turned you down.

"You like me?" Your question, simple as it was, still managed to make Tim's heartrate escalate.

"Yes—I mean, of course—How could I not?"

You blushed, a gleeful response already on the tip of your tongue. Well, you would have, if you hadn’t suddenly been shrouded in a bat-shaped shadow that had you instinctively pressing yourself closer to Tim.

"Oh, I’m so dead." Tim muttered under his breath the second he had caught the figure of his father standing atop a building, having heard everything over the comms.

Your eyes widened and you stepped closer to him, a hand tightening around the utility belt strapped to his chest. You had remembered the rumours of what had happened to the second robin.

Tim's attention was snapped back to you the second he heard your sharp intake of breath, "N-Not literally, really (Y/N). I’m probably just gonna get grounded."

That got you to loosen your grip with a relieved sigh, relaxing and letting go.

"Grounded? As in Red Robin is grounded. Or Tim Drake?"

"Probably Tim Drake, Red Robin is still needed in the field. Maybe both." He admitted with a wince, and you have him a gentle pat on the chest that was meant to be a kind of 'there, there'. He gave you a small smile, gloved fingers holding the hand to his chest.

"I suppose our first date will have to wait, huh?"

Tim would be lying if a part of him hadn't kind of expected you to rethink everything. I mean, he had been so mean to you when turning you down after jumping to wild conclusions at no fault of your own. Then there was also his secret that he had been stupid enough to reveal to you.

You didn't deserve this; you deserved much better.

Still these thoughts were extremely fleeting, easily overthrown by his feeling of giddiness and outright joy, a blinding grin taking over his face.

"I guess so. I'll make it up to you, though—Dinner's on me."

You scoffed, "It better be, I’m standing in an alley 15 minutes past curfew with the identity of one of the illusive bats all because you thought I had a thing for your brother."

If his cheeks weren't already bitten from the cold, you would have watched as they went aflame, "I was young and stupid."

"It was this morning!"

"I was eight hours younger."

***

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@simonsbluee

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codename: nightingale- auld acquaintances

reference: young justice season 1 episode 26

wc: 10.3k

synopsis: well shit gets real, conner yeets ng and robin, all while, ng reminds us why she’s the best, and the otp(s) get their shit (collectively and respectively) together

main masterlist

codename: nightingale series masterlist

a/n: I CANNOT BELIEVE I DID IT. you guys and your support have carried me though this process and the many YEARS it took me to get to this point. I have loved writing this since the beginning and I still do. Thank you for loving this story and the characters as much as I do. Enjoy!

MOUNT JUSTICE

December 31st, 03:12 EST

The cave was quiet as you zeta’d in. You’d only managed a few hours of sleep before you woke up in a fit. Ollie’s penthouse was silent though. And a quick check through the security system told you no one but you was home, in fact no one had come home, since you had. The team had made the decision to host a debrief at 0730, the next day, allowing everyone (mostly you) to recenter.

Given that the penthouse was empty, you decided to head to the cave early, if you were lucky, you’d be able to check the logs and see if Ollie, Dinah, and Roy were still up in the Watchtower or not.

“Recognized: Nightingale b-14,” the computer’s voice echoed in the darkness of the cave, and a couple of light flickered on in response.

“Computer, pull Zeta logs for the last 24 hours to the Watchtower, Nightingale Access delta echo charlie zero six,” you call out your code after a brief look assures that you’re the only one around.

“Access Denied,” the computer’s response throws you off guard as you pull up a screen, but you’re treated to a red screen.

“Under who’s authority?”

“Designation 0-2.”

“Batman?” you whisper the answer to yourself, but you can’t understand why. You’ve had access to the Watch Tower logs since Ollie and Dinah told you about the tower. You couldn’t get there without them, but you could access the logs to see who’s there currently, and you could usually see the calendar to know when Dinah and Ollie were scheduled.

“Computer, Canary Override: charlie romeo yankee seven eight nine three,” you attempt.

“Override denied.”

“What? Why?”

“Override denied per designation A-0-4.”

“A-0-4? Who is A-0-4?”

“Access Denied.”

“Oh, fuck’s sake!” you shout.

“Perhaps yelling at our computer system is not the best use of your limited time to rest?” a new voice interrupts.

You frown as you turn to look at Kaldur, “it won’t let me access the Watch Tower logs,” you huff, pointing at the red message glaring back at you.

“Why are you looking to access the logs?” he asks, brows furrowed as he looks between you and the screen.

“No one came home last night, K. I needed- I wanted- I just need to talk to Dinah, after everything that happened? I just wanted Dinah or Ollie, and they weren’t home. I passed out on the couch waiting, and when I woke up, they still hadn’t come back. I just wanted to see if they were still there,” you explain.

Kaldur’s lips pull into a frown, “They may be pre-occupied, the League, as you know, better than most, can be demanding, even at the best of times, and with the best of offers,” he states.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you defend, sensing his double meaning.

“You mean to tell me, my King is but a liar?” he challenges.

You’re quiet for a moment, Kaldur knew better than anyone, just how much you respected King Orin, “what did he say, exactly?”

“That you were also accepted into the League, that you were by far the best candidate off all those who were inducted, and yet, you were the only one who has said no to date,” he admits.

Your voice is quiet as you look at your friend, before you sigh, “how long have you known?”

“Since the meeting in November.”

“You didn’t say anything…”

“Neither did you, I decided it’d be best to follow your lead. You would have said something when you were ready to,” he shrugs.

“I’m not ready. I don’t feel ready, to be there, at that level,” you explain.

“You owe me no explanation, old friend. I have always had faith in your decisions, I won’t start questioning them now,” he assures you.

“Thanks, K,” you sigh. “Did he really say I was the best candidate?”

Kaldur smiles knowingly, and gently places a hand on your shoulder, “Come, M’gann stress baked cookies last night upon our arrival. We can indulge in those while we watch something?”

“Yes, please.”

You both got settled on the green sofas with a plate of cookies on the coffee table before you, and two mugs of tea. You were flipping through the available options when Kaldur spoke up again.

“I watched when you were barely in double digits trying to learn how to sort through your feelings and emotions,” he began and your grip on the mug tightened, while your hand with the remote dropped. “I watched as you turned it into a motivator, a strength. I watched how you learned to center yourself and be objective, even with only a decade beneath you. What you feel now, how you feel now, might be stronger, but you know how to utilize that, you know how to sort it. But until you can, until you’re able and ready, I hope you know I will be here to temper it. Just as I was before,” his tone is firm, as he expresses himself.

Slowly your gaze moves to him, and you take him in. This Kaldur was nearly an adult, he had given up the Conservatory, and trained with King Orin. This Kaldur taught you Atlantean, he helped you learn how to open yourself to magic.

“Kaldur…”

“We used to spar, do you remember? You were so full of rage and I remember the Queen sending me to spar with you one day. Garth and Tulla thought it would be unfair, they thought that with my age, my size, my magical and home advantage, you would be unable to compete. Fitting, that you knocked me down in mere minutes, despite being slowed by the water, despite being in a new place, despite your age and size. It was then that we all realized that you hold so much raw power, much more than you ever seemed to realize yourself.”

“You’d think you would’ve learned your lesson after Wally,” you scoff, sniffing to yourself and recalling the first time you met the boys.

“Oh, I did. Which is why I asked for you to be included in our studies, it’s why you studied with me, specifically, at the conservatory. You needed an outlet, then. So, you studied with us, trained with us, and despite not being naturally adept at magic, despite being out of your element, you held your own, you beat us several times. You mastered skills quicker than we ever did. You needed the distraction, to let go of all that you had been forced to carry at such a young age. I just hope you can trust me to help you with that again.”

“You were my first true friend, Kaldur’ahm. I had Roy, but he had always been introduced as a brother, you were a friend. You saw me, the realest version of me, rageful, angry, upset, scared, all of the negative emotions and you still decided that you would help me. You have always looked out for me, and you have always had my trust,” you’re resolute in your answer, no one had supported you through the hard parts like Kaldur had, because he was right. He had seen you at your angriest, he’d watched you fight as an outlet, seen you train yourself to the brink of exhaustion just to be free of the rage, even for a minute, and instead of telling you that you were wrong for your methods, he instead offered you new outlets, new opportunities. He lent you his strength and stability when you had none.

“I am honored to hold that title, my bird. We made a promise, you remember? A piece of our histories intertwined,” he states, smiling at you as he tugs a gold chain from under his shirt. Your gaze lingers on it for a moment before dropping to the ring you’d been subconsciously fidgeting with.

The ring that had allowed you to breathe underwater, the one that allowed you to live in Atlantis as if you were an Atlantean yourself, it was obviously special. But what made it so treasured was not the gift it gave, it was the who the gift was from. The ring had belonged to Kaldur’s mother. It had been she, who when King Orin asked for a volunteer, a home for the girl from the dry world, had stepped forward. She had opened her home, and had offered the ring to be enchanted for you. She became your advocate while you lived in Atlantis, she treated you like you were one of her own. When it was finally time for you to return to your home, over a year later, she had told you to keep the ring, “I’d always hoped to pass this ring to a daughter,” she’d said, and you cried as you hugged her one last time.

On Kaldur’s first trip to visit you, merely a month after you’d gone back to Star City, you’d given him a chain. It had belonged to your father, and he’d worn it his whole life. Something that had been gifted to him when he was young from his father, who got it from his father before him. There’s a small pendent that hangs, your family’s crest, just like on your ring, they were a set technically.

You’d managed to enchant the item with your limited ability just in time for Kaldur’s first visit. “It’s meant to be passed to sons. I’d really like it if our histories were intwined. If I’m going to carry such a meaningful part of yours and your mom’s history, then I’d really like if you were to carry this of mine.” As far as you know, he hadn’t taken it off since you gave it to him almost three years ago.

The frown reappears on your lips as you look at the chain, and then at Kaldur. “Sometimes… I wish I was still there. It was easier living with you. There were no secret machinations, just you and me, and Garth and Tulla. I- I was hurting, I know that, but-”

“I understand,” he promises and you can’t help but let out a watery laugh.

“Of course you do. You’re Kaldur’ahm, no one ever seems to understand me as well as you do,” you smile.

“Rest, my friend, you have earned it. Our debrief with the Batman is 0730, however, I suspect he will be here early.”

“0700?” you ask.

“See you then,” he promises, tossing you a pillow and a blanket.

“Thanks, K, for everything,” you smiled, plopping back.

“Anytime, my friend, anytime.”

MOUNT JUSTICE December 31st, 06:30 EST

When you wake up again, it’s to Conner staring down at you with a quirked brow.

“Shit, Conner, why are you just staring at me like that?” you groan rubbing at your eyes.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you yet,” he admits, one hand rubbing at his neck.

“Yeah, I came earlier this morning. Canary and GA were at the Tower all night long. K, sat with me for a while.”

“Well, since you’re here… maybe we can talk about-”

“About your dad?” you ask, staring up at the roof of the cave.

“Don’t. Please don’t call him that. There's so much to figure out, but he’s not… not my dad,” you haven't turned back to him yet, but you can hear the tension in his tone.

“Genetic Donor then?” you offer turning back to him with a lazy smirk before adjusting yourself to lean against the arm of the sofa, tucking your legs beneath you.

“Genetic Donor works,” he sighs, sitting down in the now empty space on the sofa with you.

It’s silent for a minute as you both process, and then you're giggling. Conner’s eyes blow wide, as he stares at you. You cant help yourself though. Your giggles soon turn to full blown laughs, tears forming in your eyes.

“NG… nightingale… (y/n)!” Conners tone grew increasingly harried with each call to you.

“I’m sorry, I- I just… he killed my parents. I’m an orphan… be-because of Lex fucking Luthor, and he’s the only reason you're even here. He’s the reason I’m here!” you’re still laughing.

It has to be some sort of break, your mind finally deciding it's had enough.

That's when the laughs trail off, and you're left with tears.

You stop heaving and you take a deep breath, everything grows silent, you shut your eyes and center yourself. When you open your eyes you're staring at Conner again.

“I don't know how to fix this,” he admits.

You offer him a weak smile as your shoulders droop, “you can't,” you relent and Conner sags back into the sofa too.

“What now?” he asks.

“We be honest with each other, and the team. You and me, we're bonded by something now. I didn't realize it when we freed you from your pod, or when you helped us escape, but we are.”

“Allies against Lex?” he offers, holding out his hand.

“Allies against Lex,” you confirm, shaking his hand.

A not so innocent piece of you takes advantage and reads his emotions. You're reassured by the feelings of honesty, compassion, and belonging. You stare at Conner for a moment before letting go of his hand.

“What time is it?” you ask, stretching out a bit.

“You have about 15 until debrief.”

“Okay, thanks,” you sigh, standing up.

“I’ll see you in the cortex?” he asks, standing up as well.

“Yeah,” you confirm before heading to the locker room.

You're all standing in a line when Batman finally zetas in. You hadn’t had a chance to talk to Rob, or anyone else from the team about yesterday before he arrived.

He starts by asking for a rundown of events. Which we oblige. We explain everything from start to finish, the reveals, the truths, the plan for Santa Prisca. Everything leading up to the moment of Lex Luthor’s escape.

And when all of that is said and done you swallow your fears down hard before stepping forward, “Additionally, after defeating Bane with Robin and Zatanna, when I became aware of Luthor’s escape-”

“She was a little upset, which I’d argue is completely warranted considering everything we found out yesterday,” Wally cuts in, interrupting you before you can admit to how you lost control.

“Yes, but-” your second attempt is interrupted as well.

“Which is why we would like to request that the development of a case against Luthor be a Team priority,” Robin’s the one to cut in this time, proffering an official request on behalf of the team.

You risk a glance at the Team, and you don’t need M’gann’s abilities to understand what they're trying to say. So you shut up, and step back in line, waiting for Batman’s response to the debrief as well as the request.

He doesn't say anything for a minute, and then Kaldur is stepping in, “We have reason to feel proud of yesterday's victories. But one thing has not changed,” he alludes.

“Somehow, the bad guys are still getting intel about us,” Robin offers.

“Yeah, but at least we know none of us are the mole,” Wally counters.

For the first time that morning Batman finally speaks up, “That's correct,” he confirms, and he does so with serious conviction.

You want to be reassured by his confirmation, but something about the whole briefing was throwing you off, and it wasn't the discussion of Luthor.

“The mole,” he begins again, “was Red Arrow.”

Theres a brief silence as Roy’s image is displayed before everyone explodes.

“Roy?” Robin repeats disbelievingly.

“No way!” Wally’s voice had pitched up in his rebuttal.

You on the other hand, felt as the first of the strings holding you up snapped. Kaldur places a hand on your shoulder as if he knew, before turning back to the Dark Knight, “Batman, that cannot be. He was Green Arrow's protégé. We have all known him for years.”

“Unfortunately, the Roy Harper we have known for the last three years is another Project Cadmus clone,” Red Tornado explains.

You have to fight to catch your breath, this couldn’t be happening. You’d known Roy longer than that, you would've realized!

“We've learned the real Speedy was abducted and replaced soon after becoming Green Arrow's sidekick,” Batman explains and you finally step forward.

“No,” the seriousness of the word echoes in the cave. “I’ve known Roy longer than that, its been way more than three years! I would have noticed if CADMUS had substituted my own brother in front of me!” your argument is urgent, something had to be wrong.

“Unless they took a self fabricated opportunity to substitute the clone in a time of chaos. Where Speedy’s patrol partner and closest confidant was… gone?” Batman paints a picture but you're so hyper-focused on the Roy of it all you miss what he’s hinting to.

Theres a sharp intake of breath behind you, when you turn you see Kaldur, his eyes wide as he stares at you, “You came to Atlantis almost four years ago, you were gone from the surface world for over a year…” he reminds you, and you feel another string snap.

“No.”

“You said everyone seemed different, you were different, you were re-adjusting, it’d be reasonable to assume you wouldn't have noticed,” Kaldur’s tone is soft.

“No! Don't you understand?” you shout, turning to the team. “If that's true, it means the riot where they escaped was planned, they meant to cause a distraction, to throw us off guard so that they could switch-”

“Switch their Roy for ours,” Wally finishes, green eyes full of remorse on your behalf.

“And they waited almost year to put that into action, capitalizing off of the disarray of Star City's heroes,” Artemis tacks on.

“I would have noticed!” you argue, voice cracking as you try to reign in your emotions.

“The clone was pre-programmed with a drive to join the Justice League,” Batman intervenes, continuing to provide the information he had at hand. “Which is why he was so angry over any delays to his admission and why he refused to join the Team. This Roy Harper had no idea he was a clone or a traitor. And his subconscious programming drove him to become League-worthy. So he struck out on his own as Red Arrow.”

Your head was spinning, heart beating so fast and loud in your ears, it was a miracle you were still standing up. Something was wrong, something had to be wrong. Where was Dinah and Ollie? If this were true they’d come to tell you in person, they would. How could Ollie have not noticed? How could Dinah? Something had to be wrong.

“When he was finally admitted, his secondary programming kicked in and he attempted to betray the League to Vandal Savage.”

Your stomach flipped, Savage?

“Fortunately, I had already deduced Red Arrow was a clone. We were prepared.”

He had what?!

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” you whisper, Conner and Kaldur seem to be the the only two who hear you as they offer you mildly concerned expressions.

“Savage was subdued but Red Arrow escaped. He is now a fugitive, armed and dangerous,” Red Tornado continues.

“If you guys hadn't rescued me from CADMUS...” Conner trails off, eyes jumping from me to Kaldur.

“What happened to the real Roy?” Rob’s the one to voice the question and your heart stutters. Real Roy as if the one you'd known since your return wasn't real in some way. They were both real, at least they were to you.

“We don't know. He isn't at Cadmus. We have to face the possibility that the real Roy Harper is dead.”

You can't stop it. The bubble of grief, pain, and guilt. It bursts out of you, and of course Kaldur’s the one to catch it. His hand lands heavily on your shoulder, and you take deep breaths to center yourself. They don't know, you remind yourself. He could be alive and on ice somewhere, you repeat. You're forcing thoughts of hope down your own throat, hoping something will be digestible.

The last thing you're expecting is for Robin to grab ahold of your hand, not in front of Batman, and not after yesterday’s incident. Today, however, he doesn't waver or flinch back like he had the day before, so you can't tell if he can feel what you are right now. He simply snags your hand and tightens his grasp, until you're squeezing back.

“The clone Roy. The Team will find him,” Kaldur decides, his tone leaves little space.

Yet, somehow, Batman blows it wide open, “Negative. Red Arrow's a member of the Justice League now. Leave him to us.”

There's an argument forming on your lips, but a beep from his comms forces you to shut up.

“I'm needed on the Watchtower. Tornado, stay with the kids,” Batman decides and Robins hand slackens a bit. Kids? Since when did Batman call you kids?

The zeta lights up a second later, “Recognized, Batman, zero-two.”

You turn and run to the closest bathroom, you can hear as a few people shout after you, but you’re focused on making it to the bathroom. Your knees hit the ground hard as you all but collapse and then your heaving up the little that’s in your stomach. The protein bar and cookies that Conner had swiped from the kitchen for you, the orange juice Kaldur had poured for you, and the the blueberries that you’d scarfed down as well.

There’s a hand on your back, another keeping your hair back. “Wally?” your voice is a hoarse whisper.

“It’s me,” he affirms.

You nod and close your eyes for a second before you’re heaving again.

“I got you,” he promises, gently rubbing circles into your back.

You knew that, Wally’s always got your back. You know he probably didn’t hesitate to chase after to you, and that he most likely told everyone else to stay back. “I would have noticed,” you repeat.

“(Y/n)…”

“I should have noticed,” you say, sliding back, wiping at your mouth and leaning against the wall before turning to your friend.

“That’s not on you,” Wally argued.

“He’s my brother, my responsibility,” you shoot back.

“C’mon, let’s get you back before Rob starts panicking,” he huffs, pulling you up.

“I need to bru-” before you can finish Wally disappears and reappears with the toothbrush from your locker and a tube of toothpaste.

“Your teeth?” he asks cheekily.

You shake your head before quickly brushing your teeth. When you and Wally get back it’s to Kaldur’s awaiting stare. You offer a nod and he turns to face the rest of the team before looking back at you. He gives you a look signifying that it was your move this time, your call. Your stomach’s still unsettled but you swallow down your nerves and confusion before addressing the team.

  “Clone or no clone, Red Arrow was one of us. For three years, he was ours. We will go after him, and we will figure this out, on our terms,” you decide.

  You had planned to say more, but the sudden sounds from Red Tornado force you to stop. He freezes about a foot and a half away from you. Then, it's like he shut down. A sound as if he was being powered down, as the entire armor freezes, and his head tilts down.

  “Tornado!” M’gann’s shout is slightly panicked.

“What happened?” Conner’s squinting.

“He's powered down,” Wally notes, tone slightly curious.

“All functions off-line,” Robins got a frown as well, analyzing Red Tornadoes stats on his wrist-computer.

“Something doesn’t feel right,” you note, staring between the stats as well as Tornado.

“Guys, I'm sensing a low-level mystic force at play. I don't know if it caused his shutdown, but… now that I think about it, I was getting the same buzz off Batman,” Zatanna admits, and your frown deepens.

“Batman,” Robin repeats. “He called us kids. He never does that.”

  You step forward, analyzing every aspect of Tornado that you could, Wally comes up behind you and does the same.

  “Look,” Wally’s call pulls your attention. When he straightens up you can see something in his hands, “One of those bio-tech chips we confiscated off Cheshire.”

“Nightingale is right, something is not right,” Kaldur agrees. “Robin, Kid, Zatanna, Rocket, see if you can get Tornado back online,” he directs. “The rest with me to find Ro... Red Arrow.”

  The team pauses despite Kaldur’s clear instruction, and slowly they look from him, to each other, and then to you. You know why they paused, even Kaldur seems frozen as he stares at you. His decision would put you into the field, it would allow you to look for Roy, to be there when the Team finds him. Going with them would also separate you from both Wally and Dick.

  You must’ve stayed silent too long, “Birdy,” Wally’s voice seemed to echo as he called out your name.

“Sorry,” you mutter, looking up. “Kaldur’s right, we.. uh, we have to split up.”

  Wally and Dick look at each other and then they look at you.

  “It’ll be okay,” you tell them. “I have to find him, my brother, my responsibility. Plus, who knows him better than me?”

  No one has an answer and you nod.

  “Suit up,” you confirm once more before the team nods, and disperses accordingly.

  Wally, Dick, and Kaldur hang back. The three of them don’t speak, but they’re exchanging looks with each other and with yourself. No one says a word, but you offer a look of your own, and then roll your eyes at them. They pause and as always, Wally’s the first to crack. He throws his hands up looking at the two other boys and then gesturing to you. When that doesn’t get the response he wants, he throws his hands up again, waving them around.

You smile softly, hands coming to Wally’s shoulders. You offer a forced lopsided smile, tilting your head to the side. Wally responds by shaking his head, and you tighten your grip. You give him a pleading look, Wally’s face scrunches but he finally stares at you head on. You nod, gently and he sighs before nodding back.

You pass along a feeling of comfort, trying to make him understand that it’ll be okay.

“Yeah,” Wally confirms, before walking off.

Kaldur offers you a nod of his head and you nod back, before he walks toward the bioship.

You pause for a second and take a breath, and then there’s a hand on your shoulder and you’re hit with concern, longing, and a need to protect. You take another breath and turn to face Dick. He’s staring at you for a second, he opens his mouth and then closes it. In the end he stares at you making a closed fist with his right hand and rubs little clockwise circles on his chest. Your ASL was passable, a skill that Dinah and Ollie thought was important to learn for the streets, it seems like Bruce thought the same for Dick. Sorry, that’s what he was saying.

You know what he’s sorry for, you knew it the second he grabbed your hand. You take your right hand, rub a circle with your palm against your chest, and then with a flat hand swipe above your temple with your fingertips, I know.

He shakes his head, the barest of a smile on his lips.

You offer a soft smile at Dick one last time before walking towards the locker room. You’re quick to grab your gear, and you’re silent until your in the bioship, and in the air.

“Old friend,” Kaldur’s voice is soft inside the bioship, but you’re forced to pay attention to him regardless.

“I know what you’re going to say,” you sigh.

“Oh?”

“It’s not your fault, you couldn’t have known,” you trail off.

“Wrong,” Artemis interrupts.

“Am I?”

“Yeah, we were all going to say it,” Conner scoffed.

You soften at that.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” you say sadly.

“How so?” M’gann’s voice is as soft as it has always been.

“Because I did know, a piece of me did, at least,” you tell them, gaze focusing on the clouds as you pass them by out the window.

“What?” Conner’s accusation cuts clear.

“I knew something was wrong. I could feel it. Ever since my abilities… he would get angry, over things he never used to. I just wrote it off, I- I knew it was wrong, it felt wrong, it didn’t feel like natural anger, it was sudden, it was triggered but not by anything I could see. I should’ve said something, should’ve told someone,” you admit to them.

“You had no reason to suspect ulterior machinations,” Kaldur countered. “And though I know it bothers you, you both had grown apart since the foundation of the team.”

“Yeah,” you nod, fingers tracing over the ring dagger you’d been fidgeting with, “maybe.”

WASHINGTON, D.C. December 31st, 09:06 EST

“Logs indicate Red Arrow zeta'd to the Hall from the Watchtower,” Artemis stated, “But he could be anywhere by now, I also was only able to read the Hall logs, the Watchtower ones have been classified,” she adds on.

Kaldur clears his throat and turns to you expectantly, “So, I kind of didn’t appreciate how Roy tried to cut ties with everyone when he went solo, so I might’ve done some digging…” you trail, typing in new coordinates.

“Digging?” Conner asks.

“Okay, fine, investigating, and tailing, and the whole package pretty much. I found his main apartment, and discovered that he had installed equipment caches in several major cities,” you relent.

Conner coughs out, “stalker,” before clearing his throat, and you roll your eyes.

“One is here,” you continue as the bioship comes to a stop over an apartment complex.

“So… who’s going down, because, uh… not it,” Artemis muses weakly.

“I am,” you assure her.

“We are,” Kaldur corrects.

You nod and you both stand, you readjust your utility belt and pull a sweatshirt over the top of your suit, and then you pull your leather jacket on as well. It looks inconspicuous enough, at least as much as it would ever for your needs.

You and Kaldur drop to the roof, the access door was unlocked and you made your way down one floor. Roy had gotten an apartment on the top floor. When you come upon the door you crouch down with your lock picks, but between your latent anxiety, and the need to find Roy, your focus is slightly skewed.

“Perhaps, this is not the time for stealth?” Kaldur offers sagely.

You sigh and hang your head, hiding your lock pick tools in their place under your sleeve once again, “yeah.”

“Shall I? Or, would you like to?” he asks, gesturing to the door.

“I will,” you nod, standing back up.

You take a breath and stare at the door, and then with a heafty amount of force you kick down the door, you manage to put in enough force to rock the door off a hinge, and when it clears your vision you’re greeted by Roy holding up his bow with two arrows notched.

You notice the way his hand dips a second as he realizes it’s you he’s got an arrow focused on, “How’s it hanging, Roy?” you ask, but there’s a tough edge to your tone.

“You know, business as usual, Birdy,” he huffs out, but he retrains the arrows on you both.

“We have not come to harm nor apprehend you,” Kaldur cuts in. “But the Team requires answers-”

“Me first,” Roy interrupts. “Tell me something you haven’t told anyone else… tell me who broke your heart.”

Your jaw drops, “Roy!” your tone is more chastising than it was before. You know why it’s necessary, but it’s a low blow for Kaldur, a very low blow.

Kaldur places a hand on your shoulder, “Tula. The girl I loved chose my best friend Garth over me,” he answers, and you can hear the fight to keep his voice level. “While the man I consider by best friend on the surface world aims an arrow at my chest.”

Roy moves and suddenly both arrows are pointed at you.

“Roy-” Kaldur’s tone turned dangerous, but to your credit your eyes narrow and you tilt your chin up at him daringly.

“E.T. phone home,” Roy says, and you don’t need to touch Kaldur to feel the confusion rolling off of him.

There’s a pang in your heart, Roy, this Roy, was pulling on one of the earliest decisions you all made, code phrases. Methods to promise sanity, self, but also a warning when necessary. They were all movie phrases, famous enough to remember, but mismatched enough that no one would be able to guess. You’d both decided on them after you’d returned from Atlantis and Dinah let you return to patrol.

“Toto, I’ve got a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore,” you whisper.

Roy’s entire body sags. The bow and arrows clatter to the floor as he drops to his knees, and you’re quick to drop with him. You land on your knees right in front of him.

“You’re killin’ me, Smalls,” you whisper once again to him.

“As if,” he shoots back, and you crush him in a hug.

The both of you clutch onto each other, you grip him tight just for the minute being. You hug him tight and he hugs back, and you revel in it. In it’s familiarity. He might have not been the Roy that was brought home to you, but he is the one you spent the last three years with, he is still your Roy. The one who helped you readjust to being back in Star City, the one who would drive you to school, and would tap you gently when you’d accidentally slip back into Atlantean. The one who would reassure you that life was going to be okay, who would sit beside your bed, who would hold your hand, who watched your back, he was your brother. Your brother, your responsibility.

Slowly you both re-centered, and then you hauled him up to the roof, and then all three of you were pulled back up into the bioship. It’s quiet when you’re all back.

“We’re clear,” you say quietly and there’s a collective breath let out.

Everyone settled into their seats and soon enough we were back in the air.

Kaldur doesn’t waste any time, “We were told you were the mole,” he explains and Roy puffs out a breath.

“But we have reason to doubt,” you quickly inserted.

“Forget doubt. I was the mole,” Roy states, and you let out an audible groan, staring up at the roof of the ship.

“Batman and Tornado said you’re a CADMUS clone, like me,” Conner admits.

Roy turns to look at you, and you offer a slight nod, “That explains it,” he nods with a sigh that makes him seem more tired than surprised. “I was a sleeper agent, pre-programmed to infiltrate the League…. I think Sportsmaster was my handler. He had a key-phrase, Broken Arrow… that could shut me down, put me in a hypnotic state to steal secrets for his superiors, or incorporate further programming. I'd then carry out all orders subconsciously completely unaware of what drove me.”

Roy paused and you stared back at him, “take me back?” you whisper to him and he shut his eyes and nodded once more before turning back to the rest of the team, specifically the three seated behind you.

“I think one of those orders was to focus suspicion on the three of you. I'm sorry,” he adds on.

“How did Batman discover this and prevent you from betraying the League?” Kaldur asks.

Roy pauses, and looks at you, “He didn't.”

“Fuck,” you sigh.

“Birdy,” Kaldur’s voice is level, and there’s a request in it to make sure you remain so as well.

“So what happened?” you ask, pulling yourself together.

“The entire League’s been put under mental domination via those chips you guys found,” Roy sighs, scrubbing at his face.

“The ones we got off Jade?” Artemis cut in.

“Yeah, he called ‘em Starro-tech, an alien bio-organism infused with nanotechnology and magic,” Roy explained.

“Nanotechnology and magic?” you repeat. “Artemis, in the Bayou, you said you saw-”

“Klarion, the Brain, Gorilla Mallah, and Professor Ivo,” she answers.

“If there was ever a trust that could pull something like that off…” you trail.

“What do they do? The chips?

“It shuts down the mind’s autonomy, allows the controller to reprogram the individual to suit their needs,” Roy explains.

“Wait…” Conner calls interrupting. “You said He called them, who’s he?”

Roy grimaces, looks around the ship and then straight at you, and you already don’t like where this is headed, “Savage,” he says and you don’t even make it a second before you explode.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you shout. “VANDAL SAVAGE? WHAT THE FUCK!”

“Language,” Roy says automatically, and then he twitches, like he hadn’t meant to say it. “And I knew you weren’t going to like that.”

“But this chip, it affected everyone?” M’gann asked, and you had no doubt she was thinking about her uncle.

“This Starro-tech, it worked on super-powered humans, four flavors of alien, an android, even Doctor Fate,” Roy explained.

“Defeating all of you without a fight?” Conner asks.

“Indeed. A remarkable achievement. One not easily countered,” Kaldur points out.

“I'm sorry, but how is it that you are no longer enslaved?” M’gann’s the one to ask and your body tenses up.

“No Starro-tech, for starters. Just my CADMUS programming, and once I had satisfied its last parameter, my mind began to clear,” Roy admits. “I'm sure Savage planned to Starro-tech me, but he paused to bask… I escaped.”

You turn in your seat and look back at M’gann, urging her to understand, and luckily, she does. She nods at you with a gentle smile, “I promise, I can clean any residual programming from your mind,” M’gann says, reassuring you, despite the intention being directed at Roy.

  “Linking both squads and de-camouflaging,” M’gann’s voice suddenly echoes in your head and you spot the super cycle as it moves into docking position.

“Great. Because we really need to compare notes,” Robin’s voice has an edge, and as you come face to face with him and the other half of your team, you spot Wally’s frown and notice Dinah.

“What the fuck?” your voice takes on it’s own lethal edge as your gaze jumps from your unconscious and tied up mentor to the rest of the team.

It took some time but eventually both halves of the team had been caught up, now the only think left was to figure out the next move.

  “What if we reverse engineer the starro-tech?” Wally’s the one to make the suggestion and it has all of you pausing.

“Great idea, but how?” Artemis’ tone is dry but she makes a valid point.

  It goes quiet and that’s when you have an idea.

  “ti tha ginótan an rotoúsame ti vasílissa?" (what if we were to ask the queen?) the question echoes across the link but only one person can understand.

Kaldur blinks slowly and in a hesitant tone asks, “*Rota tin gia ti akrivos?*" (ask her for what exactly?)

Your lip quirks a bit, “*an boroúme dioikitís Giatrós V?*" (if we can commandeer Doctor V?)

You’re not sure what you were expecting but you’re not sure why you were surprised, Kaldur’s always backed your plans, “Pistévete óti o Red échei akóma ton arithmó tis Roquette?" (Do you think Red still has Roquette’s number?)

You offer a lopsided smile, “**Tha chreiastoúme óli ti voítheia pou boroúme na pároume**." (We’re gonna need all the help we can get.)

“Would someone like to clue those of us not fluent in Atlantean in?” Conner’s tone cuts through your conversation.

  You share another look with Kaldur.

  “It’s your plan,” he prods.

“Wally has the right idea, we have to reverse engineer the chip. We don’t stand a chance if we don’t,” you remind everyone.

“But you have a plan that will address that,” Robin realizes.

“Of course she does, when it comes down to it, our girl’s always got a plan,” Wally snorts, but by the way he scrubs at his face you realize he’s on edge.

You nod, “what do we know about the staro-tech?”

“Alien bio-organisim infused with nanotechnology and magic… what are you thinking?” Roy trails.

“I think you have the number for a nanotechnologies expert who owes us a favor, and I happen to know a few individuals who specialize in magic and science, in fact they run a whole conservatory, that teaches kids like us, well, like Kaldur,” you hint to everyone else.

“Doctor Roquette and Queen Meera,” Robin realizes.

“Alongside Doctor Vulko, who runs the Atlantean Science Center, he’s the Minister of Science for the kingdom,” Kaldur adds.

“Doctor Spence too,” Connor adds, “She worked for CADMUS, she probably can help reverse engineer the chips.”

“Which means there’s also three people we need to pick up, ASAP,” you point out.

  Another silence fils the ship, Wally’s already shaking his head, and Rob’s still staring straight at you.

  “We have to split up,” Rocket’s the one to state the obvious.

“Again?” Zatanna’s voice wobbles a bit.

  You bite down hard on your lip to keep yourself focused.

  “We have to, the quicker we get them, the quicker we fix this. We have to fix this,” you say, voice level.

“How do you want to handle it?” Robin’s the one to ask, his own voice level, but you can see the twitch in his hand.

Your lips tug down as you prepare to answer, because there’s only one possibility, “Superboy and Miss Martian will pick up Dr. Spence. Kid Flash and Robin will escort Red Arrow-” you don’t mean for your voice to crack but it does. “Will escort Red Arrow and retrieve Dr. Roquette.”

“You’ve got to be joking,” Wally’s scoff, clearly depicts what he thinks of your decision.

“Dude,” Robin’s quick to cut him off.

“And Aqualad and I will take the super cycle to go to Atlantis,” you finish. “Artemis, Zee, and Rocket will play support, and keep tabs on Canary. Please do not lose my mentor. Plus they can run background with RT.”

  You’re met with silence.

  “This is the plan, if someone has a better idea, speak up now, otherwise, you know what you have to do,” you swallow back the anxiety, and focus your gaze on Kaldur, you can’t look at anyone else, not right now.

  You remember his words from earlier, to lean on him, and to allow him to support you. It was all so overwhelming, it’s all too much, but staring at Kaldur reminded you of the little girl who was barely 10 when she was dropped in Atlantis. The girl so full of rage she couldn’t sort through her own emotions. Kaldur knew how to help that girl center herself, taught her how to cope and handle things.

  “Well if no one else is going to say it; I have some thoughts,” Wally scoffs again.

“Trust me, we know you do, Wall-Man,” Artemis’ dry tone actually puts a smile on your lips, a small quirk of a thing, but it works.

“I’m only taking constructive criticism at the moment,” you tag on, and your gaze finally flickers to Wally who is simply glaring at you.

  You offer a shrug in response, and you can feel the heat of Wally’s glare, the discomfort radiating off of Dick, but you don’t have it in you right now to address it.

ATLANTIS December 31st, 13:13 EST

“Our friends are… displeased,” Kaldur notes cautiously once it’s just the two of you on the supercycle.

“I know,” you nod, and you did, you felt it in the air, rolling off your teammates, your friends, as you and Kaldur geared up to split off.

“What are you thinking, poulí?” the question weighs heavy on you.

“I am thinking that this is my only plan, K. I don’t have a back up if we should fail this time around,” you admit.

“Then it’s good we trust in your planning, old friend. Your plans have never led us astray thus far,” he muses.

“Define astray,” you scoff back, Kaldur lets a smile slip, and then a hand lands on your shoulder comfortingly.

“They believe in you, and so do I,” he reassures you. “This idea, utilizing our resources, it is a good plan.”

“Vandal Savage, Kaldur, it’s a big play we’re chancing at here,” you sigh, twisting your rings nervously.

“Yes, and we are making the most educated choices we can. Believe in yourself, poulí, just as we do.”

You nod silently doing your best to absorb Kaldur’s reassurances. Soon enough the Super-cycle begins to descend. It pauses part way submerged, and you reach out with the ring clad finger to touch the water. Kaldur is silent beside you as you ground yourself. You feel the current, the pull of the ocean, and firmly you say, “anapnéo,” the ring made from atlantean metal glows, and then with a tap to the Super-cycle it submerges completely.

The first breath is always a bit nerve wracking, it feels like you’re entirely out of practice, and therefore not prepared to breathe. But you do. You cautiously, slowly breathe in, and when it feels as normal as it does on land your body relaxes.

“pos niótheis poulí?" (how do you feel, Birdy?) Kaldur’s question jars your wandering thoughts back into the present.

“étoimo na cheiristeí ó,ti prépei na cheiristeí ,” (ready to handle what needs to be handled) you assure him and he nods.

Minutes pass and then you are confronted with the city of Atlantis, beautiful in all its glowing magic and technology. You smile at the city fondly and catch the wanting in Kaldur’s eye, this was him home, and for a year it had been your own. The two of you had developed your friendship in this city, it will always, without a doubt, be a very special place for you.

As the cycle passes through the gates and toward the conservatory, you push the melancholic nostalgia away, and do your best to focus in on the mission at hand, there was too much as stake to be distracted by memories of the past. As Kaldur disembarks, you follow, and the two of you make your way into the Conservatory of Magic.

MOUNT JUSTICE

December 31st, 15:42 EST

“So you need us to develop something that will work against, whatever magicked up alien technology that Mr. Big Bad, Vandal Savage is using against the Justice League?” Roquette’s tone was the same as it was when you first encountered her, and you share a look with Kaldur when you both notice it.

“The heroes have come to us for help, should we not so long as we are able?” Dr. Vulko, ever the voice of reason, and forever on the side of progress is the balm you didn’t realize you’d need.

“I agree, this is an opportunity to do good with the knowledge we have acquired over our years,” Dr. Spence’s agreement catches you off guard, but the pride and satisfaction rolling off of SB tells you this is exactly what he’d hoped for.

“It’s simple, Kaldur’ahm and Poulí told us what’s wrong, you’re either here to help, or they can show you the door,” Tulla’s blunt and to the point, and you have the choke down the snort as you stare appreciatively at the redhead, you notice that Kaldur’s doing the same, some things, you imagine, would never change.

You’d all regrouped at the Cave, scientists and specialists in hand. Tulla had been Queen Veera’s contribution and envoy as she could not leave Atlantis without a sane monarch, and especially not in a time where the King had been compromised. Each recruit had been given the details during their travel, but once they were all together, the gravity had seemingly begun to set in. Dr. Rouquette was as vibrant as she had been when you’d first met, despite that though, they had begun a prompt discussion on how the chip works, and a prefatory analysis on the confiscated chip.

  “So do we think this is gonna work? Or should we be considering a back-up plan?” Rocket’s voice echoes though the open link and while the specialists continue their discussions, the team sends knowing looks to each other.

“this is the plan, the only plan,” you tell them seriously.

“Wait, seriously? You always have a back-up?” Artemis’ surprise is evident, and your lips twist down in response.

“Figures, considering her go-to has also been compromised,” Wally’s judgement is clear and your eye twitches in response.

“Sorry about that,” Zatanna’s voice is meek in response, and you catch the way Artemis, punches Wally in the arm, and his accompanying wince.

“So not your fault,” you finally cut in. “And I don’t hear you offering something else up, Wall-Man?” you state bitingly, shooting him a glare at which Wally winces again.

“To be fair, this was originally his idea,” Conner cuts in.

“Semantics,” Robin disagrees, “plus, Birdy’s the one with the connections to make it happen.”

“Gee, thanks, Rob. My genius and l feel so appreciated,” Wally scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“Right, so… back-up plan?” Rocket asks again.

“I don’t know! Short of contacting any non-affiliated heroes, or intergalactic organizations, I’m not sure what else we can do,” you sigh, a hand coming up to pinch at the bridge of your nose, while you work to secure your emotions and constrain your frustration.

“Intergalactic organizations?” Rocket repeats.

“OA,” the response is echoed by Wally, Rob, Roy, and Kaldur, you can’t help but notice this is the first time Roy was participating.

“OA,” you confirm, and then catching the confused look, on Rocket and Zatanna’s faces you add, “The Green Lantern Corps.”

“Oh,” Zatanna’s understanding is soft, as her eyes widen.

“We have a line to them?” Rocket asks, surprise evident.

“…We have potential avenues,” Robin supplies, defending your point while making eye contact with you.

“We do?” Artemis’ question is fair, and you hesitate, but your eyes lock with Roy, and then with Dick.

“Earth has another Green Lantern,” You remind the team.

“Is he not a part of the league?” Zatanna squints.

“…There were some concerns about his attitude and maturity,” Dick supplies cautiously.

“But they let Roy in?” the dig slips from Artemis’ thoughts, and by the look on her face you know she didn’t mean to project that particular thought.

  You can’t help the very audible snort, and a hand comes up over your face in embarrassment as everyone turns to you.

You catch the small smirk on Dick’s face, and Wally’s chuckling a little bit too. And when Roy turns to you, betrayed, you can’t help but start to giggle, and when your avert your gaze, they land on Wally. Which really was the worst move because then you’re both laughing.

“Okay!” Roy huffs. “Laugh it up, Birdy,” he scoffs.

“Sor-” you try but burst into another fit, until you’re practically leaning on Kaldur to stay upright.

When you finally get control, you catch the small smile on Kaldur’s face, and even Roy’s scowl has faded a bit.

“Sorry,” you say seriously, bitting your lip and straightening up.

  “Should we be worried?” Rocket asks, wide eyes on you.

“No, sorry, I just… whew, I needed a laugh, thanks Artemis,” you smile.

Artemis blushes a bit in response, “What were you going to say about the other Lantern?” she prompts, pushing the conversation back on track.

“Right, Guy Gardner,” you share. “Kind of a bully based on Canary’s files, it’s the reason he hasn’t been inducted. But he is a Lantern, and the ring did choose him. He’s based out of Baltimore, Maryland. If we fail here, we just need to get word to him, hopefully he’ll take it seriously,” you shrug.

“Reassuring,” Rocket laments flatly, and all you can do is shrug again.

  “Kaldur’ahm, Poulí, I think we may have come to an understanding,” Vulko’s voice booms across the room, and your head snaps to him immediately.

“What do you need?” you ask, setting your shoulders, as the rest of the team turns to face the brain trust.

THE WATCHTOWER December 31st, 23:16 EST

Infiltrating the Watchtower was not something you’d ever thought you’d have to do. However, somehow, you really can’t find it in you to be totally surprised.

Dinah, now freed from Starro-Tech’s control, along with Roy and Red Tornado had gone in as a distraction, allowing the team to handle the rest. Part of you had been hesitant to let Roy out of your sight after finally finding him. Not to mention Dinah. You’d twitched a little too violently, when she volunteered to go back, and Roy and Dick had both given you cautious looks as a response.

The waiting was the worst though.

You watched as M’gann, Kaldur, and Connor broke through the wall where the Bioship had docked. Robin kept an eye on the alarms and scanners the entire time, covering the Team’s tracks as he went.

Eventually, it was time.

  “RT did it. Wirelessly bypassed security for us as soon as he arrived. Savage shouldn't know we're here,” Robin confirmed, once we’d all regrouped inside the watchtower.

Aqualad nodded, before casting a quick glance at the rest of the team, “move out.”

“Currently tracking five League members between us and Savage,” Robin shares as you and Kaldur begin leading everyone though.

“Which ones?” Artemis’ tone is dubious, even through the link, and you can’t really say you blame her.

“Plastic Man, Hawkman, the Atom, Captain Atom, and… well,” Robin pauses on the last one and you turn back to look at him. “Green Arrow.”

  The team pauses, as they wait for the next move. There were nine of you, which meant almost everyone could double up, almost.

A quick glance at Kaldur tells you he was thinking the same thing.

  “Here’s the plan…” you speak first, “We work quietly and quickly. Take every opportunity to knock as many of the Leaguers out as we can before Savage and his cohort baddies realize what’s happening. Artemis and KF, you two take Plastic Man. SB and Rob, Hawkman. Zatanna and Miss M, the Atom. Aqualad and Rocket, Captain Atom. Leave GA to me,” the team nods, but once again you notice their hesitation.

“What?” you press.

“Are you sure you want to handle GA? One of us can do it,” Wally offers tentatively.

“No. He’s mine. But Rob, I could use a favor…”

  Armed with one of Robin’s recording birdarangs you split off from the group. You’re following your map to where GA’s icon is moving, and periodically you get updates from the rest of the team.

First it’s KF and Artemis.

  “Plastic Man in gassed, and chipped,” you can practically hear Wally’s smirk as he reports in.

  You turn another corner.

  “Hawkman’s chipped too,” Robin reports.

“Probably going to be out for a bit. I might’ve hit him a little too hard,” Superboy admits.

  You pause when you hear Oliver’s footsteps. Spotting the crates, you launch yourself up. Walking on the balls of your feet, you climb up, silently.

  “We got the Atom,” Zatanna confirms.

  You catch sight of a support beam, a few feet above you, and launch yourself up with as much strength as you can muster. You manage to grab hold, and then you pull your body up, until you’re balanced on your feet, walking the beam.

  “Captain Atom is incapacitated, but chipped,” Kaldur’s the next one to confirm, which just left you.

  You pull the chip from your belt, as well as the birdarang. Following Oliver’s path ahead, you toss the birdarang, it lands solidly in the wall.

A beat passes.

And then a second.

And then-

  “Ha, Ha, Ollie, over here!”

  Your giggle echoes down the hall, and Oliver’s quick to turn to the sound.

  “NG, status?” Robin’s voice rings through the link but you ignore it.

  You take your grapple line and wrap it around the support, making sure it’s snug in place, before attaching the line to your belt.

  “Birdy, you copy?” Wally this time.

  Oliver’s almost in position, and so you count.

one.

two.

three.

  You hold your breath as you lean back.

For a second you’re falling, and it’s so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Luckily, the speaker starts again.

  “Ha, ha. Ollie, over here!”

  The recording covers the sound of the grapple going taught.

  “Nightingale, report in!” Kaldur, and he’s serious.

  You get about two seconds before Oliver realizes the birdarang’s what’s making the sound, and you’re suspended in the air, halfway between the ground and the support beams of the Watchtower.

The chip, which you’d been flipping around your finger’s is poised between your index and middle fingers, and right as Ollie turns, baring the side of his neck, you toss it. You throw it the way Dinah taught you to throw a shuriken.

The balance had practically been the same.

It hits Ollie and there’s a second when he turns to you, arrow drawn.

And then he collapses.

You tug on the grapple cord and it slackens. You land on your feet, twisting the cord back into your grapple as you walk up to the downed Green Arrow.

  “GA’s chipped,” you finally say, tuning back into the link.

“We’re not splitting up anymore,” Wally says quickly.

  You roll your eyes.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, KF-”

“You didn’t answer us!” Artemis cuts in.

  This time you scoff.

  “They have to realize by now,” Robin speaks up.

“He’s right, we need to move. Zatanna and Miss Martian, you two head for the dock Zeta, Rocket and I will join you,” Kaldur decides. “The rest of you head up.”

“On the way,” Zatanna confirms.

  You’d started making your way back up, sticking to the support beams as much as possible, so far, you’d avoided any further League interactions.

  “That’s Dr. Fate, Icon, and Captain Marvel taken care of,” Zatanna speaks up, and you pause for a second.

“Too bad Cure-tech doesn't work as fast as Starro-tech. We could use these guys,” Rocket huffs, and your lips quirk up, she’s not wrong.

“It is a small miracle Queen Meera and Doctors Roquette, Spence, and Vulko were able to re-engineer a cure and vaccine at all,” Kaldur reminds her.

“And their combined 8 PhDs,” you muse.

Before anyone can respond to your joke, KF interjects, “If you guys aren't busy...”

Your breath catches, but Kaldur’s already on the move, “On my way. You three rendezvous with Robin and Superboy.”

  You pick up your pace as well, and are only partially paying attention when Zatanna gives her confirmation.

  “Uh, I'll be right behind you,” she offers.

  You manage to arrive at the main deck in time to Batman hit Robin.

  “I am so not turbed,” is how you announce yourself, as your jump down from the level you’re on, using your grapple to loop down to the one where Robin is.

“Yeah, me neither,” he promises.

  You’re on your feet in time to fall in step with both Superboy and Robin, both seem to be smarting a bit after taking on Batman and Superman, understandably.

  “We're not gonna beat them one-on-one,” Robin finally announces.

“Plan B, then,” Superboy confirms.

“And I thought my contingencies were drastic,” you manage to joke out before taking Connor’s hand.

  Conner grabs a hold of you with one hand, and Robin with the other. Using his strength he spins you both, before launching you one after the other at Batman.

You land first, grabbing a handful of his cape to pull him with your momentum.

Robin’s body crashes into you both a second later, and then the three of you go into the wall. You can feel your bones rattle from the impact, but when you slide down, you manage to grab a hold of a chip as Robin hold’s Batman steady.

You place the chip, before changing your stance to drop into a roll. You pop up on one leg, escrima sticks in hand, and Robin lands crouched beside you.

You barely have a second to catch your breath before you hear Superman and Superboy go into a wall of their own.

You both take off and you hesitate when Robin reaches to his belt.

“You sure about this?” you ask as you both run up to them.

Superboy manages to grunt out a, “Just do it!” as he strains to hold Superman in place.

You grab hold of another chip while Robin opens a box.

The green light reflects off their faces, and you watch as it seems to drain them both. Conner and Superman both start sliding down, neither of them fighting anymore as they go.

As soon as Superman falls, you’re quick to place the chip, and once you do, Robin’s shutting the lead lined box tight.

You sit back on your ass and let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding, turning back to check on Conner, who was pulling himself up to sit against the wall beside you.

He lets out a groan, looking at you and then at Robin, “Ugh. Kryptonite… hurts,” he admits, and you can’t help the scoff that slips past your lips.

It brings a smile to Robin’s face though.

“Which is why,” he begins, offering a hand to Conner. “Batman keeps it in an overwhelmingly impenetrable vault at the Batcave,” he explains, pulling SB back to his feet.

“Overwhelmingly impenetrable, huh?” you smirk up at the two.

Both boys smile down, offering you a hand.

“Well, more like a whelmingly penetrable vault,” Robin corrects.

You snort, taking their hands, and they’re quick to put you back on your feet as well.

“Let’s go. Vandal Savage awaits,” you remind them, and the two nod at you, before the three of you take off toward’s the main viewing deck, where the main Zeta point was for the Watchtower.

Unfortunately you get there just in time to watch Vandal Savage, Klarion, and his familiar, Teekle, disappear through a portal. Wally skidding into where they had been not even a second before.

You redirect yourself over to where Dinah and Roy are unconscious on the floor.

Wally whizzes up to you and grabs your spare de-programing chips, placing them on the leaguers who were up here, before sliding back up to the rest of you.

“Congratulations, Team. You have won the day,” Red Tornado announces, and you let out a tired chuckle at the thought.

None of you have an opportunity to respond though, because in the next second, a holoscreen appears.

“Happy New Year, Justice League,” the computer announces.

You don’t catch what Wally said, but when you turn to him, he’s holding Artemis, and they’re kissing.

Your lip twitches up, and then Connor and M’gann too.

“I’m liking this Team more every day,” Rocket decides, smirking as she kisses Kaldur’s cheek.

You roll your eyes and gag at Robin and Zatanna, both of whom smother their laughs. Zatanna looks away as she tries to keep her composure, but Robin stares back at you.

“Milkshakes?” you mouth to him while no one’s watching.

“Definitely,” he mouths back.

“Human customs still elude me,” Red Tornado announces in response to the kissing, and you can’t hold back your snort.

THE WATCHTOWER January 1st, 00:42 EST

It took some time, but eventually the Leaguer’s began to wake up, and slolwy they all arrived back in the entry deck.

“Everything I thought I knew about myself was a lie. I'm not a hero or a sidekick. I'm a traitor, a pawn,” Roy’s tone was low, dejected, in a way you’re not sure you’d ever heard it.

Dinah reaches out, placing a hand on his arm, “Roy, it'll be all-”

You wince when you watch Roy pull back from her. Bitting too far into your lip and tasting blood.

“I'm not Roy! I don't know what I am. All I know is I need to find the real Roy. I need to rescue Speedy,” he counters.

You’d been too anxious to sit when everyone else had. electing instead to stand across the table from Roy while Ollie and Dinah took the seats on either side of him.

“We’ll help you. The team I mean. And if not, then I will. We’ll find him,” you cut in, licking over your split lip.

“Guardian is already searching Cadmus,” Batman add, reassuringly.

Ollie had been unusually quiet.

“We should take Ro- Red Arrow, home, at least, for now,” Dinah decides.

You caught her slip up, everyone at the table probably did, but no one commented.

“Of course, all four of you can go,” Batman nods.

You catch the tonal shift, and you hesitate.

You’re not sure you would’ve noticed it if not for the rest of your abilities, but you know there’s something else.

“I’d like to stay,” you announce and everyone turns to you. “Just for a bit,” you backtrack, “I want to make sure the Team’s set, and I need to speak with Aquaman about how we deconstructed the chips,” you expound.

Roy looks like he wants to bolt, not that you balme him.

Ollie’s holding himself stiffly.

Dinah looks a little queasy at leaving you here on your own.

“I’ll be fine,” you reassure them.

“I’ll escort her, to Arthur, and then back to the Zeta’s,” Batman offers, and you notice as Dinah realxes, but only a little.

“Not too long,” she adds, though it’s perfunctory, you can tell.

“Promise,” you nod.

She smiles once more at you, weak and strained, before she and Ollie take Roy toward the Zeta’s

You wait until they’re through before you turn back to Batman. Robin and Kaldur had taken the seat on either side of him, and the four of you were the only ones left in the room.

Your hands land on the table with a loud smack that echoes thorough the room, and all three sets of eyes shift to you.

Yours, however, are focused on Batman, “Something else is wrong,” you say.

You’re not asking, you’re not, because you know.

Batman hesitates, looking to Robin for a second before turning back to you, and then nodding.

“The entire League was under Savage's spell for just over a day,” Robin begins, sharing a holoscreen with you. “We've accounted for most of that time. But these six went missing for a full 16 hours we can't account for.”

You stare at the screen. Batman, Superman, Green Lantern; John Stewart, Hawkwoman, Wonder Woman, and Martian Manhinter.

Powerhouses, all six. Each in their own right, different skills, different tactics. It’s terrifying to think what they could have accomplished for Klarion and Vandal Savage in sixteen hours, the implications were limitless.

“Sixteen hours,” Batman repeats, “what did we do?”

STAR CITY January 1st, 02:04 EST

It’s another hour or so by the time you make it back to Star City. You’d talked with King Arthur, shared with him how you and Kaldur had gone to Atlantis, and that Queen Meera had been appraised. And then you’d circled back to the cave to shower and change.

It’s two in the morning when you make it home, and frankly, you’re surprised to see Roy still up.

Dinah and Ollie weren’t around so you assumed they’d gone to bed. They probably thought he had too.

“Hey,” you greet lamely.

“Hi,” is all he offers back.

You drop your gym bag down by the door, and replace the lock before walking over to the sofa. You drop down beside Roy, but you leave a healthy space, not wanting to crowd him. You turn, tucking one leg under you, so that you can face him better.

“I know it’s a stupid question, but I’m going to ask anyways,” you begin, but he doesn’t look at you, focused instead on something just past your head. “How are you?”

He lets out a snort, but it’s dry, and sad, and you can hear it for what the answer it offers. Stupid question.

“I don’t know…” he says after a minute of silence. “But… I don’t really know anything anymore,” he adds on.

You bite on your lip again, wincing when your teeth make contact with the split lip you’d forgotten about.

“Fair,” you offer, agreeing.

“It’s fine,” he huffs, shrugging you off.

Your eyes narrow at that, it was a lot of things, fine isn’t one of them.

“Roy-”

“Don’t call me that!” he hisses, and you pause.

“Okay,” you concede, swallowing thickly. “What should I call you?” you prompt instead.

“I- I.. I don’t know, just.. I’m not Roy Harper, I’m not!” the last words come out as a sob, and you flick the piece of you that wants to give him space the recesses of your mind, scooting closer and wrapping an arm around his middle the best you can.

“How about Red, at least until we figure it all out?” you offer instead.

“Stop,” he cries. “Stop being nice, and understanding, I replaced him!” Roy’s voice is low, and sad, and you know he wants to make his point, but seems not to want to wake up Dinah or Ollie.

“She’s asleep so I’m going to say the bad words she tries to keep me from using,” you begin, delighted when it gets a wet snort out of the redhead. “But fuck that,” you say seriously, and he snorts again.

Finally turning to look at you, though he’s stuck with it, seeing as you’re practically pressing into his side.

“Look, I’m not blaming Ollie but I’m sure as shit not blaming you either. And I think it’s okay to acknowledge the fact that what you went through in the last few days has been harsh. That it was thirty-one flavors of traumatizing. God, Red! I’d be a fucking mess if it were Dinah coming after me, but it’s not your fucking fault or theirs!” you huff out.

“You owe Dinah at least $20, for just the last minute alone,” is all he says in response.

You scoff.

“Look, Roy or not, you’re my brother too. You have been for the last three years, and just because you’re a clone, it doesn’t make it less true,” you say seriously, and he goes quiet.

You let out a long sigh.

“You should get some sleep, tomorrow’s gonna be a long day,” you finally offer after the silence stretches.

“Yeah,” he huffs, standing up.

You stand after him, tugging him into a tight hug, that he doesn’t seem sure of how to respond to.

“Goodnight, Red,” you say gently.

“Goodnight, (y/n),” he whispers, before peeling you off of him, and walking away.

STAR CITY January 1st, 10:22 EST

You slept horribly.

The worst ever, actually.

Okay probably not, but it was still pretty bad.

The light at the end of the tunnel where the two hours of no questions you’d managed to wrangle out of Dinah.

You were already in a booth when he walked in.

Sat with your eyes closed, leaning against the linoleum seats, and when the overhead bell of the entry door rings, you blink them open in time to see Dick find you.

You offer him a muted lazy smile, and he gives you one in return.

“Hey,” he greets.

“Hey,” you say, sliding down.

He takes the invitation, settling down beside you instead of across from you.

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence. It seems you both were talked out after the events of the previous day.

Eventually, Mrs. Lenetii brings out a milkshake for you both, cooing over you, before siappearing to take care of another table.

Your head lands on his and his fingers interlace with yours.

“Bad night?” he asks after you’d both been ignoring your milkshakes for too long.

“yeah,” you nod.

“Yeah,” he repeats.

Slowly you lift your head.

You’re close, the two of you. His face is right there, his lips.

He’s staring at you with the wide blue eyes, and you wonder if he’s suddenly as nervous as you were.

You thought of Wally and Artemis at Midnight, of M’gann and Conner, even Rocket. But they were all older. You and Dick were the youngest on the team. It had never felt like it more until right now.

“Um-” he stutters out. “I… uh.. Can I?” he trails off.

“Have you.. ever?” you question back.

Neither of you have moved apart though.

“No,” he admits. “You?”

“No,” you share.

He offers you a shy smile, and it’s the first one in almost forty hours that doesn’t feel strained.

When he tilts down, you move up. There’s no fireworks. And your noes’ bump, and you giggle. And then your teeth clack, and he laughs. It’s awkward and kind of strange, and not at all what the movies make it sound like it’ll be, but it was your first kiss, and it was his too, and it tastes a little like the chocolate and strawberry milkshakes you’d both been sipping on, and all of it together makes it kind of magical in an of itself.

No matter what happened next, what came next, you had Dick, and you knew he had your back.

everything tags: @butterfly-skinnylegend

dc taglist: @batarella @loninctzencarat @escapenightmare @uh-oh-howd-i-get-here

cnng taglist: @babymango-writes @smile-more19 @bruiscdlikeviolets @truly-dionysus @farfromjustordinary @sometimeseverythingsucks @dweeb-central @lucy-roo @casedoina @cipheress-to-k-pop @anonomano @seninjakitey @whelmedparker @officiallydarkgeek @midnxghtblue @unini @blackwhiteandshadesofgradient @dontmesswithbeebo @raggedyoldwitch @bouqet-of-gay @duckmylife18 @kendallambrosio @notslaybabes @torchbearerkyle @cynthiarose07 @mono--moonchild @emo-space-tea @notsostraightweeb @sassyspanishartist @ahyeonah @acceber1313 @onepieceformeplease @whatislifeandhowdoidoit @luvelyxp @lovelyartemisa @evermoore580 @mischiefmanaged71 @cryingnotcrying @aces-tattooartist @we-flower-fan @awkward-youtube-trash @laurcad123 @sanovr @feverish-dove @lolsnacks

stay cool it’s just a kiss—

oh, why you gotta be so talkative?

college trackstar!wally west x reader

a sequel to this fic

18+ content, MDNI.

readers can expect: hijinks in both the shower and locker room, an undefined relationship. wally being a lovable ass.

your heart pounds as you wait for the shot to go off, your mantra banging out a steady beat in your thoughts in comparison.

runfastrunfastrunfastrunfastrunfastthey’reallwatchingrunfastfasterthanthemrunfastfasterthanthepeoplebehindyourunfastrunfastrunfastrunfastrunfastrunfast—

it plays out the same way it always does, your body in high alert while your brain defaults itself down to its most basic level of function: move.

it’s just practice, but races are always the same in your mind, no matter the time or place. it’s probably bad to always put the pressure on yourself like you do, but, who cares if it helps you run the way you do?

wally whoops, yelling the name of a different girl in position next to you at the blocks. he cheers her on before the race has even begun, clapping loudly.

suddenly the stream of your thoughts breaks like they’re hit by a bomb, fractured, exploding and ping-ponging to every different part of your brain.

there’s no way.

a burning feeling makes its way into your chest, burrowing in under your ribcage to settle next to your heart.

what the fuck is he doing?

the shot goes off, and you burst into a sprint, the wind whistling in your ears as you pass the girls you’re racing, feet flying beneath you.

you hear some of the other guys cheering, coach exclaiming with his hand on his head in disbelief.

you run past the finish, slowing and stumbling into a jog, a walk. you turn in surprise, the rest of the girls still sprinting towards you.

wally laughs, and it’s all you can hear: a smug cackle that seeps into your skin and pisses you off.

“10.58,” coach yells out, and the team erupts into shocked sounds and chatter. another girl pats you on the back, smiling warmly at you.

it takes a second to remember you’re at practice.

you do the cool down stretches with the team, refusing to look towards wally or the storage shed.

coach dismisses everyone, but you linger, watching everyone walk out. you still feel weird. not right. that nasty little burning feeling is still sitting pretty in your chest, and you intend to sweat it out.

your shoes hit the ground, the rough pounding unbelievably therapeutic.

you run sixteen laps around the track, or four miles if you’re counting, the spring sun harsh when you’re under it that long.

you wipe sweat from your forehead, stalking towards your bag. you sling it over your shoulder, trudging to the locker room on tingly legs.

you walk in, a little surprised it’s still open. coach is pretty quick to leave after thursday afternoon practices, citing poker night. usually he has someone lock up for him, but the locker rooms and surrounding hallways are like a ghost town.

you look sweaty, properly worked out, your face flushed and the muscles in your legs in high definition from such an intensive workout.

your shorts have ridden up, and when you close the locker room door behind you, locking it, the glimpse he gets of your ass sends all his blood straight to his cock.

he steps out from where he’d been standing, bracing for when you turn back around.

“shit, wally!” you nearly jump out of your skin, dropping your bag in surprise.

“sorry, sorry,” he smiles, not looking the least bit apologetic. he stoops down, folding his long frame to pick up your bag for you. you snatch it from him, sliding it back over your shoulder.

“what are you doing in here, anyways?”

“waiting for you.” he replies, simply. he leans against a bank of lockers, crossing his arms as he watches you.

“creep.” you say, spitting the word at him. he shrugs, his eyes twinkling.

“some would say, yeah.”

you roll your eyes, scoffing.

“that's not a good thing, west.”

“never said so, babe.”

you sigh, about to walk past him. you must be too tired to wipe your expression, because he stops you.

“what, gorgeous? what’sa matter?”

you stop in front of him, looking up into his ridiculously blue eyes.

you couldn’t bear to let him know that around lap 9 you realized what you were so upset over. it’d be too embarrassing.

“c’mon, please? talk to me.” he says, tentatively placing a hand on your waist. his thumb rubs reassuring circles on your still burning hot skin, and it feels like all the tension in your body is slowly sapped by his touch.

you sigh, resigning yourself to it. he’s not gonna let up unless you say something.

“why were you cheering for her?” you ask, cringing at yourself. you feel like a turtle on its belly, weaknesses out for the world to see. for one particular redheaded boy to see.

“‘cause i knew you’d respond well to a little motivation, quicksilver,” he says, smirking.

you blink at him.

“and you did.”

you stand rooted to the spot, mouth agape.

“you’re the worst, wally. i can’t believe you!” you snap, shoving his hand off as you walk towards your locker. you throw your track bag in, about to grab the stuff for your shower when you feel him behind you. you whirl around, fire in your eyes.

“you are so annoying!” you say, poking him in the chest for emphasis.

wally’s matching your look, but his has a different undertone.

“do something about it then, babe.” he says, his voice going deeper as he runs his eyes up and down your body. you’re hit with the realization that your underwear is soaked, and you roll your eyes, stepping closer.

“just shut the fuck up, west.”

he nods, happily, meeting you halfway when you rush in to press your lips on his.

you’re nothing but fire, heat barely contained under the surface of your skin as you mash your mouth to his. your tongues intertwine, dancing in a fight for dominance. you bite his lip, and he smacks your ass with a firm hand. you feel his smile as he kisses you, his body melding into yours as you press into him.

his aggressively hard cock presses into your hip, the length of it positively mouthwatering.

you tug at his hair, running your hands past the shorn sides to grip into the mane pluming across the top of his head down to his neck.

he moans into your mouth, and you pull away, yanking his shorts down.

you drop to sit on the low bench running against the lockers, pulling him so he stands between your open legs.

he brushes your sweaty hair out of your face as you tug his boxers down, his at-attention cock springing free.

it bobs, twitching as he watches you bite your lips. the hair it’s rooted in is a little darker than the hair on his head, freckles sprinkled across it, the tip a mesmerizing shade of pink.

a bead of pre glistens in the harsh fluorescent light and you swear your mouth waters.

you pump your hands over the length of it, moaning around it as you pull him further into your mouth.

“unbelievable,” he says, his eyelids fluttering. you brace your hands on his hips, his tip touching the back of your throat, but he pats your hand, shaking his head.

“gonna make me finish, pretty girl.”

you pull him out of your mouth, pumping the wet mixture of your spit and his pre over his tip, the shaft.

“and?”

you blink, and he’s maneuvered the two of you, spinning so that you’re in front of him, facing away. he pulls your shirt until your tits are exposed, bouncing as they snap out of the constraints of your bra. his hands are pulled to them like magnets, kneading and teasing your nipples as he suckles on your neck, grinding his cock into your ass.

“and maybe i’m not done with you yet,” wally says, gritting the words out. he pulls your bottoms down, and they fall around your ankles, your underwear stuck midthigh.

he presses a hand onto your back, and you bend down, touching your toes.

wally swallows hard at the view, your heart-shaped ass facing up at him. he slots himself at your entrance, and you wiggle your hips to pull it in further, earning a groan from wally.

“oh, just like that, pretty girl, that’s right,” wally says, mumbling and hissing as you sink down onto his cock. his eyes are closed, the look on his face worshipful.

he lets you take your pleasure, his hands steady on your hips as you rock back and forth. his eyes are glued to the connection between you two, the way his cock looks as it’s disappearing deep into you.

“use me, babe,” wally grits out, and you take him on his word, pulling forward to slam him back into the lockers. the stinging of his back just adds to the building pleasure, and you hook your hands onto the back of his thighs to better brace yourself.

you’re relentless, your feet planted as you slam your ass onto his cock again and again, wally’s groans just fueling the fire you feel threatening you burn you up as pleasure ignites all over your body.

you’ve been eerily quiet, like you’re depriving him of his favorite sounds on purpose, but now you’re panting, moaning and gasping as you clench around him.

“walls, i’m—”

your eyes roll back, and you lose the end of that sentence into pleasure as you shake against him, his arms swooping in to pull you upright. wally supports you, your back to his front, his hand snaking around your side to rub your clit.

your body racks with tremors as he pulses his fingers against the little bud at the crest of your pussy, your breathing labored as you lean against him.

“good job, baby,” he says, voice soft in your ear. “took me so well, i knew you could.”

the praise makes you shiver, his hands running up and down your torso as he tries to memorize the way you feel pressed into him like this.

you’re in a daze, exhausted and overwrought, pleasure still pulsing through your nervous system. you’re vaguely aware of wally pulling your shirt and bra over your head, slipping your shoes off, your shorts and underwear after. he piles them on the bench together, setting his clothes next to yours.

wally picks you up like you’re as light as a feather, slinging you over one shoulder like nothing.

you gasp, surprised, and pound a fist into his shoulder.

“what are you doing??” you ask, and he replies with quick slap on your ass, not bothering to respond.

he walks you to the shower, carefully setting you back onto your feet and standing in front of you. he turns on the water, blocking you from the cold spray as it warms up, kissing your neck.

he squirts a huge pile of body wash into his hand, lathering it with the water until it’s a soapy mess.

he runs his hands over your arms, your neck, your armpits, your chest, dutifully washing away the sweat, the tension from your body, even crouching to get your legs as he leaves no square inch of you unwashed.

he quickly washes himself, and once he’s rinsed, he turns back to you, pull you in for a kiss.

it’s not long before he’s hard again, and you wrap your hand around his length as you suck on his bottom lip, pumping hard. you twist your wrist as you pull up, and he’s moaning into your mouth, kissing you harder.

his hips buck him further into your hand, and he grabs your wrist, making you let go.

“not yet,” wally murmurs into your mouth, and you nod, cupping his face with your hands while you kiss him.

“not still mad, are you?” he asks, and you break the kiss, sighing as you settle into his embrace, leaning your head onto his chest.

“no, wally.”

“good.” he replies, his tone positively gleeful. it causes a giggle to rise in your throat, and you smile up at him. his cheeks turn red, and you blink, butterflies swirling in your stomach.

“‘cause you’re my little quicksilver, huh? so fast, aren’t you?” he says, recovering.

you nod, and he kisses you sloppily, water mingling with spit as you breathe each other in, slick skin pressed together. he nudges a knee between your thighs, and you rock your hips, grinding your pussy on his freckled skin.

“faster than you,” you moan out, and the incredulous look on his face makes you cackle.

“never,” wally says, walking you backwards. he picks you up again, pressing you against the wall.

you smile at him lazily, hooking your ankles around his back.

“need more already?” you ask, your fingers lacing through the hair at the nape of his neck.

“with you, it seems like i can’t get enough,” he replies, hoping you’ll be just sleepy enough that you won’t put too much stock into his words. he needs to bide his time. get his act together.

wally slots himself at your entrance, the wet warmth that hits his tip already threatening him to go overboard. he holds his breath, seating himself to the hilt, watching you close your eyes.

he keeps the pace light, but he feels his speed starting to course through his muscles as he calls to it, using it to snap his hips into yours.

your mouth falls open, your eyebrows furrowing, and he knows he’s got you again, sliding his hand up your thigh until his thumb hits your clit, vibrating against it. your eyes are squeezed shut, but his body is a blur, his whole being moving to give you pleasure as quickly as (in)humanly possible.

you sob as he pulls you to the edge again, your whole body shaking as he holds you against the shower tile.

“west,” you moan out, barely able to form words still. “so good, please—,” you cry, pleading like wally wouldn’t give you everything and more without you having to ask.

and he does, coming inside of you as you come apart around his cock, the physical evidence of your combined pleasure obvious in the white ring of fluid on his shaft.

you fall into him, and he slips himself out before setting your feet back onto the ground, stretching his arm out. his elbow had begun to ache from the awkward position, muscle mass and endurance no match for an old break.

you pass him your towel to use after you finish drying off, a content smile washing your features in a glow. he has to fight the urge to ask to keep it, using it to dry himself off instead.

he watches you get dressed, apply deodorant, a spritz of perfume.

wally can’t look away, admiring your still-drying hair, the way your sweats and tank top hug your figure, feet in a pair of comfy post-practice slides.

luckily, wally had a new change of clothes in his own locker, a fresh team t-shirt that shows off his muscular torso, fighting to stay together over his shoulders and biceps.

you make sure everything’s to rights: bag in locker, wally in clothes, shower off, soap in locker.

you turn to him and nod, and have to swallow down your surprise at the look in his eyes.

his pupils are huge, his gaze full of warmth. but oddly enough, he says nothing, just smiles at you.

wally holds out an arm to you, and you loop your hand up to hold onto his bicep. you’d seen the way he was nursing his elbow earlier, and you weren’t about to put more stress on it.

he glances to the locker bank you’d fucked him against as he walks you out, his head whipping around for a double take. the locker he’d been leaning against had a dent the size of his back in the door.

he blinks, his eyebrow cocking. how the fuck had you done that?

did you..

no. wally smiles to himself, shaking his head.

there was no way you had super strength.

post divider courtesy of: @enchanthings-a !!!

･:*+..:+

this fic is dedicated to mimi’s old track elbow and vee’s dented lockers.

to my girls @yeet-ya-chickenstrips and @cottage-worm you were the lifeblood of this fic and i can’t wait to see what kind of idea y’all help me come up with next. thank you so so much.

･:*+..:+

also a/n..

disclaimer: the comic panels used above are for the fact that he has a mullet. wally is 15 in those comics but he is college aged and in his 20s in this fic. i in no way endorse writing or reading explicit sexual content about minors and again, absolutely promise i used those pics solely for the fact that he has a specific hair cut. if anyone wants to find me other comic panels where he’s mulleted and over eighteen, be my guest 🤍

･:*+..:+

League of justice Headcanons!

Characters: Superman, Batman and Flash.

Summary. What is the love language of the strongest superheroes on the planet?

CW. Nothing, just fluff. My first language is not english.

Boyfriend Superman! He loves to give quality time. The life of a superhero / investigative journalist, doesn't leave much room for downtime. Sometimes he has these holidays at the Daily Planet that allow him to plan a quick date at that cafe you've wanted to visit since it opened, all so Brainiac can arrive on earth demanding submission.

That's why the moments the two of them have alone are so important. Sometimes, it's all about Clark cuddling you in bed, his head on top of yours. Maybe you think of it as simple comfortable silence, but things with you are never simple for him.

The poor guy is too busy feeling your calm, warm breath on his skin, listening devotedly to the soft drumming of your heart, feeling you at peace next to him, in your bed. Oh, how he loves that.

Boyfriend Superman! Who is absolutely pleased to show you his love with acts of service. Sometimes you simply wake up in the morning to the smell of freshly squeezed oranges and bread with fried egg or bacon. Other days, after a particularly tiring day at work, he takes it upon himself to personally relax you with his hard hands on your muscles, massaging you.

He loves touching your body in all kinds of ways, but he especially loves when it helps you feel better, even if it doesn't end in anything else.

Clark loves to make you feel loved while reminding you that he is always going to be there for you, helping you with his brute strength but also with his loving actions, those that may even go unnoticed, but he doesn't care about that, because he doesn't grease you up because he wants you to congratulate him, but because he loves you to feel loved and protected.

Boyfriend Superman! Who loves to receive physical contact. Don't get it wrong, if he could, he would be hugging you, kissing you and generally touching your body in some way 25 hours a day, 8 days a week (Yes, I spelled that right).

He loves to feel your warmth and coziness, he longs for your smell, the softness of your skin, the sound of your blood rushing through your veins, he loves to be able to feel your skin against his, but he is afraid, and although he controls himself, much more than any other living being, and yet, he can't let go of the feeling that he can hurt you.

So when you initiate contact he is in heaven, it feels like you are giving him permission, like you are saying “I trust you” and allowing him to touch a piece of heaven with every caress, every touch, every hug and kiss.

Please, please, please, please, never stop initiating contact, he loves it, but feels you must give him permission to do it every time. Would you please do it for him? He doesn't know what he would do otherwise.

Boyfriend Batman! Who shows you his love with gifts. I don't think it's a surprise to anyone, in retrospect, the Dark Knight doesn't know about the various ways to love in depth. He's been loved by Alfred and his children, of course, but there's also something about him that keeps him from being as expressive as he'd like to be.

Bruce often fills that space with gifts. Sometimes it's things you wouldn't even expect, like a limited edition watch or a diamond necklace too ostentatious to be worn on the streets of Gotham, other times it's simple things, little wishes you didn't even think he heard (dear, of course he did) like a stuffed animal from your new favorite series/game/book.

He really just wants to make you happy, please don't refuse his gifts, you'll only send him into a downward spiral of thoughts about what he did wrong.

Boyfriend Batman! who often gives you words of affirmation… When he thinks you are asleep. It doesn't happen all the time, only when the day has been especially difficult, dangerous or tiring. He waits until enough time has passed, when your breathing is slow and merges with the sounds of the night breeze to talk to you, off the cuff.

He usually says things to you like:

“Thank you for being here for me."

“You really help me not to lose myself."

"I love you, so, so much, I don't even know how to express it."

"You are one of the most wonderful things that has ever happened to me."

"I will see to it that you are never hurt."

And the list goes on and on, the verbal vomit this man spews during those nights is so beautiful. Maybe someday he'll say these things to you when you're awake, though.

Boyfriend Batman! Who loves to receive quality time. By day Bruce Wayne, by night Batman, the lord of the night. But what about the man in the middle of it? Bruce loves when you find a way to spend time with him.

He loves it when you wait for him late at night until his patrols are over, and even when he's told you more than once about the importance of a good night's sleep, he can't help but think how lucky he is every time he finds you there, waiting for him.

He loves it when you look for him in the Batcave with a sandwich in your hand, when you decide that sitting next to him is enough, when you're willing to attend one of those boring galas with him, when you take him out of the mansion to take him to a fast food restaurant.

He loves when you show him how much you love him.

Boyfriend Flash! Acts of service, the fastest man in the world has attention problems, please let no one doubt that. This doesn't mean, however, that he doesn't listen to what you want. Oh, he does and loves to show you how much he listens to you and wants to make you happy.

Flash who cleans the house, runs the errands, sorts the receipts, makes you a cup of coffee in the morning. Flash who knows he's the fastest man in the world and uses it.

It's no problem for him, seriously, he likes to do it for you, let him do it for you, you come in so tired after work, don't you want him to massage your feet? He can prepare the bathtub for you, too. Shop at that Chinese food restaurant you like, make a little pillow fort to watch your favorite series.

Yep, this guy is pure sugar.

Boyfriend Flash! Who loves to feel your body in contact with his, he is the fastest man in the world and that, however, also takes precious time away from his side. Don't get him wrong, he can be anywhere instantly just by thinking about it, but sometimes when he thinks about how much he wants to be by your side, Gorilla Grodd attacks or something.

So he makes up for it in the best way he knows how: touching you, hugging you, intertwining his fingers with yours. He loves to be in contact with you, at all times, whenever he can.

Sometimes it's unconscious, as if you're watching a movie and he'll just start playing with your hair. There are other times, however, when he knows exactly what he's doing, and he loves it.

Boyfriend Flash! loves to receive words of affirmation, he loves to hear your cute voice while you whisper sweet words in his ear, he loves to be acknowledged, to be told how hard he's trying, that he's doing things right.

He's like a dog that loves to be pampered, like he just wants you to pet his tummy while you tell him what a good boy he is. Please do it more often, catch him in your arms while whispering to him what a good boy he is.

Oh dear, if he had a tail, he'd be wagging it so sweetly for you.

ദ്ദി ≽^⎚˕⎚^≼ .ᐟ, 𝜗𝜚 ➜ ྀི new mail(!) — author says it’s tiny head canon time!! Remember all head canons are gender neutral unless specified. Ummm I don’t think its Gn idk check in like an hour im still overseeing it

—- ദ്ദി ≽^⎚˕⎚^≼ .ᐟ, 𝜗𝜚 ᯓ (ʚɞ) Damian Wayne x clingy yapper reader. Usual trigger warnings.

.☘︎ ݁˖ Damian for sure will listen to you yap wether it’s doing homework whilst listening to you or you sitting near him and fiddling with each other whilst you yap. he doesn’t care where he is as long as you are near and happy he’s happy.

.☘︎ ݁˖ he doesn’t show he cares but when he does it’s in the most subtle ways, trying to figure out why you like a certain show/movie or a character basically your interest. He will try to understand so conversations will turn into more of a

— “you know that’s my favorite character in the entire world!”

— “even when they died?”

— “how do you know that?”

He prefers to engage then sit there and say “mhm” and move on. He wants you to know that he’s listening.

.☘︎ ݁˖on days where you don’t have school it’s usually spent laying on a bed, you yapping whilst he gently pats your head. He was first unaccustomed to touching your head and body when you guys first started dating but he learned to be more comfortable it got to a point where he just has his hand on you somewhere.

.☘︎ ݁˖ doesn’t, and will never show his vulnerability infront of his brothers or anyone that doesn’t matter to him personally on a deeper level, so basically you. He hates showing how soft he is to you because then he just seems like a love stricken boy, no he’s a sickly yearning in love boy and to him it wasn’t puppy love. He always treated the relationship very seriously he treated it as if you were the only person in the world who mattered when you spoke.

.☘︎ ݁˖ when he’s on a mission or in a class you guys don’t share or you’re sick and can’t call all he can think of is are they ok?” It got to a point where he made his brothers do a stake out with him when you said you were going to have a sleepover.

.☘︎ ݁˖ he wouldn’t date someone younger or older than him, in years anyways. In months if you’re younger he would take every chance just to say “I’m older than you so you have to listen to me.” It’s like him using his senior citizenship.. if you’re older than I feel like he just would treat it as it as and move on.

.☘︎ ݁˖ when he’s listens to you talk at dinner or whenever your eating, he stops eating sometimes just so he can add a comment to what you said to him.

ദ്ദി ≽^⎚˕⎚^≼ .ᐟ, 𝜗𝜚 ➜ ྀི new mail(!) — author says it’s crazy TikTok based oneshot time!! These are several scenarios in one!! Modern au!

—- ദ്ദി ≽^⎚˕⎚^≼ .ᐟ, 𝜗𝜚 ᯓ (ʚɞ) Damian Wayne x fem reader. Usual trigger warnings.

૮ ྀི◞ ⸝⸝ ◟ ྀིა AUTHORS POV + 2nd ◟ ྀི

0.1 Doing cute random TikTok trends

0.1 Damian was never interested in taking upon the interests of TikTok. However him being the youngest Wayne he was the only one who had TikTok, and the only one who had such an active girlfriend that being you of course. He never used it often yet if he did all his videos were with you. One of his videos being him voicing over you doing your makeup, you insisted he posted it on his main since he had a bunch of fans.

“Today my girlfriend suggested I voiceover her makeup.” Since you two had decided that it would be better if he just stands to the side and lightly voices over you both did it. He had a chair to the side and had a mic and you occasionally said a few words. Most people had asked for a makeup tutorial so you knew if your boyfriend could say it, it would save you time on speaking and thinking.

“Before we start this I had to do a lot for him to agree, a lot. Please don’t let me regret this.” You then gave the mic back to him and then started to apply the makeup whilst he says things. “I think her bare face is better because it’s good for kissing although that could’ve just been my own belief.” He then held your hand, he usually never shows pda on camera but it’s been a while since you have due to you both having school and life.

“Such a softie, I love him.” Since you didn’t have a mic you gently whispered to yourself, you knew nobody could hear it so you thought it would be nice to remind yourself of how sweet he really is. As you continued with your routine you then ended it and posted it. “Thank you Damie for doing this.” You then kissed his cheek, he always had a flutter in his stomach even if you’ve been dating each other for years.

— comments

@.user333 : they are so cute I need ship edits

@.2883 : I love their chemistry I’ve never seen Damian be this chalant 😻‼️‼️

@.Wendy’s : ugh my favorite couple I swear😭

0.2 You saw that leprechaun month was here, it wasn’t as romantic compared to the actual month of love but you thought it would be nice at least. Setting up your phone camera hitting record you weren’t doing bunch but just talking to him. “Damie, why haven’t you asked me to be your leprechaun? I thought you were my boyfriend..” his face completely dropped when he heard what you said. Not even in a shocked way more in just like a ‘why would you ever say that’ kind of way. “Habibti, now why the fuck, I say this in the most polite way Habibti, that you explain why I make you my leprechaun.”

“Because you love and care for me.” As almost kind of like a sharped eye cat his eyes go wide. He mumbles something incoherent in Arabic but it didn’t matter anyways. “I love you but that doesn’t mean I’m making you my leprechaun, you’re already tiny compared to me.” As you looked to the camera your face was shocked and you ended the video and posted it. Even though in the video nobody could see Damian you could tell you were gagged.

—comments

@.useridk : crazy lowkey how she got gagged trying to have a cute moment. 🙁

@.Burgerking : love you these are my parents fr ‼️‼️‼️

0.3 You hadn’t been filming TikTok’s with Damian in a while and this was the first time he suggested to make a TikTok with him. He told you to just go with the flow and let him take over, saying you’ve probably already heard of the audio. Ironically that became his most viewed TikTok. As the audio was playing he had span you around, being careful not to drop you. He then immediately picked you up as the lyrics had said “my feet are off the ground.” You had dangled your feet a bit to match the lyrics. He then held your hands his eyes only filled with love deep inside. “Habibti don’t get too excited, it’s once a while I’ll film with you.” You nodded your head he wouldn’t admit it but it was nice filming TikTok’s with you.

— comments

@.user11 : first time Damian has posted in months

@.user2 : I will forever love this duo

@.Kb9news : reporting live to my favorite couple

AFAB!Pregnant Wife

Telling the batfam you’re pregnant (it’s Bruce’s)

Bruce:

You’re nervous as hell. He has four adopted kids, one biological, and three more that aren’t his but are his at the same time. You just got engaged a month ago. He’s going to think you’re baby trapping him. But just get it over with. Like ripping off a band-aid.

“I’m pregnant.”

He stares at you for a long moment. You’re pretty sure he’s not breathing. Way to fuck up the rest of my life—

He sweeps you off your feet. Literally. He holds you tight. But not too tight. He doesn’t want to hurt the baby. “How long,” he murmurs, pampering soft kisses along your neck. “About eight weeks. But I just found out last night,” you answer. He beams. You’ve never seen him light up so fast. So bright.

“You’re carrying our child?” A simple nod is all it takes.

He comes back from patrol a little earlier, is a little extra careful to not get hurt so he can take care of you. And if he was spoiling you before? It’s so much worse now.

Dick:

“You had something important to tell me? Are you okay? Is Bruce being Bruce again? Because I swear—“

“I’m pregnant.” You blurt out. Dick stares at you. “Is it his?” You’re a little offended but you can see the smile forming on his face. “Of course it’s his,” you defend. Dick laughs, wide and happy. His shoulders are relaxed for the first time in a while. “I’m happy for you. Is he smothering you already?”

So you bond over Bruce’s excessive need to spend his insane amount of money on everything.

But Dick does it too. If he sees a toy or an outfit he thinks you’ll like? Bought. He saw a collection of baby clothes based off of hero’s, bought the Nightwing ones all the way up to 2T and had them delivered to the manor.

Bruce was not happy.

Tim:

“You’re pregnant.”

“What,” you ask, “How did you even—“ “You haven’t touched alcohol at dinner for days. You’re constantly hydrating. And anytime you’re anxious, you hold your belly. It’s not rocket science,” he explains. You can see the bags under his eyes but he’s smiling, “You know that baby is going to get spoiled to hell, right?”

A nod.

He snorts, “Good. Cause as soon as they’re old enough to walk, they’re in Uncle Tim’s hands. I am going to teach them to kick Damian’s ass.” He leaves before you can say anything.

It could’ve gone worse.

Damian:

“I’m pregnant.”

This is the most nerve racking one. He’s the ‘blood son’. He’s always screaming it. Even if it is a little adorable how he uses it, you’d never tell him that. He stares at you for a long moment. “Does father know?”

“Yes.”

A long pause. He continues to stare at you. He’s harder to read than Bruce. “Can I teach them to sword fight,” he asks. It’s softer than his usual tone and there’s a soft pink on his cheeks that you really want to tease about but won’t. “Can you wait till they’re at least five or six,” you ask.

What even is my life?

He nods, “That’s acceptable.” Another pause. Then a small upcurl of his lip, “Congratulations.”

Jason:

He finds out through the media.

Not for lack of trying. But he hasn’t returned your texts or calls asking to speak to him. You know he cares a simple 911 or help and he’d be there in an instant but asking to talk? Yeah. No.

He storms into the batcave, spots you with a hand on your stomach and sipping water. He’s pissed.

“You didn’t tell me.”

Dick drags Tim away to give you two privacy. His face softens just enough to ease the tension in the air, “How far along?” “About nine weeks,” you reply. He sighs, “Do you need anything? Nausea medicine? A new future husband-slash-father?” That gets a small laugh from you.

Jason sighs and smiles, reaching for his gun. “Do you know how to use this?”

“No, but—“

He shoves the gun in your hand, “I’m teaching you. The media knows Bruce Wayne’s wife is pregnant. If we can’t get to you, you and the baby have to stay safe.”

So he teaches you to use a gun. Then personally gifts you one at your baby shower months later.

Bruce is not happy.

†  this damn city : various.

♦ request: yes "I know this whole damn city thinks it needs you But not as much as I do" ♦ a/n: i am fucking exhausted, half dead at this desk. i will post a soft thing after this and then i will crash.

𝐃𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬𝐨𝐧 —

the fight starts the way they always do; small, sharp, a slow burn before the explosion.

it’s late. too late. gotham is still awake but the manor is quiet, the kind of silence that feels too heavy, too charged. dick had come home long enough to shower, long enough to breathe, but not long enough to stay.

because he never stays. because gotham always calls. because the city is bleeding and there are people who need him and there is always another crisis, another fight, another broken piece of this city that needs fixing-

and you’re tired. god, you’re so tired.

“you don’t have to go back out,” you say, leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching him pull on his suit again, watching him disappear by degrees.

dick exhales, running a hand through still-damp hair before grabbing his mask from the table. his voice is even, calm, practiced. "there’s something going down in the east end. i won’t be long."

you scoff. you’ve heard that before.

you watch him move, the ease in which he shifts between roles, between the man you know and the mask he wears for the world. it’s seamless now, second nature. like the line between dick grayson and nightwing doesn’t exist anymore. like there is no space left for you.

“you weren’t even supposed to be patrolling tonight,” you say, the exhaustion creeping into your voice, into your bones. “but you just can’t help yourself, can you?”

dick pauses, barely. a flicker of hesitation, a fraction of a second where his shoulders tense before he straightens, rolling it off like it doesn’t matter. like it shouldn’t.

“you know how this works,” he says, too careful, too measured.

it sends something sharp through you, something raw.

“yeah,” you breathe, shaking your head. “i do.”

and that’s the problem. that’s the damn problem.

because you know how this ends.

you know that this city will always come first, that there will always be something that drags him away, something bigger, something louder, something that makes him think you’ll understand.

and you always have.

until now.

“dick,” you say, softer this time, pleading, stepping forward before he can reach for the door. “i know this whole damn city thinks it needs you. i know that.” you swallow hard, forcing yourself to breathe through the ache building in your chest, through the weight of every moment spent waiting for him to come home. “but not as much as i do.”

that stops him.

not fully, not enough to make him turn around, but enough that you see it. the shift in his stance, the hesitation, the way his fingers tighten just slightly against his mask. like maybe, just maybe, you’re reaching something that gotham never could.

you step closer, your voice quieter now, raw, aching. “i don’t want to be second to a city that will never love you back.”

dick sucks in a breath. it’s sharp, nearly invisible, the kind of inhale that only someone who knows him as well as you do would catch.

and then he turns. slowly. finally.

his eyes meet yours, stormy, unreadable, conflicted in a way that makes your stomach twist.

because for the first time, you don’t know what he’s going to say. because for the first time, you don’t know if you’re going to win this fight.

and god, that scares you more than anything.

𝐓𝐢𝐦 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐤𝐞 —

you should have seen this coming.

it’s a pattern, a cycle, a never-ending loop of exhaustion and distance and the kind of silence that feels thick and suffocating instead of comfortable. tim doesn’t argue. he doesn’t fight. he just lets the space between you stretch further and further until one of you breaks.

tonight, it’s you.

"did you even sleep last night?" your voice is quieter than you intend, controlled but lined with something sharper, something raw.

tim doesn’t look up from the screen. that’s how you know he’s deflecting. his fingers move over the keyboard, eyes flickering between lines of text, cross-referencing case files, tracking patterns, searching for answers to questions that will never run out.

"i caught a couple hours," he says absently.

liar.

you inhale slowly through your nose, trying to swallow the frustration that’s been pressing against your ribs all day. "when?"

he hesitates. just slightly. just long enough that the truth slips through the cracks of his carefully rehearsed indifference.

your arms cross, your weight shifting where you stand. "that’s what i thought."

tim sighs, rubbing a hand over his face before finally glancing up at you. “what do you want me to say?”

the question knocks the breath out of you. not because it’s sharp, not because it’s cutting, but because he says it like he’s already given up. like you’re asking for something he doesn’t know how to give you.

your throat tightens. “i want you to tell me why you keep doing this to yourself.”

tim exhales slowly, turning in his chair so he can actually face you, his hands clasped between his knees, fingers locking together in that careful, calculated way of his. like he’s bracing for impact.

"this case is important," he says carefully, cautiously, the way you’d approach a bomb with only seconds left on the timer. "you know that."

you do. of course you do.

but that’s not the problem. that’s never been the problem.

the problem is that tim drake doesn’t know how to stop. the problem is that he’s spent so much time fixing gotham that he doesn’t know how to let someone take care of him. the problem is you’re trying. and he isn't.

your arms tighten around yourself, trying to hold in the weight of everything you want to say, everything you’re afraid to say. “i know this whole damn city thinks it needs you,” you whisper, quieter now, more exhausted than angry. “but not as much as i do.”

that gets him.

his whole body goes still.

the words land heavy, sinking into the spaces where all his doubts and guilt and misplaced responsibilities live. you see the shift, the barely-there hitch in his breath, the way his fingers tighten, curling into his palms.

you’ve never said it like this before.

tim swallows. his jaw locks for half a second like he’s forcing himself to stay steady. he looks at you—really looks at you. and for the first time in a long time, he sees it. the weight. the exhaustion. the way loving him is starting to hurt.

his voice comes softer this time, but somehow it still manages to shatter you. "you don’t get it," he murmurs. "i don’t have a choice."

"yes, you do." your voice wavers. "you do, tim. and you keep choosing everything else first."

silence.

it stretches. thick, heavy, suffocating.

then, quietly - "that’s not fair."

your chest tightens, something sharp pressing behind your ribs, because maybe it’s not fair, but that doesn’t make it untrue.

tim doesn’t look away. he holds your gaze, blue eyes shadowed with exhaustion, with something else you can’t quite name. because maybe - just maybe - he knows you’re right.

and if he lets himself believe that?

he might have to change.

𝐉𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐝 —

fights with jason always start loud. there’s no slow burn, no gradual climb; it’s an explosion, a wildfire, something all-consuming and violent from the start.

tonight is no different.

"you’re really going back out there?" your voice is sharp, clipped, barely concealing the frustration clawing its way up your throat.

jason, standing by the door, already in his gear, his helmet hanging loosely in one hand, doesn’t even flinch. he just exhales, like he expected this, like he’s already bracing himself for the argument that’s about to unfold.

“yeah,” he says, flat, steady, unreadable.

you stare at him, your arms crossed so tightly it hurts. “for what, jason? what are you even trying to prove at this point?”

his jaw locks. just slightly. but you know him well enough to catch it, to see the way his fingers tighten around the helmet, knuckles whitening.

“you know what i do,” jason says, voice low, firm, as if he’s daring you to push him.

and oh, you push.

"yeah?" your laugh is bitter, sharp, like glass in your throat. "i know exactly what you do, jason. i just don’t understand why."

he finally looks at you, finally meets your gaze - blue eyes burning, lined with something dangerous, something that looks a hell of a lot like hurt. "you want me to spell it out for you?" his voice is rough, a growl buried under layers of exhaustion and something darker, something sharper. “this city needs someone who’s willing to do what has to be done.”

you scoff, taking a step closer, challenging. “this city doesn’t give a damn about you, jason. it never did.”

that lands. hard.

jason’s whole body goes rigid, like you just sunk a knife between his ribs. the air between you shifts, charged, electric, dangerous.

you should stop. you should stop before you say something you can’t take back.

but he’s pushing you away again, choosing gotham over you again, and you can’t-

"you died for this city once," you bite out, stepping closer, anger and heartbreak twisting together in your chest, making your breath uneven. "and it barely even mourned you."

silence.

deep, cutting, the kind that makes your stomach drop.

jason’s breath hitches - so quick, so quiet you almost miss it. his grip tightens around his helmet, the muscles in his arms tensing like he’s trying to hold himself together. and then, slowly, carefully, dangerously, he exhales.

"that’s low," he says, and his voice is steady, but you know him too well. there’s something under it. something broken.

your hands shake, but you don’t back down. “yeah? well, i’m tired of pretending like i’m okay with this, jason.”

his head tilts slightly, gaze locking onto yours. he’s reading you. picking you apart. searching for a reason to stay.

and then, in a voice quieter than you’ve ever heard from him - “then why are you still here?”

it knocks the breath from your lungs.

why are you still here?

because you love him.

because you love him so much it hurts, and he keeps making it harder.

your throat tightens, the weight of it pressing into your ribs. “i know this whole damn city thinks it needs you.” the words shake, not with anger this time, but with something softer. something wounded. “but not as much as i do.”

jason flinches. actually flinches.

his shoulders rise, then fall, like he’s forcing himself to breathe, like he’s fighting every instinct telling him to run, to disappear, to make this easier for both of you.

but he doesn’t move.

not toward the door.

not toward you.

just stands there, stuck between the life he’s built and the love he’s afraid to believe in.

and for the first time, you don’t know if he’s going to pick you.

𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞 —

fights with damian are never quiet.

they are sharp, brutal, an exchange of words wielded like weapons, precision-cut to hurt just enough to leave wounds that don’t easily heal.

but tonight? tonight is different. tonight, you aren’t sure if there’s a way to fix this.

“i do not understand why you insist on making this an issue,” damian says, his tone clipped, measured, controlled but his eyes betray him. they always do.

it’s late, the clock’s hands crawling past midnight, the soft glow of the moon casting long shadows across the polished floor of the manor. damian stands near the window, arms crossed, his posture rigid, defensive. he should have already left. he should have been gone an hour ago.

but he’s still here. still standing in the thick of this fight, even though neither of you know if it has an ending.

“oh, i’m sorry,” you snap, voice lined with exhaustion, with something breaking at the edges. “i didn’t realize being upset about my boyfriend constantly choosing gotham over me was such a ridiculous concept.”

damian’s jaw tightens. his fingers flex against his arms, nails pressing faint crescents into his skin as he exhales sharply through his nose.

“i am not ‘choosing gotham,’” he says, enunciating each word like he’s daring you to challenge him. like he actually believes what he’s saying. “i have a duty to uphold.”

you laugh. a short, bitter thing, void of amusement.

“there it is,” you say, shaking your head. “the duty. the legacy. the all-important, world-ending responsibility you have to this city.. this city that barely knew you.”

damian’s lips part slightly, like he wants to argue, but for once, he doesn’t.

so you push.

because if you don’t say this now, you never will.

“you act like you owe gotham something,” you breathe, taking a step closer, challenging. “like you are bound to it in a way that no one else could possibly understand.” your chest rises and falls with each word, with each painful, cutting truth that you’ve swallowed down for too long. “but you’re not, damian. and you never were.”

his breath catches.

it’s subtle. almost imperceptible. but you catch it. you see the way his fingers twitch slightly, the way his throat bobs as he swallows down the words he wants to say - or maybe the ones he’s afraid to say.

he doesn’t respond, so you keep going.

you exhale, shaking your head. “i know this whole damn city thinks it needs you.” the words are softer now. quieter. wounded. “but not as much as i do.”

damian goes still.

completely, utterly still.

like something inside him fractured.

like something inside him is fighting to understand how someone could need him in a way gotham never could.

your throat tightens. “and you keep proving to me, every single time, that i don’t come first.”

damian doesn’t know how to lose. he doesn’t know how to fight without the goal of victory.

but this?

this feels like a fight where winning means losing you.

silence fills the space between you. it’s thick, suffocating, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on both of you like a gravity neither of you can escape.

then, in a voice so low you almost miss it; “that is not true.”

your breath catches.

damian’s jaw is locked so tight it looks like it hurts, his whole body taut, rigid, something visibly shaking beneath the surface.

“you think i do not care,” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper now, but filled with something raw. “you think i do not-”

he stops.

and in that moment, you see it.

the war inside him.

the battle between who he is and who he was raised to be. between the boy who loves you and the warrior who was trained to believe love was a weakness.

damian wayne does not yield.

he does not beg.

but in this moment?

he looks at you like he’s never been more afraid of losing a fight in his life.

BATBOYS’ reaction to you asking to paint their nails

NOTE: I’m dumb as hell and forgot about Duke on this and the other one just give me a sec.

Bruce Wayne:

- You’re doing your own nails when he walks in.

- Clearly you’re bored, or something, because he can easily pay to get them done professionally.

- He approaches you, gently lifting your hand to inspect.

- “Pretty,” he murmurs, followed by a kiss to your knuckle.

- You grin. “Can I do yours?”

- He considers, even though there’s already a denial on the tip of his tongue. But, it doesn’t come out, because you look really excited at the thought.

- He agrees. And it’s lame.

- A clear top coat. That’s all he’ll let you do.

- Bruce Wayne can’t be seen with sparkles on his hands, even if he doesn’t care what the media thinks.

- He believes it’s too feminine for him.

- They’d probably be chipped immediately given how handsy his nighttime life is, anyway.

- Still, it’s something—you’ll take what you can get.

- He actually comes to you every few days so he’s able to keep it on.

- He does try on black at some point. It looks odd on his large, calloused hands. That’s just him, though.

- The top coat is too unnoticeable for anyone to comment, but his kids are smart, observant.

- “Why are your nails shiny?”

- “Because it makes them happy.”

Dick Grayson:

- He really likes watching you do your nails and is very satisfied when you do a color he recommends.

- Said color most of the time is blue.

- You’re waiting for the polish to dry when you ask, “You want me to do yours?”

- Grayson is open-minded, but he’s also utterly in love with you, so obviously he agrees.

- You’d both have black on your thumbs and pinkies, with that iconic vivid blue on the rest.

- Unfortunately, colliding his fist into jaws and his training does get in the way of keeping them nice.

- Which means he gets spoiled with your attention even more as you fix them. Yay!

- He’s lowkey cocky when he takes down criminals with it on.

- “LOL I just kicked your ass with nail polish my partner put on” ahh mf.

- He’s incredibly defensive if anyone teases him.

- They’re basically insulting you, too.

- They eventually stop because he’s dead serious.

Jason Todd:

- “You look better with it,” he would say upon the offer.

- But he’s equally bored. He’ll agree.

- Black. Pure black. Black hole black.

- He’d make an edgy comment about how it’s his “soul” or whatever.

- He actually kind of likes it. It fits his aesthetic.

- Beats people a little harder if they happen to chip it.

- He’ll let you add a small, red matching heart on a finger.

- Preferably middle. It’s his favorite one.

- He would make snide comments when he’s fighting.

- “They did my nails so pretty, don’t you think?” (Morseo his “fingerless gloves” era.)

- Not that they’d notice. His knuckles are being too personal with their face.

- He’d be like Dick. Why is simple nail polish just so fuckin’ funny?

Tim Drake:

- He won’t necessarily be interested in polish, but rather small designs.

- Like a little flower, or a heart.

- Super simplistic stuff that has him smile when he looks at it.

- You did, as cheesy as it is, a Red Robin one time.

- May or may not have taken forever.

- He’s genuinely sad if they get ruined. You worked hard on them.

- He’d probably apologize because clearly it’s his fault—heavy sarcasm, by the way.

- You remind him that it gives you an opportunity to do more.

- He probably would ignore whomever made comments that weren’t compliments until they apologize.

- He hasn’t talked to Jason in a while.

Damian Wayne:

- “Don’t you have your own nails?”

- You’ll offer to bathe Titus for the rest of the year, and suddenly he’s sitting on your floor while you put a tacky hot pink on him.

- He lets you do whatever, because he doesn’t keep long. He’s just not into it.

- But if he isn’t doing anything, he won’t take it off until he has to.

- Him texting Jon about how stupid he is with cunty ass nails.

- No one finds out. It’s his little secret.

- And then Bruce forgets to knock one time during a session.

- “Father,” he greets flatly, not looking up.

- You’ve never seen the Batman so…confused.

doing their makeup

Damian Wayne is that type of boyfriend who'd be nonchalant towards you. Like, you both are high school sweethearts. Almost everyone in your school knows about your not-so-romantic relationship with him. Despite all of your efforts to make Damian soft for you, he'd just react minimally

But deep inside, he's burning. He'll literally kiss you even though you both are in public if he can. Damian will bring you heaven and earth to prove his love. He loves you so much that he'd literally react like that just to keep you safe. Being vigilante makes him a very accident prone and crime magnet, and he doesn't want to get you hurt. Even the thought of you having a small cut or bruise makes his heart aches.

He might not be a very expressive boyfriend, but he'd literally sacrifice everything just to keep you safe and sound.

═══════════════════════

@sunkissedmayu's thoughts 💭 HAIZZZ I'M SUCH A SUCKER 4 NONCHALANT DAMIAN BUT CARING DEEP DOWN. damian wayne, please marry me! 　　　　　　　　　　　 ૮꒰ྀི◞⸝⸝⸝◟ ꒱ྀིა

BATBOYS’ reaction to you asking to do their makeup

Bruce Wayne:

- Would give you a gruff, “No.”

- He loves you, but that’s simply not something he’s interested in.

- You bring it up a few more times and the answer is always the same.

- And then one day, he stares at you while you’re sitting at the expensive vanity he bought you, watching you as you do your eyeliner.

- “You can put that on me,” he says after a few moments of mental gymnastics.

- You turn towards him, slightly surprised. “Huh?”

- He’s not fond of repeating himself, so he’d just pat his thigh.

- You’re getting up, because this is a chance of a lifetime, and you quickly settle yourself on his lap.

- His hands hold your hips. He looks at you with those pretty blue eyes expectantly.

- “Do you want a cat eye? Smokey?” You cup his jaw with your free hand, tilting it.

- He grunts in response. Probably a “be quiet and do it” grunt.

- He waits patiently as your fingers work, following your soft-spoken instructions to close his eyelids or look up. Other than that, he’s not moving an inch.

- You do something simple—just under his waterline, above his top eyelashes.

- When you're done, you drag him over to the mirror. You weren’t sure what his reaction would be.

- “Hm.” The noise is acknowledging, not displeased.

- You smile at him. “Do you like it?”

- There’s a difference between liking it and not being bothered by it.

- Still, he gives you an imperceptible nod. Just to see you smile wider.

- He didn’t take it off for patrol. His kids teased him about it, and Alfred had a barely-concealed humored expression.

- It’s the only thing he’ll let you do. He doesn’t ask, but at this point, he expects you to put it on.

- It’s a reminder of you while he’s out, that you’re waiting for him to come back.

Dick Grayson:

- He would probably ask you to do it, instead of the other way around.

- Just out of curiosity.

- But if you brought it up first, he’s immediately sitting.

- “Make me look pretty,” as if he already isn’t.

- He’d let you do what you want, however he’ll mention how certain colors don’t look good on him.

- Wouldn’t protest if you did a full face. He feels like a pampered princess, and he definitely enjoys the attention you’re giving him.

- He needs progress updates, and information on what you’re using.

- He’ll try to make you annoyed by shutting his eyes when you tell him not to, or talking in the middle of lipstick application.

- “Do you want to be gorgeous or not?” you huff.

- Yes, he does. He quickly stops.

- When you’re done, he’s gasping at himself, fluttering his lashes.

- He wants to match with you, so he offers to do yours.

- Sits in your lap, just like you did with him.

- It’s…a process.

- But it’s not half bad.

- You both take selfies together.

- He’s your devoted expirementee, now.

- He sets himself up by sending some of the photos to the Bat-Family group chat.

- Gets hounded on by Jason. Heavily.

- Does he care? Absolutely not. They are totally jealous.

Jason Todd:

- He’s going to laugh in your face. Sorry.

- And then it turns into confusion when he sees how serious you are.

- He’d shut it down, at first, but he keeps thinking about it for some reason.

- Secretly scrolls on his phone to look at things that he might like.

- Eventually, he approaches you, inspiration picture in hand, and says, “It has to look exactly like this or you’re fired.”

- It’s simple: light eyeshadow, some eyeliner. Stuff that isn’t super heavy and is still “masculine”.

- He can hear the teasing he’d hypothetically endure from everyone as you do it. It pisses him off.

- And then you murmur praises like, “You’re so handsome,” and suddenly he doesn’t care. It’s for you.

- Despite his lighthearted threat, he requests more things, just so you can keep giving him attention.

- Like Grayson, he’d question what you were using. He’d throw in some stupid comments about how using your fingers to apply stuff would be easier.

- When you’re finished and show him, he doesn’t actually mind it.

- “You didn’t fuck it up,” he mumbles.

- He’ll let you do it again. He finds himself enjoying it—the feeling of your soft brushes against his skin, and how you’d gently guide his head to where you want it.

- One time, while you were perched on his lap, focusing on applying, the door opened. Dick was mid-sentence before he finally processed what was going on.

- “Oh, wow.”

- To make things worse, he snapped a picture and suddenly you were moved off of Jason’s lap.

- Cue the super unnecessary and dramatic chase in an attempt to get Grayson to delete it.

Tim Drake:

- He’d look flustered. Why?

- You’d have to explain it’s just for fun, and how you’re bored.

- He’ll begrudgingly agree. He supposed there’s no harm.

- He wants you to tell him what you’re doing as you work. He’s nervous, like you’re going to poke him in the eye or something.

- You don’t want him to be uncomfortable, so you ask, “Do you want me to stop?”

- Well, your presence and warmth on his lap is enjoyable, and he shakes his head.

- It has his brain quiet down. He just listens to you. He absentmindedly leans into your touch sometimes.

- “Do you want glitter?”

- “I do want glitter,” he murmurs. The sentence has his cheeks heat up. When has he ever wanted glitter?

- Of course you don’t tease him, even if it’s cute.

- After you finish, he isn’t sure how to react. He gives an awkward smile.

- “It would look better on you.”

- While you put away your makeup, it seems everyone decided they needed him for something.

- He honestly forgot he had it on, so he’s confused why Jason is laughing and Dick is trying not to. Damian looks as amused as he can get.

- Bruce, a clueless bypasser, pauses for a moment. He makes an inquisitive hum before he keeps walking.

- You force all of them to apologize and send them on their way. Tim, who is so very embarrassed, gets an extra amount of love from you.

Damian Wayne:

- Damian would stare you down for an unholy amount of time, like you just said the stupidest thing he’s ever heard.

- He’s expecting you to backtrack, to take it back. It is a stupid idea.

- But you’re immune. You give him a soft smile. “Please?”

- He dislikes how easily he gives in. Very, very much.

- He grumbles a lot, insulting you, even as he holds still.

- He lists things you owe him for letting you do this. A lot of them are said just to mess with you.

- At some point, he gets less irritated. It’s only because he’s grown tired of wasting his breath.

- You give him the handheld mirror when you’re done, and he takes a long while to inspect himself. He doesn’t care about the fact that there’s winged eyeliner on his face, he cares that they are uneven.

- He gives you criticism. Actual, somewhat informative criticism.

- “You need to blend outwards, not in.”

- He makes you fix it until there’s no mistakes.

- It’s actually a weird and kind of unbelievable experience for you.

- You are never doing it again—you wanted to have fun, not be reprimanded.

- He still has it on when Alfred calls for dinner.

- They all kind of stare. They’re too confused to comment.

- “Am I high?” Jason whispers quietly.

- The only thing Damian says is, “Can someone pass me the salt?”

doing their nails

†  pebbling : various.

♦ request: not really, just fighting burnout ♦ beta’d: nope ♦ a/n: someone on here reminded me of this draft i had

𝐃𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬𝐨𝐧 —

dick immediately lights up, his blue eyes brightening with surprise and delight as he takes the tiny pebble from your outstretched palm. he laughs softly, warmth blooming in his chest as he gently brushes a thumb over its smooth surface. "this for me?" he teases softly, but his eyes soften instantly when you nod. he carefully slips the pebble into his pocket, patting it fondly. from that day onward, he keeps it close - sometimes spinning it thoughtfully between his fingers, always smiling warmly when someone asks him why he carries around "just a rock."

𝐉𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐝 —

jason stares at the small pebble in your hand, momentarily bewildered. “you giving me rocks now?” he asks, raising an eyebrow, though the softness in your expression quickly clues him in. his playful smirk fades into something gentler, a quiet realization settling over him. carefully, he takes it, feeling oddly touched. jason might not immediately admit how much he appreciates it, but from that moment onward, he keeps the pebble safely hidden in a small compartment in his gear; an unexpected token of affection he secretly treasures.

𝐓𝐢𝐦 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐤𝐞 —

tim initially blinks, confused, clearly trying to analyze exactly why you're handing him a tiny pebble. but when you quietly explain its meaning, his eyes widen, cheeks dusting pink with warmth. he takes it from you carefully, studying it as if memorizing every line, every curve. tim quietly places the pebble beside his computer, right in view - an ever-present reminder of you. every so often, when he’s stressed or stuck in thought, you catch him absently running his thumb over the stone, grounding himself in the gentle reminder of your love.

𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞 —

damian pauses, staring at the pebble resting in your palm with quiet intensity. his expression is unreadable at first, carefully guarded as always - but then something in his eyes softens, revealing the quiet awe he feels at your small gesture. wordlessly, he accepts the pebble with unusual gentleness, closing his fingers protectively around it. later, you'll notice it carefully placed in his room among his most treasured possessions. he'll never say a word about it, but it's always there, a silent acknowledgment of the fact that you chose him and that he chooses you right back.

𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐞 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧 —

steph immediately squeals in delight, practically bouncing with excitement as she takes the pebble. "oh my god, we’re penguins now!" she exclaims, grinning widely. without hesitation, she finds you the brightest, cutest pebble she can locate in return, excitedly presenting it to you as her own heartfelt response. it quickly becomes a tradition between you two - exchanging pebbles regularly, filling a small jar together as a gentle, joyful symbol of your love.

𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐚 𝐂𝐚𝐢𝐧 —

cass accepts the pebble with quiet reverence, her dark eyes wide and filled with curiosity and warmth. she doesn’t say anything, simply turns it carefully in her hands, studying it with focused intent. but soon afterward, you notice she carries it everywhere - kept safely hidden but always close, held protectively whenever she needs comfort. to cass, the pebble is more than just a symbol; it's proof that love can be quiet, gentle, and unconditional.

𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐆𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐨𝐧 —

barbara’s smile softens instantly, warmth radiating from her as she carefully takes the pebble from your palm. she immediately understands the meaning, eyes sparkling with gentle affection as she says softly, "it's perfect. thank you." barbara places it carefully on her desk beside her computers, a silent companion through long nights of work. it becomes her touchstone; an unspoken reminder of you and the quiet, comforting love you share.

𝐁𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞 —

bruce pauses for a long moment, genuinely caught off guard, before gently taking the pebble from your outstretched hand. his fingers close around it protectively, his usually guarded expression melting into something deeply vulnerable and grateful. he doesn't speak immediately, instead carefully placing the pebble in a pocket close to his heart. later, you find the pebble placed reverently on his bedside table - a private acknowledgment of how deeply you've touched him.

y’all i’m lowkey tired of yandere (character/s) x reader like can we pls get fluff i keep seeing that omg

†  date night : various.

♦ request: yes; domestic fluffy things ♦ beta’d: nope ♦ a/n: oh and you can pry the tim drake glasses thing out of my cold dead hands. co written.

𝑫𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝑮𝒓𝒂𝒚𝒔𝒐𝒏 – "𝑳𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔, 𝑳𝒂𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒆𝒓, 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆."

⇝ Date Night Headcanons:

spontaneous & playful – dick loves to keep you on your toes. you’ll get a text hours before: "wear something comfortable, trust me. 💙" and then suddenly, you’re on a rooftop picnic, at a carnival, or taking impromptu salsa lessons. no two dates are ever the same.

he lives for shared laughs – whatever the date is, laughter is guaranteed. he’ll tell ridiculous stories, crack jokes, pull you into dances when there’s no music—anything to hear your laugh in the night air.

big on physical affection – he cannot keep his hands off you. he’ll hold your hand at all times, spin you in the middle of the street, kiss you like you’re the only thing keeping him standing. the world disappears when he’s with you.

nostalgic heart – sometimes, he takes you places that mean something to him. old blüdhaven diners, childhood circus memories, a ferris wheel overlooking the city. he lets you into pieces of his past without hesitation.

sunset or midnight dates – if it’s evening, it’s vibrant and full of life - city lights, live music, neon glow. if it’s late-night, it’s something quiet, sacred, where it’s just you and him against the sleeping world.

the prince of rooftop dates – some nights, it’s just blankets, takeout, and city lights from above. there’s something poetic about gotham stretching beneath your feet while he holds you close.

always ends the night right – whether it’s stumbling home tipsy from laughter, slow-dancing in the kitchen, or falling asleep with you in his arms, dick makes sure the night never ends without making you feel like the most loved person in the world.

the carnival hums around you, a whirlwind of neon and laughter, the scent of popcorn and sweet, warm summer air wrapping around you like a dream. the world is alive tonight; lights flickering against the skyline, people moving like currents through the fairground - but all you can focus on is the man beside you.

dick’s hand is laced with yours, fingers threading together effortlessly, like they were always meant to fit. his smile is wide, eyes glowing in the golden light of the carousel before him. there’s something soft in his expression, something unguarded, like he’s letting the moment settle deep into his bones.

"i told you this was a good idea," he teases, nudging his shoulder against yours.

you laugh, rolling your eyes, but you can’t deny it. it’s one of those nights that feel eternal, weightless, something worth remembering forever. the ferris wheel looms ahead, the final piece of your evening, and dick pulls you toward it with an excited grin that makes him look younger, freer.

the ride lifts you above the carnival, the noise fading into a distant hum. the city stretches out before you - blüdhaven’s skyline blinking in the distance, gotham’s shadow beyond it. and in the middle of it all, dick grayson is looking at you like you hung the stars specifically for him.

"you know," he murmurs, arm draped over the back of your seat, body angled toward you, eyes locked onto yours like you’re the only thing that matters. "i think this is my favorite date yet."

you raise an eyebrow. "you've said that for every date."

"and every time, i mean it." his smile softens, something quieter, something deeper. the wind ruffles his dark hair, and he looks at you like this; like home, like warmth, like love.

the ride slows to a stop at the very top, the city breathing beneath you, the carnival lights flickering like fireflies below. dick shifts closer, his forehead resting against yours, his breath a warm whisper in the cool night air.

"stay with me here," he says softly, his fingers curling around your wrist, anchoring himself to you. "just a little longer."

and as the world spins on below, you do.

𝑻𝒊𝒎 𝑫𝒓𝒂𝒌𝒆 – "𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑵𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝑩𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝑻𝒐 𝑼𝒔."

⇝ Date Night Headcanons:

drives to nowhere – when the city feels too heavy, he picks you up in his car and just drives. no destination, no rush, just empty highways and quiet music playing through the speakers.

library dates at midnight – not public libraries. his personal one. he lets you curl up with books in his apartment, old texts and mystery novels spread out between you. there’s no pressure to talk—just existing together in the glow of dim, warm lamplight.

cooking something together – tim is terrible at cooking. but if you suggest it, he’ll suffer through it for you. and if it goes wrong? you’ll end up sitting on the kitchen counter, eating takeout, laughing at the disaster you made.

hidden lookout spots – there are places in gotham only tim knows. rooftops with the best view of the skyline, secret corners of the city where the stars are still visible. if he shares them with you, you’re one of the few people he trusts completely.

long games of chess or cards – it’s not competitive—it’s intimate. he doesn’t just play with anyone, but with you, it’s different. it’s slow, full of teasing and quiet moments where he watches you more than the board.

movie nights done right – tim is notoriously bad at actually watching movies. you’ll start one, but half an hour in, he’s leaning against you, mumbling half-asleep observations until he eventually dozes off on your shoulder.

letting the city sleep without him – some nights, he decides gotham doesn’t need him. some nights, he just needs you. those are the nights he lets himself stay. lets himself be yours, fully and without hesitation.

the streets of gotham stretch endlessly ahead, neon lights flickering in the distance, but none of it matters - not when the road belongs to the two of you.

tim’s hands rest easy on the steering wheel, his fingers drumming against the leather in time with the low hum of the radio. it’s late; the kind of late that makes the city feel like it exists just for you, where the world is quiet enough to breathe. the engine purrs beneath you as he takes another turn down an empty road, the streetlights flashing in intervals through the windshield, painting his face in gold and shadow.

he’s not in a hurry. there’s nowhere to be.

one of your legs is tucked beneath you in the passenger seat, your body angled toward him, watching the way his shoulders relax, the way exhaustion lingers in the shape of his mouth. it’s rare for tim to look at ease. even now, you can tell his mind is still too full, always turning, always running.

and yet, here he is.

"you okay?" you murmur, breaking the comfortable silence.

tim hums softly, his eyes flicking toward you for half a second before returning to the road. "yeah. better now."

the night air filters in through the cracked window, cool against your skin. tim’s jacket is tossed over the center console - he had shrugged it off earlier, mumbling something about you needing it more than he did. you glance at the dashboard clock. nearly 2 am.

"we should probably head back soon," you say, but there’s no real insistence in your voice.

tim smiles, small but real. "five more minutes."

you don’t argue.

you lean your head against the seat, letting the city blur past, the hum of the car and the steady rhythm of his breathing lulling you into something warm, something peaceful. five more minutes becomes ten. ten becomes twenty. but neither of you say anything about it.

eventually, tim pulls the car into a quiet overlook, one of the secret places he never shares with anyone else. a place where the city looks almost peaceful, where gotham is just a sea of blinking lights instead of a battlefield. he shifts the car into park, exhales, then leans back in his seat, tilting his head to look at you.

"you ever think about just leaving?" he asks, voice soft. "just… disappearing for a night. no responsibilities. no alarms blaring at three in the morning."

you tilt your head, watching him. "you mean like we’re doing right now?"

his lips twitch. "exactly like we’re doing right now."

there’s something almost vulnerable in the way he says it—like this is the only time he truly feels weightless. not red robin, not wayne enterprises’ heir, not gotham’s sleepless protector. just tim.

you reach for his hand, threading your fingers through his. he lets you.

"you could’ve been out there tonight," you murmur. "but you’re here."

his thumb brushes absently over your skin, a quiet affirmation.

"yeah," he says, and there’s something in his voice that sounds like relief. "i think i needed to be."

and as the city flickers below, as the clock creeps further into the night, tim lets himself stay.

𝑪𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒓𝒂 𝑪𝒂𝒊𝒏 – "𝑨 𝑫𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝑩𝒖𝒊𝒍𝒕 𝑭𝒐𝒓 𝒀𝒐𝒖."

⇝ Date Night Headcanons:

cass struggles with words, but she understands gestures. she notices effort more than anything. when you plan something specifically with her in mind, she understands it means ‘i love you’ without you ever saying a word.

she enjoys sensory experiences more than standard dates. things she can feel - the wind rushing past her on a rooftop, the vibration of music through her chest, the quiet warmth of your hand in hers.

action over words - always. cass doesn’t always know how to talk about her feelings, but she knows how to show them. and when you take the time to show her love in return, she glows in a way that few people ever get to see.

she enjoys movement, but not always in a high-energy way. something like a nighttime roller-skating date, dancing in an empty parking lot, or even just a quiet walk where she can exist in the world without worrying about danger.

she has never been pampered before. she’s used to people training her, using her, expecting something from her. but when you set up a date where it’s just about her - where she can breathe, where she can just be - it leaves her speechless.

she loves closeness, but in subtle ways. leaning against you, pressing her forehead to yours, fingers brushing against your wrist - it’s her way of asking for more.

cass doesn’t need grand gestures. she just needs to feel safe. and when you give her that, she holds onto it like it’s the most precious

thing in the world.

the city hums in the distance, but here, everything is quiet.

a rooftop, high above gotham’s restless streets, bathed in the soft glow of string lights you set up just for her. a picnic blanket is spread out beneath you, the food simple, the effort everything.

cass sits cross-legged beside you, her body relaxed in a way that she rarely allows in the field. the wind tugs at her dark hair, and for a long moment, she just looks around. at the view. at the small setup you arranged. at the details - the things that show you did this for her.

"you planned," she says simply, her voice soft but full.

you smile, nudging your knee against hers. "of course i did."

cass tilts her head, her eyes studying you with that same keen intensity she always carries. but tonight, there’s no wariness behind it. just something warm, something grateful.

she reaches for your hand, running her fingers along the back of it—tracing, memorizing, appreciating.

"i like when you plan," she murmurs.

you squeeze her hand in return. "i like doing things for you."

she doesn’t reply right away, but she doesn’t need to. instead, she shifts closer, resting her head against your shoulder, her fingers still laced with yours. the city may be alive with noise below, but here, in this small, quiet moment, cass is finally at peace.

𝑱𝒂𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝑻𝒐𝒅𝒅 – "𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆, 𝑶𝒖𝒕 𝑶𝒇 𝑺𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕."

⇝ Date Night Headcanons:

jason isn’t a ‘traditional’ date night kind of guy. he won’t take you to five-star restaurants, but he will take you to a hidden, hole-in-the-wall diner at 2 am, where the food is messy and the coffee is burnt, but it’s just you and him.

he loves quiet places - where the world doesn’t demand anything from him. abandoned libraries, late-night parks, the fire escape outside his apartment. anywhere he can just exist with you.

he does not like being around rich socialites. a high-end gala date? hell no. but a cozy, dimly lit bar with live blues music? a drive down backroads with nothing but the sound of the radio? perfect.

jason reads to you. not in a romanticized, ‘let me recite shakespeare’ way - but in a, ‘i found this used bookstore and grabbed some old poetry books. want me to read you something?’ way.

he’s a natural at late-night drives. he doesn’t rush. he just lets the road stretch on, windows cracked open, your legs kicked up on the dashboard as the stars blur past.

he cooks, but never follows recipes. if you let him make you dinner, prepare for something incredible - if not entirely chaotic. he makes the best comfort food, and he’ll playfully swat your hands away if you try to help, saying, "hey, this is my thing. you just sit there and look pretty."

he does things for you without announcing them. there’s no ‘look at what i did’ moment - he just fixes the leaking sink in your apartment, keeps extra sweatshirts around because he knows you’ll steal them, and quietly makes sure you’re always safe, even when he’s not around.

the small, tucked-away restaurant is nearly empty by now, the last customers drifting out, the flickering neon ‘open late’ sign humming above the door. the place is nothing special—a hole-in-the-wall joint that doesn’t even show up on google, where the food is greasy, the coffee is strong, and nobody asks questions.

and yet, jason loves it here.

he leans back in the worn-out booth, one arm draped along the backrest, the other loosely curled around a half-empty mug of black coffee. his leather jacket is slung over the seat beside him, his sleeves pushed up, exposing the scars along his forearms.

the soft glow of the tabletop lamp casts golden light across your face, and he watches you like that’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

"you’re staring," you murmur, poking at the last few fries on your plate.

jason smirks, unabashed. "yeah? sue me."

you roll your eyes, but there’s no real bite behind it. just warmth. just the comfort of knowing that this—him, here, like this—is something rare.

he tilts his head, exhaling slow, as if he’s memorizing the moment. the distant hum of an old jukebox, the rain tapping against the windows, the low murmur of the staff closing up for the night. the way you’re just here, across from him, existing in his space like you belong there.

like you’re something he gets to keep.

"this is nice," you say softly, breaking the silence.

jason snorts, tilting his coffee mug at you. "what, eating at a place that probably fails every health inspection?"

you huff a laugh. "no. this. you. the quiet." you tilt your head, watching him the way he watches you. "i like being here with you."

jason stares at you for half a second too long before clearing his throat, shifting slightly. you do that to him—say things so casually, so effortlessly, like it’s not some kind of miracle that he’s still here, still breathing, still being loved.

he taps a slow rhythm against the mug, considering, then shrugs. "yeah," he murmurs, voice softer than before. "me too."

and as the city breathes outside, as the streetlights cast lazy shadows through the windows, jason todd lets himself have this.

𝑫𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒂𝒏 𝑾𝒂𝒚𝒏𝒆 – "𝑰 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒆. 𝑬𝒙𝒄𝒆𝒑𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖."

⇝ Date Night Headcanons:

damian is precise with his time. if he sets aside a night for you, it is intentional, carved out of a schedule that few people are allowed to touch.

he doesn’t enjoy crowds or noise. most of your dates are quiet, exclusive, just the two of you. private gardens, late-night museum access, hidden places where the world cannot interrupt.

art dates are his favorite. he takes you to galleries after hours, pointing out hidden techniques in brushstrokes, low-voiced explanations that turn into long discussions.

he is highly competitive, but he lets you win (sometimes). chess matches, fencing lessons, horseback riding- if it’s a skill, he will teach you. and if you struggle? he’ll hover behind you, hands guiding yours, murmuring corrections close to your ear.

damian remembers everything you like. if you offhandedly mention an author you enjoy? a signed edition of their book appears in your hands a week later. favorite dessert? it’s on the menu, no matter where he takes you.

he rarely says ‘i love you,’ but he says it constantly in other ways. he walks on the street-side of the sidewalk, adjusts the temperature of the room for your comfort, makes sure your favorite tea is always stocked.

at the end of the night, he doesn’t let you go easily. whether it’s a long drive home in his car, his hand resting over yours, or a lingering moment at your door, he makes every second last.

the museum is empty.

at least, it is for everyone except you and damian.

a private arrangement, locked doors, the city outside reduced to nothing more than a distant hum. the grand halls stretch around you in perfect silence, the air thick with the weight of history, the dim lighting casting soft, golden glows against priceless art.

but damian is not looking at the paintings.

he is watching you.

you stand before a renaissance-era canvas, eyes scanning the fine, intricate strokes of oil paint that have survived for centuries. damian steps closer, the sound of his dress shoes against the marble floor barely audible, but you feel him before you see him.

his voice is quiet, low and smooth in the hush of the museum.

"do you see the brushwork?" his fingers barely lift, gesturing toward the curve of a painted figure’s face. "the layering? it creates depth. almost imperceptible, unless you know what you’re looking for."

you tilt your head, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. "like how you see people?"

damian pauses, then huffs a quiet breath—not quite a laugh, but close. he steps beside you, hands clasped neatly behind his back, posture effortless and composed. "observation is a necessary skill."

you hum, shifting your weight slightly. "and yet, you brought me here instead of going to a gala tonight."

his lips twitch at the corners. "a necessary skill also includes knowing what is a waste of time." his gaze flicks toward yours, something unreadable, something softer than his usual sharpness. "they bore me. you do not."

there it is.

the way damian does not share his time lightly.

you glance back at the painting, but his presence at your side is far more distracting. his cologne lingers in the air—clean, sharp, the scent of warm leather and something deeper, something uniquely him. his fingers twitch slightly where they rest at his side, like he is considering reaching for you. considering, but not yet acting.

you make the decision for him.

your fingers brush against his, slow, deliberate, barely there. and yet, the response is immediate. his hand closes around yours—not urgent, not possessive, but solid. real.

his grip does not falter.

the weight of it lingers, the warmth of his palm against yours, the simple, uncomplicated act of holding you here with him.

you let the silence stretch, comfortable, familiar. then—

"i don't want the rest of them," damian murmurs, his voice low, meant only for you. "i want you."

and in the quiet hush of the museum, you squeeze his hand in return.

𝑺𝒕𝒆𝒑𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒆 𝑩𝒓𝒐𝒘𝒏 – "𝑨 𝑫𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑮𝒆𝒕𝒔 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝑰𝒏 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒃𝒍𝒆."

⇝ Date Night Headcanons:

steph is all about fun. if your date doesn’t include something spontaneous, something ridiculous, something that will absolutely make you laugh until you cry=then what’s the point?

she loves arcade nights. not just casual arcade nights - fierce, competitive, ‘we are not leaving until i beat you at skee-ball’ arcade nights.

most of your dates involve food. late-night waffle houses, gas station snack runs, making a complete mess of her kitchen at 3 am because she swears she can make pancakes better than you.

she gets you into trouble on purpose. climbing fences to sneak onto rooftops for a better view, making you run from security after getting caught somewhere you shouldn’t be - it’s all part of the fun.

steph is an absolute menace when it comes to dares. if you say “you won’t do it,” she’s already doing it. and if she gets in trouble? she’s dragging you down with her.

she is outrageously flirty when she wants to be. she’ll wink, bite her lip, lean in like she’s going to kiss you - and then steal your fries instead.

at the end of every date, she looks at you like you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to her. because, in her eyes, you are.

it wasn’t supposed to end like this.

your date had started with waffles and milkshakes at a 24-hour diner. then, a casual late-night stroll through gotham’s quieter streets—until steph spotted a ‘do not enter’ sign on a construction site and immediately decided to ignore it.

which is why, twenty minutes later, the two of you are standing on the unfinished beams of what will eventually be gotham’s newest skyscraper, looking out at the city like you own it.

steph’s grin is wide, wild, her blonde ponytail swaying in the night breeze as she spreads her arms out. "see? best view in gotham. you just have to break a few rules to get it."

you shake your head, but you’re smiling. "one day, this is going to get us arrested."

she smirks, stepping closer, arms looping around your waist. "yeah, but imagine the mugshots. we’d look hot."

before you can respond, the blaring wail of a security alarm cuts through the night.

you both freeze. steph’s head whips toward the source of the noise, then back to you, eyes wide, lips twitching like she’s trying not to laugh.

"we should run, right?"

you don’t have time to answer—because she’s already grabbing your hand and pulling you along with her, laughing breathlessly as the two of you take off across the beams, adrenaline singing in your veins.

and somehow, despite the chaos, despite the fact that this is absolutely a terrible idea—

you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

𝑩𝒓𝒖𝒄𝒆 𝑾𝒂𝒚𝒏𝒆 – "𝑰 𝒅𝒐𝒏’𝒕 𝒅𝒐 𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒇-𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒆𝒔."

⇝ Date Night Headcanons:

bruce isn’t extravagant just to show off. if he goes all out for a date, it’s not because he wants to impress you - it’s because he genuinely wants to give you something special, something worthy of you.

privacy is everything to him. whether it’s a reserved table at a restaurant, a late-night rooftop dinner at wayne tower, or a weekend getaway to a secluded house outside the city, bruce values moments where it’s just you and him.

he is observant to a fault. if you mention wanting to try a certain food? he makes sure it’s on the menu. if you casually mention a book you love? he gets a first edition. if he knows you’ve been stressed? the entire date is built around giving you relief.

he does not rush time with you. bruce is constantly on a tight schedule, always balancing his responsibilities - but when he’s with you? the world can wait.

he loves jazz lounges, candlelit dinners, slow-dancing in empty rooms. it’s the quiet elegance of old-fashioned romance that makes him feel like a man, not a myth.

he doesn’t say “i love you” often, but when he does, it’s a moment that stays with you. low, quiet, something meant only for you to hear. something true.

at the end of the night, he always walks you to your door. even if you live in the manor. even if he’s coming inside with you. it’s an old habit - one that reminds him that he has something worth coming home to.

the city stretches far below, a blanket of flickering lights and restless motion, but up here, the world is quiet.

bruce sits across from you at an open-air rooftop restaurant, the exclusive kind that no one steps into unless their name carries weight. tonight, yours does.

the table is lit with the glow of a single candle, silverware catching the light, the soft hum of live music drifting through the space. but none of it holds your attention the way he does.

bruce wayne, in an all-black suit, the top button undone, his gaze fixed solely on you.

his hand rests near his glass, fingers curled loosely against the stem, but you know the posture—always controlled, always measured, even when he relaxes.

"you’re quiet tonight," you murmur, studying him over the rim of your glass.

bruce’s lips twitch slightly. not quite a smile, but close. "i’m enjoying myself."

the response is simple, but it holds so much more.

you tilt your head, watching the way the candlelight flickers against the sharp planes of his face. "you know, you didn’t have to go all out like this."

bruce exhales, slow and deliberate, before reaching for your hand across the table. his fingers are warm when they lace through yours, his grip solid, unwavering.

"i don’t do half-measures," he says, voice low, meant only for you. "not with this. not with you."

your chest tightens, warmth unfurling slow and deep. this is how bruce loves. without hesitation, without reservation.

with everything he has.

and as the city hums below, as the night stretches on, he makes sure you know it.

Hey so how do you think the bat boys would deal with their s/o being besties with Jason, it just naturally happened on its own? Depending on s/o age, teen Jason is like “anyone Wanna come to a bar with me?” And teen s/o is like, “I can’t go”. And Jason is like “I can always get you fake I.D”. And s/o is so tempted, “0.0 you can?! Yea I’ll go with you then” (he pulled the fake I.d on Tim once and Tim declined 😂) / this leads into adulthood, but sometimes, Jason and s/o are in sync for some decisions and sass too? He breaks into their apartment and crashes the night on the couch sometimes, s/o lets him. S/o goes to him for favours too if their boyfriend can’t help. (It’s like he has a sister around basically). (Think of Donna and Dick’s relationship. Close bond Brother sister friendship. S/o thinks their friendships cute).

A/N: Feat. some canon facts where Tim actually hates being called Timmy, Duke considering Jason as a big jerk (to put it lightly) + some Jason love letters on the end from the boys to him 😌

Dick:

It’s pure exasperation where he treats it equivalent to how everyone else constantly either break into his unit or call him whenever they have an issue

All the third-wheeling on food dates and crashing unannounced in movie nights, he knows they’re all intentional

Going from you asking him to let Jason stay, the two of you knowing he can’t say no to you

It’s worse when he puts his foot down and say no, where Jason would remind him it’s thanks to the former he was able to go out with you

Makes him consider multiple times to give into his violent urges so he could wipe that knowing, smug smirk off the former’s face just once. Hating that it’s the truth regardless of you voicing your agreement while fully aware how the whole argument was scripted by the two of you well to the T so he’d have no choice but to give in

There’s also how he hasn’t figure out what and whom to be most jealous of : Jason for having known you longer than he has,  you for the same reason with the exception you were able to form somewhat a “normal” bond with him-

He still hasn’t gotten over the picture that led to all of this where fourteen years old you and Jason are side by side, arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders with a cigarette hanging on the lips (and to much of his embarrassment when you both point this out, he wasn’t concerned about you two smoking illegally, more focused you two were besties since then and without adding him)

Tim:

No. Just no

Gets a headache every single time he thinks about and remembers you and Jason were besties since childhood whenever you and Jason decide to team up against and troll him

Most of the time it happens when you get fed up with his antics and stubbornness, leading you to go to his oh-so-loving sibling for help

The usual course of action is you suddenly disappearing from the GPS tracker without a trace and NOT triggering the alarm system which leads him to go on a full out hunt only to find you hanging out at Jason’s place and talking about the latest season of Bridgerton

Or you call him by his most hated nickname “Timmy” for the next few days which got leaked to you by a certain Red Hood after apparently venting to him about the argument you and him had

It’s totally not because he thought he was the favorite sibling when Jason invited and took him to the bar back during his teen years, thinking it was only to him he did it to when in fact you were invited and have been going to the same exact bar ever since before Tim (though it’s a relief to hear you did not in fact drank alcohol when you went there during your younger years)

Still, one more dark-joke and he’s going to lose it

Duke:

Doesn’t know what to make out of it

You? Being not just friends but book buddies with Jason? Sweet, kind, loving you? With that asshole?

Apparently the story was Red Hood saving you in the past and you had given him your signed copy from an author both you happened to like

And you only told him after he saw you and Jason greet each other at the manor casually while trading books and asked what that was about

Like, wasn’t that something you should’ve told him-??? Help him mentally prepare himself so it wouldn’t be so jarring to see you and Jason fanning over Jane Austen

He’s glad he’s not the only one in the family when Tim and Damian sides with him and blankly watch sparkles and glitter coming from the conversation about “Mr. Darci” 

Damian:

He wants Todd to stay away from you but unfortunately that doesn’t happen with you having once gotten mad at him for telling you and the older male that. He’s proud to announce he changed it to standing 10 feet away at minimum

Still tries to attack and get him away from you behind your back 

Finds it irritating more because of how Jason would jab at him by asking how someone as rational, friendly, and tolerant as you ended up with him.  And though he does agree mentally you are friendlier, he would like the other to know he is the more rational and tolerant one in the relationship 

Whenever you’d quip here and there along the lines of agreement, he does not sulk. He just disagrees with it and starts walking away until you grab his arm and peck him on the cheek, while telling him you were teasing  

Doesn’t change the fact whenever Jason takes your attention away from him, he adds it to his list of reasons why the older male needs to be taken out 

All:

Genuinely glad Jason has a best friend and it’s you

Begrudgingly acknowledges him to also be the best wingman and mediator in their romantic relationships 

Also finds him a bad influence to you especially when it comes to pranks and providing you their most embarrassing stories

†  where he belongs : various.

♦ request: kind of -- fluff to break the angst streak. ♦ beta’d: nope ♦ a/n: take it or leave it tbh

𝐃𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬𝐨𝐧 —

the weight of the night drags at his shoulders as he steps inside, exhaustion sinking deep into his bones, heavy and unrelenting. the apartment is quiet, the kind of quiet that soothes instead of suffocates, the distant hum of city life beyond the window a soft backdrop to the warmth of home. he exhales slowly, shutting the door behind him, fingers raking through his hair in an attempt to chase away the tension still coiled in his muscles.

it isn't working.

you're there, laid back on the couch, bathed in the soft glow of a lamp, your attention fixed on the idle scroll of your phone screen - he can't make out what any of the audio is. something small, something normal, something that keeps you tethered to the world while he spends his nights unraveling beneath the weight of it. you glance up when you hear him, a smile already tugging at the corners of your lips, but before you can even get a word out, he’s moving.

your phone is plucked away, discarded without ceremony onto the armrest as he sinks into you, face first, the full weight of him settling against your chest. his breath hitches for half a second - like he might still try to stay upright, to hold himself together - but then he exhales, long and heavy, and whatever thread of tension was keeping him standing snaps completely. his arms loop lazily around your frame, not in an attempt to pull you close but simply to anchor himself.

your hand finds his hair, fingers combing through the dark strands with slow, absentminded ease. his body shifts slightly, a quiet sigh pushing past his lips as he nuzzles just a fraction closer, the bridge of his nose pressed to the center of your sternum. you can feel the rise and fall of his breath, the way his body melts, how the exhaustion outweighs even his usual need to check in, to talk, to fill the silence with something lighter than the burdens he carries.

"long night?" you question, your voice quiet.

his only response is a low, wordless hum against your skin, a small nod that barely moves him at all. he’s half-asleep already.

your hand moves gently down the back of his neck, fingertips pressing into his shoulder blades, kneading at the stiff muscles there. it’s a comfort, a welcome home, an unspoken reminder that here, he doesn’t have to be anything but this. the walls can drop, the exhaustion can take over, and he doesn’t have to carry the weight of the world; not here.

"wake me up later," he mumbles, voice thick with sleep, breath warm where it fans against you.

you smile, because you know you won’t.

𝐉𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐝 —

the door clicks shut behind him, a slow, deliberate motion, like even the act of closing it takes more effort than it should. jason is worn down to the bone, the kind of exhaustion that doesn’t just sit in his body but in his mind, in his soul, in the aching weight of another night spent fighting ghosts that refuse to stay buried.

the kind of night that makes him wonder if it's worth it.

he exhales sharply, shoving a hand through his hair as he trudges further inside, letting the dim light of the apartment settle into his senses. he barely registers the warmth of home, the soft hum of a fan, the faint scent of something familiar lingering in the air. his mind is elsewhere. somewhere darker. somewhere he doesn’t want to be.

and then he sees you.

laying on the couch, a handheld console glowing in your hands. the screen flickers as you press a button, brows furrowing in concentration, completely unaware of him standing there, watching.

something in him unravels.

he doesn’t say anything. doesn’t need to. his steps are slow but purposeful as he moves toward you, eyes heavy-lidded, movements weighted with exhaustion. you barely glance up before he all but snatches the console from your hands, tossing it aside onto the cushions, and all you manage is a startled noise before he’s sinking into you completely.

his weight presses against you, solid and real, his body fitting against yours like this is exactly where he was meant to be. his forehead finds its place against your collarbone, his breath uneven for half a second before he exhales - long, slow, tired. one of his arms tucks under you, not gripping, not demanding, just holding. the other settles along the back of the couch, his fingers curling slightly into the fabric as if grounding himself.

your fingers move on instinct, threading through his hair, nails lightly grazing his scalp. he makes a sound at that; a low, contented hum, almost imperceptible, but you feel it more than you hear it.

“rough night?” you ask, voice gentle.

"don’t," he murmurs, voice muffled against your skin. "don’t ask. don’t talk. just…" his fingers tighten slightly against your side, his body pressing further into yours, the weight of the world settling between every breath he takes. "just stay here."

you do.

your hand never stops moving through his hair, your touch never falters. you stay exactly where he needs you. and before you can even think about responding, his body has already gone heavy, his breath slowing into something deep, something steady.

he's asleep before you can say another word.

𝐓𝐢𝐦 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐤𝐞 —

tim barely remembers kicking off his shoes before stepping into the dimly lit apartment, his limbs running on autopilot, exhaustion thick in his bloodstream. the night was longer than it should’ve been; longer than even he could handle, stretching into endless hours of meticulous problem-solving, strategizing, and pushing himself past limits that should’ve been unbreakable.

and yet, here he is, barely keeping his eyes open as he makes his way toward you. he hopes it's you, at least.

you’re in bed, propped up slightly against the pillows, a soft glow illuminating your features from the screen in your hands - a handheld console, something to pass the time while waiting for him to drag himself through the door. it’s a sight that should make him feel guilty.

maybe it does, somewhere in the haze of exhaustion fogging his mind. but right now, all he can focus on is the pull; the gravitational force of home, of warmth, of you.

you glance up just as he reaches the bed, a knowing smile already curving your lips, but before you can say anything, he plucks the device from your hands, barely taking the time to toss it onto the nightstand before he collapses onto you completely.

you ignore the urge to complain about the hefty price of the machine tossed away so carelessly.

his weight settles over you, warm and familiar, his head finding its place against your chest. his breath is unsteady for half a second - like he’s still trying to hold on to wakefulness, to some semblance of function - then your fingers are threading through his hair, slow and soothing, and the tension bleeds from his body like a dam breaking.

the exhale he lets out is long, heavy - something closer to surrender than anything else. his arms loop around your waist, not pulling, not gripping - just existing, just needing. the warmth of your hand against the back of his neck, the absentminded way you trail your fingertips along his scalp, it’s enough to undo him completely.

"tim," you murmur, amused, voice soft against the quiet hum of the night.

"shh," he mumbles back, voice muffled, already half-asleep. "i’m taking this nap. with you. now."

your chest shakes with the quietest of laughs, but you don't argue the concept of a 'nap' in the middle of the night. you just keep combing through his hair, letting him rest, letting him exist and finally breathe.

𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞 —

damian doesn’t announce his return. he never does. the door barely even makes a sound as it shuts behind him, his steps eerily silent as he moves through the dim apartment. he’s been trained for stealth, for precision, for battle, but even a warrior has limits. and tonight, he has reached them.

the night’s patrol had been nothing short of infuriating. a mission that should have lasted minutes stretched into agonizing hours, a wild chase through gotham’s underbelly, criminals with more arrogance than skill wasting his time. it was a pointless, exhausting ordeal that left him feeling frayed at the edges. he hadn’t even made it back to the manor - he came here instead.

because home is not defined by where you sleep. it’s who you return to.

you’re there, as he knew you would be. you always wait for him, in one way or another. tonight, it’s with a book, sprawled across the bed, posture relaxed but eyes flicking toward him the second he enters the room. you take him in, the way his shoulders hold tension like they were sculpted for it, the way his jaw is tight, his movements clipped but deliberate.

you don’t comment on it. you don’t need to.

instead, you merely set the book aside, shifting just slightly - arms open in unspoken invitation. a gesture. a reminder.

weeks ago, when he had scoffed at the concept of needing comfort, of seeking rest in another person, you had merely tilted your head and said, “if you ever need it, i'm always here.”

damian had rolled his eyes at the time. but now, he finds himself stepping toward you without a second thought.

he reaches the bed, barely pulling back the covers before he collapses against you, his weight settling over you in one smooth motion. his head finds its place against your chest, his breath warm where it fans against your skin. he exhales slowly, like he’s been holding it in all night. his arms loop around you, one hand resting at your side, the other curling gently near your ribs.

he doesn’t speak. he doesn’t need to. never needs to.

your fingers push into his hair, slow and deliberate, the sensation tugging something deep from his chest. he doesn’t resist it. he lets himself sink.

for a moment, the silence stretches. it’s calm, grounding, real. and then, just as his breath evens out, his voice drifts against your skin - soft, half-asleep, barely above a whisper.

"you said it was an offer."

your lips curve slightly. "and you finally took it."

he hums, already too far gone to answer properly. his grip around you tightens just a fraction, like he’s ensuring you won’t move.

you don’t. you stay right where you are. and before long, he is asleep in your arms.

𝒘𝒉𝒚 𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒏’𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒆? 𝒘𝒉𝒚 𝒅𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒆?

this request ! fem ! reader , reader has bpd , self harm mention

when you told katsuki about your bpd, his first reaction was to learn as much as possible about it in order to help you. katsuki, despite his brash and loud persona, never once judged you for who you were, and he wanted to be by your side through everything, especially things in which he could help you.

during your mood fluctuations, katsuki never once lost patience with you, as he knew that you couldnt help it. he stayed right next to you, but also listened and complied when you said that you needed some space. he never wanted to overwhelm you, and he always did his best to accommodate how you were feeling.

katsuki understood that people with bpd had a fear of abandonment and that this fear can lead to anger due to the struggle of regulating emotions. thats why katsuki wanted you to know that he was never leaving you, and that he would stay by your side for as long as you want him to.

one thing that does frighten katsuki is the fact that people with bpd often display reckless and endangering behaviours, and that self harm tended to be an outlet. although he knew that you couldnt help it, the thought of you intentionally hurting yourself made his heart hurt and his head spin. katsuki never wanted you to be in pain, and he did his best to provide you with a healthy release of emotions and pent up anger through therapy sessions that he would happily attend alongside you if you need him there.

despite all of the ups and downs within your relationship, katsuki was always there to help you cope with your bpd, and was willing to spend hours watching over you if you want him there. although he hated to admit it, looking after you made katsuki feel as though he was needed and that you appreciated his efforts, even if he will never truly understand the condition, no matter how hard he tried. katsuki's seemingly unlimited patience helped you to seek his help more often, and to find him whenever the symptoms worsened. having him by your side made it all just a bit easier to bear.

—❝TℍE LE꓄꓄ER❞

contents damian wayne x fem!reader, youtuber!reader au, fluff, 2k+ wc. synopsis a letter filled with sweet compliments from damian leaves youtuber!reader eager to find him. pt 4 of "unexpected crush?!"

"Dear, ___. My name is Damian Wayne..."

As you read the letter over and over, a whirlwind of emotions surged through you—curiosity, warmth, and something dangerously close to flattery.

Two weeks after posting on your forum about accepting gifts, four arrived. Excited, you unwrapped each one on camera, recording your live reaction for your followers.

Sitting cross-legged, hair braided, face bare, you held his letter in trembling hands. The more you read, the more you found yourself stealing glances at the camera lens, cheeks growing impossibly warmer.

"You're pretty and kind."

Ba dum ba dum

"Your videos make me feel calm and happy."

Ba dum ba dum ba dum

"But what makes me the most content is watching the way your eyes sparkle. And it makes my own sparkle, too. Your sweetness is infatuating."

Ba dum ba dum ba dum ba dum—

That was it. The breaking point.

Leaping out of your chair, you shut off the camera with a sharp click.

—

"This boy likes me. Like—like likes me!"

You looked down at the small cat stamp adorning the envelope, its tie patterned with the American flag. A smile graced your lips.

Spinning toward your vanity, you let out a breathless laugh, unable to ignore the ridiculous blush staining your cheeks. (Hyperpigmentation is a curse, you thought.)

Lightly, you patted your face, willing yourself to calm down. If your nosy family caught you fangirling over a fan, you'd never live it down. Especially your older sister. (Sisters, am I right?)

Damian Wayne. USA. Gotham.

With that information, you opened Instagram. Come on... something... anything!

Two painfully long minutes later, you hadn’t found him, but you had found his older brother.

Oh boy, was this dude active.

Real_D_Grayson

With over 100k followers, he seemed to enjoy showing off—abs, acrobatics, and adventures galore. But one pinned post caught your attention: a picture of him standing beside a boy with piercing green eyes and olive skin.

Oh. My—

Your fingers frantically tapped at the mouse, opening the description.

"With baby bro, Dami. It's chest day, baby 😎"

Dami... Damian. Of course.

The sweaty boy in the photo, slightly scowling at the camera, was the same one who had written words that made your knees weak and turned your face as red as a strawberry.

"Come on, faster, faster, you stupid internet!" you muttered, impatiently clicking on the tagged profile.

As the page loaded, a small smile tugged at your lips.

dw_00___

"Dude, I never would've found your account. If you like me, at least drop your Insta next time." You rolled your eyes playfully, muttering to yourself over the young Wayne’s lack of foresight.

Biting your bottom lip, you hovered over the 'Follow' button.

Click.

—

An Instagram notification buzzed through the air during the Wayne family’s dinner.

"What now?" Damian sighed, agitated, as the entire table turned to look at him.

"If it’s you, Grayson—sending me those pointless acrobat reels or whatever again—" he shot a glare at his older brother.

"Don’t look at me, baby bird, I’m playing pool." Dick held up his phone in defense, proving his innocence.

Still puzzled, Damian checked his notification bar. And then—

___ just followed you!

A lump of air caught in his throat. He coughed, covering his mouth as he clicked on the profile.

It was you.

His brain stalled.

How did you find his account?

How could he have been so careless as to not include his username in the letter?

How could he—

"Follow her back already."

A quiet voice snapped him out of his spiral. Cass shot him a knowing wink, her eyes shifting to her younger brother, who was inwardly panicking.

She nodded toward his phone again, subtly urging him before the rest of the family caught on.

Damian exhaled sharply, schooling his expression as he quickly hit ‘Follow Back.’

Sliding his phone into his pocket, he reached for his napkin, pretending to cough into it.

But really, he just needed to hide his reddening face from his ever-curious siblings—and his father.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

© — ggυɱi '25

likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated

ദ്ദി ≽^⎚˕⎚^≼ .ᐟ

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🏷️;

@liabiamiakiawia @jason-todd-fangirl-14

@shirp-collector-of-fixations @1abi

@nervousalpacalady @silverklaus

@riaaavm  @queenofviolenceandnerds

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author's note 1: another chapter done :> next one's probably this friday ahead

author's note 2: also making the jason ff

author's note 3: and I made a dick grayson one, should i post it?

author's note 4: i also make bots on c.ai, send me req for characters in my tumblr req :)

author's note5: this is how i imagine reader when she was in front of the mirror btw, ty hendry for the inspo.

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ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤA GENTLEMANㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Robin Damian Wayne x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : When he have a puppy crush (obsession).

☆⁠ NOTES : Teenagers in love. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

Damian had always been certain of one thing: he was superior to everyone around him. But when it came to you, something shifted in him. He didn’t understand it at first—it was something unfamiliar, something that made his heart race in ways that made him deeply uncomfortable. He would never admit it, of course, but there was no denying the way his eyes lingered on you when you weren’t looking.

From the moment he noticed you in class, you were a source of obsession. Not just because you were incredibly intelligent—far more than most people gave you credit for—but because you were different. You weren’t intimidated by him like everyone else. You didn’t flinch when he looked at you with his piercing eyes, and worst of all, you were kind to him. You smiled at him, genuinely, and asked him how his day was when no one else did.

At first, Damian didn't know how to process it. He hated how much he cared about what you thought. He hated how his chest tightened whenever he saw you laughing with friends or when your eyes briefly met his from across the room. He couldn't help but become... protective. Territorial, even.

His obsession grew, but it wasn’t obvious to you. To you, he was just the enigmatic, brooding boy who sat at the back of the class and barely spoke. To everyone else, he was the unsmiling prodigy who made the rest of Gotham's elite children seem inferior. But to him, you were different. You weren't afraid to speak to him, to challenge him, even when you didn't know his full story.

He’d sneak glances at you when you weren’t paying attention, his gaze lingering for just a second too long. When you walked into a room, his eyes would immediately track your every movement. He didn’t mean for it to happen, but every time you laughed—whether it was at something funny or just something absurd—his heart would pound. Every soft word you spoke, every time you brushed your hair behind your ear, or when you studied so intently in class, it drove him wild. He felt... protective. Possessive, even. But mostly, he felt a desperate need to be the one you relied on, the one you turned to.

He never had a normal crush before. His emotions were all twisted up, almost like he was terrified of it, yet drawn to it. His pride kept him from ever admitting how much he cared, but his actions always betrayed him. If anyone made the mistake of speaking to you for too long, or worse, making you laugh too much, they’d feel the weight of his glare. He didn’t trust anyone around you, didn’t trust that they wouldn’t hurt you, use you, break you like so many others had tried with him.

If you ever had a problem, Damian would be the first to solve it. He didn’t need to be asked. He noticed the little things about you—the way you tapped your pencil when you were nervous, the way you’d tug at your sleeves when you were stressed. He memorized them all, cataloging each detail like an obsessed detective, all while maintaining that cold, stoic expression. But if you ever needed help, even just to ask for notes from a missed class, his voice would become so soft, so eager to please, that it would catch you off guard.

But he was never obvious. If you ever mentioned something in passing, a book you liked or a subject you were interested in, Damian would get it for you. It wasn’t that he thought you needed him—it was that he needed you to need him. He wanted to be the one you thought of when you needed something, even if he didn’t let you know just how far he would go for you.

He’d never say it out loud, but when you laughed at one of his rare jokes or smiled when he helped you with something, it felt like the whole world was aligned. The idea of you wanting him, of you seeing him as something more than just the brooding, serious boy who sat in the back of class, became his driving force. He’d stalk your social media in the dead of night, not to look for anything inappropriate, but just to see you—see your face, your thoughts, the things you liked.

Sometimes he’d catch himself imagining what it would be like to kiss you, to be the one who could make you smile when no one else could. He’d catch himself thinking about how he would protect you—how, in his mind, no one else was worthy of you. You were his. He’d never let anyone else take you from him.

If you ever caught him staring at you—caught him in one of his moments of weakness—he’d look away, almost defensively, as though nothing had ever happened. But deep down, Damian couldn’t hide the feeling that grew every time you were around. A feeling that, for the first time, made him question what it meant to be truly vulnerable.

You were his weakness. But that was something he could never let anyone see.

As time passed, Damian’s obsession with you only deepened, but so did his longing for your attention. His pride and sense of superiority might’ve prevented him from being straightforward, but that didn’t stop him from showing his affection in subtle ways. Every once in a while, when you weren’t looking, he’d steal a quick glance at you, his eyes softening, as if savoring the moments when you were close.

It was the small things that made his heart race—like when you’d accidentally brush his hand as you passed him a pencil or when you’d ask him for help on a particularly difficult assignment. The way your voice sounded when you said his name, the way your eyes sparkled when you were excited about something—Damian didn’t even realize how much it was affecting him until it was too late.

One day, during lunch, you walked up to him at his usual spot by the wall, the one he always sat at, trying to be as unnoticed as possible. “Hey, Damian,” you said, a little shy, “can I borrow your notes from last week’s class?”

Damian looked up at you, and for a moment, his breath caught in his throat. The way your hair fell over your shoulder, the way your eyes sparkled under the soft glow of the cafeteria lights—it was almost too much for him to handle. He had to force himself not to let his emotions show.

Without a word, he handed you his notebook, his fingers brushing against yours for just a second. He didn’t pull away, though—he lingered, just a little longer than necessary. His eyes met yours, and for the first time in ages, a flicker of warmth passed across his usual cold, calculating gaze. He couldn’t help the small, almost imperceptible smile that tugged at the corner of his lips.

“You… You’re welcome,” he muttered, trying to sound aloof. But there was an underlying softness in his tone, something you hadn’t heard before. It was the way he said it—like he was pleased to help you, like you mattered to him more than anyone else in that moment.

You smiled at him, making his heart stutter in his chest. It wasn’t a big smile, just a small, genuine curve of your lips, but to Damian, it was everything. It felt like the world had shifted into place.

“Thanks, Damian. You’re a lifesaver,” you said, eyes lighting up with appreciation.

His chest tightened. “It’s nothing,” he replied quickly, not wanting to sound too eager, but his voice faltered just a bit.

You turned to leave, and as you walked away, you glanced back once, catching his eyes before he quickly looked away, face flushed. The moment he was sure you couldn’t see, he exhaled, the softest, happiest sigh escaping his lips. You’d never know it, but he had a soft spot for you—a part of him that didn’t want to be so cold and distant. A part of him that wanted to just be… normal for once.

From then on, he found himself watching you more than he should. Sometimes, he’d catch you looking at him, and he’d quickly avert his eyes, pretending like he hadn’t been staring. His heart would beat faster in his chest, and it almost made him angry that you could have this effect on him. But then, just as quickly, he’d find himself grinning, not able to help it. It was you—you made him feel things he hadn’t felt before.

It became a little routine: he’d see you in the halls, and sometimes, if you needed help with something, he’d find a way to be there. He’d stand a little too close to you when you talked, but it was never in a way that made you uncomfortable—it was more like he just wanted to be near you. He never told you why, of course.

One afternoon, while you were studying in the library, he walked in, glancing around until he spotted you, sitting by the window, scribbling away in your notebook. His heart skipped a beat when he saw you like that—so focused, so determined. You looked so… cute.

He hesitated for a second before walking up to you, his usual confident stride faltering just slightly. “Do you need any help?” he asked, trying to sound casual, though the nervous energy was palpable in his voice.

You looked up, surprised to see him standing there. “Oh, Damian! Um… yeah, I could use some help with this math problem,” you said, motioning to the page in front of you.

Damian sat down next to you, closer than necessary. His heart pounded as he explained the problem to you, his hand occasionally brushing yours as he pointed to different equations. He tried not to notice how his skin tingled each time it happened, or how every time you smiled and thanked him, it felt like the entire world brightened. He wasn’t used to feeling this way, this vulnerable, but somehow, he didn’t mind it when it was you.

“Got it?” he asked, his voice a little softer than usual as he watched you carefully.

You nodded, a soft smile spreading across your face. “Yeah, I think I do. You make it sound so easy.”

Damian’s eyes softened, and for the briefest of moments, he allowed himself to smile back at you—genuinely, without any pretenses. It was a rare moment for him, but when it came to you, he didn’t feel the need to hide everything.

“Good. I’m glad,” he said, his voice almost tender.

You packed up your things, still smiling. As you stood, you gave him one last look, your eyes meeting his, and for a second, Damian felt like the entire world had come to a stop. There was something in your gaze—something that made him feel like maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to hide how he felt.

“Thanks again, Damian,” you said as you turned to leave, a soft wave following behind you.

And as you walked away, Damian stood there, watching you, a small, secret smile tugging at his lips. Maybe one day he’d tell you how he felt, but for now, he was content with these little moments. He was content with the idea that, for once in his life, someone saw him for who he truly was—not the perfect heir, not the deadly assassin, but the boy who was hopelessly in love with you.

For weeks, Damian wrestled with the idea of asking you out. It wasn’t like he was afraid of rejection—he was Damian Wayne. Fear was beneath him. No, this was different. This was you. The thought of putting his feelings into words, of making himself vulnerable to you, made his stomach twist in ways he didn’t like to acknowledge.

But at the same time… the thought of anyone else asking you out, of anyone else standing beside you, laughing with you, touching you—it was unbearable. The mere idea of it set his blood on fire. He had to make a move. You were his, even if you didn’t know it yet.

So, like everything else in his life, Damian devised a plan. It had to be perfect. He would not fail.

The first thing he did was eliminate all competition. Subtly, of course. Any boy who looked at you for too long? Suddenly, they found themselves tripping over conveniently placed obstacles. Anyone who flirted with you? They’d mysteriously lose their confidence after a single, bone-chilling glare from Damian. He made sure that by the time he approached you, no one else would dare think they had a chance.

Next, he had to find the right moment. Timing was everything. He refused to make a fool of himself by asking you out in a setting that wasn’t optimal. He studied your habits—when you were most relaxed, most receptive. He knew you liked to sit by the windows in the library during study hall. You liked the way the sunlight hit the pages of your books. That would be the perfect place.

The day of, he was completely composed—or at least, that’s what he told himself. He approached your table with his usual confident stride, pulling out the chair across from you without asking, as he often did.

You glanced up, surprised but not unwelcome to his presence. “Oh, hey, Damian.” You smiled at him, and his heart stuttered.

“Hello,” he replied, voice smooth, but slightly more clipped than usual. He was trying to keep his emotions in check. “I require your time this Saturday.”

You blinked. “Uh, what?”

Damian inhaled slowly. He could feel heat rising to his ears. His grip tightened on the book he brought, knuckles white. This was not how it was supposed to go. He had rehearsed this in his head a hundred times, but now, sitting in front of you, he felt like an idiot.

He quickly corrected himself. “What I mean is… I have taken the liberty of arranging a date for us this Saturday. I will pick you up at noon. Wear something suitable for the occasion.”

There. Perfect. No room for rejection. No awkward stammering. Tt. Why was he nervous in the first place?

You blinked again, then tilted your head, processing his words. “A date?”

“Yes,” Damian confirmed, keeping his tone even, as if this was the most logical thing in the world. Because to him, it was.

Your lips parted slightly in surprise, but then—then you smiled. And not just any smile. It was soft, warm, genuine. And it was for him.

“You’re asking me out on a date?” you clarified, amusement lacing your tone.

He bristled slightly at your wording. “Obviously.”

You chuckled, and for a moment, he thought his heart might actually explode. He had never wanted anything more than to be the reason you smiled like that every day.

“Well,” you said, propping your chin on your hand, watching him with something unreadable in your eyes, “you sure don’t waste time with subtlety, huh?”

“Subtlety is for those who lack certainty,” Damian replied smoothly, lifting his chin. “And I am certain.”

Your cheeks warmed, and that small reaction sent a rush of satisfaction through him. “Alright, Damian,” you finally said, “I’d love to go on a date with you.”

For the first time in his life, Damian stopped thinking. He just… felt. A warmth spread through his chest, foreign yet addicting. He nodded once, as if sealing an unspoken pact.

“Good,” he said, voice steady, though his pulse was anything but. “I will text you the details.”

Then, without another word, he stood up and left. Just like that. Because if he stayed a second longer, he knew he would either start grinning like a fool or do something completely irrational, like kiss you right there in the middle of the library.

As soon as he rounded the corner, out of your sight, Damian exhaled, pressing a hand over his chest. His heart was hammering. Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.

But he didn’t care. Because you said yes.

And he will make sure it was a date you’d never forget.

The day of the date arrived. Damian had meticulously planned every detail, not leaving anything to chance. No, this wouldn’t be a “let’s grab coffee and see where things go” type of outing. This was his date with you.

He arrived at your house right on time. He didn’t need to check his watch—his internal sense of timing was precise, down to the minute. He knocked firmly on your door, his hand steady, even though he had spent the last few hours agonizing over the finer points of the evening in his mind. When you opened the door, his breath caught for a fraction of a second.

You stood there in a simple, yet elegant dress that was both understated and beautiful—just like you. The soft fabric clung to your figure just enough to highlight your natural grace, and the way your hair framed your face made his pulse quicken.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice steady, though his gaze softened as he took in your appearance.

You smiled, your eyes bright, and for a moment, he thought his heart might beat out of his chest. "I’m ready."

As you stepped out of the door and joined him, Damian offered his arm with a small, confident smile that was so different from his usual intense expression. He had plans for this evening, and he was determined to follow them through.

The car ride was smooth, quiet, but not uncomfortable. He drove with precision, each movement calculated and controlled, but there was something different in the air tonight. Something lighter. Every time he glanced over at you, you caught his eye, and he had to resist the urge to smile. It felt almost surreal—this quiet, sweet moment between the two of you. You’d spent time together before, but never like this.

You asked him where you were going, but he only gave you a cryptic smile. “You’ll see,” was all he said. You didn’t push him, curious to see where he had decided to take you.

Eventually, he pulled up to a small, secluded restaurant, one of Gotham’s more refined and hidden gems. It was quaint but elegant, with outdoor seating overlooking a picturesque garden. The soft light of lanterns danced around the patio, giving the place a warm, intimate atmosphere.

He opened the door for you as you stepped out, and offered his hand to you. You took it without hesitation, feeling the warmth of his touch seep through your skin. There was a kind of unspoken respect in the way he treated you. It wasn’t rushed or impatient—just an easy calmness that made you feel like you were the only one in the world to him.

Damian led you to your table, which was set for two, tucked away in a private corner, draped with ivy and soft fairy lights. It was the kind of place where the world around you seemed to fade away. As you sat down, he carefully pulled out your chair, ensuring you were comfortable, before taking his own seat across from you.

There was something so different about Damian tonight—something that made you realize, in that moment, just how special this date really was. He wasn’t like the other boys your age, with their offhand jokes or their self-absorbed chatter. No, Damian Wayne was something entirely different. He had this quiet intensity, but underneath that, a care that he wasn’t always quick to show.

The waiter came and Damian ordered for both of you with an air of confidence, speaking in fluent French, making you chuckle softly at how effortlessly he handled everything. But what made you laugh more was the glint of satisfaction in his eyes when he said, “The wine selection here is impeccable. I trust you’ll enjoy it.” It was like he was proud to share his tastes with you.

As you ate, the conversation flowed naturally. Damian asked about your interests, your thoughts on various books you had been reading, and he listened so intently, as though every word you spoke was a treasure to him. It wasn’t just idle talk—there was genuine curiosity in his voice. And when he did speak, it was always with purpose, never just to fill the silence.

You were beginning to see another side of him. A side that was almost... gentle.

You told him about your love for horses and how you dreamed of riding across the open fields someday. Damian’s eyes softened, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. “I can take you to the stables at Wayne Manor sometime,” he said with an easy confidence. “There’s a ranch not far from the estate. You’d like it.”

You blinked, a little surprised. “You have horses?”

“Yes. I do,” he replied, his smile more sincere now, like the idea of sharing something personal with you had softened him further. “Perhaps you could teach me a thing or two. I’ve never been particularly good at it.”

That was the thing about Damian. He wasn’t afraid to show his flaws when it came to you. In fact, he seemed to crave your approval, though he’d never openly admit it. But it wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t needy. It was simply him, wanting you to know who he really was.

As the evening wore on, the conversation became more relaxed. You found yourself laughing more freely, your initial nerves completely gone, replaced by an easy comfort that felt like you had known him forever. Damian was still Damian—intense, sharp, but there was a tenderness to him tonight that made him seem... normal. Human. Not just the son of Bruce Wayne, not just the little assassin.

Finally, after dessert, the night began to wind down. Damian stood and offered his hand once more. You placed your hand in his, and together, you walked out into the garden. The soft hum of the night air and the occasional chirp of a cricket filled the silence between you.

As you approached his car, Damian paused. He turned to face you, and for the first time that evening, his expression was serious—not cold, but thoughtful, as if he were gathering his thoughts for something important.

“You’re...” He cleared his throat, looking down at his shoes for just a brief moment before meeting your eyes again. “I have enjoyed tonight... more than I anticipated.”

You raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile pulling at your lips. “More than you anticipated? So you did expect it to be bad?”

He stiffened for a second, realizing the unintended implication. “No. That is not what I meant.” He hesitated, looking at you for a long, quiet moment. Then, in a voice quieter than before, almost soft, he added, “You’re... different. In a way I didn’t expect.”

You blinked, feeling the weight of his words settle in the air. “Damian…” you started, but before you could finish, he reached out and gently took your hand in his.

His thumb brushed over the back of your hand in a way that felt intimate, but not in a rushed or inappropriate way—more like he was savoring the moment.

“I would like to do this again,” he said, his voice earnest, but not without the usual confidence. “Whenever you’re ready.”

And with that, he took your hand and, with a deep breath, lowered his head and kissed the back of it. The touch of his lips was soft, respectful—gentle, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to blur into the background.

When he pulled back, his gaze remained locked with yours, almost searching, as if to make sure you understood just how much that small gesture meant to him.

“I’ll walk you to the door,” he said quietly, straightening up and offering his arm again, as if nothing had changed—except, of course, that now you both knew something had. Something deeper than either of you had expected when you started this evening.

You smiled, heart fluttering in your chest as you took his arm. “I’d like that.”

From the moment you officially became Damian’s girlfriend, your life changed—not in the dramatic way people might expect when dating the son of Bruce Wayne, but in the way that everything suddenly felt different. Like the world had shifted slightly, aligning perfectly in a way it hadn’t before.

Damian wasn’t like other boys your age. He didn’t do the whole awkward teenage romance thing. He wasn’t overly flirty, nor did he stumble through his words or second-guess himself. If he wanted to hold your hand, he did. If he wanted to tell you he liked the way you looked in a certain outfit, he said it, blunt and without hesitation.

His affection wasn’t loud or showy, but it was constant—always there, woven into everything he did.

Damian is, above all else, a gentleman. He treats you with the kind of respect that most guys your age wouldn’t even think about. Holding doors open for you? Always. Walking on the side of the street closest to traffic to “protect” you? A given.

If you ever carried anything heavier than a book, it was suddenly his burden. He didn’t even ask—he just took it from you with a simple, “Tt. You shouldn’t be straining yourself.”

He makes sure you never have to worry about anything. If you so much as mention feeling cold? His jacket is around your shoulders before you can finish your sentence. If you’re tired? He’s finding the closest place for you to sit, even if it means him physically leading you there by the small of your back.

But most of all, he listens. He pays attention in a way no one else does. If you casually mention something you like—your favorite flowers, a book you’ve been dying to read, a little café you want to try—Damian remembers. And soon enough, you’ll find a bouquet of those flowers waiting in your locker, that book sitting on your desk, or him showing up outside your house on a Saturday morning, saying, “Get in. We’re going to that café you won’t stop talking about.”

Because to Damian, caring means action.

Damian isn’t very verbal with his affection at first. He won’t say sweet, flowery words or write you poetry (even though you swear he has the soul of an old poet somewhere deep inside him). Instead, he shows his love through actions.

He’s always near you. Always. If you’re walking through the halls at school, his hand is resting against your lower back, gently guiding you. If you’re studying together, his knee is touching yours beneath the table. If you’re out somewhere, he positions himself slightly in front of you, instinctively shielding you from the crowd.

And while he doesn’t do PDA in public (besides holding your hand or the occasional brush of his fingers along your arm), when you’re alone? That’s when he lets his guard down.

Soft touches. He’s always touching you in some way—running his fingers over the back of your hand, tucking a stray hair behind your ear, resting a hand on your knee when you sit next to him.

Forehead touches. Whenever he’s feeling particularly soft (which he would never admit out loud), he leans in, pressing his forehead against yours. It’s a silent way of saying I’m here. You’re mine. We belong to each other.

Hand kisses. He does this a lot. If you ever feel sad? He takes your hand, kisses your knuckles, and simply says, “You have me.” And that’s enough.

Damian is not someone who tolerates threats to what’s his.

He’s not loud about it, not the type to start fights over jealousy, but his presence alone is enough to keep people in check. If another guy even thinks about flirting with you, Damian is already there, standing a little too close, his green eyes sharp and possessive as he stares the poor guy down.

His hand will tighten on your waist, and his voice will drop an octave as he says something like, “I assume you have nothing important to say. If so, leave.”

And just like that, the threat is gone.

If you ever tease him about being jealous, he just crosses his arms and scoffs, Tt. “I am simply ensuring that no one wastes your time with their nonsense.”

But the way his hand subtly tightens around yours says otherwise.

At first, Damian struggles with vulnerability. He’s used to being the strong one, the one who handles everything without needing help. But with you? You see past that.

There are nights when he sneaks into your room through your window, not as Robin, but just as Damian. Those are the moments when he talks to you about things he’d never say to anyone else.

About his mother. About his father. About the weight of his family name and how, sometimes, he feels like he has to be perfect to live up to it.

And you listen. You always listen. You don’t try to fix him, don’t tell him that he’s wrong for feeling this way. You just hold his hand, stroke his hair, and whisper, “You’re already enough, Damian.”

And those words stay with him longer than he’ll ever admit.

Bruce: At first? He’s skeptical. Protective. But when he sees how much Damian genuinely cares for you—how you make him softer, more grounded—Bruce actually starts to approve.

“You keep him... balanced,” Bruce admits to you one evening. “That’s not an easy thing to do.”

(Which, coming from Bruce Wayne, is probably the highest compliment you’ll ever receive.)

Dick: “Oh my god. Damian has a girlfriend.” He’s so smug about it. Constantly teasing Damian, constantly referring to you as his soft spot.

He also makes sure you know that if Damian ever hurts you (which he won’t), you can definitely call Dick to handle it.

Alfred: Alfred adores you. Treats you like family from the moment he realizes you make Damian happy. Always makes extra tea and snacks whenever you visit Wayne Manor.

“You keep Master Damian in check, Miss. I quite appreciate it.”

Dating Damian isn’t easy. He’s intense, overprotective, sometimes way too serious for his age. But at the same time?

He loves deeply.

Once you’re his, you’re his forever. There’s no in-between, no uncertainty. Damian loves you with the same ferocity that he does everything else in his life.

And one day? When he’s older, stronger, even more sure of himself—he won’t hesitate to tell you:

“You are mine. And I am yours. Always.”

And that is what loving Damian is like.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, repost or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

Can you do a smau where the mha boys are clingy and needy of attention? 💘

🍓 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 attention please

texts with the bnha guys; fem! reader (aged up) characters included: katsuki bakugou, izuku midoriya, shoto todoroki, tenya iida, eijirou kirishima, denki kaminari.

! they want attention

warnings: sfw, fluff, angst-ish in todorokis part

MHA ways they would kiss you.

with: tenya iida, katsuki bakugou, kirishima eijirou, izuku midoriya, shoto todoroki, sero hanta, denki kamanari, hitoshi shinso

LABELS: kissy kissy, slightly suggestive.

…

TENYA IIDA ✧.*

a strained, hoarse whisper “kiss me”

KATSUKI BAKUGOU ✧.*

pushing you up against the closest solid object, before devouring each other

KIRISHIMA EIJIROU ✧.*

hands traveling your body, pulling apart for a second to look at you before kissing the top of your head

IZUKU MIDORIYA ✧.*

hearts pounding, unable to open your eyes moments after disconnecting lips

SHOTO TODOROKI ✧.*

soft “i love you”s during each parting kiss

SERO HANTA ✧.*

lazy kisses, mumbling nonesense into each other mouths

DENKI KAMANARI ✧.*

giggling while pulling apart, followed by gentle kisses to your cheeks

HITOSHI SHINSO ✧.*

waking up to kisses and his voice reassuring you about how pretty you are

🍓 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 pictures please

texts with the bnha guys; fem! reader (aged up) characters included: katsuki bakugou, izuku midoriya, shoto todoroki, tenya iida, eijirou kirishima, denki kaminari, hitoshi shinsou.

! they send you a pic

warnings: sfw, slightly suggestive, all the pics are from pinterest

⋮ ⌗ ┆˚₊‧꒰ა 🍓 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

HIII can i req for an alnst guys x mua!reader (afab) ? i want to touch their faces ╰⁠(⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠´⁠꒳⁠`⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠)⁠╯

“you like the pretty boys, with the pretty voice!”

show: alien stage

characters: till, ivan and luka

summary: he doesn’t just need to sing his best, he has to look his best too! producers have decided on pairing you up with him, meaning you would be spending lots of time tending to his physical appearance.

warnings: afab! reader, she/her pronouns used, till has never felt the touch of a woman before

↣ till

the door of his room opens, making till stand up cautiously from his bed. he was already forced into his outfit for today’s photoshoot, and now he awaited the dreadful makeup process.

you show up in the doorway, a girl around the same age as till, with a bag of items and a few electronics. “morning, till.” you say, walking in and placing your things on the desk. he visibly relaxes. “don’t you look good today.”

“shut up…” he mumbles back, walking over to you. he sits down in the chair you pull out, seating him in front of the mirror.

“okay, so i got told that you need a more bold look for the photoshoot today.” you claim, placing your hands on his shoulders, “you gonna’ let me do my work or are we gonna’ have another argument?”

“you can do whatever, i don’t even care anymore.” he groans, sick and tired of all these brand deals. his owner was running him dry with everything he was made to be doing recently. “do your magic.”

“good.” you say, opening your bag. you pick up one of the devices you brought with you, tossing it up into the air. it blossoms, opening up to show a ball of light coming from the centre. you point it towards till, getting a proper view of his face. “seems like the skincare routine i gave you is working.”

“isn’t it bad to keep putting all these things on my face?” he grumbles, feeling you grasp his chin. he averts his eyes while you inspect his face, gentle hands on his cheeks.

“not these ones.” you claim, feelings his cheeks heat up under your touch. you smile at him. “but it’s not like you really needed it anyway. the producer just said to get you on them. i thought you were already quite handsome.”

he closes his eyes, pulling back and running fingers through his hair. “anyway, what are we doing now?” he clears his throat, trying to calm down his heart.

“oh, right.” you say, taking the other device and turning it on, making a swivel stool for you to sit on. you move closer towards him, knee bumping with his. “okay, close your eyes for me, pretty boy.”

“stop it…” he mutters to you, doing as you say and leaning forward into your hands.

he’s patient with you, in a way that he isn’t with anyone else. which is why you were matched with him, he didn’t swear at you or thrash around. you made him out to be a tamed puppy, sitting as he waits for your touch. you found it cute.

you brushed your fingers against his jaw, making him itch closer to you. his hands grip the bottom of his chair, breath hitching as you dragged the brush along his face. you were delicate with him, holding his face and turning it when you needed. and he was willing to let you do whatever you needed.

“okay, that looks good.” you hum, retracting your hands. he always follows, but opens his eyes to stare at you. “let me do your lashes now. just some mascara, that’s all.”

you see the sour look on his face, making you roll your eyes. as you do your work, till sits quietly, careful not to move. you hold his jaw in your hand, focusing on your hands. but his head is running with how close you are to him. if he were to lean any closer, you would be kissing the guy…

instead, you lean back, bringing the light closer to his face. “ah, sorry, i got some on your cheek.” you huff, taking out a makeup pad.

you brush it against where you had smudged mascara on him, holding his face closer to yours. he’s entranced by your beauty. how your eyes are so focused on him and nothing else, how you smile at him after finished a part of his makeup. you were the most beautiful person to him.

he feels your knee knock against his inner thigh, making him look at you sheepishly. you were digging through your bag for the eyeliner and eyeshadow, claiming that he needed dark colours.

“i think we should go with black.” you say, holding out some palettes, “pick one, any will look good on you.”

he doesn’t even look at them for long, just picking out the one in the middle. you smile at him and nod your head, beginning the next stage. it takes a bit longer, till unable to keep still with how your legs are touching his, and your hands are tenderly holding his cheek. his brows knit unconsciously and you stop.

“till, relax. i can’t do your makeup like that.” you sigh, tilting your head, “i’m nearly done, promise.”

he tries to do so, resulting in upturned brows. your hold was too much! “i’m sorry, y/n, i’m just… i don’t know.”

“hm. it’s okay, i’ll be coming with you to the photoshoot.” you inform him, making till perk up a little. you do a few more touches before setting down the brush, inspecting your work and nodding your head. “there you go.”

he open his eyes and looks in the mirror. he looked pretty good, you were so skilled. “thank you, y/n.”

he turns back to you, seeing how you were already staring back at him. you were still so close, not wavering at all.

“you’re welcome, handsome.” you chime, grinning at him. you caress his cheek for a few seconds before beginning to pull away.

but till lurches forward, pressing his lips to yours. his eyes are squeezed shut, so overwhelmed with emotions. the electricity built up with every single touch you gave him, lingering or not. you had to have known what you were doing to him, you were so purposeful!

your hand returns to his jaw, gently holding him as you kissed back. till’s hands sit just beneath your waist, on top of your legs as he drags you closer. he needed more of your touch.

till goes from eager and rough to smooth and calm in a few seconds, slowing down and pulling away almost hesitantly. he is still in a daze, staring at your lips as you both gather your thoughts. and when he does, he widens his eyes and pulls away hastily.

“i’m sorry! i didn’t mean to!” he yelps, covering his face. he couldn’t believe himself, when did he have that much courage around you? his voice is muffled behind his hands, and his eyes are squeezed shut. “that was a mistake, please forgive me—”

you smooch his knuckles covering his mouth, a short but sweet one. he stops, freezing up at your warmth.

“it’s fine, till.” you say, grinning at him, “i liked it a lot. but i… i kind if ruined your make up a bit. let me fix it, okay?”

he drops his hand and lets you hold his face again, picking up your brush to do your touch ups. but he squeezes his eyes shut again and has to look away as soon as you’re finished. you looked even more beautiful! how could this be happening?

“till,” you say, putting your things away in your bag, “don’t be embarrassed.”

“i’m not!” he mumbles back at you, standing up, “let’s go now!”

you have to chase him down after packing away your things, seeing how red his face was. till swears he will never look you in the eye ever again.

↣ ivan

“oh, there you are.” you say, leaning against your makeup desk. the door shuts behind him, making the sound of people on the other side quiet down. “took you long enough, ivan.”

“the costumes were mixed up.” he explains, tugging at his collar to loosen it up.

you pull out the chair for him, letting ivan sit down before you set him in front of the mirror. “you know you’re not supposed to keep a girl waiting.” you joke, sitting on top of the desk and unlocking the box of makeup.

“you say that as if she isn’t obligated to wait for me.” he huffs at you, leg over his knee. he glances at your irritated face. “so what are you doing to me today?”

“clean look.” you reply, popping open the foundation.

he nods his head, watching as you take a sponge and begin to apply it on his face. you were gentle with him, slowly moving his chin to face where you needed him to face. you eyes barely strayed from him, and to say he didn’t enjoy the attention would be a lie.

one of the reason he was happy to be paired up with you was because you paid such close attention to him. when trialing to be his makeup artist, you brought him some tea to help with his throat. he asked you how you knew he liked that flavour, and you told him you saw him drink it last week. from then on, he had been stuck to you like glue.

the guy lets you do what you need to, staying as still as possible. but he opens an eye when you let out a groan. “what’s wrong?”

your fingers leave him face, almost taking all his warmth with you, as you crane your neck. “no, nothing. just hurts my neck.” you explain, hopping off the desk.

ivan blinks as you come closer to him, holding his chin in your hands to make him look up at you. you stood in between his legs, makeup brush in your other hand. ivan leans back in his chair, putting out his other leg as you come so close that his chest is nearly touching you.

“close your eyes again, okay?” you mumble out, going back to your work. you hold the back of his neck to soothe the position of his head, picking out a good colour for him. as you finish, you feel ivan’s warm hands place themselves on your waist, holding you in position. “is something wrong?”

“hm? oh, nothing.” he replies, brushing his thumb against the hem of your shirt. you shiver at the touch, hastily placing a hand on his to stop him. he opens his eyes again, seeing your flustered expression. a smile tugs at his lips. “are you alright?”

“y—yeah…” you mumble out, carefully taking your hand off his. you sigh out, trying to finish off what you needed to do. ivan is quiet, smile still on his face as you work. “okay. i’m done.”

your fingers leave his face. but you don’t get very far before he takes your hand in his. his lips press against your knuckles, gently and cautiously. you freeze up, holding your breath and staring at him. his other hand holds you in place, keeping you close to him.

he peers at you from his seat, a certain glint in his eyes. “thank you, y/n.” he mumbles against your hand.

you hold your hand close to your chest as he releases you. “what’s going on today, ivan? you’re more touchy than usual.”

“is that bad?” he asks, tilting his head.

“no, it’s not bad.” you explain, taking your brushes and putting them in the box. you could feel your face flushing, you couldn’t turn back to him. you knew he would be wearing that clueless smile. and you would be stammering for your words. “so, um… is this the only thing you’re filming today?”

“yes.” he replies, watching as you carefully put everything away. even in the mirror, you don’t look at him. “are you busy for the rest of the day?”

“no, actually. i’m heading back after this.” you say, grabbing your jacket and tugging it on. after taking a breath in, you turn to him. “i’ll tell them you’re ready.”

ivan stands up, running fingers through his hair before stepping closer to you, his hands finding your jaw. you freeze up, shivering under his touch. your lower back hits the desk, making you lay hands on the wood. he makes you feel like you’re going crazy.

“you’re gorgeous, you know.” he mumbles out, staring at you with piercing eyes.

“uh, thank you, ivan, i—hmph!”

he captures your lips in a single moment, holding onto your shoulder gently. your hands find his face again, caressing him as you slowly melt into him. your eyes flutter shut as his do, feeling overwhelmed with such warmth that you find yourself chasing after him when he pulls away.

ivan chuckles, leaning forward once more to peck you on the lips again. you open your eyes, stunned. “why did you—”

“i should go now, it’ll be starting in five minutes.” he says, checking the clock. ivan leans away, gathering himself and fixing his hair in the mirror behind you before moving to the door. he stops with his hand on the doorframe as it slides open. “i’ll see you after, okay?”

you nod your head slowly, gulping down your nerves.

“good.” he smiles, walking out of the room, “see you, y/n.”

↣ luka

“good job, luka.” you compliment him, waiting in the wings for him to come off stage. he pants, wiping sweat off his brow. you smile, holding pit a towel. “ready for makeup? full dress rehearsal today.”

“right.” he huffs out, patting his face dry. he follows you to his dressing room, feeling a little tired. “what have you been up to?”

“waiting for you.” you respond, opening the door and closing it behind him. he sighs, tiredly sitting in the makeup chair by the mirror. you blink at his state, walking over and placing a hand on his cheek. he stirs. “oh, luka… how much sleep did you get last night?”

“not much.” he groans, rubbing his eyes. you furrow your brows, retracting your hand. “it’s fine. let’s start.”

you blink at him before nodding, beginning your work. luka was probably the best one of your clients when it came to makeup, he cared a lot about his appearance, and he appreciated your work. the only difference with now is that he isn’t giving you some snarky remark or flirting with you through his eyes. he was genuinely sleepy.

“lift your head up higher, luka.” you say, taking the brush away from his face. he only hums out to you, eyes still closed. “luka.”

sighing, you step closer to him, taking his face in your hand and holding his chin up higher. he doesn’t make a sound, only leaning into your palm. “you seriously need to take a nap.”

“mhm.” he says, placing his hands on the back of your knees gently. you squirm in your spot, making him peer open an eye. “i have practice though.”

“it’s a shame.” you sigh, brushing your thumb against his cheek, “you look so pretty when you’re sleeping.”

“creep.” he mutter out.

you roll your eyes, moving the brush tip around his eyelids. he stills for a moment. “i think i overheard one of the producers saying you were losing your voice and that you’re on vocal rest.” you claim, “so shouldn’t you be keeping quiet?”

he nods his head at that after you pull away, his thumbs drawing on the sides of your legs. his blue fingers dance along your pants, listening to you move around. you were delicate with him, no matter how much trouble he caused you. the first time you did his makeup, he complained that he didn’t like it and refused to perform.

but now, he was astounded by how you carefully pat your thumb against his temple, as if soothing him.

“you’re much more bearable when you’re quiet.” you sigh, “it’s such a shame that you’ve got such a pretty voice, and you use it to be annoying.”

he furrows his brows, lifting his head away from you. his eyes open to see your smile. luka rolls his eyes at you, running fingers through his hair. you turn away to grab something from your bag, popping open the bottle and getting ready to use it.

“since you can’t talk, i’ll let you know that i was at mizi’s practice yesterday.” you explain, being careful not to smudge your work as it dries. luka lets out a small sigh. “she was telling me about how she misses homemade food. i told her that she and sua should come over to mine and i’ll make something for them.”

he peeps open an eye again, giving you a look. you raise a brow and sigh, “you said my cooking was good.”

you lift your finger from his cheek, applying the most palest pink you have on him by a loose brush. his skin was so smooth, making your job a lot easier since it wouldn’t take much to make him look presentable.

“it is.” he mumbles out, suddenly moving his arms to lay atop your hips. you sigh through your nose, annoyed at how he ignores his orders to keep quiet. “why’re you cooking for them? they don’t know how to?”

“i didn’t say that, luka.” you huff, pushing his hair off his forehead, “i actually heard from till that mizi is a great cook.”

“that boy only ever sings praises about her.” luka rolls his eyes. you chuckle, knowing he was right. the blonde hugged you closer to himself, cheek squished against your stomach. “what has she ever done to deserve it?”

“don’t be mean. so jealous, luka.” you say to him, smiling softly. he peers up at you before tilting his head.

“me? jealous of her?” he scoffs at you, shaking his head and pulling himself off of you. you were done anyway, now beginning to pack up you belongings. “that’s outrageous of you to say, y/n.”

“seems like it though.” you admit, shrugging your shoulders. when you turn back around to him, luka looks upset. he crosses his arms, pout playing on his lips as he stared at the ground. you sigh, patting his shoulder, “it’s fine, you’re still the world’s favourite human singer.”

“yeah.” he huffs out, barely audible.

you furrow your brows, leaning over and placing a plan on his shoulder. “look, you’re a great singer and you’re handsome. what more could you ask for?”

he mumbles, looking back at you, “do you like me?”

“of course i do.” you reply, scanning his face. he only gives you an unconvinced look. you roll your eyes.

leaning forward to him, you press a chaste kiss to his lips. he stills for a quick second, but soon enough you feel him melt against you. his palm rests against your cheek, pulling you closer. he feels warm when you hold yourself away just enough to kiss him.

his hair has always felt silky smooth. it brushes against your forehead, kissing your skin. his whole body felt like it was pouring itself into you. he wanted to belong.

you pull away before you ruin anymore of his makeup, blinking your eyes a few times at his dazed expression. “i like you, luka.” you say sternly, looking him dead in the eye, “i’m not lying. promise.”

luka thinks to himself for a moment before sighing and standing up. he looks back at you with the tiniest smile. “thanks, y/n.”

“good. now, let’s go. i’ll watch your rehearsals.” you say, patting his back as you walk him to the door. you fix his sleeves, smoothing out the creases.

“good luck, luka.” you chime, standing on the sidelines.

he stares at you for a moment before replying, “thank you.”

Hellooo I really like your works especially the alnst ones!! ><, so can I request a Ivan, Luka, and Till x Anemic!s/o?? and could you make hcs and scenarios for each one? Tysmm! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

⋆·˚ ༘ *╰┈➤ ❝Dont fall if it isnt for me!!❞

♡ Ivan, Till, Luka x Anemic!Reader -> Gn Reader, fluff, headcanons + small scenario, the alien of Reader is implied to be abusive

↳ Till is the type to… ༉‧₊˚✧

♡ Poor baby is always keeping an eye on you because he cant stand the thought of you fainting :(

♡ At first, he thought the reason you were so pale and cold all the time was that your guardian probably kept you caged up— he wasnt entirely wrong, that was true but it was also because you were anemic!

♡ Once he finds out? He acts calm, but in the inside he is 24/7 trying to take care of you, more if you two are still on ANAKT GARDEN

♡ He will ask you to keep your trainings easy and calm, would give you part of his food even if he recieves barely anything and would try to take naps with you if you ever felt tired (practically always)

♡ Anyways, Till isnt too sure how to help out with your anemia, but he'll be at your side! -> Literally would throw hands with the aliens for you if they are exploiting you while you feel dizzy

"Reader..."

Till called you while he watched you practice, he already told you to take it easy three times but yet you continued dancing and singing— you felt out of yourself by now but if you didnt learn this choreo, you didnt want to know what your guardian could do to you...

"N-not now Till, i have to learn this" - You say with a shaky breath trying to focus even if your gaze was blurry and your heart was starting to beat faster.

Till, letting out a frustrated sigh, finally stood up from where he was sitting. - "Stop being dense, I dont want you to—" - Before he could finish his lecture, you tripped, your vision going pitch black for a moment. He was quick to catch you, even as you practically fell into him

You two were on the floor for a moment, your head resting in Till's shoulder until his shaky hand decided to caress your hair finally— with a sigh, he tried to calm the red from his face while you leaved a small laugh, even if you felt tired he kept you close and that made you happy, deciding to finally hear his lecture.

"Youre so stupid...atleast rest like this a moment, alright? I'll protect you from your guardian if he acts like a dumbass...i promise."

↳ Ivan is the type to… ༉‧₊˚✧

♡ This boy is always analyzing you, so that means the moment he knows you have anemia, is the moment he tried to find books about it

♡ He would try EVERYTHING to make your situation better. Bad diet? Yeah, you can have his, he always gets good food. Lack of sun? He would try to get you out and get some with the excuse of doing photoshoots or something!

♡ If you ever felt tired (most of the time better said) he is the first one to make you sit down and rest while talking nonstop the symptoms of anemia so you stay still

♡ He cuddles you a lot! If you feel embarassed of always being cold, no worries— i think he is just as cold as you are! So seek warm together <3

♡ Your personal reminder to take care of you, literally everyday he will try his best for you to feel better! And you better listen to him, because if you're overworking yourself instead of paying attention to him, he'll just drag you to rest.

"Okaay, so you eated good today! We can have a little break and then i can help you practice your vocals on that song—" - Ivan was interrupted by you standing abruptly, but he kept that smile that showed his fang always

"No, i should train now and uhh..." - You tried to end the sentence, but standing quickly got consequences for you, making the dizziness appear while your gaze stumbled

Ivan noticed and just leaved a small laugh, even if he heard your grumbles, he made you climb onto his back so you could rest while he walked

"C'monn, lets rest a little and then i'll help you practice, you have to hear me you know! Just...dont throw on me"

With that being said, Ivan dragged you against a tree, hoping the artificial sun of ANAKT GARDEN would help you while he hummed your song, talking about how pretty it would sound once you sang it.

↳ Luka is the type to… ༉‧₊˚✧

♡ Poor baby is so head over heels for you that he thought for a moment that maybe giving his blood to you would help :( Like, when you two were childs, he hitted his mouth thinking that blood would help you

♡ Listen, he has tons of things to check his health state too. He would try to see if any of them could help you

♡ Even if you had clones, he isnt letting you go. So, with his little knowledge from books, he would start taking care of you even if its pretty harsh or indirect with his lectures ♡ Would try to share his food with you, fails successfully because his ass is a big eater. Still, he always tries to make sure you're eating well, and when you dont, he'll call you out on it. If its because the aliens dont give you enough? He'd let you bite him to calm the hunger

♡ He isnt the most healthy person either, so he understands you when youre tired or dizzy. He was always forced to continue training even when he feels like that, but for you he'd force you to take it easy "Lukaaa...c'mon we have to learn this or else were gonna fail the collab!" - You say crossing your arms while Luka gazed boredly at you Even if you felt a little dizzy by now, your guardian managed to get you a collab with Luka! An important event since he was known as the ruler of the stage. The bad thing for both of you? it counted with a choreo and you urged to learn it well to not be punished for a mistake during the collab, even if it meant overworking yourself.

Luka sighed, standing up and putting his hands on your shoulders - "Dont be stupid, i know you didnt have a big meal today and by the look of your eyes youre kinda dizzy, arent you? Im giving you the chance to rest, just take it." Seeing the small guilt and worry in your averted gaze made him feel something— you always make him feel something, dont you? He sighed again, rolling his eyes as he took your wrist, guiding you towards his messy room, filled with things for his health and papers all over the floor. With a swift move, he managed to lay you on his bed, and without hesitation, he joined you, hugging you close, his head resting on your shoulder without thinking too much about it "Stay here— you dont want to faint, do you? So use your head for a moment and cuddle with me..."

You sighed, letting him win the argument as always as you resigned to caress his hair. Maybe you can train later, now you have a new task in hand— that a sleepy Luka doesnt end up confusing you for something sweet and bitting you!

things they do that make your heart skip a beat

♱ bakugou, kirishima, midoriya, todoroki, kaminari, shinsou

fluffy and suggestive 😔

disclaimer this could all js be niche stuff i find attractive…

bakugou

♱ wears black compression shirts and tank tops that cling to his biceps, shows uncharacteristic patience helping you with schoolwork, blushes when he catches you looking at him, grabs your hips when he walks past you, cooks shirtless with a ‘kiss the cook’ apron on, chronic manspreader, reverses the car with his hand on your seat and looking over his shoulder yk exactly what im talking about

kirishima

♱ makes you sit on his back when he does press ups - will then proceed to do one handed press ups while grinning at you in the gym mirror, poses after a work out for you, wipes stuff off your face and (if edible duh) licks it off his thumb, has the worlds deepest morning voice, hugs you from behind CONSTANTLY - if he could glue himself to your backside you better believe he would

midoriya

♱ IS RESPECTFUL TO HIS MOTHER 😫😫, will hurl himself out the car to come open your door for you, gives you the most insightful opinions of clothes, makeup, whatever, rubs his thumb over your hand when he holds your hand, holds the door open for you without a second thought, the sidewalk rule <3, saves every. single. photo. you send him

todoroki

♱ pays for everything before you can protest, sends you flowers with little notes attached randomly, brushes/styles your hair for you, will sit for hours in changing rooms w you and make you do 360s for every outfit, takes candids of you and refuses to delete any of them, constantly leans down so you can speak in his ear and you get a big whiff of his fancy cologne, speaks diff languages 🥹

kaminari

♱ leans his hands on the tops of doorways when he’s talking to you, pulls you in by your belt loops to talk to you, leans over in the middle of serious conversations to whisper a stupid joke in your ear that you have to struggle not to cackle at, wears rings and lets you play with them, calls you “m’lady” and “ma’am” when you’re annoyed at him, whenever he zips you up in a dress or buttons you up he’ll kiss the back of your neck and your shoulders, is really good with his little baby and toddler cousins 🩷🩷🩷

shinsou

♱ “yeah?” “mhmm?” WHEEWWW SIR, plays guitar for you and sends u vids of him playing songs u request, stretches and his shirts always lift up to show off his happy trail 🙂‍↕️, drags you down to sit in his lap for EVERY activity he does - paperwork, video games, whatever, has constant bedroom eyes???, tugs on your hair to get your attention, had to lean back and adjust himself everytime he sits down bc he wears the baggiest pants in existence

do i need to start a taglist?

hardcore launches with the boys

in which neither of you take a… soft approach, to announcing your secret relationship

todoroki didn’t expect for it to go the way it did. it was a normal training day when suddenly he turned only to see you straight on your back, air knocked out of you from the move bakugo had just pulled on you. he lost his shit.

suddenly there he was, right next to you as bakugo found himself as a human ice cube. he gently pulled you up and dusted you off.

“you okay, love?” he gently placed his hand on your cheek.

“shoto, while i appreciate the gesture,” you slowly pushed his hand down, “we’re in training and it’s bound to happen. you can’t ice anyone just because they’re doing their assignment.”

“i know, but i dont care. you’re my girlfriend nobody has the right.” he simply shrugged.

a few gasps were heard, they turned their heads to find an unintended audience. the entire class.

“you’re together?!” everyone yelled.

“HALF AND HALF BASTARD!”

◡̈

bakugo wasn’t exactly discrete, especially when it was agreed you guys weren’t going to hide it anymore. it was a nice sunday morning when he came down,

only to see you wearing his favorite shirt and sweatpants that had been missing for days.

there you sat next to mina and tsu, they took took notice of the shirt but decided not to say anything.

that was until mina couldn’t hold it anymore, “aren’t those bakugos clothes?” you looked down, taking notice that you forgot to change before coming down, “uhhh-”

“yeah, aren’t those my fucking clothes?” you heard from behind you. you jumped up and darted for an escape, only to be grabbed by the hips and pinned to his front.

“you know i’ve been looking for my shit for days now, right?” he whispered in your ear.

you wordlessly shook your head, words gone and heart beating a million times a second. he knew exactly how to get a rise out of you.

your cheeks flushed as he turned you around to face him, before he could see your face you quickly shoved your face in his chest.

he chuckled, “you’re so fucking lucky you’re pretty.”

“EEEEKKKK!” they both looked over to see mina and both squads starring at them with wide eyes, “YOU GUYS ARE DATING?!”

◡̈

sero would do it in a funny way, you’d be arguing about some stupid shit in the common room. you, mina, and jirou would be ripping their asses for doing some dumb shit.

the girls were too heated to even realize you were yelling at sero, except for kaminari and kirishima.

they looked at you both strangely, which caught the attention of the girls. and shortly enough it was only you yelling at sero.

“you’re so fucking dumb! i swear you give me a headache every single goddamn day, yet i-” you were soon cut off by lips touching yours gently, all anger seemed to diminish and your brain went fuzzy.

when you both pulled away his hands still remained on your face, “y’know you’re so pretty when you’re angry?

“oh my god?!”

◡̈

denki would find it fun to mess with everyone, he’d go on and on about this mystery girlfriend.

“she’s soooo pretty”

“i want her so bad right now”

“she thinks i’m funny”

“guys where should i take her for dinner?” he whispered, hoping not to attract your attention from the girls.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP DUNCE FACE WE KNOW SHES NOT REAL!” bakugo screamed, getting everyone’s attention.

“YES SHE IS!” denki yelled back.

“THEN WHO WHOM?” he paused, “HM?”

“me.”

everyone snapped their head towards you, full of shock.

you lazily walked over to him and wrapped your arms around his neck from behind, laying a small kiss on his cheek.

“WHAT?!”

◡̈

kirishima would do it completely on accident while admirning you.

everyone was stuck on their own task of the day, beating their opponents ass.

you specifically were never one to back down, something kirishima absolutely adored about you. you were a hardass and stubborn as a mule, sometimes biting him in the ass.

you were now going up against mina, and odds weren’t in her favor, bless her soul. you were a tough girl. and as of right now you had her in a chokehold on the ground.

kirishima stood there in awe.

not because his friend was getting her ass beat, but because his girlfriend was so, manly.

“damn, that’s my girlfriend.”

everyone snapped their heads to him,

“what.”

◡̈

midoryia wasn’t very sneaky about it in the first place.

so when the class woke up one sunday and found you two cuddling on the couch after a failed movie night, it really was no surprise.

instead of being abrupt and waking you guys up (like bakugo offered) they layer a blanket on the top of you two. nicely and gently.

“they’re a cute couple.” tsu commented.

“oh for sure,” sato started, “they’re both hard working and very very sweet.”

“this is unacceptable on school property though-”

a joint “shut up iida” ensued.

HER MAJESTY OF SMAUS HAS RETURNED YAY Could I request this SMAU please: you promising to post pictures of them in your IG to solidify publicly that he’s your BF, but you only post cheeky and sneaky pictures like his back, his hand and stuff like that (making it hard to tell who is it) and them getting irritated or amused by it (or they just don’t give a f) 

with Kiri, Baku & Shinsou (and maybe Denks if you're generous) THANK YOU

HUZZAAAHHHHHH thank you for this silly req <3 even though its been a minute heh

soft launch // smau

kirishima, bakugou, shinsou, denki

-

mha tag: @lotuslovers @babylambdietcoke @0skullyard0

katsuki tag: @bitchyfestivalbouquet @kaldurahms-lover

⊹₊⟡⋆ 𝚘𝚑, 𝚒𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚠…

⤷ mha x f!reader (use of she/her pronouns, fem. relationship labels)

⭑ number-one hero deku, sitting on the couch across from his girlfriend in his pajamas, applying matching green face masks and giggling at the mess they’re making

⭑ cold and formidable pro-hero shoto, cross-legged on the wood-paneled floor with his wife as they share a bottle of wine, despite the large vacant table and long vacant counter, laughing quietly about the most recent scandal at work

⭑ great explosion murder god dynamight, begging for mercy as his fiancée sits atop his chest grinning triumphantly and tickling him without remorse, his eyes watering and lungs burning because she knows exactly the spot that makes him unravel 

⭑ fashion icon pinky, known for her model-worthy looks, bundled up in blankets and stolen hoodies and mismatched socks and sweatpants with her girlfriend as the two of them binge-watch all five seasons of riverdale 

⭑ charming and dashing hero chargebolt, sitting in front of the tv at seven am, sharing a blanket with his fiancée and watching cartoons and eating cereal because neither of them wanted to cook and definitely not resembling two responsible adults whose wedding is in two months

⭑ the ever cool and composed ingenium absolutely losing his shit because his wife was unaware that the dominos pasta containers are aluminum and cannot go in the microwave, as they found out the hard way, the pair now staring at a crispy microwave and charred countertop

⭑ sweet and kind uravity who becomes an absolute menace when up against her girlfriend at mario kart because they agreed the loser would do the dishes and she refuses to even touch that mountain of plates after tamale night 

⭑ the manliest of all heroes, red riot, who swears there is no manlier thing than going for drive-thru at one in the morning with his fiancée in the passenger seat because they had a fry craving

dividers by @/cafekitsune

𓄲 ❝HEART BEAT❞

pairing ﹕ katsuki bakugou x reader.

— contents: sleepy katsuki. denki and kirishima are menaces. established relationship. short. — word count ﹕ .5k — a/n: OHMIGOSH FIRST REQUEST !! i i kind of went a little off-track . . . i hope that’s okay and i hope you like this ! i also added jirou into the baku-squad b/c that’s one of my personal hc’s !

“what is happening right now?”

”dude . . . he’s, like, asleep. in public.”

you don’t have to open your eyes to know it’s kirishima and denki standing in front of the couch, peering down at you and katsuki. you’d warned the blonde that falling asleep in the common room went against everything he stood for, and increased the risk of people finding out you were together, but he’d shrugged and said he didn't give a damn.

your eyes open just the slightest bit and kirishima flinches, taking a step back. “jesus, y/n!” he exclaims, clutching his chest dramatically. “you can’t scare a guy like that . . .”

”you guys better shut the hell up,” you whisper harshly, narrowing your eyes. you make sure not to move—not to shift too much and wake up your sleeping boyfriend. “if he wakes up and sees you two idiots staring at him, he’ll never take a nap again.”

simultaneously, they raise their hands in defense. 

“sorry, y/n,” denki says. “please, carry on with your . . . nap.”

the two of them share a glance, then snicker, then make their way out of the room. you let your head fall back into place, tucked into the crook of katsuki’s neck, and close your eyes with a sigh.

there’s maybe a minute and a half of silence before you hear giggles in the distance, accompanied by the sound of a camera going off. your eyes shoot open, immediately darting to the stairs, where kirishima, denki, mina, sero, and jiro are crouched down, phones pointed at the couch.

you narrow your eyes once again and furrow your brows. “what are you doing?” you mouth to them, lifting your head to look at them properly.

mina shrugs, a wide grin on her face. “when is the next time we’ll actually catch him lacking, huh?” she raises her brows and nods. “we have to take this loss and use it for our blackmail folder.”

”blackma—“ you start to repeat what she said, but katsuki shifts beside you and everyone freezes. nobody moves, nobody breathes.

katsuki isn’t a scary guy. no matter how the public paints him, no matter how many times he threatens to kill people, no matter how many times he’s accidentally made children cry—he’s not scary. 

however.

he does, in fact, hold a grudge. you ate his leftovers in first year once, and he didn’t talk to you for three months— even when you were his assigned training partner! denki made fun of his “bedtime” once, and the next day, denki had lime green hair.

you lay your head back down, keeping your eyes trained on the band of miscreants sitting on the stairs, and begin softly trailing your fingers across katsuki’s arm. you’re pretty sure you’ve pavlov trained him into falling asleep whenever you tickle his arm.

his breathing evens out again, chest heaving with a big breath, and then he’s fast asleep again. it almost brings a frown to your face because that’s just how tired he is. he’s been working so hard lately—he always had, but third year has been kicking his ass.

”go away,” you whisper to your friends.

surprisingly, they listen. they trail back up the stairs, mumbling to each other about something you can’t hear. you don’t really care though, because your occupied with your boyfriend's heart beating in your ear.