Your Boyfriend, Damian Wayne’s Instagram

hii i recently became obsessed with your writing and links theyre so good😖do you think u could write something about tim drake getting nasty w his s/o like him being really into eating pussy or maybe give a few more link reqs ?? anyways luv uu

Tim Drake being a nasty boy lmao

Authors note: oh darling, flattery will get you EVERYWHERE on this blog. Thank you very much for your sweet comments.

18+ nsfw, fem reader, kinda public play

“Christ Tim!”

You harshly whisper at him, feeling the breath on your ear as his hand wanders down. Nursing your drink, you glance around the packed gala to ensure nobody was looking in your direction, or they’d see your boyfriend attempting to grope your ass over your tight dress.

“C’mon birdie, it’s not my fault.” He mumbles, but withdraws his hand just the same. “I wouldn’t be so desperate if you’d have let me-“

You cut him off with a slight slap of his arm, knowing what he was gonna say before he finished. Tim hated these things, charity gala’s full of stuck up rich folk who cared more about their public image than helping whatever group the gala was pledging to support. But being adopted by practically the richest and most philanthropic man means he has to make appearances, much to his dismay.

You’d had to practically drag him out of bed and into a suit, before you started to get yourself ready. That’s when he started, kissing up and down your neck and collarbones as you were applying your moisturiser. But it quickly escalated to him practically crawling under your vanity and begging you to let him eat your pussy.

Any other day you’d have let him, sinking back into your chair and letting him lap at you like an obedient puppy. But you knew if you let him you’d never get to the gala, and his dad would have had another stern talk with Tim about the responsibility of public life and image, so you pushed him away, ignoring the neglected throb of your clit.

But it didn’t stop him from trying, in the car over when he groped at your thighs. He grinned when you couldn’t hold back your smile, before huffing when you told him you weren’t changing your mind.

So now you were both stood like wallflowers, watching the elite of Gotham schmooze over expensive shrimps and champagne, while you try and ignore your pussy leaking.

“Tim, can’t you just pretend to enjoy yourself?”

He smirks, leaning in and biting your ear playfully. “I know how I’d really enjoy myself”

“Oh yeah? Well I don’t think that your father’s guests would appreciate you fucking me over the buffet table.”

“Babyyyy.” He whines, “you know I don’t mean that. I meant we could go someplace…”

You laugh softly, shaking your head a little at his antics. He hums, his hand holding your waist and pulling you into him. “Birdie I’m serious…I bet I could make you cum so quick we’d hardly be gone.”

“Bit cocky of you, Drake.” You tease, but god you can’t deny you’re tempted. The boredom of such a stuffy party has really set in, and as his fingers dance along your back, you get the sense he’ll achieve his wants regardless.

“I’ve got the skills, what can I say?” He laughs softly, before squeezing your ass a little. “C’mon…please?”

You sigh, thighs pressed together before relenting. Giving him a playful glare, you whisper to him. “Alright. You have five minutes.”

That’s how you find yourself with your back pressed against the wall of an empty corridor, and Tim sinking to his knees. He rolls the tight fabric of your dress up, exposing your wet panties.

“And you say I’m the desperate one.” Tim taunts at you, before you playfully roll your eyes.

Undeterred, he gently places a few kisses on your inner thighs, dragging his tongue up and causing you to shiver a little. He gently nibbles, before you whimper gently.

“Tim…thought you were on a time limit.”

“Can’t I appreciate my girl? Especially when I’m about to do my favorite activity?”

Despite the tough face you’re attempting to put on, you can’t deny the teasing lilt of his words makes you blush. But alas he pulls down your panties, eyeing up your dripping cunt with a facial expression that screams desire.

He leans in and sniffs, causing your blush to deepen at how truly desperate he looks down there, before he sticks out his tongue and licks a broad stripe along your folds. You whimper softly, as he repeats the motion a few times, before he really gets stuck in.

The sounds are obscene, as he delves in like an explorer, nose brushing against your clit as he practically makes out with your hole. Hyper aware that you’re both still semi in public, you clasp a hand over your mouth to stifle any more noises. You don’t want to get busted because one drunk social climber decides to leave the gala early and explore, only to find Bruce Wayne’s son with his tongue up his girlfriend.

Your hips gently rock into his face as he continues to slurp and suck every part of your pussy. Shaking his head, he ensures no inch is spared from his appendage. He plunges his tongue into your hole before licking up and flicking against your clit quickly just to watch you shiver.

When he pulls away for breath, the lower half of his face shines with a mixture of spit and your juices, but he doesn’t stop for long before diving right back in.

“I love how you taste.” He says against you, sucking your clit into his mouth.

You try and thank him, but you don’t trust yourself to not moan loud enough for someone to hear, so you keep quiet. A hand tangles its way into his hair, and you tug gently to manoeuvre him into the right area.

He can tell you’re getting closer, reading your body language well, so he doubles down on your clit. Moaning into you, his nose is practically completely covered with your pubic hair due to how much he’s pushing his face into you, not wanting to breathe anything that isn’t your smell.

With a choked warning, you cum in his mouth, small gasps and moans escaping you as your fist locks in his hair. Your chest heaves with shaky breaths as you come down, but Tim doesn’t stop. He licks at your folds, your inner thighs, attempting to drink up every last bit of cum that he can.

“t-tim…” you moan out, knowing you both have been gone for too long.

“I know I know.” He mumbles, not being able to resist a few more laps at your hole before reluctantly pulling away. “I could have given you another one birdie.”

You laugh softly. “I know babe.”

Just then, you hear someone walking down the corridor, and you quickly yank your panties up while Tim stands and pulls your dress back down. Just in time for Jason to come round the corner.

“Tim, been lookin’ for you everywhere. Bruce is gonna make his speech, wants a picture with everyone afterwards, get your ass back inside.” He says, eyeing you both.

“We’ll be right there.” You reply, attempting to smile normally, to which Jason hums.

The older brother turns to leave, but not before looking over his shoulder. ‘And Tim dear? Wipe your face before you get in.”

woah!

Trapped Together – A mission goes south, and Damian and Reader get locked in a small space, forced to work together until help arrives.

The mission had gone to hell fast. What was supposed to be a simple recon job turned into a full-blown mess when an unexpected security system activated, locking down the building and trapping you and Robin in what seemed to be an old storage closet.

You glared at the heavy metal door as if you could will it open with sheer frustration. “This is your fault.”

Damian scoffed. “My fault? You were the one who tripped the sensor.”

“It was hidden under a damn rug, Wayne!” You crossed your arms, back pressed against the shelves behind you. “Who even does that?”

“A competent security team, clearly,” Damian muttered, arms also crossed, his posture stiff as he leaned against the opposite wall. Not that there was much space between you two—this closet was tiny, and no matter how much you tried, you kept brushing against each other.

You huffed, shifting to sit on the floor with a wince. “Alright, whatever. Batcomputer will notice the lockdown eventually, so all we have to do is wait for backup.”

Damian checked his comm, expression souring. “The signal is jammed.”

“Of course it is,” you muttered, tilting your head back against the wall. “So what, we just sit here and contemplate our life choices?”

“Tt. I could attempt to override the lock if—”

A loud clatter cut him off.

You both froze. The source? The tiny vent above your heads.

Then came the unmistakable sound of scurrying.

“…What was that?” you whispered.

Damian’s expression darkened. “A rat.”

You immediately lifted your legs off the floor. “Oh, hell no—”

Another sound. This time closer.

Without thinking, you grabbed Damian’s arm, dragging yourself against him. The space was already cramped, but now you were practically pressed up against his chest, both of you tensed. His breath hitched, but he didn’t pull away—though, from the way his shoulders stiffened, you knew he was trying to act unfazed.

“You’re afraid of rats,” he noted, voice neutral but with the faintest edge of amusement.

“I am not afraid of rats,” you hissed. “I just don’t like them. There’s a difference.”

“Hn.”

The silence stretched, the only sound your still-too-close breathing. You realized suddenly how warm he was, how his heartbeat was steady beneath his suit. Your grip on his arm loosened, but you didn’t let go entirely.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” you grumbled, tilting your head to look at him.

Damian met your gaze, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “You make it difficult not to.”

Your breath caught, pulse stuttering. Was he… flirting? No, that couldn’t be—

Another loud scritch from the vent, and you flinched again, instinctively pressing your face into his shoulder. His hand twitched before carefully resting on your waist, almost hesitant.

“I will ensure the rat does not harm you,” he murmured, voice quieter than before.

You scoffed, but it came out weaker than intended. “So chivalrous, Wayne.”

The moment stretched between you, tension of a different kind settling in the small space. Neither of you moved away. Neither of you wanted to.

And then, of course, the door unlocked with a beep.

You both turned toward it as the heavy door swung open, revealing Nightwing standing there, blinking at the sight of you practically tangled together in the dim closet.

“…Should I come back later?” he asked, lips twitching.

“Shut up, Grayson,” Damian muttered, quickly stepping back—though not before his hand briefly, deliberately, squeezed yours.

Your stomach flipped.

Maybe being trapped with Damian Wayne wasn’t the worst thing after all.

The entire ride back to the Batcave was painfully silent.

You sat next to Damian in the Batmobile, arms crossed, eyes locked on the glowing city outside the window. Every so often, you felt his gaze flicker toward you, but neither of you said a word. Nightwing, meanwhile, was having the time of his life trying not to burst into laughter from the driver’s seat.

“So… storage closet, huh?” he finally broke the silence, barely concealing the amusement in his voice.

Damian exhaled sharply through his nose. “Drop it, Grayson.”

You shot Dick a glare. “There was a rat.”

“And yet, somehow, that’s not the part that made it weird.”

You groaned, sinking further into your seat. Damian stayed rigid beside you, and you could feel the barely restrained irritation radiating off of him. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he was embarrassed.

But no, this was Damian Wayne. He didn’t get embarrassed. Right?

By the time you arrived at the Batcave, you were already bracing yourself for the interrogation. Sure enough, the moment you stepped out of the Batmobile, Bruce was there, arms crossed, looking every bit the imposing Dark Knight.

“What happened?” His voice was all business, eyes flicking between the two of you.

Damian stood straighter, falling into debriefing mode. “A hidden security sensor was tripped, resulting in a full lockdown of the facility. Y/N and I were separated from the main entry points and forced to seek shelter in a storage space while we awaited system override.”

You nodded, rubbing the back of your neck. “Comms were jammed, but once the security failed, we were able to extract without issue. Mission was a bust, though—whoever set up that system knew what they were doing. There was nothing left to salvage.”

Bruce gave a slow, assessing nod. “Understood. I’ll have Tim and Barbara analyze the security logs, see if we missed anything. You two—” His gaze lingered, sharp and unreadable. “—did well.”

You blinked. “That’s it?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Should there be something else?”

Dick coughed behind you, clearly still holding back laughter. Damian shot him a warning glare before stepping forward. “No. That will be all, Father.”

Bruce seemed to consider pressing further, but after a beat, he just nodded. “Good. Get some rest. Dismissed.”

The moment you and Damian turned toward the locker area to change out of your suits, Dick finally let loose the laughter he’d been holding in.

“You two looked cozy back there,” he teased, arms crossed as he leaned against one of the Batcomputers.

You groaned, peeling off your gloves. “I’m never gonna live this down, am I?”

“Absolutely not.”

Damian scowled. “Grayson, your commentary is unnecessary.”

“Oh, I highly doubt that,” Dick grinned. “Especially with the way you had your hand on—”

“Enough.” Damian’s voice had an edge of finality, his ears suspiciously red as he turned away.

Dick just smirked. “Alright, alright. I’ll back off. For now.”

You sighed, shaking your head as you grabbed your duffel bag. “I’m going home.”

Damian turned slightly, hesitating for just a second before saying, “I’ll walk you to the Zeta Tubes.”

You blinked, a little surprised. But you didn’t question it. “…Sure.”

As the two of you made your way deeper into the cave, Damian was uncharacteristically quiet. Not tense, not angry—just… thoughtful.

You glanced at him. “You good?”

He exhaled through his nose. “I dislike inefficiency. We were reckless tonight.”

You frowned. “Dami, we handled it fine. No one got hurt.”

“That’s not the point,” he muttered, then hesitated before adding, quieter, “You were afraid.”

Your stomach did something weird.

“…Of the rat?” you tried to joke, but your voice came out softer than intended.

He didn’t smile. “You held onto me.”

You swallowed. “You didn’t let go.”

That made him pause.

The two of you stopped at the entrance to the Zeta Tubes, the hum of the teleportation system filling the air. He looked at you then—really looked at you, eyes unreadable, expression unreadable, but something flickered behind that perfect mask.

You shifted on your feet. “…Thanks, by the way. For, you know. The whole… chivalry thing.”

A beat of silence.

Then, with the faintest smirk, Damian tilted his head. “It was nothing.”

And before you could respond, he turned, walking away, disappearing into the shadows of the Batcave like he hadn’t just left your heart hammering in your chest.

A Few Days Later…

You hadn’t seen much of Damian since the storage closet incident. Not that you were actively avoiding him or anything—but you were also not not avoiding him.

Because every time you thought about that moment—his hand on your waist, his steady presence, the way he hadn’t pulled away—you felt weird. And not in a bad way. In a dangerous way. In a I-think-I-like-my-best-friend kind of way.

And that was a problem.

You sighed, slamming your locker shut at Gotham Academy, only to nearly collide with Damian himself.

You jumped. “Dude!”

“Tt. Overreacting as usual.”

You scowled. “You lurking as usual.”

He smirked, but there was something deliberate in his presence—something focused. His hands were in his pockets, and he looked at you with the kind of intensity that usually meant he was about to drop some life-altering information.

You crossed your arms. “Okay. Spit it out.”

“I require your presence this evening.”

You blinked. “Require?”

“Yes.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And what exactly am I required for?”

His expression didn’t waver. “Dinner.”

You narrowed your eyes, scanning his face for any hint of a joke. “Like… a mission briefing dinner or a ‘we’re both too exhausted to cook after patrol’ dinner?”

His jaw tensed, just slightly. Then, evenly, “A date.”

Your brain short-circuited.

“…A what now?”

“A date,” he repeated, just as matter-of-factly as before. “You and me. Dinner. As a couple.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs, and for a second, all you could do was stare at him. He, of course, looked perfectly calm—like he hadn’t just casually shattered the entire foundation of your understanding of your relationship.

“I—” You cleared your throat. “I—uh—when did we—?”

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he cut in, tilting his head. “Which means you’ve been thinking about it. Which means there’s something to consider. Which means I am correct in assuming there is mutual interest.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “That is a lot of assumptions, Wayne.”

“Am I wrong?”

Your stomach flipped.

You could lie. You could make this weird. You could pretend the idea hadn’t crossed your mind every second since that damn closet.

But… it had.

And he wasn’t wrong.

You inhaled deeply, narrowing your eyes. “Where?”

He smirked, victorious. “Seven o’clock. I will pick you up.”

Before you could respond, he turned on his heel, walking away like he hadn’t just completely upended your reality.

You stared after him, heart still hammering, mind still reeling.

And then, despite yourself, you smiled.

That Evening – Gotham’s East End Diner

You weren’t sure what you expected when Damian Wayne said date, but sitting across from him in a run-down Gotham diner—complete with squeaky booths, dim lighting, and a jukebox that only worked half the time—was definitely not it.

“You picked a diner,” you said, still processing.

Damian didn’t even blink. “Yes.”

“Like. A greasy diner. With milkshakes.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is there a problem?”

You leaned back in the booth, eyeing him skeptically. “You, Damian Wayne, son of Gotham’s most expensive man, heir to a literal empire, picked this place for our first date.”

“Tt.” He took a sip of water, entirely unbothered. “I assumed you would prefer something casual.”

You frowned, caught off guard. “…I mean. Yeah. But you—” You gestured vaguely at him, still in his usual crisp, well-fitted attire. “You don’t do casual.”

Damian exhaled, setting his glass down. “And yet, here we are.”

You blinked.

Huh.

He really had picked this place for you.

A warmth settled in your chest, and you found yourself smirking. “Alright, Wayne. You get points for effort.”

He smirked back. “As I should.”

A waitress in her mid-fifties appeared at your table, popping gum as she eyed you both. “What can I getcha, kids?”

You hummed, scanning the menu before grinning. “Cheeseburger, fries, and a chocolate milkshake.”

She scribbled it down before turning to Damian. “And you?”

Damian barely looked at the menu. “The same. But vanilla.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Boring.”

He shot you a look. “Classic.”

The waitress chuckled, shaking her head. “Cute. I’ll be back with your food.”

As she walked away, you realized something.

This was… normal. No mission. No patrol. No masks. Just you and Damian sitting in a diner, ordering food like any other couple.

The thought made your stomach flip.

Damian seemed perfectly composed, but there was something softer in his posture—something almost relaxed.

You tapped your fingers on the table. “So, Wayne. What’s your game plan here?”

He tilted his head. “Clarify.”

You smirked. “You ask me out, you take me to a diner, we eat greasy food—what’s next? A moonlit stroll? A kiss under a streetlight?”

Damian’s lips twitched. “Would you like that?”

Your stomach did a whole thing.

You scoffed, pretending your face wasn’t heating up. “I’m just saying, this is shockingly good execution. Almost like you planned it.”

He sipped his water. “I always have a plan.”

You snorted. “Of course you do.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, the hum of the diner filling the background. For once, there was no pressure, no expectations—just easy conversation and unspoken understanding.

And maybe—just maybe—you could get used to this.

Later That Night – Walking Through Gotham

The diner food had been greasy, the milkshakes had been perfect, and somehow, somehow, the night had turned into you and Damian walking side by side through Gotham’s quieter streets. The neon lights of corner stores flickered, casting a soft glow over the cracked pavement.

It wasn’t exactly romantic, but it was nice. Peaceful, even.

You snuck a glance at Damian, who walked with his usual calculated precision—hands in his pockets, gaze scanning the area like he was still on patrol.

“You’re tense,” you noted.

“I’m aware of my surroundings.”

You smirked. “So, tense.”

He exhaled through his nose, side-eyeing you. “I fail to see how observation equates to tension.”

“Observation is good.” You nudged his arm with your elbow. “But we’re off duty, Wayne. You can relax.”

He didn’t respond right away. Then, almost reluctantly, he sighed and rolled his shoulders, loosening his posture ever so slightly. “Happy?”

You grinned. “Very.”

The two of you walked in silence for a bit, the cold Gotham air nipping at your skin. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it did make you tuck your hands into the sleeves of your jacket.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Damian shift slightly—like he was thinking about something.

Then, suddenly, his hand brushed against yours.

You blinked, heartbeat stuttering.

Was that… on purpose?

You glanced at him, but his face remained unreadable. He didn’t pull away, though. Didn’t correct the contact. Just kept walking.

Testing the waters, you let your fingers graze his again.

This time, he did react—by intertwining his fingers with yours.

Your breath hitched.

You looked up at him, half-expecting some snarky comment, but there was none. Just a steady, quiet confidence as he held your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Your stomach flipped.

“So,” you said, voice quieter than before. “You’re really committing to this whole… dating thing, huh?”

He glanced at you, smirking slightly. “Would I have asked if I weren’t serious?”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. “Guess not.”

The night air was cold, but Damian’s hand was warm—steady, sure.

And maybe that was all you needed.

—

When you finally reached your apartment building, you lingered outside, neither of you making a move to leave just yet.

You hesitated, then, before you could talk yourself out of it, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him in a hug.

Damian stiffened for a fraction of a second—like he hadn’t expected it—but then, slowly, his arms came up to hold you in return.

He was warm. Solid. His heartbeat steady against your ear.

“…This is nice,” you admitted, voice muffled against his shoulder.

His hand rested against your back, his grip just tight enough to make you feel it. “It is.”

You smiled against his jacket, eyes fluttering shut for a second.

Yeah.

You could definitely get used to this.

Outside Your Apartment – Late Night in Gotham

Neither of you moved.

The city hummed around you—distant sirens, the occasional honk of a car horn, the low buzz of a flickering streetlamp—but none of it seemed to matter. All that mattered was the warmth of Damian’s arms around you, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his hand rested against your back like he belonged there.

You weren’t sure how long you stood like that, but eventually, Damian exhaled softly, tilting his head just slightly so his chin brushed against the top of yours.

“You should go inside,” he murmured.

You huffed. “You’re the one still holding on.”

He didn’t deny it. Didn’t let go, either.

Instead, he just said, “I will walk you in.”

You pulled back slightly to look at him, still holding onto his arms. “Damian, I live here. I think I can manage walking up a flight of stairs.”

His gaze flickered toward the building entrance, then back to you. “…I’ll feel better if I see you inside safely.”

Your stomach flipped.

You bit back a smile. “You’re really leaning into this ‘boyfriend’ thing, huh?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Should I not?”

You shook your head, amusement tugging at your lips. “No complaints here, Wayne.”

With that, you stepped out of his arms—immediately missing the warmth—before taking his hand and tugging him toward the entrance.

He followed without hesitation.

—

Inside Your Apartment – The Doorstep Dilemma

When you finally stopped at your door, the realization hit that you had officially reached the end of the date.

Which meant…

You swallowed, suddenly feeling weirdly self-conscious under Damian’s gaze. He stood close—hands back in his pockets, posture unreadable, but his eyes… soft.

“You’re staring,” you muttered.

His lips twitched. “I am looking.”

“Same thing.”

“It is not.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the smile creeping onto your face.

Then, silence. Not awkward, but charged.

There was an unspoken question hanging in the air—one you weren’t sure either of you were brave enough to answer.

Damian’s fingers twitched at his sides, like he was debating something.

Finally, he exhaled. “May I—”

Before he could finish whatever thought was forming, you made the executive decision to hug him again.

Because, honestly? That felt safer than dealing with whatever tension was currently buzzing between you.

He tensed slightly—probably surprised—but then, just like before, he melted into it, arms wrapping around you easily.

“…You do this often,” he murmured against your hair.

You smirked against his shoulder. “I like hugging you.”

Damian went quiet at that.

Then, softer than before, he admitted, “I do not mind it.”

Your heart did something stupid.

Slowly, you pulled back, lingering just long enough to meet his gaze. His face was close—too close. Close enough that if you just tilted your chin up—

A breath passed between you.

Your stomach flipped, your fingers twitched, and then—

“Goodnight, Damian,” you whispered, because if you stayed any longer, you might actually spontaneously combust.

His eyes flickered slightly, scanning your face, but he nodded. “…Goodnight, Beloved.”

And with that, you slipped inside, shutting the door before you did something reckless.

Like kiss him.

Later That Night – Sleepless Conversations

You had been lying in bed for a solid twenty minutes, staring at your ceiling, trying not to think about the fact that you had just been this close to kissing Damian Wayne.

But, of course, that was all you could think about.

The warmth of his hands, the way his voice had softened, the way his eyes had flickered down to your lips for half a second before you bailed—

You groaned, rolling onto your side, yanking the blanket over your head. What the hell was wrong with you?

Your phone buzzed on your nightstand.

You hesitated before reaching for it.

Dami: Are you awake?

Your stomach flipped.

You stared at the screen for a second before responding.

You: No, I’m sleep-texting.

There was a short pause before the typing bubble appeared.

Dami: That would be concerning.

You smirked, rolling onto your back as you texted back.

You: What’s up?

Dami: I have been thinking.

Your heart did a stupid little lurch.

You: Oh no.

Dami: Tt. Do not be dramatic.

You: Impossible. What are you thinking about?

Another pause. Longer this time.

Then—

Dami: The moment outside your apartment.

Your breath caught.

You stared at the text for way too long, rereading it at least five times before you finally worked up the nerve to respond.

You: Oh.

Great. Brilliant. Fantastic response.

The typing bubble appeared, then disappeared. Then reappeared. Like he was debating what to say next.

Finally—

Dami: You left rather abruptly.

You scoffed, sitting up.

You: What was I supposed to do? Stand there and stare at you all night?

Dami: I would not have minded.

Your brain short-circuited.

You: …Damian.

Dami: What?

You: Do you realize what you’re saying right now?

Dami: Yes.

You flopped back onto your pillows, gripping your phone like it was personally attacking you.

You: Are you saying you wanted to kiss me?

Your heart hammered as you hit send.

He didn’t respond right away.

The typing bubble appeared. Then disappeared. Then—

Dami: Would that be surprising?

You squeaked out loud.

You: YES???

Dami: Why?

You: Because you’re you.

Dami: And?

You groaned, shoving your face into your pillow for a second before responding.

You: And you’re all proper and composed and disciplined and intimidating.

Dami: Intimidating?

You: You know you are.

Dami: Tt. That does not answer my question.

You exhaled sharply, chewing your lip.

Okay. Fine. Screw it.

You: Because it’s YOU, Damian. My best friend. And if we kissed, it wouldn’t be just a kiss, would it?

The typing bubble appeared immediately.

Dami: No. It would not.

Your chest ached at how quickly he agreed.

Fingers trembling slightly, you typed—

You: And that doesn’t freak you out?

This time, he took longer to respond.

Then—

Dami: Not as much as it excites me.

Your breath hitched.

You stared at the screen, pulse pounding.

Then, before you could talk yourself out of it, you typed—

You: …So if I hadn’t chickened out, would you have kissed me?

Your phone vibrated immediately.

Dami: Yes.

You clapped a hand over your mouth, muffling a noise that you refused to acknowledge.

Then—

Dami: And the next time I get the chance, I will.

You nearly died on the spot.

The Next Morning – Sick Day Shenanigans

You woke up feeling like absolute death.

Your throat felt like sandpaper, your head was pounding, and every inch of your body ached. It took way too much effort just to roll over and grab your phone from your nightstand.

Squinting at the screen, you groaned and typed out a message.

You: I think I’m dying.

A response came almost instantly.

Dami: Tt. Do not be ridiculous.

You: No, seriously. My body is shutting down. Tell Gotham I loved her.

Dami: You are being dramatic.

You: I literally can’t get out of bed. This is it. I’m done for.

A short pause.

Then—

Dami: I am coming over.

Your eyes widened.

You: Wait, what??

Dami: I will be there soon. Do not die before I arrive.

You groaned, flopping back onto your pillows. Of course he was coming over.

—

20 Minutes Later – The Cavalry Arrives

A firm knock rattled your door.

You barely managed to roll out of bed, wrapping yourself in a blanket like a pathetic sickly burrito as you stumbled to open it.

Sure enough, Damian stood on your doorstep, looking perfectly put together, not a single hair out of place. In one hand, he held a brown paper bag. In the other, a plastic bag filled with medicine.

“You look awful,” he said flatly.

You squinted at him. “Wow, thanks, boyfriend of the year.”

He smirked, stepping inside and nudging the door shut behind him. “You are welcome.”

You barely made it two steps toward the couch before you collapsed onto it with a dramatic groan. “I told you. I’m dying.”

Damian simply rolled up his sleeves.

“I will not allow it,” he said, marching into your kitchen.

You blinked after him. “…Are you cooking?”

“You need proper nutrients,” he called over his shoulder, already rummaging through your cabinets like he owned the place. “And hydration. And rest. Fortunately for you, I am well-versed in all three.”

You stared. “You know how to cook?”

He gave you an unimpressed look. “I was trained by the greatest assassins in the world. Do you honestly believe I am incapable of making soup?”

“…Fair point.”

Satisfied, Damian set to work.

You, meanwhile, remained face-planted on the couch, listening as he moved around with practiced ease. The rhythmic sounds of chopping, stirring, and the occasional clink of dishes were weirdly soothing.

You must have dozed off at some point, because the next thing you knew, Damian was crouching beside the couch, nudging your shoulder.

“Wake up, Beloved.”

You blinked blearily. “Mmm?”

“I have made soup.”

You cracked an eye open, catching the self-satisfied look on his face as he held up a bowl like some kind of prize.

Your heart melted a little.

“You’re proud of this, aren’t you?” you rasped.

He smirked. “Very.”

He helped you sit up—gently, like you might break—and placed the bowl in your hands.

You took a sip.

And holy crap.

It was… good.

Your eyes widened. “Damian—”

“I told you,” he said smugly.

You slurped down more, warmth spreading through your chest. “Okay, fine. You win. You are officially the best boyfriend ever.”

“As I should be.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue.

When you finished, Damian took the bowl, setting it aside before reaching for the medicine he’d brought. “You will take this.”

You made a face. “But—”

“No arguments.”

You groaned but obeyed, swallowing the bitter liquid with a shudder. “Gross.”

Damian smirked. “Good.”

Then, before you could react, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

You froze.

The warmth of his lips lingered, and then he pulled back, his expression smug.

You stared at him. “Did you just—”

He kissed your temple. Then your cheek. Then another on your forehead for good measure.

Your brain short-circuited.

Damian sat back, completely unbothered, as if he hadn’t just left you flustered beyond belief. “Physical affection is known to boost recovery.”

You gawked. “You planned this.”

He smirked. “I always have a plan.”

You groaned, shoving your face into a pillow.

Yeah. You were definitely going to survive this illness.

But Damian Wayne?

He was going to be the death of you.

Damian Wayne comes across a classic christmas carol known well among the children of gotham… pt [1/?]

†  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.

# CELEBRATING CHRISTMAS WITH BATBOYS! ── .✦ ( how you celebrate Christmas with different batboys )

a/n: merry christmasss! I took a small christmas break so enjoyy this one this was supposed to be on drafts but tumblr deleted it for NO REASON. Anywayss enjoyyy, tags: (batboys x fem!reader)

© dollishmehrayan — ( all rights reserved to me. These works cannot be reposted, translated, or modified. Thank you for understanding dollies! )

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

Dick is all about family and making you feel like part of his world. He drags you to Wayne Manor for the annual Christmas gathering.

“You’re not just meeting them you’re officially part of the chaos now.”

He insists on matching Christmas sweaters—preferably something embarrassing but endearing, like sweaters with reindeer antlers or Santa hats.

When you two decorate the tree, he’ll lift you up to put the star on top, even if you don’t need the help. “It’s tradition!”

Christmas morning involves him waking you up early with hot cocoa and a million kisses before unwrapping presents.

He loves going ice skating with you after all the festivities, holding your hand and showing off his acrobatic spins. “Bet you didn’t know I could do that, huh?”

JASON TODD ── .✦

Jason keeps things quiet and low-key, preferring a cozy Christmas at home over big gatherings. He’ll grumble if you insist on dragging him to the Manor but secretly enjoys seeing you happy.

“If Alfred offers you eggnog, don’t drink it. Trust me.”

He’s surprisingly thoughtful when it comes to gifts. He’ll give you something heartfelt, like a first-edition book or a piece of jewelry with a story behind it.

Jason will absolutely read you a Christmas story by the fireplace. He tries to act like it’s no big deal, but you catch him smiling when you lean against him to listen.

Baking Christmas cookies together turns into a disaster. He somehow burns half of them but insists on eating them anyway. “It’s the thought that counts, right?”

At night, he takes you on a walk through Gotham to see the Christmas lights, keeping you close to shield you from the cold and doing that sidewalk rule thingy.

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

Tim’s idea of a perfect Christmas is you, him, and a stack of holiday movies to binge-watch while wrapped in a blanket fort.

“We’re staying up all night. Sleep is for New Year’s Eve.”

He’s a last-minute shopper but somehow always gets you the perfect gift. He’ll blush when you open it and say, “I just… figured you’d like it.”

Decorating the tree is a fun and chaotic process because he tries to turn it into a competition. “Whoever hangs the most ornaments wins bragging rights for the year.”

He insists on taking a cute selfie in front of the tree to commemorate the moment, even if you’re in pajamas and your hair’s a mess.

You exchange heartfelt letters as part of your gift exchange, and his words always leave you teary-eyed.

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

Damian is a bit awkward about Christmas traditions at first, but he puts in effort because he knows how much it means to you.

He surprises you with a beautifully wrapped gift, probably something rare or unique that shows he knows you well. “I trust this meets your expectations.”

If you’re at Wayne Manor, he’ll grumble about the chaos but secretly enjoys seeing everyone together. He stays close to you the entire time.

You two spend part of the day at the animal shelter, helping out with the holiday rush. Seeing him with the animals melts your heart.

At home, he’ll insist on making hot cocoa for you. It’s surprisingly good, and he pretends not to notice your impressed look.

Late at night, he plays piano for you by the fire, begrudgingly admitting that Christmas music isn’t entirely awful.

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

Bruce makes sure Christmas is magical for you. The Manor is decked out with elegant decorations, and Alfred ensures everything is perfect.

He gives you a tour of the massive Christmas tree, explaining how each ornament has a story. “This one’s from the first Christmas Dick spent here. It’s… special.”

Bruce is incredibly thoughtful with gifts. He doesn’t just buy something expensive; he finds something meaningful that shows how much he knows and cares about you.

You spend part of the day helping him and Alfred deliver gifts to shelters and hospitals. It’s a tradition he holds close to his heart.

In quieter moments, he’ll hold you close by the fire, watching the snow fall outside. “Thank you for making this Christmas so much better.”

He surprises you with a slow dance to soft Christmas music, making you feel like you’re in a fairytale.

HEY GIRL i saw your comment but that hoe blocked me so i cant reply🙄🙄 ANYWAYS you’re so real for agreeing with me😘😘

UR SO REAL ILY

FAMILY, FAMILY DEAR BATS 🦇

synopsis : What happens when a normal reader enters Batfamily. Not by getting orphaned or saved but rather just visiting her uncle for the first time ( it's Bruce ). Now somehow she's become the unofficial therapist of this family and for unknown reasons the only one with enough common sense.Also why is everyone so Overprotective?

Or

Normal reader X Platonic yandere Batfamily

Chapter 2 :-

Your eyes twinkled open all while you took your surroundings into view. This most definitely wasn't your room. It was too large yet had a tiny elegance to it. Your mind raked where you were -- seconds passed before you realised you were indeed at your uncle's place. 

Getting off the bed, you made your way to the bathroom and freshened yourself up. Your eyes which were in a daze snap open sharply. You smile at your reflection before coming out. 

Walking out you passed through the large and bright hallways and made your way to the kitchen. Mr. Alfred, you remember, was busy making breakfast. " Good morning, Mr Alfred." He greeted you with a smile. The man had a stern yet soft look in his eyes when he glanced in your direction. 

Passing you an eloquent smile he pushed the seat back for you. " Good morning, Miss Julia. You've woken quite early. " You nodded, " I'm an early wake. Also-" You said turning your head left and right. " Where are my parents?"

" They informed me they had to leave early due to an emergency at work. I was told to inform you when you woke.. " 

Wow, your parents really just left you. What happened to spending a few days there? Really- still you couldn't blame them, they always made time for you but sometimes the work got too heavy or an emergency arrived. " Seems like them. " You sighed while taking a seat. 

Mr. Alfred placed breakfast in front of you. You gasped at the amount, it looked like it could feed ten people. Looking back and forth you asked, " Will my cousins or someone else be joining us? "

Mr. Alfred blinked before a smile found its way on his lips. " Master Duke will be joining us." You had a hard time believing he could eat this much. But hey! It's not like you were familiar with how much a young adult ate. 

As if on que you heard a voice from behind, failing to prevent himself from yawning. " Good morning Alfred. What's for breakfast?” Alfred motioned him to look at the table. You heard a gasp, “ Wow, you really prepared a lot! Is everyone coming back already?”

“ They should arrive by evening. Also-” Alfred coughed, his eyes pointing to you. “ You ought to greet our guest.” The boy's eyes finally scan and spot you. 

You slightly turned your head and looked at him. He was really handsome you thought. His skin was practically glowing but the dark circle near his eyes told you he barely slept. 

He came closer and took a seat next to you. Extending his hand and a smile bright on his lips, he greeted you. “ Sorry about that. I was kind of sleepy. Nice to meet you uhh-.” You shake his hand and smile right back. “ Julia..” You reply, “ A pleasure to meet you too.”

“ Duke.” He says and takes a seat. You don't notice him examining you while you eat. He follows your movements and begins to eat. 

So this is Y/n Julia. 

You look so ordinary, practically so small. He scans you with his eyes and powers and finds you to not be a threat. You turn to him confused as to why he's been staring at you for the past five minutes. 

He places some more eggs on your plate. “ Eat more.” You nodded. “ You have some more too.” You passed him some ham. Both of you chatted with each other and despite him being at least six years older, you were able to enjoy yourself. 

Duke was really good at talking. 

“ Do you want me to give you a tour through the city? We can visit the hospitals too!” Wow he really was nice. You practically grinned, “ I would really like that!” Duke smiled back. 

He was feeling like a big brother right now. A real one. 

He's always wanted a little sibling he could take care of and spend time with. He remembers begging his parents for some. They laughed nervously and told him maybe in the future. 

Then they died and he lost every chance of it. 

When he got adopted by Bruce, he was scared. His new siblings were nice but they all kept their distance. Though with time he'd gotten closer to them all. Even Damien. But his relationship with them all was nothing more than a convenience. To each of them, every single one of them was but a teammate. Just a small part in their great mission. 

Duke had changed in the eight years he was under Bruce's roof. He got more cruel, more efficient and more…emotionless. He had lost any desire for love and care. He couldn't even be brothered anymore. 

Now talking to you, he felt hope brimming. Bruce had already told them all about your family's existence. When he read your file, after it was passed around among his siblings who for some reason just love to mess with each other. He remembers not caring. 

He wants to hit his past self right now. Even if it was him from an hour ago. 

Also

Your picture did not do you justice. 

You look lots more livelier than the picture shows. His eyes have gotten soft in just an hour. That's something none of his siblings would ever believe. Him being kind and smiling with someone? That's practically unheard off! They'll probably try to run some rest on him later. He can already feel a headache coming. 

But he feels they would understand him. They're all the same kind of monsters after all. He can already see you meeting them and them taking a liking to you instantly, just like he has. 

“ Duke, are you listening?” 

He turns his attention back to you. Your bright eyes stare at him with full attention and kindness. He smiles. 

“ I am..” you go right back in for your live of medicine. 

 This is perhaps his first time talking to someone normal. Someone who isn't a vigilante, someone who isn't traumatized. 

Just a normal, bright kid. 

His ears sharpen in edge and his eyes slightly flicker when he hears the footsteps. Bruce is doing it on purpose to not freak you out. He sees Bruce make way to the living room, where you both have taken a seat and are talking. You of course see him and greet him with a smile. 

“ Good morning, Uncle Bruce.”

Bruce pauses before smiling. “ Good morning Julia.” He takes a seat next to you. “ You're quite an early riser. I've never seen any of my children ever wake so early.” He sighs under a smile. 

“ Really?”

“ Yes. They all love to sleep late, when they are home that is.” You wouldn't know but his last bit is meant for someone else.Duke inwardly scoffs. “ They must be home often then.” Bruce freezes and you feel his smile falter before returning to his face. “ They come when they wish.”

You nod. 

Duke already wants to leave. Despite all that Bruce has done for him, he can't make himself stay in his presence for long. Especially if it's not related to vigilante work. He gets up and your attention turns to him. “ Duke?” You ask. 

He smiles and pinches your cheeks. “ I've got some work to do. Let's hang out later, ‘kay?” You nod. Duke shoots Bruce a stare before leaving. You don't notice since it's very quick and subtle

Once Duke disappears, Bruce turns your attention back to him. 

“ It's nice to see you get along with him.”

“ Duke's nice so I wouldn't take the credit.” You reply. You have no idea how cruel and emotionless he is. Bruce would say he was surprised when he saw you both chatting and smiling earlier. Duke has never been this open in front of anyone. Not even his siblings. 

“ I wouldn't put myself down there. You're good at socializing.” you blush. “ Thanks…” 

He smiles. “ So I heard you love medicine. Are you planning on pursuing it?” 

“ I am. It's been a dream for me forever!”

“ That's nice.” He doesn't realise when his hand moves closer and ruffles your hair. He starts and pulls back quickly. “ Sorry.. I didn't realize-”

“ It's fine uncle. You can do it again.” You allow him to pat your head. He smiles at the warmth you give. 

“ So uncle Bruce, when are the others coming? I would love to meet them!” especially if they are nice like Duke. 

“ Right ! They should arrive right-wing” suddenly there is a loud bang and the ground shakes. You about to fall is steadied by Bruce and he helps you get stable. “ You alright?” Bruce asks seriously. “ I'm… fine.”

“ What was that!” Bruce says nothing, just points at the direction of the sound.

“ Master Damien and Master Jason. What are you both doing?” You hear Alfred's voice. He's scolding someone. Bruce and you walk out and you see two men getting scolded by Alfred. 

“ It was Todd's fault, Pennyworth. I have done nothing wrong. “ You see the shorter one trying to defend himself. His face has a big blue spot forming. Probably due to a punch. 

“ Don't put the blame on me Demon brat! Alfie I'm telling you! It was all him. “ The taller one argues back. You see blood falling down his arms. 

Your glance at Alfred who looks like a tired dad ready to bamg his head on the wall. Bruce takes his place next to you and pats your head again. 

“ Here they are.” You hear Bruce sigh holding his nose bridge like a tired parent. “ Welcome to our Mansion Julia.” 

Damn-

TBC…

Coming chapters will be uploaded slowly, also if anyone wants to be added to the tag list, kindly message or comment.

All our batfam has a dark and cute side. So look forward to it ^⁠_⁠^ Also to everyone wondering why I gave reader the name Julia. It's a Nickname I thought would be cute. ( I don't know what it means but it kind of rhyme with jewel. So I wrote it in that context, since she's going to be like a jewel to them.)

Still if everyone wants I'll use y/n or name ( tell me what u all prefer) in the coming chapters ≧﹏≦

Thanks for reading 🩷

will you hold me instead, and tell me that it's over now?

i look forward to a little me and you, so now i hope that you don't tell me that it's over

or; patching jason up after an intense mission [2.1k]

jason todd x fem!reader; angst/fluff; brief mentions of human trafficking and allusion to murder (he's talking about how the mission went); mention of his scars; jason being insecure & thinking he's not good enough😞; description of injuries and the first aid applied to them (please do not take anything as actual medical advice); this is me hard-launching my physical touch x touch starved!jason agenda

You don’t know how early it is when you hear the sound of the front door opening and closing, just that it’s too early. It’s not like you could sleep anyway; you spent the night drifting in and out of semi-consciousness, too worried to let yourself relax. You always got like this when Jason went away on missions. Several days, and sometimes even weeks, spent anxiously anticipating the state in which he would return home—you haven’t been able to get a manicure since before you met him.

You’re still a little delirious when a hand ghosts up your arm, stirring you from your half-sleep. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room and register the sight in front of you. Your boyfriend is on one knee on the floor in front of you, brushing strands of hair out of your face with endearing eyes.

“There she is,” he says when you lift your head off the pillow and reach out to him. He catches your hand and kisses your fingertips, spreading a warmth up your arm that combats the midnight chill. You push yourself up to a sitting position, and he takes the opportunity to cup his hands around your face and bring you in for a kiss.

“Missed you,” you mumble against him, and his lips curve upwards against yours.

“Missed you too, sweetheart.” His mouth travels up from yours towards your temple, leaving a path of gentle kisses in his wake. Your palms, pressed flat against his chest, slide up to loop around his neck. He tenses, choking back a strained grunt. But you catch it.

You pull back abruptly. “Are you hurt?” Your eyes frantically dart around, scanning his entire body. Now fully alert, you reach over to the bedside table and switch the lamp on.

“’s just a bruise, baby, I’m fine.” A hand comes up to shield his eyes from the sudden brightness. But with newly unobstructed vision, you can see more than just a bruise. He has a busted lip, a shallow gash on his temple, and splotches of purple and red peeking out of his shirt collar.

“You’re bleeding, Jason,” you chastise him, getting up off the bed.

He stands alongside you with a huff. “It’s nothing,” he sighs. “Doesn’t even hurt.” But when you take his hand and start pulling him to the bathroom, he follows without argument. You lead Jason to sit down on the edge of the tub and fetch the first aid kit from under the sink, setting it down next to him on the bathtub ledge. You stand between his legs, your positions making you a half-head taller than him. He gazes up at you and for the first time tonight you notice how dark and deep the skin under his eyes is.

“Off,” you order, dragging up the hem of his shirt. He helps you pull it off, wincing when it requires him to lift his bruised arm.

“Someone’s eager,” he muses, raising his eyebrows in a teasing manner. It earns him a swat on the arm; he grunts loudly and doubles over in pain.

You gasp. “Oh my god! Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I—”

But when he looks up, it’s with a coy smirk and a twinkle in his eye. You swat him again.

“Asshole,” you mutter, but you can’t help the slight twitch at the corner of your lips. “Why didn’t you take care of this earlier? Alfred wasn’t at the manor to help you?”

He shrugs his good shoulder. “Don’t know. Came straight here.”

“Did you tell anyone where you were going?” You ask.

He looks at you blankly, as if to say, don’t you know who you’re talking to?

You sigh, exasperated. “You shouldn’t have done that, Jason. What if ended up becoming serious? And you didn’t make it here in time? What if—” 

He interrupts your doom spiral by pressing a finger to your lips. “I know, honey, I’m sorry. But I wanted to see you.”

You sigh. There’s a sadness to it, one that comes from familiarity with the fact that he does not care for himself as much as he should—as much as he deserves. But there are no words to make him believe it that you haven’t tried, so all you do is lean your forehead against his, hoping he can hear the what you don’t say. You need him to hear you.

“You’re not sorry,” you whisper.

“No, I’m not,” he whispers back.

You start with his shoulder, which was decidedly not ‘just a bruise,’ but actually several bruises, all clumped together to form one giant Franken-bruise that covered his entire shoulder. It gets rubbed with ointment and you’re not sure who it pains more, because while you’re spilling out frantic apologies as you try to speed through it, Jason is white-knuckling the edge of the tub with a wad of gauze between his teeth. 

His lip doesn’t require any medical attention, but he insists you kiss it better anyway, and who are you to deny him? 

You tend to his temple last, but he’s antsy now. His leg bounces up and down, one hand is drumming its fingers on the tub, and the other is fiddling with the loose threads that hang from the hem of your shirt; you have to scold him into sitting still.

“Where’s the dermabond?” You ask, sifting through the contents of the first aid kid.

“Used it up last month, remember? After you just had to feed that fuckin’ squirrel.” His voice is gruff at the recollection. “Should be a new pack under the sink.”

You fetch the new box, picking at the plastic wrapping. “Can you blame me? He was so cute.”

“Yeah, was. Until that greedy fucker decided he wanted the whole picnic.” Jason sees you struggling with the plastic covering and takes it from you, breaks it open, then hands it back. “Bastard.”

You giggle. “You know, you could’ve just let him have the cupcake. It wasn’t worth risking rabies for.” You fish out the glass tube of surgical glue, tossing its cardboard box aside.

“‘Course it was. My girl wanted red velvet, she should get her red velvet.” Jason’s hands finally rest on the backs of your bare thighs, squeezing them lightly. He grins when that makes you let out a little squeak.

You roll your eyes, though there’s a warmth flowing in your veins that courses from the tips of your ears to the bottom of your feet. “My hero,” you muse with a smile.

There’s a pause. Then:

“I’m not a hero,” he responds. His tone is still light, but his eyes feel far away.

You start to clean the blood from the wound, which has since clotted and dried, with a saline-soaked cotton pad. He stares at you while you clean and then close the cut with the glue. And when you finish, supplies set aside and glue cured, he’s still staring. His eyes are traveling all over your face, taking in each feature, committing every ridge, every angle, every pore, every freckle to memory. The light-hearted teasing demeanor from mere moments ago is long gone. You're a deer caught in emerald headlights.

You recognize this shift. You noticed hints of it since he arrived home, but assumed it was just due to the pain. Now it’s obvious that there’s more. It’s the same shift that comes when the news becomes a circus, or when he stares at his scars in the mirror for too long.

His hands slide up your body slowly, reverently. One stops at your waist while the other continues, blazing a trail up your ribcage, over the side of your breast. He pauses at your shoulder for a split second, squeezing the flesh every so gently before continuing up your neck. His thumb drags across your collarbone, brushing against the spot that always lights up your senses and parts your lips in a breathy sigh. He stops when he reaches your face. He cups your cheek. Your hand covers his and you lean into his hold, the stroke of your small, soft fingers juxtaposing the rough callouses of his knuckles. You stay here for a moment before turning to press your lips to his palm once, twice, thrice, four times, each one lingering a little longer than the last.

“What is it, Jason?” Your hands come to cradle his neck before dragging up to his hair, and his move to wrap around your torso and pull you closer into him. You place a kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Hmm?”

“I’m not a hero,” he says again, softer.

“Jay,” you whisper. “You know that’s not true.”

He says nothing, only heaving a heavy sigh and burying his face into the crook of your neck. You’re content to stand like this, to simply hold him and graze your nails against his scalp for as long as he needs while he inhales the comforting scent of your skin.

After what could have been one minute or twenty, he pulls back to look up at you. He looks exhausted. “It was a human trafficking case,” he says. “They knew we were closing in on ‘em, so we had to act fast. They were…trying to…” He trails off, unsure how to put it in words delicate enough to spare you. He breaks eye contact. “Destroy the evidence,” he finishes.

You don’t respond. Despite the heavy silence that follows this admission, you know he’s not done. It takes another several minutes of stroking fingers and feather-light hairline kisses to coax it out of him.

“There was a woman. She…we didn’t—“ His voice cracks. “I didn’t get there in time.”

“Oh, honey.” You run your palm over his forehead, pushing back his thick waves. His eyelids slide down over glassy irises as he sinks into your touch. You lean down to press your lips to his forehead. “You know that’s not your fault,” you whisper. He shakes his head, eyes still closed.

“But if I’d just—”

“No, Jason.” You grip his face between your palms. He opens his eyes at the sudden sternness. “But nothing. You did everything you possibly could—”

“You don’t know that,” he interrupts.

“I do know that. I know because you are always doing everything you can. For me, and for everyone in this city. And I know that it wasn’t just you on that mission. Do you blame anyone else for what happened?”

He says nothing, but his eyes are welling with tears.

“You saved so many other people, Jason. You are a hero, and you know that. You have to know that.” Some of his tears spill over, but you brush your thumbs across his cheeks and kiss them away.

He pulls you onto his lap so your legs are straddled over his and rests his head against your sternum. His arms squeeze impossibly tight around your waist, but you don’t say anything. When his shoulders tremble and you feel the dampness on the front of your shirt, you still don’t say anything. And when he places a hand on the back of your head to pull you in for a hard, searing kiss that leaves you both breathless, you don’t say anything. You just look at him, at how pretty he is, and hope that he can hear you.

The sounds of buzzing echo in from the next room. To your dismay, he turns away, towards the direction of your phones. “I should get that,” he says. His voice is hollow. “It’s probably the bats wanting to know where I am. They’ll send a search party if I don’t check in.”

He’s about to move you off his lap, but you stop him. “In a minute, Jay.”

Jason’s forehead crinkles. You use your thumb to smooth it out.

“Please?” You breathe out. “Just let me look at you a little longer. I love looking at you.”

He relaxes back into his seat. And you keep looking at him. At his beautifully rosy cheeks and shining eyes, his puffed lips. The scar that runs diagonally down his slightly crooked nose.

It’s dawn now; the tangerine beginnings of sunrise elicit a soft glow that spills through the window. Jason takes it all in. The two of you together in the home you share, arms around each other, your face all honeyed and beautiful in the light.

And you know he can hear you.

love when you guys leave messages/feedback it really brightens up my day<3

divider is from here

➺ 𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄 | ♡

With how he fights and has that scar on his scary face, people would assume he's a mean and cold lover. One that forget your anniversary date and leave your messages on read. It was an offensive accusation to him, especially when it involves you.

Joker made sure to show everyone that you deserve everything in the world. Buying you things that would adore your pretty self, he didn’t care if he had to fight a extra match. As long you were happy and content with him, then Joker wouldn’t mind getting some bruises to see that sweet little smile on your face. Sure he doesn’t show it like those cheesy lovers on tv shows, but actions speak louder than words.

Whenever you two hold hands, He would make sure to press a kiss on the back of your hand before he had to let go. Silently telling you his love and affection towards you. Even though it’s a small and simple way of showing it, it still made your heart melt whenever he would do it. Joker remember the first time he did it, the two of you were walking to your place. Joker wanted to made sure you made it home safe from your job. Walking beside you like some bodyguard with that mean look that’s always on his face, while still holding your hand with such gentle care.

Once you made it home, you gave Joker your thanks and how you would see him tomorrow. His dull eyes staring down at you and nodding before bringing your hand up to his lips. Softly placing a kiss on your skin then letting go, telling you that he will pick you up in the morning. Not moving from his spot until you disappeared safely in your home, silently enjoying the bashful look on your cute face. Which played in his mind repeatedly, quietly vowing to himself to that he will be the one who will put that expression on your face every chance he gets.

So whoever thinks that Joker isn’t a good lover should come outside and catch these hands, because Joker will fight them and prove them wrong.