FAMILY, FAMILY DEAR BATS 🦇

i need more batboys x reader fics. if only i’m good at writing and english then i would’ve already made a fanfic 💔💔

fun fact, i haven’t read their comics not even a peek at them and i’ve already real oneshots, headcanons, and x reader fanfics w them. guilty 💔

redamancy | jason todd

genre: comfort x3

warning: jason todd

summary: jason is reminded of how much he loves you–and how much you love him

a/n: after a handful of failed tinder dates, i just needed to write something to remind myself that if no one got me jason todd got me

Redamancy: a love returned in full

The word itself stems from the New Latin redamantia, and from the Classical Latin redamō meaning, “I requite love”. How we translate redamancy is this: a love returned in full; an act of loving the one who loves you; the act of loving in return.

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but the clicking sounds from your last-minute essay writing and the soft sounds of The Cranberries had lulled him into the first real nap he’s taken in the last few months. The book he had barely gotten a chapter through laid over his face, blocking the overhead lights you both hated but you swore made you more motivated to do homework. In reality, you just hated them so much that it drove you to work quicker so you could turn them off as soon as you were done. 

You had a lot of small things like that – things that made Jason’s heart swoon in a way he didn’t think it was capable of. Like when you tell him that pile of laundry would eventually get done, you just had to get hit with the cleaning zoomies which occur “approximately every 3-4 weeks.” And when you do get hit with the cleaning zoomies, you put on your headphones, blare Deftones, and deep clean your entire apartment. You could spend hours cleaning the bathroom, neglecting all your other responsibilities. 

Like eating your meals, which in that case Jason always came to your rescue. He’d pat your pretty head and once you took off your headphones and looked up at him with those eyes, he’d tell you he made your favorite meal. You’d reluctantly go to eat with him, and after enjoying the meal with your lover you’d feel lazy. You’d blame him for ruining your motivation, and Jason would just kiss your sweet lips and tell you he could find a way to motivate you again. 

Jason also likes the way he feels when you look at him. You two would be over at Roy’s place, Lian in Jason’s lap as Roy talked about some sports team that pissed him off recently. And Jason would be bouncing Lian in his lap or mindlessly curling her hair with his fingers. Roy’s voice would fade into the background and your focus would only be on Jason – on that smile that creeps on his face whenever Roy curses and Lian repeats it, on the way his eyes seem to gleam whenever he glances over at you, on the way you picture him holding your child, which you two have talked about but you’re both far too young to consider now. 

And Gods, when he catches on to you staring, his hands get clammy the way they did when he first met you. His cheeks turn as red as his vigilante helmet and he noticeably clenches his jaw to keep from nervously laughing. He’s never been looked at with that much love before. He’s had you by his side for years yet he still hasn’t gotten used to the feeling. 

What is he supposed to do when he wakes up to the feeling of you perching yourself on top of him during his nap? He remains still, for the most part, feigning sleep as you try to get comfortable. You must have finished your essay because from under his book’s pages, he can see a candle flickering, the smell of whiskey and vanilla filling the small apartment. He’s quick to close his eyes when you gently move the book away. He hears you take his bookmark, one you had handcrafted yourself, and save his page before setting the book aside. He feels as you lay down fully, your head resting on his chest and your arms attempting to wrap around his waist. Your head moves as Jason’s heart flutters, and your lips brush his jawline in a way he’d only let you do. 

“Baby,” you whisper to him, your hand moving to brush the bangs away from his face. He pretends to be woken up, his eyelashes fluttering open to see you. 

“Hi,” he manages to whisper, making a smile form on your lips. You lean in and nuzzle your face against his neck, and a shaky breath leaves his lips. 

“How’d you sleep?” you mumble against his skin. He slowly moves his hands, slipping them under your hoodie so he can hold your hips. You feel so warm. 

“Fine,” he mumbles back, watching as you lift your head. You look like Heaven, and Jason’s heart is pounding so hard against his chest he fears it may explode. 

What a beautiful way to die, he thinks. 

“Finished your essay?” he asks, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. His thumb slowly brushes your chin, then traces your bottom lip. You blush, leaning against his palm. 

“Mostly,” you admit sheepishly. “You looked so comfy and I was starting to get a headache, so I wanted to cuddle with you. I’ll finish it tomorrow morning.”

He bites back the smile you never fail to produce, and his thumb pulls back your bottom lip. 

“That can be arranged,” he says, tucking your outgrown bangs behind your ear. His fingers trace along your earlobe, fiddling with the earrings you wore. A peaceful silence falls over the two of you, and Jason’s extremely aware of the look in your eyes. His cheeks twinge that red shade, and he clenches his jaw. 

“I love you,” you finally whisper. He gulps, his eyes flicking to yours. At that moment, he swears no one could make his body react in the way you managed to do. 

“I love you too,” he whispers back after a few moments. The words are new to him, almost sounding foreign on his tongue. But he makes an internal promise to practice this language for you. 

He practices it as you lean down and press your lips to his. He cups the back of your head to bring you closer, in an attempt to become one. You let out a soft sigh that makes his body shiver, and you pull away with yet another gorgeous smile on your lips. 

You lay on him again, your head resting in the crook between his shoulder and neck. Jason’s fingers thread through your hair as soft snores leave your lips. 

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but your body on his makes his eyes shut and his arms move to rest around your shoulders. His muscles relax and his heart returns to its natural pace. He feels you shift for a moment, your lips brushing his neck to give him one final kiss. To remind him you’re here, and that you’re not going anywhere. 

Another thing Jason loves about you – you love him back just the same.

Do you do batfamily? I literally love your profile aesthetic and I think it would be really cool something like girly reader who is the youngest in the batfamily, I think it would be funny the boys dealing with her and everything. ily🤍

“I PRESSED HIDE ICONS BUT I CAN STILL SEE ME” ── .✦ DOLLISH ⋆. 𐙚 ˚

A/n: this literally made me laugh but tysm ily too, but literally i tried to balance this with sass + a girl who likes pink and other colors instead of stereotypical pink girly girl and etc but if this is not correct then sorry because i only have one sister and a brother and i’m oldest out of all of them.

tags: batfamily x girly!batsis

⋆. 𐙚 ˚

The manor is, of course, dark and filled with heavy, old-fashioned furniture. Meanwhile, you’re room is beautiful with subtle hints of pink decor and white, and a beautiful walk in closet, and your room is the only spot with cozy, neutral decor and soft pinks, which you somehow convinced Alfred was “tasteful and happy”

Bruce pretends he doesn’t notice the little decorative changes you make around the house, like the rose-gold lamp in the hallway or the fresh flowers on the dining table. Alfred, though, secretly loves it because it makes the place feel a little less like a ‘depressive episode’ (I’m convinced if someone suicidal went in that manor they would likely fucking commit at this rate).

“CINDERELLA ARE YOU FUCKING READY?!” ── .✦

When you go to family dinners or galas, the boys have come to expect that you’ll need at least an hour to get ready. They used to complain, but now they’ve just accepted it (even if it means sleeping while standing up waiting) And you’re always perfectly dressed, from your hair to your jewelry.

Tim once asked why you had to wear rings on your ring finger without being married, and without missing a beat, you responded, “Because I need to let people know I have style standards, maybe you can learn a or two about fashion, your dressed like a fucking caveman.”

“ITS EXPLAINABLE” ── .✦

Alfred has somehow become your unofficial shopping partner, knowing all your preferred stores and patiently sitting outside the fitting rooms. He’s the only one who will willingly go with you without complaint, and he even knows which colors you like best

Once, Bruce was caught off guard by a credit card alert because it was awhile someone spent THAT much money and asked Alfred about it. Alfred just responded calmly, “It was for necessary purchases, Master Wayne,” even though the “necessary purchases” included a ton of “designer” things.

── .✦

Damian once challenged you to a chess match, thinking he could beat you easily. Halfway through, you made a risky move, looked him dead in the eye, and said, “You’re about to see a queen move.” Damian lost, and he’s still confused about how it happened.

One morning, Dick said, “Isn’t it a little early for all the glam and glitter?” You just gave him a look and said, “Isn’t it a little late for you to be alive, your social security number is probably one.

YOUR BEAUTY PRODUCTS BECOMING A ATTEMPT ON PEOPLES LIVES ── .✦

Bruce has almost tripped on your eyelash curler twice. The family has also officially banned you from putting skincare masks in the fridge after Jason mistook your green tea gel eye masks for some kind of salad topping (the worse part is… he ate the whole thing and didn’t realize until he went shopping trying to find the exact one until he found it in the skincare aisle instead of the salad dressing aisle…)

Tim opened the wrong drawer in your room once, and it looked like a makeup frenzy had exploded. Lip glosses, nail polishes, tiny skincare samples, and sheet masks cascaded out, and he just stood there, baffled by how much one person could need, (he thought you ran a business for a few days after.)

── .✦

You also gave Bruce a mini heart attack when you told him you wanted a different laptop because “this one’s too boring.” The Batcomputer tech isn’t boring, but you wanted a rose-gold case and “a vibe,” so Bruce ended up ordering one in the exact shade you wanted.

The family group chat is complete chaos. You regularly send pictures of quotes from romance novels, and the occasional inspirational meme with sparkles. Once, you sent a photo of the living room and asked, “Could we get some lighter curtains in here? For my aesthetic and mental well being?”

Whenever someone’s late, you flood the chat with passive-aggressive texts like, “Jason, do you know what ‘be here at 6 PM’ means?” or “Dick, if you’re any later, I’ll be old enough to vote for Kamala at this rate.”

MOVIE NIGHTS ── .✦

You insist on watching rom-coms and dramas instead of the usual action movies. Even though the boys groan, you’ve noticed they secretly enjoy the movies by the end. Tim tried to deny it, but he was caught laughing at a scene in white chicks and you swore to never let him forget it.

Once, you convinced them to watch a “fall aesthetic” movie marathon, complete with hot chocolate and fuzzy blankets. Even Jason joined in, and you teased him the whole night, whispering, “Don’t pretend you don’t love a good blanket.

THE OFFICAL FASHION GURU FINALBOSS 💜 ── .✦

You’ve taken it upon yourself to occasionally “advise” the boys on their fashion. If Tim wears a hoodie that’s “two shades too close to ‘depression’ ” you’ll be the first to tell him. You even convinced Damian to try a collared shirt once, though he looked horrified.

Dick gets roasted the most. He walked out wearing cargo shorts once, and you deadpan, “Going for the ‘i’m so old i saw humans evolve’ look i see.” He didn’t change, but he was clearly a little self-conscious the whole day (he never wore cargo shorts ever again…)

SKINCARE TIPS ── .✦

You’ve taught the boys some random facts they never knew, like the importance of hyaluronic acid for skincare and the difference between ballet flats and loafers. They pretend to brush it off, but you’ve overheard Jason giving roy skincare advice using the tips you shared.

When Bruce had a minor scratch on his face from patrol, you casually handed him concealer. “Just dab, blend, and don’t tell anyone,” you said. He followed the instructions without a word (he used to do that before, just impressed you also knew)

THE BABY OF THE FAMILY ── .✦

As the youngest, you know how to work the “baby sister” angle like a pro. The boys are fiercely protective, and any time you need a ride, money for something “totally essential,” or help with homework, you can count on one of them stepping up.

Once, you asked Damian to grab something from a high shelf for you, and when he hesitated, you hit him with, “Guess i really am alone without a good brother..” He ended up grabbing it for you with a grumble, but you swear you saw him smirk.

@dollishbabess made by me, do not translate, or repost or copy.

Second divider: @cafekitsune, other dividers not sure I kinda forgot sorry

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 🤍

･:*+..:+

†  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.

# CHRISTMAS TREE DECORATING AND CHAOS ── .✦ ( decorating trees with batboys ‘separated’! ⋆౨ৎ

a/n: I literally feel so happy genuinely now, I guess my mental health is getting better && anyways i have 64 requests to get to… i truly need to speed run through these but some I can’t do sadly 😭 so sorryy ᥫ᭡, 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 ── .✦

The king of enthusiasm: As soon as you suggest decorating the tree together, he’s all in.

“We’re going for the most extra tree Gotham has ever seen!” He wants it tall enough to touch the ceiling and glittery enough to blind someone.

He’s the guy who insists on climbing to the very top to put on the star, even though he wobbles dangerously on the ladder.

Sings Christmas songs (terribly off-key he’s also like tone deaf and beat deaf it’s a curse to hear him sing something at karaoke) while you decorate, complete with dramatic twirls and spins around the tree.

Accidentally tangles himself in the lights at least twice. “I’m fine, I’m fine! I was just… testing the durability!”

Insists on taking a million photos of you with the finished tree, calling you his “Christmas angel.”

When it’s all done, he dims the lights, wraps an arm around you, and whispers, “This might be my favorite Christmas ever.”

JASON TODD ── .✦

He pretends to be indifferent. “Decorating a tree? Sounds boring.” But the second you start, he’s invested.

He’s surprisingly good at untangling lights and getting them perfectly spaced on the tree. “What? I’ve got steady hands.”

Jason leans into more minimalistic decor deep reds, dark greens, and gold accents but he lets you take the lead. “You want glittery ornaments? Fine. But I draw the line at tinsel.” (he’s like those sad beige moms but with like dark traditional Christmas colors…)

Complains about how prickly the tree is the entire time but still helps you string popcorn garlands because he knows it makes you happy.

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

He’s excited about decorating but is terrible at it. Tim tries, but he’s way better at figuring out the tech side of things (like synchronized tree lights) than actually hanging ornaments.

Spends 20 minutes untangling lights and another 20 trying to figure out why one strand isn’t working. “It’s science! There’s a method to this madness.”

He’s the type to sneak a caffeine break halfway through while you keep decorating. “What? I need fuel to focus!”

Insists on hanging some nerdy ornaments—little Batman logos, Star Wars-themed ones, or even a tiny Robin figurine.

When you get frustrated with his lack of artistic flair, he pulls you close and says, “Hey, at least I’m good company, right?”

After it’s all done, he insists on dimming the lights and turning on the synchronized tree music. “Look at that. A masterpiece.”

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

Initially acts like it’s beneath him. “Why would I waste time decorating a tree?” But he ends up being surprisingly good at it.

Damian has an eye for symmetry, so every ornament has to be perfectly spaced. “No, that one is too close to the red one. Move it.”

If you mention that decorating the tree is a nostalgic tradition for you, he softens immediately. “Fine. But this had better be worth it.”

He refuses to wear a Christmas sweater, but you catch him smiling when you put on a ridiculous reindeer headband.

Titus gets involved, carrying around ornaments and wagging his tail, which Damian pretends to be annoyed by but secretly loves.

When the tree is finished, he stands back with his arms crossed, pretending not to care. But when you beam at him, he quietly says, “It looks… nice. I suppose this wasn’t a complete waste of time.”

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

(He buys like 40 ft Christmas trees for the main ball in the manor and like that’s almost impossible to decorate without professionals)

The ultimate perfectionist. He has a very clear vision for the tree, but he tries to let you take the lead. “It’s your tradition. I’ll follow your lead… mostly.”

Insists on using the tallest tree that will fit in Wayne Manor and hires a team to bring it in.

He’s all about elegant, classic decorations white lights, glass ornaments, and a tasteful tree topper. But if you want colorful lights or quirky ornaments, he’ll indulge you.

Offers to lift you up to reach the highest branches instead of letting you use a ladder. “I don’t need you breaking your neck before the gala.”

Alfred brings hot cocoa and cookies halfway through, smiling at how relaxed Bruce looks around you.

When the tree is done, he turns to you and says, “It’s perfect. Just like this moment.” Then he pulls you into a rare, heartfelt kiss under the twinkling lights.

Taking anti-depressant pills?? Seeing a therapist??? Journaling???? No need babe, my fav writer just dropped another x reader fic.

Batfam finding out Tim has a partner they didn't know? I'm talking like a year at most. 👀 He wasn't even trying to keep them in the dark, it just never came up(his words) and his partner, hilariously I imagine, gets along w damian well.

Since When?! Tim Drake x Reader

wc: 0.8 K summary: Batfam finds out Tim has a partner warnings: none, no y/n used a/n: have fun reading it, I tried my best to make it entertaining and not cringe at the same time. enjoy!!

Laying in Tim‘s arms after a stressful week always felt like heaven. It was safe and soft, wrapped up in his familiar scent and getting to hug and squeeze him as much as you want. Usually, you don‘t worry about some of his family members walking in on you two cuddling up on his bed, and neither did you today. It was as normal as ever. However, when you heard some sounds from downstairs you tensed up. Tim soothed you by rubbing your back and whispering some reassurance to you. Internally, Tim was panicking.

Nothing ever is happening around the Manor, so why would something be happening now? Bruce should be in the batcave or somewhere else, Alfred is minding his business and there shouldn‘t be anyone else in the house… unless someone decided to pay a surprise visit.

»Hey, Timmy!«

The door swings open and his eldest brother appears in the doorframe, making you tense again and freeze in your partners arms. Dick also freezes and realises that this is a private moment he just interrupted. A private and intimate moment between his younger brother and, most likely his partner.

He straightens up and clears his throat, still standing in the doorframe for some reason.

»Uh, Tim? I… I should get going, huh?«

An almost awkward chuckle leaves Dick before he quickly closes the door with a slam and makes his way downstairs in a new speed record.

All you can hear is a yell from outside and the heavy footsteps of his brother. It‘s muffled but you can still hear it from Tim‘s room.

And a moments later, there are more sounds and more yells, and screams errup from outside the room.

Embarrassed, you sit up and lean off of Tim, looking both confused and slightly scared.

»Was this your brother?«

»You are about to meet the rest of them.«

He mutters back and also sits up with a sigh. You watch him run his hand through his hand tiredly, assuming this will get more chaotic than it already is.

»Is this your date?!«

The door literally slams open again with more force this time and there stands a blonde haired girl, excitement and curiousity written all over her face and body language.

Tim cringes beside you, his ears growing increasingly more red.

»That‘s… my partner.«

He admits and rubs the back of his neck, revealing your relationship with him. The jaw of the girl goes slack and she runs away to probably collect the rest of the siblings.

Moments later, the room is packed with all his siblings and they are too curious for their own good. Some teasing questions drop but also more personal questions aimed at you. You try your best to answer them all and won‘t let anyone get left out on accident.

The most asked question was probably, »Since when are you two even together?« and, »Why didn‘t you tell me?!« aimed at Tim.

He really tried to step in and explain it all calmly, but they didn‘t let him. It was amusing, seeing them interrupting each other and talking over each other some times, as well as straight up ignorimg Tim and only focusing on you. All of his siblings are pretty unique in their own way, everyone seems to be alike but also completely different at the same time.

One sticked out in particular and it was the youngest of them all. Damian, you soon found out after Tim insulted him for asking an annoying question.

He seems to be chill. Genuinely.

Even when it seems like he and Tim have a rocky relationship, he doesn‘t seem to be all that bad. Just a little teasing, but that‘s it.

The visits from now on where a little more entertaining. Every time you entered the manor, someone else than Tim greeted you. Once it was Alfred, then it was Stephanie, before Damian seemed to be the regular person who greets you when you step inside.

Surprisingly for Tim, you two get along pretty well. Tim has a theory that Damian is pretending to be all nice and friendly with you just to piss him off even more. It would make sense, but you don‘t believe in it.

»I am telling you, he does it on purpose! He is never friendly to anyone else except Alfred. Hell, he can get hissy with him too, sometimes!«

»Yeah, I don‘t believe you. He seems like a normal kid to me.«

You shrug casually and it makes Tim even more exhausted. Just… why does it have to be Damian? You could be besties with Dick or even Jason, but Damian is just another level of disrespect.

»Just say you don‘t love me anymore...«

Tim grumbles back after a moment and turns away from you on the bed, his back facing you now.

»Wait— no, I didn‘t mean it like that— «

a/n: In short, I think he would be offended at first and just even more annoyed than before around the Batfamily,but it'll settle eventually. Slowly, but eventually.

←MASTERLIST

your boyfriend, damian wayne’s instagram

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tim drake is next! still taking requests :)

Boyfriend texts with Tim please cause your writing is literally perf!

TIM DRAKE + BOYFRIEND TEXTS.

note : hope this lives up to what you were hoping !!! i have a lot of fun with these but at the same time it's so tricky trying to come up with scenarios 💀💀