Hardcore Launches With The Boys

†  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.

things they do that make your heart skip a beat

♱ bakugou, kirishima, midoriya, todoroki, kaminari, shinsou

fluffy and suggestive 😔

disclaimer this could all js be niche stuff i find attractive…

bakugou

♱ wears black compression shirts and tank tops that cling to his biceps, shows uncharacteristic patience helping you with schoolwork, blushes when he catches you looking at him, grabs your hips when he walks past you, cooks shirtless with a ‘kiss the cook’ apron on, chronic manspreader, reverses the car with his hand on your seat and looking over his shoulder yk exactly what im talking about

kirishima

♱ makes you sit on his back when he does press ups - will then proceed to do one handed press ups while grinning at you in the gym mirror, poses after a work out for you, wipes stuff off your face and (if edible duh) licks it off his thumb, has the worlds deepest morning voice, hugs you from behind CONSTANTLY - if he could glue himself to your backside you better believe he would

midoriya

♱ IS RESPECTFUL TO HIS MOTHER 😫😫, will hurl himself out the car to come open your door for you, gives you the most insightful opinions of clothes, makeup, whatever, rubs his thumb over your hand when he holds your hand, holds the door open for you without a second thought, the sidewalk rule <3, saves every. single. photo. you send him

todoroki

♱ pays for everything before you can protest, sends you flowers with little notes attached randomly, brushes/styles your hair for you, will sit for hours in changing rooms w you and make you do 360s for every outfit, takes candids of you and refuses to delete any of them, constantly leans down so you can speak in his ear and you get a big whiff of his fancy cologne, speaks diff languages 🥹

kaminari

♱ leans his hands on the tops of doorways when he’s talking to you, pulls you in by your belt loops to talk to you, leans over in the middle of serious conversations to whisper a stupid joke in your ear that you have to struggle not to cackle at, wears rings and lets you play with them, calls you “m’lady” and “ma’am” when you’re annoyed at him, whenever he zips you up in a dress or buttons you up he’ll kiss the back of your neck and your shoulders, is really good with his little baby and toddler cousins 🩷🩷🩷

shinsou

♱ “yeah?” “mhmm?” WHEEWWW SIR, plays guitar for you and sends u vids of him playing songs u request, stretches and his shirts always lift up to show off his happy trail 🙂‍↕️, drags you down to sit in his lap for EVERY activity he does - paperwork, video games, whatever, has constant bedroom eyes???, tugs on your hair to get your attention, had to lean back and adjust himself everytime he sits down bc he wears the baggiest pants in existence

do i need to start a taglist?

barista (t.d.)

Pairing: Tim Drake x Reader

Word Count: 6.2k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I bet I’m better looking."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tim Drake was wearing a suit.

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

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

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

"Um, hey?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So, what will you be having today?"

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

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

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

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

"it's on the house."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

And yet—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which lead Dick to do some sleuthing.

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

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

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

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

"Are you sure?"

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

His eyes narrowed still, "Are you sure?"

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Last day? What do you mean?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You physically shook the thought out of your head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It was this morning!"

"I was eight hours younger."

***

Forever Taglist:

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@tchatso

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# “IS IT NEW YEAR’S YET, I’M GETTIN’ BORED, SO CAN WE SKIP AHEAD?” ── .✦. ( a drabble of celebrating with batboys new years with batboys !! )

a/n: it’s 2025 oml, this year has been filled with ups and downs and many tears, many smiles, I wish that I live longer enough to enough plenty of years in peace, for 2025 my New Year’s resolution is to expand my interests && meet new people and friends and to be kind, understandable, happy, and positive and poetic !! 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 insists on going out for New Year’s Eve. He loves the energy of the city and wants to celebrate with you in style.

He takes you to a rooftop party with the best view of Gotham’s fireworks. He’s that guy pulling you onto the dance floor and spinning you around until your cheeks hurt from smiling.

When the countdown begins, he gets super excited, holding your hands and hyping up the moment like, “This is it! Best year yet, babe!”, “it’s just new years dick calm down.”

At midnight, he gives you a movie-worthy kiss, dipping you slightly for dramatic effect.

After the party, you both grab late-night street food and walk around the city, talking about your hopes for the new year.

JASON TODD ── .✦

Jason prefers a quieter New Year’s Eve at home, but he doesn’t mind doing something small if it makes you happy.

He sets up a cozy evening with your favorite snacks, drinks, and a movie marathon. “This is better than overpriced parties and sweaty crowds, right?”

As the clock nears midnight, he’ll make a sarcastic comment like, “Think 2025 will be the year Gotham finally gets its act together?”

At midnight, he gives you a sweet kiss and mumbles, “Here’s to another year of putting up with me.

If you want to do something fun, he might take you to a rooftop to watch fireworks. He holds you close and pretends it’s just for warmth, but he’s smiling the whole time.

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

Tim’s ideal New Year’s involves a mix of productivity and relaxation. He plans a cute night in where you can both reflect on the past year and set goals for the new one.

He buys a journal or a vision board for the two of you to fill out together. “Okay, what’s your most unrealistic goal for this year? Let’s make it happen.”

He struggles to stay awake as midnight approaches, though. You catch him dozing off during a movie, and he grumbles when you wake him. “I’m not asleep I’m resting my eyes.”

At midnight, he kisses you softly and murmurs, “Thanks for making this year better.”

If you want to go out, he’ll humor you with a cute date to a low-key café or a small gathering with friends.

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

Damian treats New Year’s as a time to improve himself. He’s not into big parties, but he’ll indulge your preferences to make you happy.

If you want to stay in, he sets up a fancy dinner for the two of you with candles and elegant dishes he helped Alfred prepare. “We’ll celebrate properly, without the chaos.”

He rolls his eyes at New Year’s resolutions but secretly sets a few for himself, especially involving you. “Fine. I resolve to… be more patient with you.” (You tease him for that.)

At midnight, he gives you a shy but heartfelt kiss and says, “I’m glad you’re in my life this year.”

If you convince him to watch fireworks, he’ll grumble about the noise but eventually relaxes when you lean against him.

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

Bruce makes New Year’s a classy affair. He takes you to a gala or hosts an elegant party at Wayne Manor.

He’s by your side the whole night, introducing you to important guests and making sure you feel like the most important person in the room.

At midnight, he’ll find a quiet corner to steal a private moment with you, giving you a soft, lingering kiss and whispering, “Thank you for making this year so much brighter.”

If you prefer something low-key, he’ll cancel all plans and spend the evening with you at home. You’ll share champagne by the fire, reminiscing about the past year.

He’s the type to surprise you with a meaningful gift at the stroke of midnight, like a bracelet engraved with the date or a key to the Manor if you don’t already live there.

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

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

૮ ྀི◞ ⸝⸝ ◟ ྀིა AUTHORS POV + 2nd ◟ ྀི

0.1 Doing cute random TikTok trends

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

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

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

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

— comments

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

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

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

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

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

—comments

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

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

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

— comments

@.user11 : first time Damian has posted in months

@.user2 : I will forever love this duo

@.Kb9news : reporting live to my favorite couple

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.

this request ! fem ! reader , reader has bpd , self harm mention

when you told katsuki about your bpd, his first reaction was to learn as much as possible about it in order to help you. katsuki, despite his brash and loud persona, never once judged you for who you were, and he wanted to be by your side through everything, especially things in which he could help you.

during your mood fluctuations, katsuki never once lost patience with you, as he knew that you couldnt help it. he stayed right next to you, but also listened and complied when you said that you needed some space. he never wanted to overwhelm you, and he always did his best to accommodate how you were feeling.

katsuki understood that people with bpd had a fear of abandonment and that this fear can lead to anger due to the struggle of regulating emotions. thats why katsuki wanted you to know that he was never leaving you, and that he would stay by your side for as long as you want him to.

one thing that does frighten katsuki is the fact that people with bpd often display reckless and endangering behaviours, and that self harm tended to be an outlet. although he knew that you couldnt help it, the thought of you intentionally hurting yourself made his heart hurt and his head spin. katsuki never wanted you to be in pain, and he did his best to provide you with a healthy release of emotions and pent up anger through therapy sessions that he would happily attend alongside you if you need him there.

despite all of the ups and downs within your relationship, katsuki was always there to help you cope with your bpd, and was willing to spend hours watching over you if you want him there. although he hated to admit it, looking after you made katsuki feel as though he was needed and that you appreciated his efforts, even if he will never truly understand the condition, no matter how hard he tried. katsuki's seemingly unlimited patience helped you to seek his help more often, and to find him whenever the symptoms worsened. having him by your side made it all just a bit easier to bear.

lazy mornings

tim drake x reader — dc / batfam

[gn!reader]

summary: a warm, lazy morning with tim can make any worry you’ve ever had melt away

warnings: fluff, kissing, sharing a bed, established relationship

word count: 0.5k

(this is the fluffiest cutest thing i’ve ever written in my entire life)

————————————

warm, slow, sleepy mornings are the best moments of your day. whether you lie in for hours or sit up with a cup of tea, or read a book in the mid-morning light, there’s something about the early hours of the day that feel… special.

today is an even more special day, because you’re warmer than usual, wrapped up in not only your sheets but tim’s arms.

he wakes you with a kiss to your temple and a gentle tightening of his arms.

when you stir, he smiles. “morning.” he mumbles, his voice rough with sleep.

you yawn and blink blearily at him. “morning.” you parrot back, too sleepy to think of anything original to say.

“sleep well?” his hands are warm as they ghost over your side, your arm, your cheek, brushing hair back.

you hum and nod, your eyes closing again. “yeah. you?”

“better than i have in a while.” he admits quietly. it’s one of those confessionless confessions he’s so fond of. he tells you he loves you—not in so many words, but in words nonetheless.

his lips are warm as they press against your forehead. they trail down your face to your lips. the kiss is slow, soft, gentle. still hazy with sleep and love.

he pulls back after a while and smiles at you. his blue eyes are soft in the morning light. “i could get used to that.”

you kiss him again, as slow and soft as before. when you pull back, you take a deep breath to wake up a little more. “stay for breakfast.”

“i don’t usually eat breakfast.” he admits.

“that’s because you usually sleep ‘til two.” you tease, and he scoffs like you’ve ever been wrong about him.

“regardless.” he kisses your cheek. “i’ll stay.”

“stay forever?” you suggest lightly, only half-joking.

he hums and rolls onto his back, staring up at the line of light coming through the parted curtains. “forever is a long time. what if i have places to be?” he’s smiling though, and you know he’s joking.

“isn’t this the only place you ever need to be?” you joke back, rolling so you’re half above him. he looks at you and you can see the flecks of grey and green in his eyes. “it feels like it is.”

tim looks at you for a long moment. he does that sometimes. it’s like he’s trying to decipher something in your expression, something that you don’t even know is there until he inevitably points it out. “what pretentious movie did you watch recently?” he finally speaks, a half-smile on his lips.

you scoff and lie down again. “you’re annoying.”

he laughs and takes your position, hovering half-over you. “what? was it little women?”

you roll your eyes and look away. “maybe. shut up.”

he laughs again and leans down to kiss you. “you’re adorable.” he mumbles against your lips. “i love you.”

you can’t help the smile from betraying you. your hands cup his face, bringing his lips back to yours in one of those confessionless confessions he seems to love so very much.

HIII can i req for an alnst guys x mua!reader (afab) ? i want to touch their faces ╰⁠(⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠´⁠꒳⁠`⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠)⁠╯

“you like the pretty boys, with the pretty voice!”

show: alien stage

characters: till, ivan and luka

summary: he doesn’t just need to sing his best, he has to look his best too! producers have decided on pairing you up with him, meaning you would be spending lots of time tending to his physical appearance.

warnings: afab! reader, she/her pronouns used, till has never felt the touch of a woman before

↣ till

the door of his room opens, making till stand up cautiously from his bed. he was already forced into his outfit for today’s photoshoot, and now he awaited the dreadful makeup process.

you show up in the doorway, a girl around the same age as till, with a bag of items and a few electronics. “morning, till.” you say, walking in and placing your things on the desk. he visibly relaxes. “don’t you look good today.”

“shut up…” he mumbles back, walking over to you. he sits down in the chair you pull out, seating him in front of the mirror.

“okay, so i got told that you need a more bold look for the photoshoot today.” you claim, placing your hands on his shoulders, “you gonna’ let me do my work or are we gonna’ have another argument?”

“you can do whatever, i don’t even care anymore.” he groans, sick and tired of all these brand deals. his owner was running him dry with everything he was made to be doing recently. “do your magic.”

“good.” you say, opening your bag. you pick up one of the devices you brought with you, tossing it up into the air. it blossoms, opening up to show a ball of light coming from the centre. you point it towards till, getting a proper view of his face. “seems like the skincare routine i gave you is working.”

“isn’t it bad to keep putting all these things on my face?” he grumbles, feeling you grasp his chin. he averts his eyes while you inspect his face, gentle hands on his cheeks.

“not these ones.” you claim, feelings his cheeks heat up under your touch. you smile at him. “but it’s not like you really needed it anyway. the producer just said to get you on them. i thought you were already quite handsome.”

he closes his eyes, pulling back and running fingers through his hair. “anyway, what are we doing now?” he clears his throat, trying to calm down his heart.

“oh, right.” you say, taking the other device and turning it on, making a swivel stool for you to sit on. you move closer towards him, knee bumping with his. “okay, close your eyes for me, pretty boy.”

“stop it…” he mutters to you, doing as you say and leaning forward into your hands.

he’s patient with you, in a way that he isn’t with anyone else. which is why you were matched with him, he didn’t swear at you or thrash around. you made him out to be a tamed puppy, sitting as he waits for your touch. you found it cute.

you brushed your fingers against his jaw, making him itch closer to you. his hands grip the bottom of his chair, breath hitching as you dragged the brush along his face. you were delicate with him, holding his face and turning it when you needed. and he was willing to let you do whatever you needed.

“okay, that looks good.” you hum, retracting your hands. he always follows, but opens his eyes to stare at you. “let me do your lashes now. just some mascara, that’s all.”

you see the sour look on his face, making you roll your eyes. as you do your work, till sits quietly, careful not to move. you hold his jaw in your hand, focusing on your hands. but his head is running with how close you are to him. if he were to lean any closer, you would be kissing the guy…

instead, you lean back, bringing the light closer to his face. “ah, sorry, i got some on your cheek.” you huff, taking out a makeup pad.

you brush it against where you had smudged mascara on him, holding his face closer to yours. he’s entranced by your beauty. how your eyes are so focused on him and nothing else, how you smile at him after finished a part of his makeup. you were the most beautiful person to him.

he feels your knee knock against his inner thigh, making him look at you sheepishly. you were digging through your bag for the eyeliner and eyeshadow, claiming that he needed dark colours.

“i think we should go with black.” you say, holding out some palettes, “pick one, any will look good on you.”

he doesn’t even look at them for long, just picking out the one in the middle. you smile at him and nod your head, beginning the next stage. it takes a bit longer, till unable to keep still with how your legs are touching his, and your hands are tenderly holding his cheek. his brows knit unconsciously and you stop.

“till, relax. i can’t do your makeup like that.” you sigh, tilting your head, “i’m nearly done, promise.”

he tries to do so, resulting in upturned brows. your hold was too much! “i’m sorry, y/n, i’m just… i don’t know.”

“hm. it’s okay, i’ll be coming with you to the photoshoot.” you inform him, making till perk up a little. you do a few more touches before setting down the brush, inspecting your work and nodding your head. “there you go.”

he open his eyes and looks in the mirror. he looked pretty good, you were so skilled. “thank you, y/n.”

he turns back to you, seeing how you were already staring back at him. you were still so close, not wavering at all.

“you’re welcome, handsome.” you chime, grinning at him. you caress his cheek for a few seconds before beginning to pull away.

but till lurches forward, pressing his lips to yours. his eyes are squeezed shut, so overwhelmed with emotions. the electricity built up with every single touch you gave him, lingering or not. you had to have known what you were doing to him, you were so purposeful!

your hand returns to his jaw, gently holding him as you kissed back. till’s hands sit just beneath your waist, on top of your legs as he drags you closer. he needed more of your touch.

till goes from eager and rough to smooth and calm in a few seconds, slowing down and pulling away almost hesitantly. he is still in a daze, staring at your lips as you both gather your thoughts. and when he does, he widens his eyes and pulls away hastily.

“i’m sorry! i didn’t mean to!” he yelps, covering his face. he couldn’t believe himself, when did he have that much courage around you? his voice is muffled behind his hands, and his eyes are squeezed shut. “that was a mistake, please forgive me—”

you smooch his knuckles covering his mouth, a short but sweet one. he stops, freezing up at your warmth.

“it’s fine, till.” you say, grinning at him, “i liked it a lot. but i… i kind if ruined your make up a bit. let me fix it, okay?”

he drops his hand and lets you hold his face again, picking up your brush to do your touch ups. but he squeezes his eyes shut again and has to look away as soon as you’re finished. you looked even more beautiful! how could this be happening?

“till,” you say, putting your things away in your bag, “don’t be embarrassed.”

“i’m not!” he mumbles back at you, standing up, “let’s go now!”

you have to chase him down after packing away your things, seeing how red his face was. till swears he will never look you in the eye ever again.

↣ ivan

“oh, there you are.” you say, leaning against your makeup desk. the door shuts behind him, making the sound of people on the other side quiet down. “took you long enough, ivan.”

“the costumes were mixed up.” he explains, tugging at his collar to loosen it up.

you pull out the chair for him, letting ivan sit down before you set him in front of the mirror. “you know you’re not supposed to keep a girl waiting.” you joke, sitting on top of the desk and unlocking the box of makeup.

“you say that as if she isn’t obligated to wait for me.” he huffs at you, leg over his knee. he glances at your irritated face. “so what are you doing to me today?”

“clean look.” you reply, popping open the foundation.

he nods his head, watching as you take a sponge and begin to apply it on his face. you were gentle with him, slowly moving his chin to face where you needed him to face. you eyes barely strayed from him, and to say he didn’t enjoy the attention would be a lie.

one of the reason he was happy to be paired up with you was because you paid such close attention to him. when trialing to be his makeup artist, you brought him some tea to help with his throat. he asked you how you knew he liked that flavour, and you told him you saw him drink it last week. from then on, he had been stuck to you like glue.

the guy lets you do what you need to, staying as still as possible. but he opens an eye when you let out a groan. “what’s wrong?”

your fingers leave him face, almost taking all his warmth with you, as you crane your neck. “no, nothing. just hurts my neck.” you explain, hopping off the desk.

ivan blinks as you come closer to him, holding his chin in your hands to make him look up at you. you stood in between his legs, makeup brush in your other hand. ivan leans back in his chair, putting out his other leg as you come so close that his chest is nearly touching you.

“close your eyes again, okay?” you mumble out, going back to your work. you hold the back of his neck to soothe the position of his head, picking out a good colour for him. as you finish, you feel ivan’s warm hands place themselves on your waist, holding you in position. “is something wrong?”

“hm? oh, nothing.” he replies, brushing his thumb against the hem of your shirt. you shiver at the touch, hastily placing a hand on his to stop him. he opens his eyes again, seeing your flustered expression. a smile tugs at his lips. “are you alright?”

“y—yeah…” you mumble out, carefully taking your hand off his. you sigh out, trying to finish off what you needed to do. ivan is quiet, smile still on his face as you work. “okay. i’m done.”

your fingers leave his face. but you don’t get very far before he takes your hand in his. his lips press against your knuckles, gently and cautiously. you freeze up, holding your breath and staring at him. his other hand holds you in place, keeping you close to him.

he peers at you from his seat, a certain glint in his eyes. “thank you, y/n.” he mumbles against your hand.

you hold your hand close to your chest as he releases you. “what’s going on today, ivan? you’re more touchy than usual.”

“is that bad?” he asks, tilting his head.

“no, it’s not bad.” you explain, taking your brushes and putting them in the box. you could feel your face flushing, you couldn’t turn back to him. you knew he would be wearing that clueless smile. and you would be stammering for your words. “so, um… is this the only thing you’re filming today?”

“yes.” he replies, watching as you carefully put everything away. even in the mirror, you don’t look at him. “are you busy for the rest of the day?”

“no, actually. i’m heading back after this.” you say, grabbing your jacket and tugging it on. after taking a breath in, you turn to him. “i’ll tell them you’re ready.”

ivan stands up, running fingers through his hair before stepping closer to you, his hands finding your jaw. you freeze up, shivering under his touch. your lower back hits the desk, making you lay hands on the wood. he makes you feel like you’re going crazy.

“you’re gorgeous, you know.” he mumbles out, staring at you with piercing eyes.

“uh, thank you, ivan, i—hmph!”

he captures your lips in a single moment, holding onto your shoulder gently. your hands find his face again, caressing him as you slowly melt into him. your eyes flutter shut as his do, feeling overwhelmed with such warmth that you find yourself chasing after him when he pulls away.

ivan chuckles, leaning forward once more to peck you on the lips again. you open your eyes, stunned. “why did you—”

“i should go now, it’ll be starting in five minutes.” he says, checking the clock. ivan leans away, gathering himself and fixing his hair in the mirror behind you before moving to the door. he stops with his hand on the doorframe as it slides open. “i’ll see you after, okay?”

you nod your head slowly, gulping down your nerves.

“good.” he smiles, walking out of the room, “see you, y/n.”

↣ luka

“good job, luka.” you compliment him, waiting in the wings for him to come off stage. he pants, wiping sweat off his brow. you smile, holding pit a towel. “ready for makeup? full dress rehearsal today.”

“right.” he huffs out, patting his face dry. he follows you to his dressing room, feeling a little tired. “what have you been up to?”

“waiting for you.” you respond, opening the door and closing it behind him. he sighs, tiredly sitting in the makeup chair by the mirror. you blink at his state, walking over and placing a hand on his cheek. he stirs. “oh, luka… how much sleep did you get last night?”

“not much.” he groans, rubbing his eyes. you furrow your brows, retracting your hand. “it’s fine. let’s start.”

you blink at him before nodding, beginning your work. luka was probably the best one of your clients when it came to makeup, he cared a lot about his appearance, and he appreciated your work. the only difference with now is that he isn’t giving you some snarky remark or flirting with you through his eyes. he was genuinely sleepy.

“lift your head up higher, luka.” you say, taking the brush away from his face. he only hums out to you, eyes still closed. “luka.”

sighing, you step closer to him, taking his face in your hand and holding his chin up higher. he doesn’t make a sound, only leaning into your palm. “you seriously need to take a nap.”

“mhm.” he says, placing his hands on the back of your knees gently. you squirm in your spot, making him peer open an eye. “i have practice though.”

“it’s a shame.” you sigh, brushing your thumb against his cheek, “you look so pretty when you’re sleeping.”

“creep.” he mutter out.

you roll your eyes, moving the brush tip around his eyelids. he stills for a moment. “i think i overheard one of the producers saying you were losing your voice and that you’re on vocal rest.” you claim, “so shouldn’t you be keeping quiet?”

he nods his head at that after you pull away, his thumbs drawing on the sides of your legs. his blue fingers dance along your pants, listening to you move around. you were delicate with him, no matter how much trouble he caused you. the first time you did his makeup, he complained that he didn’t like it and refused to perform.

but now, he was astounded by how you carefully pat your thumb against his temple, as if soothing him.

“you’re much more bearable when you’re quiet.” you sigh, “it’s such a shame that you’ve got such a pretty voice, and you use it to be annoying.”

he furrows his brows, lifting his head away from you. his eyes open to see your smile. luka rolls his eyes at you, running fingers through his hair. you turn away to grab something from your bag, popping open the bottle and getting ready to use it.

“since you can’t talk, i’ll let you know that i was at mizi’s practice yesterday.” you explain, being careful not to smudge your work as it dries. luka lets out a small sigh. “she was telling me about how she misses homemade food. i told her that she and sua should come over to mine and i’ll make something for them.”

he peeps open an eye again, giving you a look. you raise a brow and sigh, “you said my cooking was good.”

you lift your finger from his cheek, applying the most palest pink you have on him by a loose brush. his skin was so smooth, making your job a lot easier since it wouldn’t take much to make him look presentable.

“it is.” he mumbles out, suddenly moving his arms to lay atop your hips. you sigh through your nose, annoyed at how he ignores his orders to keep quiet. “why’re you cooking for them? they don’t know how to?”

“i didn’t say that, luka.” you huff, pushing his hair off his forehead, “i actually heard from till that mizi is a great cook.”

“that boy only ever sings praises about her.” luka rolls his eyes. you chuckle, knowing he was right. the blonde hugged you closer to himself, cheek squished against your stomach. “what has she ever done to deserve it?”

“don’t be mean. so jealous, luka.” you say to him, smiling softly. he peers up at you before tilting his head.

“me? jealous of her?” he scoffs at you, shaking his head and pulling himself off of you. you were done anyway, now beginning to pack up you belongings. “that’s outrageous of you to say, y/n.”

“seems like it though.” you admit, shrugging your shoulders. when you turn back around to him, luka looks upset. he crosses his arms, pout playing on his lips as he stared at the ground. you sigh, patting his shoulder, “it’s fine, you’re still the world’s favourite human singer.”

“yeah.” he huffs out, barely audible.

you furrow your brows, leaning over and placing a plan on his shoulder. “look, you’re a great singer and you’re handsome. what more could you ask for?”

he mumbles, looking back at you, “do you like me?”

“of course i do.” you reply, scanning his face. he only gives you an unconvinced look. you roll your eyes.

leaning forward to him, you press a chaste kiss to his lips. he stills for a quick second, but soon enough you feel him melt against you. his palm rests against your cheek, pulling you closer. he feels warm when you hold yourself away just enough to kiss him.

his hair has always felt silky smooth. it brushes against your forehead, kissing your skin. his whole body felt like it was pouring itself into you. he wanted to belong.

you pull away before you ruin anymore of his makeup, blinking your eyes a few times at his dazed expression. “i like you, luka.” you say sternly, looking him dead in the eye, “i’m not lying. promise.”

luka thinks to himself for a moment before sighing and standing up. he looks back at you with the tiniest smile. “thanks, y/n.”

“good. now, let’s go. i’ll watch your rehearsals.” you say, patting his back as you walk him to the door. you fix his sleeves, smoothing out the creases.

“good luck, luka.” you chime, standing on the sidelines.

he stares at you for a moment before replying, “thank you.”

it's december so time to stare at my art output for the year!!!

picked out some stuff that i'm ok with. wish i had more art to show but im trying to let it go since i was gone for 4 months this year. here's hoping for more drawing time next year