† where He Belongs : Various.
† where he belongs : various.
♦ request: kind of -- fluff to break the angst streak. ♦ beta’d: nope ♦ a/n: take it or leave it tbh
𝐃𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬𝐨𝐧 —
the weight of the night drags at his shoulders as he steps inside, exhaustion sinking deep into his bones, heavy and unrelenting. the apartment is quiet, the kind of quiet that soothes instead of suffocates, the distant hum of city life beyond the window a soft backdrop to the warmth of home. he exhales slowly, shutting the door behind him, fingers raking through his hair in an attempt to chase away the tension still coiled in his muscles.
it isn't working.
you're there, laid back on the couch, bathed in the soft glow of a lamp, your attention fixed on the idle scroll of your phone screen - he can't make out what any of the audio is. something small, something normal, something that keeps you tethered to the world while he spends his nights unraveling beneath the weight of it. you glance up when you hear him, a smile already tugging at the corners of your lips, but before you can even get a word out, he’s moving.
your phone is plucked away, discarded without ceremony onto the armrest as he sinks into you, face first, the full weight of him settling against your chest. his breath hitches for half a second - like he might still try to stay upright, to hold himself together - but then he exhales, long and heavy, and whatever thread of tension was keeping him standing snaps completely. his arms loop lazily around your frame, not in an attempt to pull you close but simply to anchor himself.
your hand finds his hair, fingers combing through the dark strands with slow, absentminded ease. his body shifts slightly, a quiet sigh pushing past his lips as he nuzzles just a fraction closer, the bridge of his nose pressed to the center of your sternum. you can feel the rise and fall of his breath, the way his body melts, how the exhaustion outweighs even his usual need to check in, to talk, to fill the silence with something lighter than the burdens he carries.
"long night?" you question, your voice quiet.
his only response is a low, wordless hum against your skin, a small nod that barely moves him at all. he’s half-asleep already.
your hand moves gently down the back of his neck, fingertips pressing into his shoulder blades, kneading at the stiff muscles there. it’s a comfort, a welcome home, an unspoken reminder that here, he doesn’t have to be anything but this. the walls can drop, the exhaustion can take over, and he doesn’t have to carry the weight of the world; not here.
"wake me up later," he mumbles, voice thick with sleep, breath warm where it fans against you.
you smile, because you know you won’t.
𝐉𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐝 —
the door clicks shut behind him, a slow, deliberate motion, like even the act of closing it takes more effort than it should. jason is worn down to the bone, the kind of exhaustion that doesn’t just sit in his body but in his mind, in his soul, in the aching weight of another night spent fighting ghosts that refuse to stay buried.
the kind of night that makes him wonder if it's worth it.
he exhales sharply, shoving a hand through his hair as he trudges further inside, letting the dim light of the apartment settle into his senses. he barely registers the warmth of home, the soft hum of a fan, the faint scent of something familiar lingering in the air. his mind is elsewhere. somewhere darker. somewhere he doesn’t want to be.
and then he sees you.
laying on the couch, a handheld console glowing in your hands. the screen flickers as you press a button, brows furrowing in concentration, completely unaware of him standing there, watching.
something in him unravels.
he doesn’t say anything. doesn’t need to. his steps are slow but purposeful as he moves toward you, eyes heavy-lidded, movements weighted with exhaustion. you barely glance up before he all but snatches the console from your hands, tossing it aside onto the cushions, and all you manage is a startled noise before he’s sinking into you completely.
his weight presses against you, solid and real, his body fitting against yours like this is exactly where he was meant to be. his forehead finds its place against your collarbone, his breath uneven for half a second before he exhales - long, slow, tired. one of his arms tucks under you, not gripping, not demanding, just holding. the other settles along the back of the couch, his fingers curling slightly into the fabric as if grounding himself.
your fingers move on instinct, threading through his hair, nails lightly grazing his scalp. he makes a sound at that; a low, contented hum, almost imperceptible, but you feel it more than you hear it.
“rough night?” you ask, voice gentle.
"don’t," he murmurs, voice muffled against your skin. "don’t ask. don’t talk. just…" his fingers tighten slightly against your side, his body pressing further into yours, the weight of the world settling between every breath he takes. "just stay here."
you do.
your hand never stops moving through his hair, your touch never falters. you stay exactly where he needs you. and before you can even think about responding, his body has already gone heavy, his breath slowing into something deep, something steady.
he's asleep before you can say another word.
𝐓𝐢𝐦 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐤𝐞 —
tim barely remembers kicking off his shoes before stepping into the dimly lit apartment, his limbs running on autopilot, exhaustion thick in his bloodstream. the night was longer than it should’ve been; longer than even he could handle, stretching into endless hours of meticulous problem-solving, strategizing, and pushing himself past limits that should’ve been unbreakable.
and yet, here he is, barely keeping his eyes open as he makes his way toward you. he hopes it's you, at least.
you’re in bed, propped up slightly against the pillows, a soft glow illuminating your features from the screen in your hands - a handheld console, something to pass the time while waiting for him to drag himself through the door. it’s a sight that should make him feel guilty.
maybe it does, somewhere in the haze of exhaustion fogging his mind. but right now, all he can focus on is the pull; the gravitational force of home, of warmth, of you.
you glance up just as he reaches the bed, a knowing smile already curving your lips, but before you can say anything, he plucks the device from your hands, barely taking the time to toss it onto the nightstand before he collapses onto you completely.
you ignore the urge to complain about the hefty price of the machine tossed away so carelessly.
his weight settles over you, warm and familiar, his head finding its place against your chest. his breath is unsteady for half a second - like he’s still trying to hold on to wakefulness, to some semblance of function - then your fingers are threading through his hair, slow and soothing, and the tension bleeds from his body like a dam breaking.
the exhale he lets out is long, heavy - something closer to surrender than anything else. his arms loop around your waist, not pulling, not gripping - just existing, just needing. the warmth of your hand against the back of his neck, the absentminded way you trail your fingertips along his scalp, it’s enough to undo him completely.
"tim," you murmur, amused, voice soft against the quiet hum of the night.
"shh," he mumbles back, voice muffled, already half-asleep. "i’m taking this nap. with you. now."
your chest shakes with the quietest of laughs, but you don't argue the concept of a 'nap' in the middle of the night. you just keep combing through his hair, letting him rest, letting him exist and finally breathe.
𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞 —
damian doesn’t announce his return. he never does. the door barely even makes a sound as it shuts behind him, his steps eerily silent as he moves through the dim apartment. he’s been trained for stealth, for precision, for battle, but even a warrior has limits. and tonight, he has reached them.
the night’s patrol had been nothing short of infuriating. a mission that should have lasted minutes stretched into agonizing hours, a wild chase through gotham’s underbelly, criminals with more arrogance than skill wasting his time. it was a pointless, exhausting ordeal that left him feeling frayed at the edges. he hadn’t even made it back to the manor - he came here instead.
because home is not defined by where you sleep. it’s who you return to.
you’re there, as he knew you would be. you always wait for him, in one way or another. tonight, it’s with a book, sprawled across the bed, posture relaxed but eyes flicking toward him the second he enters the room. you take him in, the way his shoulders hold tension like they were sculpted for it, the way his jaw is tight, his movements clipped but deliberate.
you don’t comment on it. you don’t need to.
instead, you merely set the book aside, shifting just slightly - arms open in unspoken invitation. a gesture. a reminder.
weeks ago, when he had scoffed at the concept of needing comfort, of seeking rest in another person, you had merely tilted your head and said, “if you ever need it, i'm always here.”
damian had rolled his eyes at the time. but now, he finds himself stepping toward you without a second thought.
he reaches the bed, barely pulling back the covers before he collapses against you, his weight settling over you in one smooth motion. his head finds its place against your chest, his breath warm where it fans against your skin. he exhales slowly, like he’s been holding it in all night. his arms loop around you, one hand resting at your side, the other curling gently near your ribs.
he doesn’t speak. he doesn’t need to. never needs to.
your fingers push into his hair, slow and deliberate, the sensation tugging something deep from his chest. he doesn’t resist it. he lets himself sink.
for a moment, the silence stretches. it’s calm, grounding, real. and then, just as his breath evens out, his voice drifts against your skin - soft, half-asleep, barely above a whisper.
"you said it was an offer."
your lips curve slightly. "and you finally took it."
he hums, already too far gone to answer properly. his grip around you tightens just a fraction, like he’s ensuring you won’t move.
you don’t. you stay right where you are. and before long, he is asleep in your arms.
More Posts from Bbsaeko and Others
hii i recently became obsessed with your writing and links theyre so good😖do you think u could write something about tim drake getting nasty w his s/o like him being really into eating pussy or maybe give a few more link reqs ?? anyways luv uu
Tim Drake being a nasty boy lmao
Authors note: oh darling, flattery will get you EVERYWHERE on this blog. Thank you very much for your sweet comments.
18+ nsfw, fem reader, kinda public play
“Christ Tim!”
You harshly whisper at him, feeling the breath on your ear as his hand wanders down. Nursing your drink, you glance around the packed gala to ensure nobody was looking in your direction, or they’d see your boyfriend attempting to grope your ass over your tight dress.
“C’mon birdie, it’s not my fault.” He mumbles, but withdraws his hand just the same. “I wouldn’t be so desperate if you’d have let me-“
You cut him off with a slight slap of his arm, knowing what he was gonna say before he finished. Tim hated these things, charity gala’s full of stuck up rich folk who cared more about their public image than helping whatever group the gala was pledging to support. But being adopted by practically the richest and most philanthropic man means he has to make appearances, much to his dismay.
You’d had to practically drag him out of bed and into a suit, before you started to get yourself ready. That’s when he started, kissing up and down your neck and collarbones as you were applying your moisturiser. But it quickly escalated to him practically crawling under your vanity and begging you to let him eat your pussy.
Any other day you’d have let him, sinking back into your chair and letting him lap at you like an obedient puppy. But you knew if you let him you’d never get to the gala, and his dad would have had another stern talk with Tim about the responsibility of public life and image, so you pushed him away, ignoring the neglected throb of your clit.
But it didn’t stop him from trying, in the car over when he groped at your thighs. He grinned when you couldn’t hold back your smile, before huffing when you told him you weren’t changing your mind.
So now you were both stood like wallflowers, watching the elite of Gotham schmooze over expensive shrimps and champagne, while you try and ignore your pussy leaking.
“Tim, can’t you just pretend to enjoy yourself?”
He smirks, leaning in and biting your ear playfully. “I know how I’d really enjoy myself”
“Oh yeah? Well I don’t think that your father’s guests would appreciate you fucking me over the buffet table.”
“Babyyyy.” He whines, “you know I don’t mean that. I meant we could go someplace…”
You laugh softly, shaking your head a little at his antics. He hums, his hand holding your waist and pulling you into him. “Birdie I’m serious…I bet I could make you cum so quick we’d hardly be gone.”
“Bit cocky of you, Drake.” You tease, but god you can’t deny you’re tempted. The boredom of such a stuffy party has really set in, and as his fingers dance along your back, you get the sense he’ll achieve his wants regardless.
“I’ve got the skills, what can I say?” He laughs softly, before squeezing your ass a little. “C’mon…please?”
You sigh, thighs pressed together before relenting. Giving him a playful glare, you whisper to him. “Alright. You have five minutes.”
That’s how you find yourself with your back pressed against the wall of an empty corridor, and Tim sinking to his knees. He rolls the tight fabric of your dress up, exposing your wet panties.
“And you say I’m the desperate one.” Tim taunts at you, before you playfully roll your eyes.
Undeterred, he gently places a few kisses on your inner thighs, dragging his tongue up and causing you to shiver a little. He gently nibbles, before you whimper gently.
“Tim…thought you were on a time limit.”
“Can’t I appreciate my girl? Especially when I’m about to do my favorite activity?”
Despite the tough face you’re attempting to put on, you can’t deny the teasing lilt of his words makes you blush. But alas he pulls down your panties, eyeing up your dripping cunt with a facial expression that screams desire.
He leans in and sniffs, causing your blush to deepen at how truly desperate he looks down there, before he sticks out his tongue and licks a broad stripe along your folds. You whimper softly, as he repeats the motion a few times, before he really gets stuck in.
The sounds are obscene, as he delves in like an explorer, nose brushing against your clit as he practically makes out with your hole. Hyper aware that you’re both still semi in public, you clasp a hand over your mouth to stifle any more noises. You don’t want to get busted because one drunk social climber decides to leave the gala early and explore, only to find Bruce Wayne’s son with his tongue up his girlfriend.
Your hips gently rock into his face as he continues to slurp and suck every part of your pussy. Shaking his head, he ensures no inch is spared from his appendage. He plunges his tongue into your hole before licking up and flicking against your clit quickly just to watch you shiver.
When he pulls away for breath, the lower half of his face shines with a mixture of spit and your juices, but he doesn’t stop for long before diving right back in.
“I love how you taste.” He says against you, sucking your clit into his mouth.
You try and thank him, but you don’t trust yourself to not moan loud enough for someone to hear, so you keep quiet. A hand tangles its way into his hair, and you tug gently to manoeuvre him into the right area.
He can tell you’re getting closer, reading your body language well, so he doubles down on your clit. Moaning into you, his nose is practically completely covered with your pubic hair due to how much he’s pushing his face into you, not wanting to breathe anything that isn’t your smell.
With a choked warning, you cum in his mouth, small gasps and moans escaping you as your fist locks in his hair. Your chest heaves with shaky breaths as you come down, but Tim doesn’t stop. He licks at your folds, your inner thighs, attempting to drink up every last bit of cum that he can.
“t-tim…” you moan out, knowing you both have been gone for too long.
“I know I know.” He mumbles, not being able to resist a few more laps at your hole before reluctantly pulling away. “I could have given you another one birdie.”
You laugh softly. “I know babe.”
Just then, you hear someone walking down the corridor, and you quickly yank your panties up while Tim stands and pulls your dress back down. Just in time for Jason to come round the corner.
“Tim, been lookin’ for you everywhere. Bruce is gonna make his speech, wants a picture with everyone afterwards, get your ass back inside.” He says, eyeing you both.
“We’ll be right there.” You reply, attempting to smile normally, to which Jason hums.
The older brother turns to leave, but not before looking over his shoulder. ‘And Tim dear? Wipe your face before you get in.”
FAMILY, FAMILY DEAR BATS 🦇
synopsis : What happens when a normal reader enters Batfamily. Not by getting orphaned or saved but rather just visiting her uncle for the first time ( it's Bruce ). Now somehow she's become the unofficial therapist of this family and for unknown reasons the only one with enough common sense.Also why is everyone so Overprotective?
Or
Normal reader X Platonic yandere Batfamily
Chapter 2 :-
Your eyes twinkled open all while you took your surroundings into view. This most definitely wasn't your room. It was too large yet had a tiny elegance to it. Your mind raked where you were -- seconds passed before you realised you were indeed at your uncle's place.
Getting off the bed, you made your way to the bathroom and freshened yourself up. Your eyes which were in a daze snap open sharply. You smile at your reflection before coming out.
Walking out you passed through the large and bright hallways and made your way to the kitchen. Mr. Alfred, you remember, was busy making breakfast. " Good morning, Mr Alfred." He greeted you with a smile. The man had a stern yet soft look in his eyes when he glanced in your direction.
Passing you an eloquent smile he pushed the seat back for you. " Good morning, Miss Julia. You've woken quite early. " You nodded, " I'm an early wake. Also-" You said turning your head left and right. " Where are my parents?"
" They informed me they had to leave early due to an emergency at work. I was told to inform you when you woke.. "
Wow, your parents really just left you. What happened to spending a few days there? Really- still you couldn't blame them, they always made time for you but sometimes the work got too heavy or an emergency arrived. " Seems like them. " You sighed while taking a seat.
Mr. Alfred placed breakfast in front of you. You gasped at the amount, it looked like it could feed ten people. Looking back and forth you asked, " Will my cousins or someone else be joining us? "
Mr. Alfred blinked before a smile found its way on his lips. " Master Duke will be joining us." You had a hard time believing he could eat this much. But hey! It's not like you were familiar with how much a young adult ate.
As if on que you heard a voice from behind, failing to prevent himself from yawning. " Good morning Alfred. What's for breakfast?” Alfred motioned him to look at the table. You heard a gasp, “ Wow, you really prepared a lot! Is everyone coming back already?”
“ They should arrive by evening. Also-” Alfred coughed, his eyes pointing to you. “ You ought to greet our guest.” The boy's eyes finally scan and spot you.
You slightly turned your head and looked at him. He was really handsome you thought. His skin was practically glowing but the dark circle near his eyes told you he barely slept.
He came closer and took a seat next to you. Extending his hand and a smile bright on his lips, he greeted you. “ Sorry about that. I was kind of sleepy. Nice to meet you uhh-.” You shake his hand and smile right back. “ Julia..” You reply, “ A pleasure to meet you too.”
“ Duke.” He says and takes a seat. You don't notice him examining you while you eat. He follows your movements and begins to eat.
So this is Y/n Julia.
You look so ordinary, practically so small. He scans you with his eyes and powers and finds you to not be a threat. You turn to him confused as to why he's been staring at you for the past five minutes.
He places some more eggs on your plate. “ Eat more.” You nodded. “ You have some more too.” You passed him some ham. Both of you chatted with each other and despite him being at least six years older, you were able to enjoy yourself.
Duke was really good at talking.
“ Do you want me to give you a tour through the city? We can visit the hospitals too!” Wow he really was nice. You practically grinned, “ I would really like that!” Duke smiled back.
He was feeling like a big brother right now. A real one.
He's always wanted a little sibling he could take care of and spend time with. He remembers begging his parents for some. They laughed nervously and told him maybe in the future.
Then they died and he lost every chance of it.
When he got adopted by Bruce, he was scared. His new siblings were nice but they all kept their distance. Though with time he'd gotten closer to them all. Even Damien. But his relationship with them all was nothing more than a convenience. To each of them, every single one of them was but a teammate. Just a small part in their great mission.
Duke had changed in the eight years he was under Bruce's roof. He got more cruel, more efficient and more…emotionless. He had lost any desire for love and care. He couldn't even be brothered anymore.
Now talking to you, he felt hope brimming. Bruce had already told them all about your family's existence. When he read your file, after it was passed around among his siblings who for some reason just love to mess with each other. He remembers not caring.
He wants to hit his past self right now. Even if it was him from an hour ago.
Also
Your picture did not do you justice.
You look lots more livelier than the picture shows. His eyes have gotten soft in just an hour. That's something none of his siblings would ever believe. Him being kind and smiling with someone? That's practically unheard off! They'll probably try to run some rest on him later. He can already feel a headache coming.
But he feels they would understand him. They're all the same kind of monsters after all. He can already see you meeting them and them taking a liking to you instantly, just like he has.
“ Duke, are you listening?”
He turns his attention back to you. Your bright eyes stare at him with full attention and kindness. He smiles.
“ I am..” you go right back in for your live of medicine.
This is perhaps his first time talking to someone normal. Someone who isn't a vigilante, someone who isn't traumatized.
Just a normal, bright kid.
His ears sharpen in edge and his eyes slightly flicker when he hears the footsteps. Bruce is doing it on purpose to not freak you out. He sees Bruce make way to the living room, where you both have taken a seat and are talking. You of course see him and greet him with a smile.
“ Good morning, Uncle Bruce.”
Bruce pauses before smiling. “ Good morning Julia.” He takes a seat next to you. “ You're quite an early riser. I've never seen any of my children ever wake so early.” He sighs under a smile.
“ Really?”
“ Yes. They all love to sleep late, when they are home that is.” You wouldn't know but his last bit is meant for someone else.Duke inwardly scoffs. “ They must be home often then.” Bruce freezes and you feel his smile falter before returning to his face. “ They come when they wish.”
You nod.
Duke already wants to leave. Despite all that Bruce has done for him, he can't make himself stay in his presence for long. Especially if it's not related to vigilante work. He gets up and your attention turns to him. “ Duke?” You ask.
He smiles and pinches your cheeks. “ I've got some work to do. Let's hang out later, ‘kay?” You nod. Duke shoots Bruce a stare before leaving. You don't notice since it's very quick and subtle
Once Duke disappears, Bruce turns your attention back to him.
“ It's nice to see you get along with him.”
“ Duke's nice so I wouldn't take the credit.” You reply. You have no idea how cruel and emotionless he is. Bruce would say he was surprised when he saw you both chatting and smiling earlier. Duke has never been this open in front of anyone. Not even his siblings.
“ I wouldn't put myself down there. You're good at socializing.” you blush. “ Thanks…”
He smiles. “ So I heard you love medicine. Are you planning on pursuing it?”
“ I am. It's been a dream for me forever!”
“ That's nice.” He doesn't realise when his hand moves closer and ruffles your hair. He starts and pulls back quickly. “ Sorry.. I didn't realize-”
“ It's fine uncle. You can do it again.” You allow him to pat your head. He smiles at the warmth you give.
“ So uncle Bruce, when are the others coming? I would love to meet them!” especially if they are nice like Duke.
“ Right ! They should arrive right-wing” suddenly there is a loud bang and the ground shakes. You about to fall is steadied by Bruce and he helps you get stable. “ You alright?” Bruce asks seriously. “ I'm… fine.”
“ What was that!” Bruce says nothing, just points at the direction of the sound.
“ Master Damien and Master Jason. What are you both doing?” You hear Alfred's voice. He's scolding someone. Bruce and you walk out and you see two men getting scolded by Alfred.
“ It was Todd's fault, Pennyworth. I have done nothing wrong. “ You see the shorter one trying to defend himself. His face has a big blue spot forming. Probably due to a punch.
“ Don't put the blame on me Demon brat! Alfie I'm telling you! It was all him. “ The taller one argues back. You see blood falling down his arms.
Your glance at Alfred who looks like a tired dad ready to bamg his head on the wall. Bruce takes his place next to you and pats your head again.
“ Here they are.” You hear Bruce sigh holding his nose bridge like a tired parent. “ Welcome to our Mansion Julia.”
Damn-
TBC…
Coming chapters will be uploaded slowly, also if anyone wants to be added to the tag list, kindly message or comment.
All our batfam has a dark and cute side. So look forward to it ^_^ Also to everyone wondering why I gave reader the name Julia. It's a Nickname I thought would be cute. ( I don't know what it means but it kind of rhyme with jewel. So I wrote it in that context, since she's going to be like a jewel to them.)
Still if everyone wants I'll use y/n or name ( tell me what u all prefer) in the coming chapters ≧﹏≦
Thanks for reading 🩷
Can you please write dumb/subtle/random/cute things batboys will do while they are crushing on reader?
♯ FEEL YOUR LIPS CRUSH . . .
— gn!reader, fluff
© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified
BRUCE WAYNE
becomes overly observant but awkwardly obvious
bruce wayne is a master of observation—trained to notice the smallest details in a room, a person, or a crime scene. but when it comes to you, this skill becomes more of a curse than a blessing. his crush transforms his usual precision into something downright awkward as he hyper-focuses on the tiniest parts of your life.
it starts innocently enough. you’ll be in the middle of a casual conversation when bruce interrupts, his deep voice breaking through your train of thought.
“you’ve switched your coffee order recently,” he says matter-of-factly, his piercing blue eyes locking on yours.
you blink, momentarily confused. “uh, yeah. i wanted to try something different.”
“it’s good,” he replies, his tone completely serious, as if your new preference for caramel flavored coffee over vanilla is a critical observation.
sometimes his comments catch you so off guard that you don’t even know how to respond. like the time you came into the room wearing a pair of old sneakers. bruce, who was leaning against the kitchen counter sipping his coffee, glanced down and said, “those laces are frayed. you should replace them.”
you laughed nervously, unsure if he was joking. “uh, thanks for the tip?”
but bruce wasn’t joking. “i’ll send alfred to pick up new ones. you don’t want them snapping mid-step.”
he tries to play it cool, he really does, but his constant streak of seemingly random observations only makes his feelings more obvious. one afternoon, you find him glancing at your notebook while you jot something down. without even looking at you, he says, “you press harder with the pen when you’re tired. your handwriting’s smaller today.”
you set your pen down, giving him a skeptical look. “do you . . . keep track of my handwriting, bruce?”
his face doesn’t change, though you swear his ears flush the faintest shade of pink. “no,” he says smoothly, taking a sip of his coffee. “it’s just. . . noticeable.”
it’s the way he says it—quiet and genuine—that sends your heart fluttering. he doesn’t realize how much he’s revealing, but his small, awkward comments and laser focus on the details of your life make it abundantly clear.
the funny thing is, you’re not the only one noticing. alfred, who’s known bruce wayne longer than anyone, often raises an eyebrow or hides a knowing smirk whenever bruce starts one of his “random” observations.
( “perhaps master wayne should focus on his own handwriting.” bruce glares at alfred, but his lack of a comment only makes the butler’s smirk grow wider. )
finds excuses to be helpful
bruce’s wealth is something he wields with the subtlety of a battering ram when he’s crushing on someone. his intentions are good—he genuinely wants to help—but it often comes off as over-the-top or hilariously unnecessary. for someone as logical and composed as the bat, using his money to make your life easier feels like a no-brainer, but he doesn’t realize just how obvious it makes his feelings.
it starts small at first. you might casually mention needing to replace something—your laptop is acting up or your phone is outdated. the next day, without fail, a box will mysteriously appear at your doorstep. inside, you’ll find not just a replacement but the absolute best version of the device, meticulously selected and clearly expensive.
“bruce,” you say, holding up the latest model of a WE laptop you can’t imagine ever affording on your own. “did you do this?”
he looks up from his work, his expression calm and unbothered. “it’s practical,” he says, as if that’s a reasonable excuse for gifting you a piece of technology worth more than your rent. “your old one was slow. it’s inefficient to struggle with outdated equipment.”
when you try to protest, he waves it off, as though spending thousands of dollars on you is no more different than buying a cup of coffee.
but it doesn’t stop there. one morning, you’re sitting in the kitchen with him, absently complaining about how your car keeps breaking down. it’s an offhanded comment, something you don’t think twice about, but bruce takes it as a challenge. by the time you’ve finished your coffee, he’s already pulled out his phone to make arrangements.
“wait,” you interrupt him, narrowing your eyes as you catch him murmuring something to alfred over the phone. “what are you doing?”
“nothing,” he replies too quickly, but later that day, you’re startled to find a sleek new car parked outside your home, the keys and a handwritten note from the butler sitting on your counter.
“bruce!” you exclaim, storming into the study to confront him.
he doesn’t even look up from his computer. “your old car was unreliable. this one is safer.”
“that’s not the point!”
“it’s just a car,” he says with a small shrug, though there’s a hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth.
despite his attitude, it’s clear he’s putting an incredible amount of thought into everything he does for you. his gestures are less about showing off his wealth and more about making sure you never have to struggle, even in the smallest ways. because to him, it’s just logical—he has the resources, so why wouldn’t he use them to make your life easier?
DICK GRAYSON
finds excuses to touch you
for someone as physically expressive as dick grayson, touch comes as naturally as breathing—but when he’s crushing on you, it’s a whole new level. he’s not even aware of how much he does it at first, but the moments start to add up. it’s little things at first: the way he always seems to find a reason to brush his hand against yours, the casual way his shoulder bumps into you when you’re walking side by side, or the way he’ll lean close when he’s explaining something, his hand ghosting over yours as he gestures.
but then, it becomes less about the accidental and more about the intentional. when you’re sitting on the couch together, he’ll sling an arm over the back of it, his fingers close enough to brush against your shoulder. he’ll offer his hand when you’re stepping out of a car or climbing over something, even if you don’t need it, the contact lingers just a second longer than necessary.
“careful,” he’ll say, his voice soft and teasing, even though the step you’re taking isn’t remotely precarious.
“you know i can walk, right?”
he grins, squeezing your hand briefly before letting it go. “just being chivalrous.”
and then, there are the moments when he gets so wrapped up in the conversation or your presence that he doesn’t even realize what he’s doing. like the time you were sitting together, and he absentmindedly started playing with the hem of your sleeve. it wasn’t until you cleared your throat that he looked down, startled, his ears turning pink as he quickly let go.
“sorry,” he mumbled, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “didn’t realize i was doing that.”
but the blush on his cheeks told you everything you needed to know.
for dick, touch is a way of expressing what words sometimes fail to say. every hand on your shoulder, every playful nudge, and every lingering hug is his way of saying, i like being near you. i like you. even if he hasn’t quite found the courage to say it out loud, his actions make it impossible to miss.
teases you relentlessly (but gets flustered when you tease him back)
teasing is how dick shows affection, how he keeps things light, and, more than anything, how he tries to get your attention. when he’s crushing on you, though, his teasing takes on a new level. every little thing you do seems to give him material to poke fun at, not in a mean way, but in a way that makes it clear he’s paying attention to everything about you.
if you trip over a word while talking, he’ll immediately smirk. “careful there, shakespeare,” he’ll quip. “do we need to enroll you in a public speaking class?” or if you drop something, he’s ready with a dramatic gasp. “wow, butterfingers, do you need me to carry everything for you? i could be your personal assistant, but i charge by the hour.”
it’s playful, yes, but it’s also consistent. he’s always looking for ways to make you laugh, even if it’s at your own expense. like the time you were struggling to open a stubborn jar of jam, and he swooped in, popping the lid off with ease.
“guess i’m just the stronger one here,” he said, flexing his biceps with an exaggerated grin. “it’s okay; not everyone can have these guns.”
but if you so much as raise an eyebrow or fire back with your own jab, the tables turn in an instant. one day, after he’d spent a full five minutes teasing you about your choice of coffee ( “a triple-shot vanilla latte with almond milk? fancy. are you sure you don’t need a royal escort to carry it for you?” ), you finally snapped back.
“oh, and i suppose you’re the coffee expert, mr. regular black coffee? real creative. i bet the baristas have your order memorized.”
the grin on his face faltered for a split second, his eyes widening just slightly. then came the blush—the faint pink hue creeping up his cheeks as he tried to recover, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.
“hey, black coffee is . . . classic,” he mumbled, suddenly unable to meet your gaze.
and that’s the thing about dick grayson: as much as he loves dishing it out, he can’t always handle it when it’s directed at him. the moment you tease him back, especially if it’s about something he’s sensitive about (like his perfectly styled hair or his need to one-up everyone), he turns into an awkward, flustered mess.
“you spend how long on your hair every morning?” you asked him once, teasingly ruffling his carefully combed locks after he made fun of the mismatched socks you were wearing.
he froze, his hand shooting up to fix the damage. “it’s not that long,” he protested, his voice defensive but light.
“oh, come on! i bet you use at least three different products. don’t tell me you don’t have a favorite brand of gel.”
his cheeks flushed crimson as he stammered, “i—you know, it’s just . . . maintenance! can’t all of us roll out of bed looking flawless, okay?”
you laughed, and he groaned, muttering something under his breath about how you were “way too good at this.”
JASON TODD
acts nonchalant but is always nearby
jason todd is many things—brash, sarcastic, sometimes even reckless—but when it comes to feelings he doesn’t fully understand, he defaults to keeping his distance . . . or at least pretending he’s keeping his distance. the truth is, when he’s crushing on you, he’s drawn to you like a moth to a flame, always finding an excuse to be wherever you are without making it obvious. or so he thinks.
take your quiet sunday afternoons, for instance. maybe you’ve settled on the couch with a book, enjoying the rare peace. jason walks in, all nonchalant, like he’s just passing through. he glances at you—just a quick flick of his eyes, like he’s making sure you’re still there—and then he settles in the chair across from you, a spot he never uses otherwise.
“what are you doing?” you ask, watching as he pulls out a book of his own, the same one he’s been pretending to read for weeks.
he doesn’t even look up. “reading.”
you roll your eyes but say nothing, knowing full well he’s barely getting through a page. you can feel his gaze on you every few minutes, like he’s trying to memorize the way your brow furrows in concentration or how you chew on the corner of your lip when you’re focused. and if you catch him? he quickly snaps his attention back to his book, pretending obliviousness.
“didn’t know you liked this spot so much,” you tease, gesturing to the chair.
a smirk plays on the edge of his lips, though there’s a flicker of defensiveness in his eyes. “what, i can’t sit here now? thought it was a free country.”
it’s always like that—his attempts to mask how much he cares come with a side of sarcasm. but the truth slips through in the little details. like how he never actually leaves the room until you do. or how, even when you’re sitting in silence, he finds a reason to linger. maybe he’s scrolling through his phone, flipping through a magazine, or staring at the ceiling like he’s deep in thought. but really, he’s just soaking in your presence.
and then there are the times when he doesn’t even bother pretending. like when you’re sitting in the kitchen, finishing up some work, and he wordlessly sits down across from you, arms crossed and chin propped in his hand.
“what?” you ask, glancing up at him.
“nothing,” he replies, though the slight curve of his lips gives him away.
it’s not that jason is afraid to admit he likes you ( although there is a possibility he is but we don’t talk about that )—it’s just that he doesn’t know how. so instead, he hovers. he sticks close enough to feel like he’s part of your world but not so close that he risks giving himself away. so while he might act nonchalant, the truth is, he’s anything but. every glance, every lingering moment, every excuse to be near you is jason’s way of saying he cares—he just hasn’t found the words yet.
fixes things you didn’t even know were broken
jason’s way of showing he cares is a little unconventional, but it’s always in the small, unspoken ways. he’s the type to notice things that no one else would—things that have been lingering for ages in the background of your life, just waiting for someone to fix them. but because it’s jason, he’ll never bring it up. he’ll just do it, no questions asked, and then act like it never happened.
it starts with the little things. your chair in the living room? it’s been squeaking for months now, but it’s not something you’ve gotten around to fixing. it’s one of those annoyances you’ve learned to ignore, a piece of background noise that doesn’t really bother you enough to take action.
until one day, it suddenly stops.
you sit down in the chair, and for the first time in ages, it’s silent. your eyes narrow. you didn’t fix this—so who did?
“jason?” you ask, glancing toward him as he lounges on the couch, pretending to be deep in whatever he’s doing.
he doesn’t even look up. “what?”
“the chair. it’s. . . quiet now.”
he pauses for just a moment, but it’s enough to catch the shift in his demeanor. he shrugs, barely concealing the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “must’ve gotten lucky. or maybe it fixed itself.”
you know it didn’t. but before you can press him on it, he’s already back to whatever he was doing, like the whole thing is no big deal. it’s almost as if he’s trying to play it off, hoping you won’t notice that he’s been quietly fixing things in your life, one at a time.
the next thing happens a few days later. you walk into the kitchen, only to find that the light above the sink, the one that flickers every time you try to use it, is now working. perfectly.
you stop, standing in the doorway and just staring at it. there’s no way you fixed it. and it certainly wasn’t broken enough to need replacing. so once again, you turn your gaze to jason, who’s now sitting at the kitchen table, eating a snack and acting entirely uninterested in your investigation.
“jason, did you—?”
“no,” he interrupts and continues watching the video essay he turns on every time he eats.
“uh-huh,” you say, narrowing your eyes, walking toward the light and testing the switch again just to make sure you’re not imagining things. it stays steady, glowing without hesitation.
he’ll never say it out loud, but each fix—each thoughtful act—speaks louder than any words could. the broken things don’t matter, because jason is here, fixing them in his own way, piece by piece.
TIM DRAKE
gets shy when you’re too close
tim drake is usually the picture of composure. he’s calm, collected, and can handle himself in just about any situation, but when you’re too close, all that confidence seems to slip away. it starts small. you’re sitting beside him, maybe sharing a space while working on something, and without thinking, you slide just a little bit closer to him. maybe your arm brushes against his, or your knee nudges his under the table.
it’s enough to throw him off, just for a second. his heart rate picks up slightly, and he tries to hide it behind the screen of his laptop, pretending to focus harder than he really is. but he knows, deep down, that he’s hyperaware of you now—of the way you’re sitting, of the way your presence seems to fill the space between the two of you.
his eyes flicker toward you, but quickly dart away, like he’s afraid you caught him staring. it’s an involuntary reaction, the nervous little shift in his posture as he tries to seem as casual as possible. he clears his throat, his voice slightly quieter than usual. “uh, sorry, was just—just making sure the laptop was charging.”
it’s obvious to you that he’s not really talking about the laptop. he’s trying to act like it’s no big deal, but every time you’re too close to him, tim’s body betrays him. the way his leg shifts a little away from yours under the table, or how he tries to subtly angle his body so there’s just a little more space between you and him, even if he doesn’t want there to be.
you might not notice the subtle movements, but tim does. and every time you get close to him, whether it’s by accident or on purpose, he feels a flutter of nerves that he can’t quite explain. it’s not that he doesn’t want you near him—far from it—but the proximity messes with him in ways he doesn’t understand. his thoughts get jumbled, and his usual calmness slips, replaced by the flustered feeling he’s not used to.
if you ever catch him looking at you, his gaze quickly drops, and a soft blush creeps up his neck. “i—i didn’t mean to—uh, just making sure you’re not too cramped.” he mutters, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his laptop, anything to distract himself from the fact that he’s suddenly very aware of you being so close.
sometimes, when you get too near, tim will just freeze for a moment. it’s like his body can’t process the closeness, and the little awkward silence stretches between you two. it’s not uncomfortable—far from it—but it’s a vulnerable thing for tim, this closeness he doesn’t know how to handle.
but if you keep talking, or even just touch his arm gently when you lean over to look at something, tim’s composure slips even more. he shifts in his seat, trying to act like he’s calm, but his hand might twitch toward yours for just a second before he pulls it away like he’s afraid you’ll notice how he’s reacting.
follows you around during patrol
it’s late at night, the moon casting faint silver light across the streets, and the only sounds are the hum of city life and the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. you’re out on a walk, maybe trying to clear your head or just enjoy the quiet, unaware that someone is watching you from the shadows. tim, clad in his suit, has been tailing you for a while now. it’s not that he’s trying to be creepy or intrusive, but rather, he’s just . . . concerned.
tim is the kind of person who can’t turn off his instincts, and tonight, for whatever reason, they’re telling him to stay close. he’s perched high above you on a rooftop, watching you walk along the street below, trying to remain unseen. his red robin suit blends into the darkness of the night, the shadows making him nearly invisible to anyone who might be looking.
he’s not sure why he’s doing it—it’s not like you’ve asked him to keep an eye on you—but there’s something about the quiet stillness of the night that has him on edge. maybe it’s because you’ve been a little distant lately, or maybe he’s just worried something might happen to you in the dark. either way, he’s got his eyes on you, and he won’t stop until you’re safely back where you belong.
he’s quick, agile, moving like a shadow himself. you might hear a faint creak of a fire escape ladder or the flurry of footsteps just out of your line of sight, but when you look, there’s nothing there—just the empty street, the soft glow of streetlights, and the ever-present hum of the city.
it’s when you stop for a moment, distracted by something—maybe you’re checking your phone or admiring a nearby storefront—that he’s closest. in that moment, tim takes a chance, moving closer to you, just a few feet away in the darkened alley. he’s not trying to startle you, but there’s something in his gut that tells him he can’t let you out of his sight, especially when it’s this late, and the streets feel a little emptier than usual.
he’ll hover just out of view, giving you space but never quite leaving you alone. if you keep walking, he follows, keeping his distance but staying close enough to ensure you’re safe. when you stop at a crosswalk or glance around, he’s already a few rooftops away, peering down at you from above, making sure you’re not being followed.
the closer you get to home, the more relaxed tim feels, but he never lets his guard down entirely. even when you reach the safety of your doorstep, he lingers just out of sight, making sure you get inside without any issues. he’ll remain in the shadows for a moment longer, watching as you lock the door behind you, ensuring you’re safe before finally letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
only then does he disappear into the night, his heart still racing, his mind replaying the images of your walk. he’ll retreat to his hidden vantage point, slipping into the dark corners of gotham once more, but the small weight of relief that you’re safe settles deep in his chest. even though he doesn’t want to admit it, there’s a part of him that feels content knowing you’re okay—even if you’ll never know how closely he’s watched over you.
Bruce Wayne kisses like you're the last thread of sanity holding him to this world. He'll cradle your face in his hands, lips making long, languidly slow movements over your own. By the end of it, you're pushed against some kind of furniture and panting, while he's already leaving to pull on his cowl. It hurts to see him go, yet you know that he'll be home again to kiss you senseless until the world makes sense.
Richard Grayson kisses like he'll be dead tomorrow. Little pecks along your cheek, forehead, neck—anywhere he can get those plush lips on. He'll kiss you until you're both breathless, chests heaving and faces flushed. He'll love you until the day he dies, and he makes sure that you know that. Every day, he spends like it's his last, and every day, he makes sure to give you so many kisses, you're drowning in his love.
Jason Todd kisses like he doesn't know how. Sure, he's had a few hookups, especially during his early days as Red Hood, but he's never kissed a person like you. He loves you, it's as simple as that. With others, he is rough and fast, not knowing how to slow down and just enjoy the presence of the person beneath him. With you, all he can do is be gentle, because you're the only person who has stayed and loved him as the broken man he is.
Tim Drake kisses you like he's trying to study you. He'll nip at your neck and jaw just to see how you react, just to grin to himself as he observes the way you melt into him when his lips meet yours. He'll let his hands wander to see what makes you relax, what makes your lips stutter against his. He enjoys every interaction like you are his subject and he is the scientist. He needs to know everything. Knowledge calls for him in his blood, and you, his love, are the doorway to it.
AgedUp!Damian Wayne kisses expensively. He starts at your jaw, making soft motions towards your lips until he finally claims them with his own. His wide hands hold you in place by the waist and his dark hair tickles your skin. He'll take his time, loving on you the way you deserve. He knows just how to kiss you like he knows just how to kill a man. He kisses soft and slow, because why would he have to rush? He has his beloved in his arms, whispering his name against his lips; what more could he want?
hes so hot
I genuinely love how in batfam fanfics….
Dick is like: little D (Damian), Timmy Tim, little wing (Jason) I’m on my way my baby bros!!!
And then in canon….
Dick: *perpetually perturbed by his codependent siblings but knows he’ll never not answer cause who else is gonna pull their dumbassses out the gutter*
dark chocolate cherry
i want to bring you flowers from the mountains, bluebells, dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses. i want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.
or; your boyfriend shows up when you just want some alone time [3.2k]
jason todd x fem!reader; reader gets her period and describes painful symptoms; just fluff; jason "words don't come easy so here's acts of service" todd this is supposed to be earlier in the relationship which is why he's still a little shy but i think she knows he's red hood? idk man. i was just going with it; can you guess what inspired this? (everything is awful) and this is like…not that good
The day started at 2 AM when you woke to shooting pains in your abdomen and blood everywhere. It continued until 2:45 while you cleaned yourself, changed clothes, put on a fresh pad, took some painkillers, and changed the sheets. It paused for about an hour until you woke up again at 4:00, courtesy of Gotham’s patented night-life that had taught you to completely tune out the sound of police sirens. Tonight, however, they weren’t tuning out.
The sirens quieted at 4:10, by which angry tears collected in the corners of your eyes as you flopped around in bed in an attempt to get comfortable. No matter what you did, there was always something wrong; the pillow was too hard, the blanket was too scratchy, the position hurt your arm.
From 4:11 to 4:12, you screamed into your pillow.
By 4:15 you had settled in front of the TV with a bowl of dry cereal (it took everything in you not to cry over the lack of milk in your fridge), a heating pad, and your favorite comfort show queued up.
At 8 AM you managed to drag yourself to work, where you half-assed the day’s tasks, took a 15-minute break to cry in your car, then dipped out a half-hour early.
Now, at 5 PM on a Friday evening, you’re curled into the fetal position in front of your TV with your comfort show resumed and your trusty heating pad cranked to the highest setting. Prepared to spend the entire night here, you already changed into pajamas and kept a couple blankets within reach. Your phone buzzes on the coffee table, and you stretch to reach it, careful not to lose your comfortable position or roll off the couch.
Jason About to leave Be there in 20
You groan out loud. You want to throw your phone across the room, but decide against it because no amount of hormones from hell are worth six hundred dollars. You’re still angry, though, for being so stupid as to forget about the date you had planned for tonight. Scrolling up to earlier messages, you see another text from today wishing you a good morning and telling you he was excited to see you tonight. But, too down to bother checking any messages today, you had missed it.
You I can’t tonight anymore I’m sorry I don’t feel great
After hitting send, you place your phone on the ground, not even having the energy to reach for the coffee table again. Or the energy to lift your arm back up, apparently, given how it hangs limply over the edge of the couch. You feel guilty about cancelling, but you are in no state to go out tonight. You’re used to the symptoms of your period hitting so hard. As much as you and Jason care about each other, you’re not sure you’re ready for him to see you like this. You’ve managed to plan your relationship around your hormone cycle so far, but today it came early.
Your phone’s buzzing is muffled by the rug, and you almost don’t hear it. Jason’s photo is displayed on the screen.
Your hanging hand clicks ‘answer’ and puts it on speaker so you can take the call without moving from how you're curled up.
“Is everything okay? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I’m fine, I just don’t feel up for going out tonight. I’d rather stay home.”
“Did something happen?”
“No, I just got my period so I’m not really in the mood.”
“Okay, we can stay in tonight. What do you feel like eating? I can pick something up.”
“No, Jason…I want to stay home alone tonight.”
There’s a beat of silence on the other end of the line.
“Okay…did I do something?” His voice comes out a little smaller.
“No, you’re fine, I promise. I just don’t feel like seeing anyone right now.”
“…Not even me?”
Your hand presses against your temples to soothe the building tension headache. The self-doubt in his tone brings the anguish of the entire day bubbling up your throat. You feel like the worst person in the world. Exactly how you don’t want him to see you.
“Jason…it’s not you. I just…I feel like shit right now, honestly. Everything hurts, I’m miserable and sad and angry at everything, I’m breaking out all over.” You feel yourself welling up at all these little stresses coming out. “I’m craving everything but feel too sick to eat anything…I feel pretty disgusting right now, and frankly, I don’t want you to see me like this.” You finish your rant with a sniffle. You wipe your nose, trying to hold back the sob that’s threatening to break through. But at his silence, your worst, most improbable fears claw their way to the surface: he hates you now. You scared him away. You exhale heavily into your sleeve as more tears spill.
The phone is quiet for a long moment. Then; “I could never find you disgusting,” he says, gently. “But if that’s what you want, then we’ll reschedule.”
“Thank you. And sorry.”
He speaks with a tone you can’t quite parse. “Don’t apologize. Just feel better.”
-
-
-
It’s one hour after your phone call, and at the first knock, you know who it is. Who else could it be? With that soft, somewhat hesitant, one-knuckle rap on the door. Only one person knocks on your door like that.
“Jason, I told you not to come here,” you say a little more cutting than you intend to, but your back and shoulders feel like they’re about to snap under a phantom pressure and the frustration of your request being outright ignored leaves a burning bitterness that channels itself into a violent wrenching open of the door.
He jumps a little at the abruptness of your greeting. One look at your face and he visibly deflates.
“I’m sorry…I know you said not to come, but…” his gaze casts downward to his hands. You follow; he’s clutching a reusable grocery bag. Peeking out of the top is a gallon of Neapolitan ice cream. The ice cream carton’s condensation seeped through a small patch of the cloth bag and dripped onto the other items; a bushel of greens, among some other fruits and vegetables, as well as a parcel of brown paper that was fastened closed with a twine string. You return your gaze to his face.
“I think—” he cuts himself off, free hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. Then he drops his hand and sighs. “I’m sorry. This was a bad idea. You told me not to come here and I ignored you, but I thought…” he trails off, probably hoping you’ll say something so he can gauge your reaction.
You just stare at him.
He shifts his weight back and forth. His hand twitches.
“Okay, yeah, I’ll—”
Then, you burst into tears.
Jason’s eyes widen. He reaches out to touch you, then stops himself. “Oh, fuck, I’m sorry! I’m sorry, this was stupid. Please stop crying, I’m so sorry—” He’s panicked, trying to calm you down with apologies and soothing assurances that he will leave immediately and never go against your wishes again. All the while you stand in the doorway, blubbering like a toddler with a skinned knee, new tears forming faster than you can wipe the old ones away.
He once again raises a hand towards you, before it stutters, then clenches into a fist as if it takes all his strength to fight against the instinct to be close to you, fighting against the string that tethers him to you. He drags his hand down his face, then it falls back to his side.
“Okay, I—I’m leaving now. I’m leaving. Do you…want this?” He holds the bag out to you.
With it now in front of you, its further contents are visible. You manage to tamp down your tears enough to get a few words out.
“Did you—hic—buy me groceries?”
“Yeah…” There’s a wince in his tone, as if he’s only now realizing that his gesture is not translating as he intended.
You look back up at him with pursed lips and knitted brows, sniffling. Sure, the ice cream you can understand, but…you have no idea what to make of the rest.
The bag drops back to his side. “I figured…it’s just— it’s the stuff that you’re supposed to—” He strokes his palm over his mouth, eyes screwing shut for a moment. He huffs at himself, then continues. “I mean I’m sure you already know all of this, so maybe you already have all these things, and now I’m realizing how unnecessary all this was, and I shouldn’t have assumed—”
“Jason,” you say. Your upset has since been overshadowed by something else, though you can’t tell what it is. And your crying has stopped, but its lingering effects have you feeling congested and a little foggy. You’re half expecting this to be a fever dream that you’re moments away from waking up from in a cold sweat.
“—because obviously you know what helps you feel better much more than I do—”
“Jason.”
“And you— yeah?” His eyes are a little harried when they find yours again. But off your tired and still-confused look, he gets the message and collects himself.
“Right, yeah, I just thought that…maybe I could bring you some of the stuff with all those minerals that are supposed to help women when they’re…menstruating.” He briefly breaks eye contact at the end of his sentence, red rouge creeping up his neck.
You can’t help it; you start to giggle. You can’t remember the last time you heard a man use the term ‘menstruating’ in a non-medical context. And the fact that he’s so shy about it— upset as you may be (though not at him), there’s no denying how adorable your boyfriend is. His head shoots back to you as your laughter intensifies. He blushes harder.
“It’s not that funny,” he mutters.
You step away from the door, finally closing the space between you, and wrap your arms around his torso. Your head nestles into his chest. He gently drops the grocery bag on the ground and reciprocates your hug. He rests his chin on your head, which fits perfectly under his. Like two puzzle pieces clicking into place. You breathe him in.
“Sorry I’m such a mess,” you murmur into his shirt.
He breathes into your hair. “You have nothing to apologize for. And you’re not a mess.”
You look up, chin resting in the space between his collarbones. He looks down at you with a small smile, but some wariness is still etched into his features. Fear of unwittingly upsetting you again. He brings up a hand to push some hair out of your face and tuck it behind your ear. His hand remains there, toying with the hair that falls below your shoulder.
"Thank you for the food,” you whisper. The moment feels too intimate to speak any other way.
“I’m sorry for not listening to you. I just…” He imitates your quietness, like his admission is also too vulnerable to say loudly. “I really wanted to see you. And I hated the idea of you feeling bad about yourself, or being in pain. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Your eyes feel wet again. The first instinct is to hide your face, maybe press it to his chest once more. But, for some reason, you don’t. You want him to see you like this, messy and emotional and upset. You want him to see every part of you, and you want to see every part of him, the good and the bad.
“You didn’t.” A tear slips past the effort to keep it at bay. He shows no reaction to it, eyes never leaving yours, other than a quick swiping away with his thumb. “No one’s ever done anything like this for me before. That’s why I was crying. Not because you showed up.”
“That doesn’t seem right. This is nothing. You deserve even more.”
With no words to fully, adequately communicate the blooming in your chest, you stand on your toes, reaching up to him for a kiss. But given his stature, your lips only reach his chin and brush over its underside.
At your quiet whine, he chuckles and leans down to meet you in the middle. The kiss is soft; filled with the innocence of fresh blossoms in the spring, and the sweetness of its borne fruit.
You pull away when a vicious cramp roots you back to the present. Your limps tighten around Jason with a groan.
“I need to go back inside. I’ve been away from my heating pad for too long.”
His shoulders sag when you step away from him. “Oh, um…do you still…want me to leave?”
With a simple exhale of humorous disbelief, you grasp his hand in yours and tug him to your front door. He’s like an excited puppy, eyes brightened and perking up as he grabs the grocery bag and happily trails after you.
He goes straight to the kitchen, pulling out a chair at the counter for you to settle into, then sets the bag on the counter. The ice cream carton has dampened most of the cloth by now, and likely the rest of its contents, but rather than attending to the groceries, his first action is retrieving your heating pad from where it rests on the couch. He unplugs it from the wall outlet and brings it to you. You curl up on the chair with it pressed flat against your lower stomach. It only takes a minute for the pressure in your hips to abate.
Then he moves to the groceries. The ice cream immediately goes in the freezer, and he unloads what’s remaining onto the counter, one by one, and you take note of each item. There’s spinach, carrots, apples, oranges, dark chocolate, some kind of meat wrapped in brown paper, and, strangely enough, an entire block of cheese.
You give him a quizzical look, picking it up to read the label. “You got me…cheddar cheese?”
He retrieves a cutting board and knife from its spot next to the sink, then takes the cheese from you. “Good for certain symptoms.” He slices open the plastic wrapping and cuts out some cubes with skilled efficiency. He does the same with an apple. “They all are,” he says, referring to his entire haul. He completes the makeshift charcuterie board with a couple squares of dark chocolate and slides it across the counter.
You look down at the cutting board, thinking about everything he’s done for you; everything you never even had to ask for. The words sit on your tongue, encaged by your clenched teeth; an admission that coils itself around your spine and squeezes tight, restricts your breathing and pumps your heart at thrice its speed. But you feel yourself welling up again, and the first bout of tears already exhausted you so much that all you can manage is, “I don’t know what to do with all this. I don’t have the energy to make anything good.”
But he just smiles and says, “That’s what I’m here for, honey. Can I make you something?”
You nod. He gets to work. The immediacy of his actions, how he takes no time to decide on a dish or find a recipe, makes you think his previously stated intentions of ‘just dropping this off’ were less genuine than he lead you to believe. Nevertheless, you munch on the snacks he laid out for you and watch him work. The cheese and apples are a surprisingly cohesive combination, the meshing of sweet crispiness and savory creaminess eliciting a contented sigh from you. You try to ignore the way Jason smirks in the corner of your periphery. The chocolate is incredible, yet unfamiliar. You read the label on the packaging: 80% Dark Chocolate with Cherry and Almond Filling. Even if you hadn’t tasted it yet, the quality of the packaging itself would have been enough to let you know that this chocolate is extremely high-quality. Like, special-order-from-Europe quality. Not stop-at-the-grocery-store-on-the-way-home quality.
“Where is this from? Did you buy this today?” You ask him through a mouthful of the rich, melting chocolate.
He doesn’t look up from the carrots he’s dicing. “Uh…no.”
Anyone else would attribute his avoidance of eye-contact to standard kitchen-knife caution. You are not anyone else. You could blindfold him, spin him around ten times, put a sharp knife in his hand, and he could still pull off a perfect julienne. You look closer. His cheeks are dusted with pink.
You let out a laugh. “Jason, you’re not embarrassed about liking fancy chocolate, are you?”
“No! Not at all,” he says, ceasing his chopping. He looks up, but not quite at you.
“Then?”
“‘Then’ what?” He asks.
“Then why are you being so shifty right now?” You try to catch his gaze.
“I’m not!” He defends. “It’s just chocolate! Do you like it? I’ll bring you more.” He’s stealthy with the way he avoids your eyes; you almost can’t notice how hard he’s trying not to make eye contact.
“Jason!” You reach across the counter, having to rise off the chair slightly, and take his face in your hands, making him look at you. When he does, he wears a sheepish smile.
“It’s…” His removes your hands from his face, holding them in his. He mumbles something, turning his head to the side. But you catch the tail end of it, a goading grin already creeping up your face.
“What was that?” You tilt your ear towards him, exaggerating the action.
“It’s Bruce’s.” He, in turn, exaggerates the enunciation, rolling his eyes at your simpering. “I…found it. In his pantry one day. And I liked it, so I took it. And then I…kept taking it. Every time I visited.”
You pout teasingly. “And you’re ashamed to admit that you think he has good taste in something?”
He doesn’t say anything, only hiding his face in his shoulder. You pull on your intertwined hands and he gets the message, skirting around the kitchen counter to come closer.
“You are so adorable, you know that?” You say. You reach up and pinch his cheeks. He swats your hands away, but there’s no mistaking his broad, childish grin for anything but affection.
He breaks off another square from the chocolate bar and holds it to your lips. You bite off a small portion, then push it back to him. He takes the remaining piece in his mouth and his eyes close for a brief moment as he savors the sweet, tart, and nutty flavors. You simply watch, entranced by him. Then, he kisses you. You lean into it, hands sliding up his shirt to grip the fabric and bring him even closer. His hold finds your waist.
He tastes like cherries and dark chocolate.
He breaks the kiss to rest his forehead on yours, and you want to tell him that. That, and so much more. But from the look on his face, the way his eyes find yours and the tips of his ears have a similar heat to the one in your chest, you can tell he already knows.
when it comes to jason's post-pit-repressed-teenager characterization (aka despite being older he's still as inexperienced and confused and insecure about the world outside of vigilantism and w/ women as a 15 y/o would be) (aka my favorite characterization tee hee), i think that he's mature about periods, knows they're normal and not gross or shameful etc, but still gets shy about saying the actual word, for no other reason than the 'shy around women' part always makes me giggle
also bruce is keeping the chocolate stocked specifically because he knows jason likes it and will keep taking it because he loves his son even if his son doesn't love him (he does he's just in his angsty teen 'i hate this family you don't understand me' phase rn)
divider is from here
quote at the beginning is pablo neruda <3
"I’ve written wooin hcs before over here . But if you want a separate page for him I’ll make another one :)"
Helloo! Yes, yes! I had read it and I particularly loved it! 🌷 That's why I would like a separate page if it's not inconvenient for you. If you can answer, I would appreciate it! :)
❛ wooin boyfriend hcs. ❜ ➜ ⁽ masterlist ⁾
𐙚 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕: +gn!reader. a set of miscellaneous headcanons.
✧ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: none
𐙚 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔: none.
⟡ ⠀ | When you first start dating Wooin there’s definitely a shared past / history between you guys. I like to think it went on for a time span of years before he finally committed to you. Like nothing about this man screams “Hey I’m going to commit to you now” LMAOO.
But he’s definitely the kind of man who talks to other people and flirts… Yet hates the idea of you doing that very same thing. Probably because of pride or ego but who really knows? I can see him being very possessive even when nothing is officially said about your relationship with him.
✦ The first thing that comes into mind with Wooin is having a very public relationship with a lot of pda. I think it’s mostly shown on social media and he’s very adamant on having you film his street races.
✦ Lots and lots of shopping dates, you guys splurge together !!
✦ Speaking of clothing? You guys definitely match with one another!
✦ I’m convinced he can’t cook so you guys go on lots of restaurant dates and eat out. On the bright side that means you guys travel around a ton.
✦ He already has a lot of of body mods / piercings etc. So naturally I see him with someone who has body mods as well. You guys would get matching tattoos or piercings together.
✦ I think you guys would have a collection together, whether it’s shoes or hats.. there’s this ONE clothing item you guys collect together.
✦ I really believe a man like him could convince you to do ANYTHINGGGG, I mean anything.. like cliff diving, climbing up fences.. just acting bad as fuck 😭. I think he’s a horrible influence, but you might be the one who can mellow him out.
✦ This man looks like he indulges in substancessss… a lil weed iykim..
✦ I feel like he’s so obnoxious with you. Like you can ask him to take a few pictures of you for social media and he’s so quick to ask for camera credits. He’ll photobomb by pulling you into a kiss or something. There’s lots of pictures of you guys together on your spam account, his hand on your thigh… him spending money on you etc.
FAMILY, FAMILY DEAR BATS! 🦇
Synopsis : What happens when a normal reader enters Batfamily. Not by getting orphaned or saved but rather just visiting her uncle for the first time ( it's Bruce ). Now somehow she's become the unofficial therapist of this family and for unknown reasons the only one with enough common sense.Also why is everyone so Overprotective?
Or
Normal reader X Platonic Batfamily
Chapter 1 :-
Your life was pretty uneventful and even, except for a few ups and downs here and there. But still it was as ordinary as it could get, living with a mother that had nursing as a profession and your father being an office worker made it normal but nice.
That was until one day when your mother told you about your uncle’s existence. Her cousin to be exact.Well excuse you for being surprised- YOU didn't even know you had another living relative ??? And they just dropped the bomb so casually – that too at dinner time !!
“ I haven't actually met him yet but the media has framed him to be… quite unique.” Your mother quotes. “ I talked to him, he's a kind man and I think meeting him would do us some good.” Your father sees the way your one way from questioning reality so he gently pats your back and smiles.
“ Don't worry little star, if it makes you feel better she told me two days ago.” He says as your mother lightly giggles and the two make a couple of jokes here and there. “ You two…really..” you groan.
As the dinner slowly comes to an end and your father and mother pick up the dishes and drop them at the sink, your mother glances at your father telling him to speak. “ Ahem-” he fake coughs to get your attention, “ This summer we're planning to send you to live with him.”
You look at him , your eyes wide. “ I beg your finest pardon-WHaT!?” they both nod and you violently shake your head. “ What happened to you two going with me ?”
They share a glance , “ We'll be going together but you'll stay a bit longer and get to know him better. He's family after all."
“ Mom, dad ! You've got to be kidding me.” You try to reason, “ I don't even know him, Heck I didn't even know he existed until a few moments ago and you're telling me to just go and live with him out of nowhere !!”
Your mother puts a hand on your shoulder and you just know you're going to lose. “ Sweetie, my cousin isn't a bad man. Just think of it as meeting a new friend and also I heard Gotham has one of the best medical units in the world~"
You think for a moment before a sigh escapes your lips. You can't defeat them anyway, might as well try. ( Which is totally not because you're excited about checking out the hospitals in Gotham and their advancement. Nope sir, No way)
“ Fine, I'll go. When are we leaving ?” You ask to get up from the table. “ Tomorrow.”
“ WhAt-”
…
Moving forward you are currently standing in front of the totally not terrifying and scary Mansion inside the most amazing and sunny Gotham. Get the sarcasm here ? Yeah, me too.
Your mother dials the number and the bell rings and runs until it's finally picked up. “ Bruce Wanye here.” his voice sounds horse, he was probably asleep you think. It's only 11am right now. You've slept far later.
“ Hello…yeah…it's me...”
The Giant Gate automatically opens and the three of us enter. You take in the scenery and like you thought this place is really nice. It's a billionaire’s garden afterall. Just then a voice comes from inside the Mansion and a butler comes out.
He’s an old British looking man, the way he moves is elegant like those movies you've seen and the way he greets your parents and you is so nerve cracking. “ A pleasure to meet you Miss Rachel and Sir Lucas.” He greets them and then his eyes turn to you.
“ And this is?”
“ Y/n but please..call me Julia.” You reply.
“ Miss Julia then.” He states , “ please come in. Master Bruce has been waiting for your arrival.” He brings you all to the meeting area. As you all take a seat the butler bows yet again and walks away.
“ I'll get Mister Bruce here.” He says walking away.
Your gaze that was previously fidgeting back and forth now has time to look around. This house was so splendid and beautiful and everything was exceptional and well cared for.
Few minutes pass before the door chimes open and walks in on the Man you searched about last night. His posture is elegant like a noble, similar to the butler, yet his eyes are filled with dark circles.Youve got a very good feeling he hardly sleeps.
“ A pleasure to meet you.” He says while shaking hands with your parents and then taking a seat. “ I'm sorry it took me a while. I was busy and hardly had time to rest due to the WE business and projects coming up.”
Your mother nodes. “ It's understandable Bruce. You've got a great burden on you and it can get hard.” You sit next to your father and mother, right in the middle of the giant sofa as they chat.
Bruce while talking turns his attention to you and you see how his eyes briefly soften and there's some sadness in them. But it vanished too quickly for you to think it was there.
“ This is your daughter ?” He asks.
“ Told you long enough to notice.” Your mother dabs a small sarcastic smile. She loves chaos far too much. “ I apologize-”
“ I'm kidding Bruce !” Your mother retorts back. “ This is my little baby girl , Julia Y/n.”
You smile at him awkwardly and he returns the gesture. “ How old are you, Julia ?”
“ I'm sixteen, Mr Wanye.”
“ Oh, you're close to Damien's age-” he remarks , “Please call me Bruce. I'm your uncle, Julia.” He smiles.
“ Alright, uncle Bruce... and uh, who's Damien ?” you ask curious. Your parents definitely haven't mentioned a Damien.
" He's my son. So he'd be your cousin, Julia."
" Oh !" You glare at your parents for not telling you this and they just nervously turn away. They live messing with you far too much. Sigh
" How old is he, uncle Bruce ?"
" He's eighteen." Noticing your curiosity he deemed to telling you more.
" He's currently on a little trip to his elder brother's place. They'll be coming here by tomorrow" he smiled.
Okay that's it. How many cousins did you have ? You were told about one uncle and that's it.
" I see."
And you parents and uncle get back to their conversation. Soon enough the butler returns with some refreshments and introduces himself as Alfred Pennyworth.
Once you've eaten, you excuse yourself to look around the place and the butler whom you now know as Alfred guides you.
The Mansion is bigger than you initially thought and Mr. Alfred is a nice companion to talk to. He tells you about your cousins (surprise suprise, THERE'S MORE THAN SIX) and about how most of them are adopted except Damien who used to call himself the “ blood son” and all their shenanigans.
It's fun to learn about your soon-to-be-new family. All of them seem to sound like interesting individuals and you could use some cousins to play with. Alfred even mentions their hobbies and how they like to prank each other.
Also did you mention how the way to Gotham was the most nerve cracking thing ever. Like this is the city that batman-THE BATMAN couldn't cleanse after almost two and half decades of work. So it's an amazing day nevertheless.
While exploring the Mansion with Alfred your steps stop when a specific picture catches your eyes. You stop and observe it.
Two adults stood along with a small kid that you deemed to be eight to ten years old. The picture drew you in like nothing ever did. It had this air around it that just couldn't explain.
“ Lovely picture, No ?” Alfred’s voice broke your concentration. Your eyes slid to his and you smiled slightly. “ It is. Who are they ? The woman seems to resemble my mom.”
“ That's Miss Martha and Mr Thomas along with young master Bruce. It's a family photo before their death.” Alfred reminisced. “ It's been a tradition for generations and master Bruce has continued it.” He guided you to the latest picture of the family.
It felt forced.
They all felt too far away in this ( like they didn't want to be there ). Even Bruce felt off. Different from the smiling man you had just met. He seemed tired and sad.
“ Those are my cousins ?” You asked, hoping Alfred didn't see the look in your eyes
“ Yes miss Julia.” He told you which was who by pointing and explaining their descriptions. Being a sixteen year old girl with an intense love for history and lore and yaoi, you tried your best to listen.
…
“ It was really nice to meet family. Thanks for having us Bruce.” Your mother hugged Bruce which he returned and then he shaked hands with your father. “ No thank you for coming. I'm kind of ashamed to admit, it gets lonely without my children here..” He chuckled.
" Well you won't get lonely not with our dear Julia here ! She had a tendency to make people break their shell and fit in." You father added.
" She sounds like a lovely child. Does she perhaps have an interest in medicine ? She kept asking about it during our conversations."
Your father and mother shared a small grin. " She does. It's all she can ever dream about."
" That's...good." his eyes flickered to you.
You had fallen asleep an hour ago during dinner and was currently laying on the sofa. Your snores echoed throughout the Mansion. Your parents chuckled and Bruce couldn't help but think it was a pleasant change.
A child that didn't have to fight crime.
One that didn't have to take the burden of the world.
He had already investigated your and your parents backgrounds and confirmed that your mother was indeed his blood cousin. The blood part was maybe due to Damien kind of rubbing off on him.
It was a shock to find out about her existence. Even more to know his mother had a elder sister that passed away few years back and her only child had disappeared as a toddler. That was your mom.
He would never even know of her existence if not for her searching for her parents and finding him. He almost cried when he saw her picture, she resembled his mother in looks except her hair was black.
But you, your looked like the exact replica of his mother. Like a younger version.
He knew your personality was meek yet it had kindness and a spirit all his children had. It was nice chatting with you during dinner. You expressed your interest so well and he knew that his kids would love you. Maybe even Damien.
Talking to a kid like this , carefree and smiling reminded him of what he had lost.It almost felt like his children hadn't left.
That part really hurt.
“ Alfred will take you to the rooms. You can have any you like. Have a pleasant sleep, I'll see you all in the morning.” He said leaving you and your parents in Alfred's care (not before glancing at you one final time.)
Time for his duty.
TBC…
How the bat family would react to you taking pictures of everything!
Dick Grayson
“So you’re taking a picture of the floor and not me?” Dick wants to be in all your photos. He insists on being the biggest part of your life, since you’re the biggest part of his. Therefore he makes it his life’s mission and purpose to photobomb every single photo you take.
Oh isn’t that a lovely view? Dicks hand is slap bang in the middle of the photo.
You want to post a picture of your food to Instagram? Someone’s doing the middle finger over it.
Taking a mirror pic of your outfit? You best believe this man is standing right behind you, with his arms wrapped around your middle and face stuffed in your hair.
Every single one of your photos has now turned into a dick pic.
If you ever take any ugly photos of him, he’ll act annoyed and dramatic.
“All my sides are good how have you managed to make me look like that?”
“I wasn’t ready!”
Secretly though he’s contented enough with the fact that you take photos of him without being prompted. It’s validating for him to know he’s your main photo source.
Tim Drake
Tim is more than happy to oblige your photo addiction, in fact he enables it. He offers to edit your photos for you, be it removing objects or people or simply changing the lighting. Tim has got you covered.
He buys you whatever camera suits your photography style the best, no matter how much of a dent his bank account takes. He believes hobbies are vital for your mental health and knows that you find enjoyment and comfort in taking photos.
This also leads to the pair of you having photo dates- you’ll spend hours scrolling through all your photos and remembering all the emotions attached to them.
Damian Wayne
Damian doesn’t really have a stance of your photo addiction at first. He’ll just wait patiently for you to take your photo and would even help with the angle of lighting.
Eventually he gets a little irritated and tell you to be more in the moment and to look first and take photos later. This approach helps you appreciate your experiences more and you still get to keep your precious memories.
If you tell him which photos are your favourite then he’ll draw them for you in his art style and gift them to you whenever he’s gone for a long time. Damian hopes you find solace in his paintings and uncover the hidden messages- he’ll miss you and knows that he wants a part of himself to be with you always.
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?
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