† date Night : Various.
† date night : various.
♦ request: yes; domestic fluffy things ♦ beta’d: nope ♦ a/n: oh and you can pry the tim drake glasses thing out of my cold dead hands. co written.
𝑫𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝑮𝒓𝒂𝒚𝒔𝒐𝒏 – "𝑳𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔, 𝑳𝒂𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒆𝒓, 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆."
⇝ Date Night Headcanons:
spontaneous & playful – dick loves to keep you on your toes. you’ll get a text hours before: "wear something comfortable, trust me. 💙" and then suddenly, you’re on a rooftop picnic, at a carnival, or taking impromptu salsa lessons. no two dates are ever the same.
he lives for shared laughs – whatever the date is, laughter is guaranteed. he’ll tell ridiculous stories, crack jokes, pull you into dances when there’s no music—anything to hear your laugh in the night air.
big on physical affection – he cannot keep his hands off you. he’ll hold your hand at all times, spin you in the middle of the street, kiss you like you’re the only thing keeping him standing. the world disappears when he’s with you.
nostalgic heart – sometimes, he takes you places that mean something to him. old blüdhaven diners, childhood circus memories, a ferris wheel overlooking the city. he lets you into pieces of his past without hesitation.
sunset or midnight dates – if it’s evening, it’s vibrant and full of life - city lights, live music, neon glow. if it’s late-night, it’s something quiet, sacred, where it’s just you and him against the sleeping world.
the prince of rooftop dates – some nights, it’s just blankets, takeout, and city lights from above. there’s something poetic about gotham stretching beneath your feet while he holds you close.
always ends the night right – whether it’s stumbling home tipsy from laughter, slow-dancing in the kitchen, or falling asleep with you in his arms, dick makes sure the night never ends without making you feel like the most loved person in the world.
the carnival hums around you, a whirlwind of neon and laughter, the scent of popcorn and sweet, warm summer air wrapping around you like a dream. the world is alive tonight; lights flickering against the skyline, people moving like currents through the fairground - but all you can focus on is the man beside you.
dick’s hand is laced with yours, fingers threading together effortlessly, like they were always meant to fit. his smile is wide, eyes glowing in the golden light of the carousel before him. there’s something soft in his expression, something unguarded, like he’s letting the moment settle deep into his bones.
"i told you this was a good idea," he teases, nudging his shoulder against yours.
you laugh, rolling your eyes, but you can’t deny it. it’s one of those nights that feel eternal, weightless, something worth remembering forever. the ferris wheel looms ahead, the final piece of your evening, and dick pulls you toward it with an excited grin that makes him look younger, freer.
the ride lifts you above the carnival, the noise fading into a distant hum. the city stretches out before you - blüdhaven’s skyline blinking in the distance, gotham’s shadow beyond it. and in the middle of it all, dick grayson is looking at you like you hung the stars specifically for him.
"you know," he murmurs, arm draped over the back of your seat, body angled toward you, eyes locked onto yours like you’re the only thing that matters. "i think this is my favorite date yet."
you raise an eyebrow. "you've said that for every date."
"and every time, i mean it." his smile softens, something quieter, something deeper. the wind ruffles his dark hair, and he looks at you like this; like home, like warmth, like love.
the ride slows to a stop at the very top, the city breathing beneath you, the carnival lights flickering like fireflies below. dick shifts closer, his forehead resting against yours, his breath a warm whisper in the cool night air.
"stay with me here," he says softly, his fingers curling around your wrist, anchoring himself to you. "just a little longer."
and as the world spins on below, you do.
𝑻𝒊𝒎 𝑫𝒓𝒂𝒌𝒆 – "𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑵𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝑩𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝑻𝒐 𝑼𝒔."
⇝ Date Night Headcanons:
drives to nowhere – when the city feels too heavy, he picks you up in his car and just drives. no destination, no rush, just empty highways and quiet music playing through the speakers.
library dates at midnight – not public libraries. his personal one. he lets you curl up with books in his apartment, old texts and mystery novels spread out between you. there’s no pressure to talk—just existing together in the glow of dim, warm lamplight.
cooking something together – tim is terrible at cooking. but if you suggest it, he’ll suffer through it for you. and if it goes wrong? you’ll end up sitting on the kitchen counter, eating takeout, laughing at the disaster you made.
hidden lookout spots – there are places in gotham only tim knows. rooftops with the best view of the skyline, secret corners of the city where the stars are still visible. if he shares them with you, you’re one of the few people he trusts completely.
long games of chess or cards – it’s not competitive—it’s intimate. he doesn’t just play with anyone, but with you, it’s different. it’s slow, full of teasing and quiet moments where he watches you more than the board.
movie nights done right – tim is notoriously bad at actually watching movies. you’ll start one, but half an hour in, he’s leaning against you, mumbling half-asleep observations until he eventually dozes off on your shoulder.
letting the city sleep without him – some nights, he decides gotham doesn’t need him. some nights, he just needs you. those are the nights he lets himself stay. lets himself be yours, fully and without hesitation.
the streets of gotham stretch endlessly ahead, neon lights flickering in the distance, but none of it matters - not when the road belongs to the two of you.
tim’s hands rest easy on the steering wheel, his fingers drumming against the leather in time with the low hum of the radio. it’s late; the kind of late that makes the city feel like it exists just for you, where the world is quiet enough to breathe. the engine purrs beneath you as he takes another turn down an empty road, the streetlights flashing in intervals through the windshield, painting his face in gold and shadow.
he’s not in a hurry. there’s nowhere to be.
one of your legs is tucked beneath you in the passenger seat, your body angled toward him, watching the way his shoulders relax, the way exhaustion lingers in the shape of his mouth. it’s rare for tim to look at ease. even now, you can tell his mind is still too full, always turning, always running.
and yet, here he is.
"you okay?" you murmur, breaking the comfortable silence.
tim hums softly, his eyes flicking toward you for half a second before returning to the road. "yeah. better now."
the night air filters in through the cracked window, cool against your skin. tim’s jacket is tossed over the center console - he had shrugged it off earlier, mumbling something about you needing it more than he did. you glance at the dashboard clock. nearly 2 am.
"we should probably head back soon," you say, but there’s no real insistence in your voice.
tim smiles, small but real. "five more minutes."
you don’t argue.
you lean your head against the seat, letting the city blur past, the hum of the car and the steady rhythm of his breathing lulling you into something warm, something peaceful. five more minutes becomes ten. ten becomes twenty. but neither of you say anything about it.
eventually, tim pulls the car into a quiet overlook, one of the secret places he never shares with anyone else. a place where the city looks almost peaceful, where gotham is just a sea of blinking lights instead of a battlefield. he shifts the car into park, exhales, then leans back in his seat, tilting his head to look at you.
"you ever think about just leaving?" he asks, voice soft. "just… disappearing for a night. no responsibilities. no alarms blaring at three in the morning."
you tilt your head, watching him. "you mean like we’re doing right now?"
his lips twitch. "exactly like we’re doing right now."
there’s something almost vulnerable in the way he says it—like this is the only time he truly feels weightless. not red robin, not wayne enterprises’ heir, not gotham’s sleepless protector. just tim.
you reach for his hand, threading your fingers through his. he lets you.
"you could’ve been out there tonight," you murmur. "but you’re here."
his thumb brushes absently over your skin, a quiet affirmation.
"yeah," he says, and there’s something in his voice that sounds like relief. "i think i needed to be."
and as the city flickers below, as the clock creeps further into the night, tim lets himself stay.
𝑪𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒓𝒂 𝑪𝒂𝒊𝒏 – "𝑨 𝑫𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝑩𝒖𝒊𝒍𝒕 𝑭𝒐𝒓 𝒀𝒐𝒖."
⇝ Date Night Headcanons:
cass struggles with words, but she understands gestures. she notices effort more than anything. when you plan something specifically with her in mind, she understands it means ‘i love you’ without you ever saying a word.
she enjoys sensory experiences more than standard dates. things she can feel - the wind rushing past her on a rooftop, the vibration of music through her chest, the quiet warmth of your hand in hers.
action over words - always. cass doesn’t always know how to talk about her feelings, but she knows how to show them. and when you take the time to show her love in return, she glows in a way that few people ever get to see.
she enjoys movement, but not always in a high-energy way. something like a nighttime roller-skating date, dancing in an empty parking lot, or even just a quiet walk where she can exist in the world without worrying about danger.
she has never been pampered before. she’s used to people training her, using her, expecting something from her. but when you set up a date where it’s just about her - where she can breathe, where she can just be - it leaves her speechless.
she loves closeness, but in subtle ways. leaning against you, pressing her forehead to yours, fingers brushing against your wrist - it’s her way of asking for more.
cass doesn’t need grand gestures. she just needs to feel safe. and when you give her that, she holds onto it like it’s the most precious
thing in the world.
the city hums in the distance, but here, everything is quiet.
a rooftop, high above gotham’s restless streets, bathed in the soft glow of string lights you set up just for her. a picnic blanket is spread out beneath you, the food simple, the effort everything.
cass sits cross-legged beside you, her body relaxed in a way that she rarely allows in the field. the wind tugs at her dark hair, and for a long moment, she just looks around. at the view. at the small setup you arranged. at the details - the things that show you did this for her.
"you planned," she says simply, her voice soft but full.
you smile, nudging your knee against hers. "of course i did."
cass tilts her head, her eyes studying you with that same keen intensity she always carries. but tonight, there’s no wariness behind it. just something warm, something grateful.
she reaches for your hand, running her fingers along the back of it—tracing, memorizing, appreciating.
"i like when you plan," she murmurs.
you squeeze her hand in return. "i like doing things for you."
she doesn’t reply right away, but she doesn’t need to. instead, she shifts closer, resting her head against your shoulder, her fingers still laced with yours. the city may be alive with noise below, but here, in this small, quiet moment, cass is finally at peace.
𝑱𝒂𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝑻𝒐𝒅𝒅 – "𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆, 𝑶𝒖𝒕 𝑶𝒇 𝑺𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕."
⇝ Date Night Headcanons:
jason isn’t a ‘traditional’ date night kind of guy. he won’t take you to five-star restaurants, but he will take you to a hidden, hole-in-the-wall diner at 2 am, where the food is messy and the coffee is burnt, but it’s just you and him.
he loves quiet places - where the world doesn’t demand anything from him. abandoned libraries, late-night parks, the fire escape outside his apartment. anywhere he can just exist with you.
he does not like being around rich socialites. a high-end gala date? hell no. but a cozy, dimly lit bar with live blues music? a drive down backroads with nothing but the sound of the radio? perfect.
jason reads to you. not in a romanticized, ‘let me recite shakespeare’ way - but in a, ‘i found this used bookstore and grabbed some old poetry books. want me to read you something?’ way.
he’s a natural at late-night drives. he doesn’t rush. he just lets the road stretch on, windows cracked open, your legs kicked up on the dashboard as the stars blur past.
he cooks, but never follows recipes. if you let him make you dinner, prepare for something incredible - if not entirely chaotic. he makes the best comfort food, and he’ll playfully swat your hands away if you try to help, saying, "hey, this is my thing. you just sit there and look pretty."
he does things for you without announcing them. there’s no ‘look at what i did’ moment - he just fixes the leaking sink in your apartment, keeps extra sweatshirts around because he knows you’ll steal them, and quietly makes sure you’re always safe, even when he’s not around.
the small, tucked-away restaurant is nearly empty by now, the last customers drifting out, the flickering neon ‘open late’ sign humming above the door. the place is nothing special—a hole-in-the-wall joint that doesn’t even show up on google, where the food is greasy, the coffee is strong, and nobody asks questions.
and yet, jason loves it here.
he leans back in the worn-out booth, one arm draped along the backrest, the other loosely curled around a half-empty mug of black coffee. his leather jacket is slung over the seat beside him, his sleeves pushed up, exposing the scars along his forearms.
the soft glow of the tabletop lamp casts golden light across your face, and he watches you like that’s the only thing keeping him grounded.
"you’re staring," you murmur, poking at the last few fries on your plate.
jason smirks, unabashed. "yeah? sue me."
you roll your eyes, but there’s no real bite behind it. just warmth. just the comfort of knowing that this—him, here, like this—is something rare.
he tilts his head, exhaling slow, as if he’s memorizing the moment. the distant hum of an old jukebox, the rain tapping against the windows, the low murmur of the staff closing up for the night. the way you’re just here, across from him, existing in his space like you belong there.
like you’re something he gets to keep.
"this is nice," you say softly, breaking the silence.
jason snorts, tilting his coffee mug at you. "what, eating at a place that probably fails every health inspection?"
you huff a laugh. "no. this. you. the quiet." you tilt your head, watching him the way he watches you. "i like being here with you."
jason stares at you for half a second too long before clearing his throat, shifting slightly. you do that to him—say things so casually, so effortlessly, like it’s not some kind of miracle that he’s still here, still breathing, still being loved.
he taps a slow rhythm against the mug, considering, then shrugs. "yeah," he murmurs, voice softer than before. "me too."
and as the city breathes outside, as the streetlights cast lazy shadows through the windows, jason todd lets himself have this.
𝑫𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒂𝒏 𝑾𝒂𝒚𝒏𝒆 – "𝑰 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒆. 𝑬𝒙𝒄𝒆𝒑𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖."
⇝ Date Night Headcanons:
damian is precise with his time. if he sets aside a night for you, it is intentional, carved out of a schedule that few people are allowed to touch.
he doesn’t enjoy crowds or noise. most of your dates are quiet, exclusive, just the two of you. private gardens, late-night museum access, hidden places where the world cannot interrupt.
art dates are his favorite. he takes you to galleries after hours, pointing out hidden techniques in brushstrokes, low-voiced explanations that turn into long discussions.
he is highly competitive, but he lets you win (sometimes). chess matches, fencing lessons, horseback riding- if it’s a skill, he will teach you. and if you struggle? he’ll hover behind you, hands guiding yours, murmuring corrections close to your ear.
damian remembers everything you like. if you offhandedly mention an author you enjoy? a signed edition of their book appears in your hands a week later. favorite dessert? it’s on the menu, no matter where he takes you.
he rarely says ‘i love you,’ but he says it constantly in other ways. he walks on the street-side of the sidewalk, adjusts the temperature of the room for your comfort, makes sure your favorite tea is always stocked.
at the end of the night, he doesn’t let you go easily. whether it’s a long drive home in his car, his hand resting over yours, or a lingering moment at your door, he makes every second last.
the museum is empty.
at least, it is for everyone except you and damian.
a private arrangement, locked doors, the city outside reduced to nothing more than a distant hum. the grand halls stretch around you in perfect silence, the air thick with the weight of history, the dim lighting casting soft, golden glows against priceless art.
but damian is not looking at the paintings.
he is watching you.
you stand before a renaissance-era canvas, eyes scanning the fine, intricate strokes of oil paint that have survived for centuries. damian steps closer, the sound of his dress shoes against the marble floor barely audible, but you feel him before you see him.
his voice is quiet, low and smooth in the hush of the museum.
"do you see the brushwork?" his fingers barely lift, gesturing toward the curve of a painted figure’s face. "the layering? it creates depth. almost imperceptible, unless you know what you’re looking for."
you tilt your head, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. "like how you see people?"
damian pauses, then huffs a quiet breath—not quite a laugh, but close. he steps beside you, hands clasped neatly behind his back, posture effortless and composed. "observation is a necessary skill."
you hum, shifting your weight slightly. "and yet, you brought me here instead of going to a gala tonight."
his lips twitch at the corners. "a necessary skill also includes knowing what is a waste of time." his gaze flicks toward yours, something unreadable, something softer than his usual sharpness. "they bore me. you do not."
there it is.
the way damian does not share his time lightly.
you glance back at the painting, but his presence at your side is far more distracting. his cologne lingers in the air—clean, sharp, the scent of warm leather and something deeper, something uniquely him. his fingers twitch slightly where they rest at his side, like he is considering reaching for you. considering, but not yet acting.
you make the decision for him.
your fingers brush against his, slow, deliberate, barely there. and yet, the response is immediate. his hand closes around yours—not urgent, not possessive, but solid. real.
his grip does not falter.
the weight of it lingers, the warmth of his palm against yours, the simple, uncomplicated act of holding you here with him.
you let the silence stretch, comfortable, familiar. then—
"i don't want the rest of them," damian murmurs, his voice low, meant only for you. "i want you."
and in the quiet hush of the museum, you squeeze his hand in return.
𝑺𝒕𝒆𝒑𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒆 𝑩𝒓𝒐𝒘𝒏 – "𝑨 𝑫𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑮𝒆𝒕𝒔 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝑰𝒏 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒃𝒍𝒆."
⇝ Date Night Headcanons:
steph is all about fun. if your date doesn’t include something spontaneous, something ridiculous, something that will absolutely make you laugh until you cry=then what’s the point?
she loves arcade nights. not just casual arcade nights - fierce, competitive, ‘we are not leaving until i beat you at skee-ball’ arcade nights.
most of your dates involve food. late-night waffle houses, gas station snack runs, making a complete mess of her kitchen at 3 am because she swears she can make pancakes better than you.
she gets you into trouble on purpose. climbing fences to sneak onto rooftops for a better view, making you run from security after getting caught somewhere you shouldn’t be - it’s all part of the fun.
steph is an absolute menace when it comes to dares. if you say “you won’t do it,” she’s already doing it. and if she gets in trouble? she’s dragging you down with her.
she is outrageously flirty when she wants to be. she’ll wink, bite her lip, lean in like she’s going to kiss you - and then steal your fries instead.
at the end of every date, she looks at you like you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to her. because, in her eyes, you are.
it wasn’t supposed to end like this.
your date had started with waffles and milkshakes at a 24-hour diner. then, a casual late-night stroll through gotham’s quieter streets—until steph spotted a ‘do not enter’ sign on a construction site and immediately decided to ignore it.
which is why, twenty minutes later, the two of you are standing on the unfinished beams of what will eventually be gotham’s newest skyscraper, looking out at the city like you own it.
steph’s grin is wide, wild, her blonde ponytail swaying in the night breeze as she spreads her arms out. "see? best view in gotham. you just have to break a few rules to get it."
you shake your head, but you’re smiling. "one day, this is going to get us arrested."
she smirks, stepping closer, arms looping around your waist. "yeah, but imagine the mugshots. we’d look hot."
before you can respond, the blaring wail of a security alarm cuts through the night.
you both freeze. steph’s head whips toward the source of the noise, then back to you, eyes wide, lips twitching like she’s trying not to laugh.
"we should run, right?"
you don’t have time to answer—because she’s already grabbing your hand and pulling you along with her, laughing breathlessly as the two of you take off across the beams, adrenaline singing in your veins.
and somehow, despite the chaos, despite the fact that this is absolutely a terrible idea—
you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
𝑩𝒓𝒖𝒄𝒆 𝑾𝒂𝒚𝒏𝒆 – "𝑰 𝒅𝒐𝒏’𝒕 𝒅𝒐 𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒇-𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒆𝒔."
⇝ Date Night Headcanons:
bruce isn’t extravagant just to show off. if he goes all out for a date, it’s not because he wants to impress you - it’s because he genuinely wants to give you something special, something worthy of you.
privacy is everything to him. whether it’s a reserved table at a restaurant, a late-night rooftop dinner at wayne tower, or a weekend getaway to a secluded house outside the city, bruce values moments where it’s just you and him.
he is observant to a fault. if you mention wanting to try a certain food? he makes sure it’s on the menu. if you casually mention a book you love? he gets a first edition. if he knows you’ve been stressed? the entire date is built around giving you relief.
he does not rush time with you. bruce is constantly on a tight schedule, always balancing his responsibilities - but when he’s with you? the world can wait.
he loves jazz lounges, candlelit dinners, slow-dancing in empty rooms. it’s the quiet elegance of old-fashioned romance that makes him feel like a man, not a myth.
he doesn’t say “i love you” often, but when he does, it’s a moment that stays with you. low, quiet, something meant only for you to hear. something true.
at the end of the night, he always walks you to your door. even if you live in the manor. even if he’s coming inside with you. it’s an old habit - one that reminds him that he has something worth coming home to.
the city stretches far below, a blanket of flickering lights and restless motion, but up here, the world is quiet.
bruce sits across from you at an open-air rooftop restaurant, the exclusive kind that no one steps into unless their name carries weight. tonight, yours does.
the table is lit with the glow of a single candle, silverware catching the light, the soft hum of live music drifting through the space. but none of it holds your attention the way he does.
bruce wayne, in an all-black suit, the top button undone, his gaze fixed solely on you.
his hand rests near his glass, fingers curled loosely against the stem, but you know the posture—always controlled, always measured, even when he relaxes.
"you’re quiet tonight," you murmur, studying him over the rim of your glass.
bruce’s lips twitch slightly. not quite a smile, but close. "i’m enjoying myself."
the response is simple, but it holds so much more.
you tilt your head, watching the way the candlelight flickers against the sharp planes of his face. "you know, you didn’t have to go all out like this."
bruce exhales, slow and deliberate, before reaching for your hand across the table. his fingers are warm when they lace through yours, his grip solid, unwavering.
"i don’t do half-measures," he says, voice low, meant only for you. "not with this. not with you."
your chest tightens, warmth unfurling slow and deep. this is how bruce loves. without hesitation, without reservation.
with everything he has.
and as the city hums below, as the night stretches on, he makes sure you know it.
More Posts from Bbsaeko and Others
† pebbling : various.
♦ request: not really, just fighting burnout ♦ beta’d: nope ♦ a/n: someone on here reminded me of this draft i had
𝐃𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬𝐨𝐧 —
dick immediately lights up, his blue eyes brightening with surprise and delight as he takes the tiny pebble from your outstretched palm. he laughs softly, warmth blooming in his chest as he gently brushes a thumb over its smooth surface. "this for me?" he teases softly, but his eyes soften instantly when you nod. he carefully slips the pebble into his pocket, patting it fondly. from that day onward, he keeps it close - sometimes spinning it thoughtfully between his fingers, always smiling warmly when someone asks him why he carries around "just a rock."
𝐉𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐝 —
jason stares at the small pebble in your hand, momentarily bewildered. “you giving me rocks now?” he asks, raising an eyebrow, though the softness in your expression quickly clues him in. his playful smirk fades into something gentler, a quiet realization settling over him. carefully, he takes it, feeling oddly touched. jason might not immediately admit how much he appreciates it, but from that moment onward, he keeps the pebble safely hidden in a small compartment in his gear; an unexpected token of affection he secretly treasures.
𝐓𝐢𝐦 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐤𝐞 —
tim initially blinks, confused, clearly trying to analyze exactly why you're handing him a tiny pebble. but when you quietly explain its meaning, his eyes widen, cheeks dusting pink with warmth. he takes it from you carefully, studying it as if memorizing every line, every curve. tim quietly places the pebble beside his computer, right in view - an ever-present reminder of you. every so often, when he’s stressed or stuck in thought, you catch him absently running his thumb over the stone, grounding himself in the gentle reminder of your love.
𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞 —
damian pauses, staring at the pebble resting in your palm with quiet intensity. his expression is unreadable at first, carefully guarded as always - but then something in his eyes softens, revealing the quiet awe he feels at your small gesture. wordlessly, he accepts the pebble with unusual gentleness, closing his fingers protectively around it. later, you'll notice it carefully placed in his room among his most treasured possessions. he'll never say a word about it, but it's always there, a silent acknowledgment of the fact that you chose him and that he chooses you right back.
𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐞 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧 —
steph immediately squeals in delight, practically bouncing with excitement as she takes the pebble. "oh my god, we’re penguins now!" she exclaims, grinning widely. without hesitation, she finds you the brightest, cutest pebble she can locate in return, excitedly presenting it to you as her own heartfelt response. it quickly becomes a tradition between you two - exchanging pebbles regularly, filling a small jar together as a gentle, joyful symbol of your love.
𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐚 𝐂𝐚𝐢𝐧 —
cass accepts the pebble with quiet reverence, her dark eyes wide and filled with curiosity and warmth. she doesn’t say anything, simply turns it carefully in her hands, studying it with focused intent. but soon afterward, you notice she carries it everywhere - kept safely hidden but always close, held protectively whenever she needs comfort. to cass, the pebble is more than just a symbol; it's proof that love can be quiet, gentle, and unconditional.
𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐆𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐨𝐧 —
barbara’s smile softens instantly, warmth radiating from her as she carefully takes the pebble from your palm. she immediately understands the meaning, eyes sparkling with gentle affection as she says softly, "it's perfect. thank you." barbara places it carefully on her desk beside her computers, a silent companion through long nights of work. it becomes her touchstone; an unspoken reminder of you and the quiet, comforting love you share.
𝐁𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞 —
bruce pauses for a long moment, genuinely caught off guard, before gently taking the pebble from your outstretched hand. his fingers close around it protectively, his usually guarded expression melting into something deeply vulnerable and grateful. he doesn't speak immediately, instead carefully placing the pebble in a pocket close to his heart. later, you find the pebble placed reverently on his bedside table - a private acknowledgment of how deeply you've touched him.
ASL BROTHERS WITH A SHY S/O
WARNINGS: GENDER NOT SPECIFIED + NOT PROOFREAD
CHARACTERS: Luffy + Ace + Sabo
NOTES: Do Luffy haters exist? It’s a dumb question, yes—but I’m genuinely curious. He’s so cute and dumb, I find it hard to not love him.
LUFFY
Luffy wouldn’t really “get” shyness in the conventional sense. But here’s the thing about Luffy: he’s all about accepting people as they are, no questions asked. He treats you with the same bright-eyed, wide-grinned enthusiasm he shows everyone. The idea of you needing to be more outgoing wouldn’t even cross his mind because, to him, you’re already perfect as you are. Shyness? Never heard of it. Just pass the meat, please.
Now, Luffy’s approach to social interactions is, well, 100% Luffy. He doesn’t really adapt his wild and carefree style to match anyone else’s comfort levels. If you're quiet and reserved, that’s cool—Luffy just goes on living life at full volume like it’s another Tuesday on the Sunny.
At first, you might be left wondering how in the seven seas you’re going to survive the endless hurricane of chaos that follows this rubbery captain around. But soon, and without realizing it, you start to find that his reckless antics and headfirst approach to life are... kind of charming. Sure, it’s like living next door to a tornado, but it’s a tornado that makes you laugh until your sides hurt and never lets you get too deep into your own thoughts.
What’s funny is that while he doesn’t actively try to make you feel more comfortable, he ends up doing it anyway. It’s his Luffy magic. You find yourself smiling more often, your shyness loosening its grip bit by bit as he does dumb stuff and throws himself into trouble that only Luffy would consider fun.
He’ll walk up to you, grin stretching from ear to ear, holding out some bizarre, questionably edible snack and say, “You gotta try this!” And just like that, the nerves you felt melt away—not because he’s making an effort to make you feel at ease, but simply because he’s himself.
And sure, sometimes his energy is a lot. We’re talking sprinting-across-decks, yelling-about-meat kind of “a lot.” But in the middle of all that noise, you come to realize that you feel safer and more at ease when you’re around him. Why? Because Luffy has this way of making everything fun and natural, and soon enough, that includes you too.
Before long, your shyness isn’t something you worry about around him; it’s just another thing Luffy accepts without blinking, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. And in his eyes? It is.
It’s cute because you two really are like the sun and the moon, with Luffy as the blazing, never-stopping sun, and you being the more reserved, quiet moon. It’s like a cosmic duo—he’s all light and energy, and you’re the calm, cool reflection of it all. You balance each other out in the weirdest, most wonderful way.
And when people catch wind of the fact that Luffy is dating someone—let alone someone as shy as you—it’s like watching a cartoon character’s eyes bug out of their head. Yeah, they’re not wrong to be surprised, but Luffy doesn’t care. He’s already busy thinking about what’s next on the agenda, probably involving meat or some kind of treasure hunt.
Luffy is anything but shy. He could probably talk to a rock and think it’s the best conversation he’s had all day. So when it comes to affection, he’s not exactly one to shy away from it. He might not be the clingiest partner out there—he’s not going to be hanging off you like a koala (okay, maybe sometimes)—but you can bet he’s there, always.
Whether it’s randomly giving you a hug in or tossing his arm around your shoulder like it’s no big deal, he’s just Luffy—and that means showing affection wherever and whenever he feels like it, no matter who’s watching. Basically, he’s like a “here’s my arm, it’s yours now” kind of guy.
While Luffy doesn’t exactly get what makes you shy, he’s surprisingly good at picking up on your feelings. If you’re feeling anxious, or if you’re shrinking back into your shell a little bit, Luffy has this unbelievable ability to sense when you need a change of pace. Without even thinking about it, he’ll grab your hand and drag you off on some wild adventure, just to get your mind off things.
He doesn’t even need a reason—he just knows that you could use a distraction, and he’s the perfect person to provide it. Besides, that just gives him more time to spend with you! And, of course, he might offer you one of his beloved snacks or a full meal if you’re feeling off. Seriously, do you know how big that is? Luffy parting with his food is like a miracle in itself, so if he’s offering it to you, you better believe you’re special.
And let’s talk about the food thing for a sec. Do you even realize how big of a deal it is that Luffy shares his food with you? Like, do you know how many times he’s turned down offering a bite of his meat to anyone? Probably never. So when he hands you a piece of his prized food, you know it’s a huge honor. We’re talking sacred territory here.
If you ever doubted your place in Luffy’s heart, just remember: he shares his food with you. That’s a level of trust and affection that not even the grandest feast can outdo. Trust me, you’ve got a special place in his world, and it’s right next to the meat and maybe a little bit of the chaos.
Luffy’s naturally the type of guy who’d include you in absolutely everything—because why wouldn’t he? To him, you’re part of the crew, part of his world, and that means he’s going to drag you into every single bit of it.
You’d be minding your own business, maybe sitting quietly with your book or trying to sneak in a nap, when suddenly—BAM! Luffy's in front of you, grinning like a madman, already talking about the next big adventure or game that everyone’s playing. “C’mon, join us!” he’d say, and before you could protest, he’s already tossing you into the mix.
It’s not that he’s forcing you to join, though—Luffy just has this way of making you feel like you should be there, without ever putting you on the spot. His carefree, inclusive attitude makes it feel like the natural thing to do. You never feel pressure; you just feel... valued. Like you belong, whether you’re quietly cheering from the sidelines or joining in with your own brand of awkward enthusiasm.
It’s like Luffy’s energy is so contagious that you can’t help but want to be part of whatever insane thing he’s cooking up that day, even if it’s just watching him eat his weight in food and making random, nonsensical decisions.
If anyone ever crossed the line with you—teased you, made you uncomfortable, or said something that got under your skin—Luffy would flip the script faster than you can blink. That goofy, carefree grin would disappear in an instant, replaced by a rare, uncharacteristically serious expression.
Suddenly, he’s standing right in front of you like a human shield, ready to take down anyone who dared upset you. He’s usually a chaotic force of nature, but mess with his loved ones, and that’s when you see a side of him that is all about protecting you.
He wouldn’t hesitate to confront the person, his voice firm and unwavering. “Hey! That’s not cool! You don’t mess with my crew!” He’s not one for subtlety or second-guessing, so you’d know right away that Luffy’s on your side. If someone’s being rude or making you feel small, he’ll make sure they know they’ve messed with the wrongggggg person.
The crew’s used to this by now—because Luffy, despite his childish nature, would go to the ends of the earth to defend the people he cares about. You’d feel like the most important person in the world in that moment because, in his eyes, you are.
Luffy’s loyalty is on another level entirely. Once he’s decided he cares about someone, they’re in—no questions, no conditions, just pure, unfiltered loyalty. If you’re lucky enough to be someone Luffy loves, you’d know it in every grin, in every spontaneous gesture, and in every single, joyfully shouted “Let’s go!” You’d never have to second-guess where you stand with him, because Luffy’s affections are as clear as day, as honest and unwavering as the sea he dreams of conquering.
So whether you’re officially part of his crew or not, in his mind, you’re always one of them, and he’d tell anyone who’ll listen, “Yeah, they’re with me!” with a pride that’d make your heart swell.
The best part? Luffy would constantly invite you to tag along on whatever wild journey or ridiculous stunt he’s about to pull. There’d be no hesitation; it’d be, “Hey! Let’s go on an adventure!” as if going on an impromptu quest was as simple as taking a stroll to the market. It’s almost like Luffy has this unspoken rule: every exciting, crazy, fun thing has to be experienced with you.
From treasure hunts that end up in unexpected fights with sea kings to races through bustling ports (where he definitely has no idea where he’s running but is laughing the whole time), Luffy wants you there, right in the middle of it all. You’d probably sigh at the thought of jumping headfirst into another unpredictable situation, but Luffy’s enthusiasm is like a gravitational pull—it’s impossible to resist.
And thank goodness for that, because your timid self wouldn’t stand a chance at taking the lead in any of these wild endeavors. Luckily, Luffy’s the type to charge forward, dragging you along by the hand with zero doubts and zero plans. He makes all the decisions for both of you, which, sure, sometimes means ending up lost on an island full of very angry, very large monkeys because, “They looked friendly!”
You’d feel a mix of exasperation and endearment at his antics. He doesn’t realize it, but his willingness to be the fearless leader—even if his plans are sometimes made with the strategic prowess of a rubber chicken—takes the pressure off you. You don’t have to stress over decisions or worry about whether you’re doing the right thing, because Luffy’s already ten steps ahead (probably literally sprinting) and dragging you along with a confidence that borders on reckless.
And honestly? That’s part of the charm. His “plans” might be half-baked and a little foolish, but he makes up for it by being completely and unapologetically himself.
You’d find yourself smiling more than you ever expected, getting swept up in the whirlwind that is Luffy, and realizing that being with him means never feeling alone, even if you’re quiet or shy.
His laughter, his outbursts, and his impulsive decisions would all become things you cherish, because with him leading the way, life feels a little less scary and a lot more exciting.
ACE
Ace is all warmth and energy, like a bonfire on a chilly night, and he’d go out of his way to make sure you feel comfortable in his presence. Despite his natural tendency for excitement and spontaneity, he’d be mindful of your shyness, making a conscious effort to dial down the volume when needed.
You’d catch him lowering his voice a bit, softening his laughter, or even sitting a little closer with a reassuring grin. His laid-back nature would do wonders for your anxiety, melting it away bit by bit like ice under the sun. He’d take a more casual, playful approach when he’s with you, balancing his liveliness with a kind of gentle attentiveness that makes your heart feel at ease.
Ace has a knack for starting conversations, even if the topic is completely random. He’d sense your hesitance and jump in without skipping a beat. “Did I ever tell you about the time I tried to cook for the crew and accidentally set a whole forest on fire?” he’d start, eyes twinkling as he watches your reaction.
His stories are always ridiculous—stories of clumsy mishaps, epic pranks gone wrong, or that one time he fell asleep mid-battle. You’d find yourself laughing in spite of yourself, the tension in your shoulders easing as you realize he’s making himself the butt of the joke, just to make you feel more at ease. He’d keep talking until he sees that spark of amusement in your eyes, and then keep going, his smile growing wider every time you giggle.
And Ace’s teasing? Oh, he’d be a master of that fine line between making you laugh and making you blush. He’d lean in, smirking just enough to be charming, and say, “What’s this? A smile? I knew it was in there somewhere.” His playful comments would come with a wink and a laugh, just enough to make your face warm, but never enough to make you feel like you’re being put on the spot.
If he ever saw you growing quiet or noticed that hint of panic in your eyes, he’d immediately back off, switching to a softer tone and throwing in a quick “I’m just messing with ya” followed by that disarming grin of his.
Ace would be incredibly in tune with your reactions, watching for the tiniest signs that you’re feeling overwhelmed. The moment he picks up on it, he’d change gears—maybe suggesting a quiet spot on deck where you could sit together and watch the stars, or offering to take a walk to get some fresh air. He’d brush off the seriousness with a light, “Hey, it’s just us. No pressure, alright?” The way he says it makes you feel safe, like it’s just you and him against the world, no expectations or worries allowed.
Ace is the definition of a warm hug in human form, so being a tactile person comes naturally to him. But when it comes to you, he’d show an impressive amount of restraint—not an easy feat for someone who’d usually throw an arm around a friend without thinking twice. Well, you’re not just his friend but his lover, obviously—but what I’m getting at us that he’s a pretty affectionate guy.
He’d start small, easing you into it with light touches: a friendly pat on the shoulder when you share a joke, a playful ruffle of your hair that would leave you smiling and maybe a little flustered. You’d catch the subtle glances he’d shoot you afterward, as if he’s silently checking, Was that okay? Did that make you uncomfortable? It’s endearing how he’s so in tune with your comfort level, his natural affection turned into a gentle dance of patience and care.
As time went on and your confidence around him grew, Ace would start to introduce more meaningful touches. He’d sneak in side hugs when you’re sitting together, leaning into you with that easygoing smile of his that made your heart race. And when the day finally came that you leaned into him on your own, whether it was out of exhaustion or just because you felt safe, the soft, proud look on his face would be priceless.
Ace would make a big deal out of it in the quietest way possible, his hand finding yours in a reassuring squeeze as if to say, Hey, look at you, being brave. Eventually, he’d graduate to full-on snuggling when you were comfortable, and the first time he wrapped you in his arms and pulled you close, you’d know just how deeply he cared.
And when social situations become too much—because let’s face it, Ace has a lot of friends and a magnetic personality that draws people in—he’d be the first to notice if you’re starting to feel overwhelmed.
In those moments, he’d spring into action without making it obvious. He’d tell a ridiculously over-the-top story, one that would steal the spotlight from everyone else and have the whole room’s attention fixed on him, leaving you a moment to breathe.
Ace would always throw himself into being the distraction, whether it meant cracking jokes or reenacting a failed stunt that ended with him pretending to trip over his own feet. He’d shoot you a quick wink in the middle of it, as if to say, See? I’ve got you.
It’s not that he wanted to be the center of attention—okay, maybe a little, but only when it’s for you.
He’d take on the role of court jester, chaos-maker, or even reluctant hero if it meant taking the pressure off you for a while. If anyone questioned it, he’d brush it off with a laugh and a shrug, all while keeping an eye on you to make sure you were okay.
And if things really got too much, Ace wouldn’t hesitate to steer you away from the noise altogether, leaning in close and saying, “Let’s get outta here for a bit, yeah?” He’d lead you somewhere quieter, a hand on your arm or fingers interlaced with yours, the simple touch grounding you as you walked.
You’d both end up somewhere peaceful, maybe under the stars or by a flickering campfire, where he’d wrap an arm around your shoulder and say, “You don’t have to explain. Just take your time.” And you would, with the steady thump of his heartbeat right next to yours, knowing he’d take on the world just to make sure you felt comfortable and safe.
Ace would be your number one cheerleader, hyped beyond belief over every little victory you achieved. You managed to say something in a group conversation? He’d beam at you like you just solved world peace. “Look at you go! You’re amazing!” he’d shout, probably a bit louder than necessary, with that signature grin that lights up his entire face.
If you reached out to touch his arm or, heaven forbid, initiated a hug, there’d be a solid five minutes of him staring at you in delighted disbelief before breaking out into an excited, “Did you just—? You did! You did!”
What you might not notice is that whenever you step even half a toe out of your comfort zone, Ace is in the background punching the air with all the subtlety of an over-caffeinated kid at a birthday party.
It doesn’t matter if it’s a tiny thing, like making eye contact with someone new, or a big step like saying a few words in front of the crew—Ace is celebrating it like you just discovered the One Piece itself.
He might look a bit unhinged to anyone passing by, but he’s never cared about that. You’re his person, and your wins are his wins. He’s just out here being the proudest guy alive, punching invisible foes and mouthing, That’s my partner!
And the way he looks at you? It’s like you’re the most priceless treasure in the world, and not just in the fleeting, pirate-wants-your-gold way. No, Ace’s gaze is full of warmth and genuine awe, the kind that makes you feel like you’re wrapped in a blanket of sunshine.
When you speak, whether it’s a confident statement or a hesitant mumble, Ace is all ears. His eyes would fix on you with this almost comically serious expression, nodding along like you’re revealing some ancient, life-altering secret.
You could point to the sky and say, “That’s the sky,” and he’d respond with a deep, earnest nod and a wide grin, “Exactly! I love that you noticed!” The rest of the crew might shake their heads and mutter things like, “Here they go again,” but Ace doesn’t care. If it matters to you, it matters to him—simple as that.
It doesn’t matter how mundane your observation is or how shyly you say it; to Ace, every word is golden. He’d hang on every syllable as if you were weaving a tale worthy of a bard’s song. You’d catch him repeating things you said back to you later, just to show he’d remembered, saying things like, “Oh yeah, like you said the other day, the sky really was a perfect blue.”
It’s almost ridiculous, but that’s Ace—he’d make you feel like every tiny thing you did was extraordinary, because in his eyes, it truly is.
SABO
Sabo is the calm breeze compared to the whirlwinds that are Luffy and Ace, which makes him the perfect blend of approachable and comforting.
With his natural ease and warm, diplomatic demeanor, you’d find yourself feeling more at peace around him sooner than you’d expect. Sabo’s the kind of person who could have a conversation with anyone, but when he’s with you, you’d feel like you’re the only one in the world that matters.
He’s just got this knack for making everything feel safe, like he’s a sturdy anchor in a storm. If you ever started to feel overwhelmed, Sabo would be the first to notice, with a quiet attentiveness that doesn’t scream I’m watching you but more like I’m here if you need me.
He’d be a master of subtlety, paying close attention to what made you nervous and what helped you open up, all without making it seem like he was analyzing you. You’d catch him making mental notes when you shifted uncomfortably or lit up at something specific. He’s probably like, “Write that down, write that down!” in his head.
And he’d use those observations to make your interactions more comfortable. If he noticed that certain topics or big crowds made you anxious, he’d steer conversations towards lighter things or find a reason to take a quiet walk somewhere less crowded.
Sabo would never rush you into sharing more than you were ready for. He understands that trust is built slowly, like adding logs to a fire, not dumping gasoline on it and hoping for the best.
Sabo would show his affection in the most considerate ways, taking into account what you’d find comforting rather than overwhelming. That being said, grand and dramatic gestures aren’t his style when it comes to you; he’d save those for his other acts of rebellion.
With you, he’d stick to smaller, more intimate actions. He’d brush his fingers across yours before holding your hand, always making sure it was welcome. He’d lean in a little closer when you’re talking, eyes fixed on you with that soft, attentive gaze of his that makes you feel like you have all the time in the world.
There’d be moments when he’d reach out with a light touch on your arm, or just the simple press of his shoulder against yours when you sat side by side, enough to let you know he was there but never too much to make you uncomfortable.
It’s like he has a sixth sense for what was just the right amount of closeness. And if you ever looked unsure or nervous, Sabo’s eyes would catch yours, full of warmth and encouragement, like he was silently saying, Take your time, I’m not going anywhere.
The patience he’d show would be unmatched; you could almost hear him mentally cheering you on even if you were just picking your words slowly or taking a deep breath before saying something important.
And the way he’d support you? Subtle but powerful. If you ever found yourself second-guessing or fumbling, he’d quietly step in to help redirect the conversation or offer a reassuring comment. “I think that’s a great point,” he’d say with genuine enthusiasm, giving you that extra boost of confidence.
And when you’d catch him watching you speak, the look in his eyes would always be one of admiration—never judgment, never pressure, just pure, patient support. And whether it’s a simple chat or a quiet walk together, Sabo’s presence would be your reminder that you’re valued, seen, and cherished, just as you are.
When it came to conversations, Sabo would be your guy for deep, meaningful talks, but with a healthy dose of humor to keep things light. He’d pick the coziest, quietest corner on the ship or at a café, leaning in with a thoughtful smile and saying, “Alright, you ready to hear some top-secret stories about Ace and Luffy’s greatest flops?” And he’d be off, recounting tales of Luffy trying to eat something he really, really shouldn’t have or Ace’s legendary nap times that ended in near-disaster.
His stories are designed not just to make you laugh, but to remind you that even these larger-than-life brothers were and still are total dorks sometimes. And before you know it, you’re easing into sharing a few of your own stories, prompted by his gentle encouragement and the safety his presence provided.
If there was ever a moment where you hinted at wanting to join in on an activity or step outside your comfort zone, Sabo would light up like someone just told him there was free cake on deck. But instead of jumping up and down and looking crazy, Sabo’s celebration would be the dignified, internal kind.
Picture a boardroom in his mind filled with 10 tiny Sabos all jumping out of their chairs, high-fiving each other, and throwing confetti in the air. On the outside, he’d just offer you that calm, reassuring grin and a simple, “You’ve got this. And if not, we’ll laugh about it later, yeah?”
He’d be your biggest silent cheerleader, always ready with a patient hand to guide you or a subtle nudge if you needed it. If you wanted to join in on a game or join a conversation but hesitated, Sabo would seamlessly include you, making it feel natural and not like he was pointing out your shyness.
He’d say things like, “Hey, I think Y/N would be perfect for this—what do you think?” and then shoot you a wink that says, See? Not so bad, right? And when you took that first step, whether it was a comment or a hesitant laugh at a joke, Sabo’s inner cheering squad would be losing their collective minds.
So while Ace might be punching the air and Luffy would probably shout, “You did it!” at full volume, Sabo would play it cool—at least on the outside. But don’t be fooled. The minute he see’s you trying something new or making a move outside your comfort zone, those 10 tiny Sabos in his head would be throwing a full-on carnival, complete with fireworks and dancing.
And he’d just keep giving you that look that said, You’re amazing, and I’m so proud of you. Because to him, you’re always worth celebrating, no matter what.
If there’s one thing Sabo doesn’t tolerate, it’s someone messing with the people he cares about. So if he spotted you feeling uncomfortable or noticed someone trying to be intimidating, he’d swoop in with the subtlety of a master diplomat. Sabo wouldn’t make a scene, but instead, he’d redirect the situation like an absolute pro.
Maybe he’d throw out a well-timed joke, ask a question that shifts the focus, or suddenly develop an urgent need for your opinion on something random, like, “Hey, didn’t you say you know a lot about… apples?” The offender would be left blinking, and you’d find yourself in a new conversation before you even realized what happened. Crisis averted, all thanks to Sabo’s suave social maneuvering.
And then there’s Sabo’s sweeter side—his covert operation of affection. He knows that grand, dramatic proclamations can sometimes make you want to dive head-first into the nearest bush, so he’s perfected the art of subtle, heartfelt gestures.
He’d leave little handwritten notes tucked in places he knows you’ll find, maybe in your favorite book or slipped under your plate at breakfast. Each note would be filled with the kind of genuine, thoughtful words that would make your heart do an embarrassing little flip. They’d say things like, I know you’re stronger than you think, and I can’t wait for the world to see it, too, or The stars were beautiful last night, but not as much as seeing you smile today.
And don’t even get started on the letters. Oh, the letters. Sabo would write you these intricate, beautifully crafted notes that read like they came straight from the heart of a poet who’s just returned from a victorious battle.
He could have just finished a day of intense Revolutionary Army missions, covered in dust and exhaustion, but you’d still get a note that starts with, Hey, you. I’m thinking about you, and ends with some metaphor about how your presence makes the world brighter, even when he’s knee-deep in chaos.
You’d find trinkets, too—maybe a small charm he found that reminded him of you or a pressed flower from somewhere he thought was pretty. It’s the little things that would make your day and remind you that, no matter what chaos he’s wrapped up in with the Revolutionary Army, you’re always on his mind. And when you’d look up at him, cheeks flushed from finding yet another one of his notes or small gifts, Sabo would just grin that charming, lopsided grin and say, “Did you find it? Good. I meant every word.”
He’s protective, thoughtful, and romantic in a way that feels like it’s tailored just for you. And even if he’s balancing the weight of revolutions and strategic plans, Sabo makes sure you know that you’re not just part of his life—you’re the best part.
Taking anti-depressant pills?? Seeing a therapist??? Journaling???? No need babe, my fav writer just dropped another x reader fic.
will you hold me instead, and tell me that it's over now?
i look forward to a little me and you, so now i hope that you don't tell me that it's over
or; patching jason up after an intense mission [2.1k]
jason todd x fem!reader; angst/fluff; brief mentions of human trafficking and allusion to murder (he's talking about how the mission went); mention of his scars; jason being insecure & thinking he's not good enough😞; description of injuries and the first aid applied to them (please do not take anything as actual medical advice); this is me hard-launching my physical touch x touch starved!jason agenda
You don’t know how early it is when you hear the sound of the front door opening and closing, just that it’s too early. It’s not like you could sleep anyway; you spent the night drifting in and out of semi-consciousness, too worried to let yourself relax. You always got like this when Jason went away on missions. Several days, and sometimes even weeks, spent anxiously anticipating the state in which he would return home—you haven’t been able to get a manicure since before you met him.
You’re still a little delirious when a hand ghosts up your arm, stirring you from your half-sleep. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room and register the sight in front of you. Your boyfriend is on one knee on the floor in front of you, brushing strands of hair out of your face with endearing eyes.
“There she is,” he says when you lift your head off the pillow and reach out to him. He catches your hand and kisses your fingertips, spreading a warmth up your arm that combats the midnight chill. You push yourself up to a sitting position, and he takes the opportunity to cup his hands around your face and bring you in for a kiss.
“Missed you,” you mumble against him, and his lips curve upwards against yours.
“Missed you too, sweetheart.” His mouth travels up from yours towards your temple, leaving a path of gentle kisses in his wake. Your palms, pressed flat against his chest, slide up to loop around his neck. He tenses, choking back a strained grunt. But you catch it.
You pull back abruptly. “Are you hurt?” Your eyes frantically dart around, scanning his entire body. Now fully alert, you reach over to the bedside table and switch the lamp on.
“’s just a bruise, baby, I’m fine.” A hand comes up to shield his eyes from the sudden brightness. But with newly unobstructed vision, you can see more than just a bruise. He has a busted lip, a shallow gash on his temple, and splotches of purple and red peeking out of his shirt collar.
“You’re bleeding, Jason,” you chastise him, getting up off the bed.
He stands alongside you with a huff. “It’s nothing,” he sighs. “Doesn’t even hurt.” But when you take his hand and start pulling him to the bathroom, he follows without argument. You lead Jason to sit down on the edge of the tub and fetch the first aid kit from under the sink, setting it down next to him on the bathtub ledge. You stand between his legs, your positions making you a half-head taller than him. He gazes up at you and for the first time tonight you notice how dark and deep the skin under his eyes is.
“Off,” you order, dragging up the hem of his shirt. He helps you pull it off, wincing when it requires him to lift his bruised arm.
“Someone’s eager,” he muses, raising his eyebrows in a teasing manner. It earns him a swat on the arm; he grunts loudly and doubles over in pain.
You gasp. “Oh my god! Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I—”
But when he looks up, it’s with a coy smirk and a twinkle in his eye. You swat him again.
“Asshole,” you mutter, but you can’t help the slight twitch at the corner of your lips. “Why didn’t you take care of this earlier? Alfred wasn’t at the manor to help you?”
He shrugs his good shoulder. “Don’t know. Came straight here.”
“Did you tell anyone where you were going?” You ask.
He looks at you blankly, as if to say, don’t you know who you’re talking to?
You sigh, exasperated. “You shouldn’t have done that, Jason. What if ended up becoming serious? And you didn’t make it here in time? What if—”
He interrupts your doom spiral by pressing a finger to your lips. “I know, honey, I’m sorry. But I wanted to see you.”
You sigh. There’s a sadness to it, one that comes from familiarity with the fact that he does not care for himself as much as he should—as much as he deserves. But there are no words to make him believe it that you haven’t tried, so all you do is lean your forehead against his, hoping he can hear the what you don’t say. You need him to hear you.
“You’re not sorry,” you whisper.
“No, I’m not,” he whispers back.
You start with his shoulder, which was decidedly not ‘just a bruise,’ but actually several bruises, all clumped together to form one giant Franken-bruise that covered his entire shoulder. It gets rubbed with ointment and you’re not sure who it pains more, because while you’re spilling out frantic apologies as you try to speed through it, Jason is white-knuckling the edge of the tub with a wad of gauze between his teeth.
His lip doesn’t require any medical attention, but he insists you kiss it better anyway, and who are you to deny him?
You tend to his temple last, but he’s antsy now. His leg bounces up and down, one hand is drumming its fingers on the tub, and the other is fiddling with the loose threads that hang from the hem of your shirt; you have to scold him into sitting still.
“Where’s the dermabond?” You ask, sifting through the contents of the first aid kid.
“Used it up last month, remember? After you just had to feed that fuckin’ squirrel.” His voice is gruff at the recollection. “Should be a new pack under the sink.”
You fetch the new box, picking at the plastic wrapping. “Can you blame me? He was so cute.”
“Yeah, was. Until that greedy fucker decided he wanted the whole picnic.” Jason sees you struggling with the plastic covering and takes it from you, breaks it open, then hands it back. “Bastard.”
You giggle. “You know, you could’ve just let him have the cupcake. It wasn’t worth risking rabies for.” You fish out the glass tube of surgical glue, tossing its cardboard box aside.
“‘Course it was. My girl wanted red velvet, she should get her red velvet.” Jason’s hands finally rest on the backs of your bare thighs, squeezing them lightly. He grins when that makes you let out a little squeak.
You roll your eyes, though there’s a warmth flowing in your veins that courses from the tips of your ears to the bottom of your feet. “My hero,” you muse with a smile.
There’s a pause. Then:
“I’m not a hero,” he responds. His tone is still light, but his eyes feel far away.
You start to clean the blood from the wound, which has since clotted and dried, with a saline-soaked cotton pad. He stares at you while you clean and then close the cut with the glue. And when you finish, supplies set aside and glue cured, he’s still staring. His eyes are traveling all over your face, taking in each feature, committing every ridge, every angle, every pore, every freckle to memory. The light-hearted teasing demeanor from mere moments ago is long gone. You're a deer caught in emerald headlights.
You recognize this shift. You noticed hints of it since he arrived home, but assumed it was just due to the pain. Now it’s obvious that there’s more. It’s the same shift that comes when the news becomes a circus, or when he stares at his scars in the mirror for too long.
His hands slide up your body slowly, reverently. One stops at your waist while the other continues, blazing a trail up your ribcage, over the side of your breast. He pauses at your shoulder for a split second, squeezing the flesh every so gently before continuing up your neck. His thumb drags across your collarbone, brushing against the spot that always lights up your senses and parts your lips in a breathy sigh. He stops when he reaches your face. He cups your cheek. Your hand covers his and you lean into his hold, the stroke of your small, soft fingers juxtaposing the rough callouses of his knuckles. You stay here for a moment before turning to press your lips to his palm once, twice, thrice, four times, each one lingering a little longer than the last.
“What is it, Jason?” Your hands come to cradle his neck before dragging up to his hair, and his move to wrap around your torso and pull you closer into him. You place a kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Hmm?”
“I’m not a hero,” he says again, softer.
“Jay,” you whisper. “You know that’s not true.”
He says nothing, only heaving a heavy sigh and burying his face into the crook of your neck. You’re content to stand like this, to simply hold him and graze your nails against his scalp for as long as he needs while he inhales the comforting scent of your skin.
After what could have been one minute or twenty, he pulls back to look up at you. He looks exhausted. “It was a human trafficking case,” he says. “They knew we were closing in on ‘em, so we had to act fast. They were…trying to…” He trails off, unsure how to put it in words delicate enough to spare you. He breaks eye contact. “Destroy the evidence,” he finishes.
You don’t respond. Despite the heavy silence that follows this admission, you know he’s not done. It takes another several minutes of stroking fingers and feather-light hairline kisses to coax it out of him.
“There was a woman. She…we didn’t—“ His voice cracks. “I didn’t get there in time.”
“Oh, honey.” You run your palm over his forehead, pushing back his thick waves. His eyelids slide down over glassy irises as he sinks into your touch. You lean down to press your lips to his forehead. “You know that’s not your fault,” you whisper. He shakes his head, eyes still closed.
“But if I’d just—”
“No, Jason.” You grip his face between your palms. He opens his eyes at the sudden sternness. “But nothing. You did everything you possibly could—”
“You don’t know that,” he interrupts.
“I do know that. I know because you are always doing everything you can. For me, and for everyone in this city. And I know that it wasn’t just you on that mission. Do you blame anyone else for what happened?”
He says nothing, but his eyes are welling with tears.
“You saved so many other people, Jason. You are a hero, and you know that. You have to know that.” Some of his tears spill over, but you brush your thumbs across his cheeks and kiss them away.
He pulls you onto his lap so your legs are straddled over his and rests his head against your sternum. His arms squeeze impossibly tight around your waist, but you don’t say anything. When his shoulders tremble and you feel the dampness on the front of your shirt, you still don’t say anything. And when he places a hand on the back of your head to pull you in for a hard, searing kiss that leaves you both breathless, you don’t say anything. You just look at him, at how pretty he is, and hope that he can hear you.
The sounds of buzzing echo in from the next room. To your dismay, he turns away, towards the direction of your phones. “I should get that,” he says. His voice is hollow. “It’s probably the bats wanting to know where I am. They’ll send a search party if I don’t check in.”
He’s about to move you off his lap, but you stop him. “In a minute, Jay.”
Jason’s forehead crinkles. You use your thumb to smooth it out.
“Please?” You breathe out. “Just let me look at you a little longer. I love looking at you.”
He relaxes back into his seat. And you keep looking at him. At his beautifully rosy cheeks and shining eyes, his puffed lips. The scar that runs diagonally down his slightly crooked nose.
It’s dawn now; the tangerine beginnings of sunrise elicit a soft glow that spills through the window. Jason takes it all in. The two of you together in the home you share, arms around each other, your face all honeyed and beautiful in the light.
And you know he can hear you.
love when you guys leave messages/feedback it really brightens up my day<3
divider is from here
League of justice Headcanons!
Characters: Superman, Batman and Flash.
Summary. What is the love language of the strongest superheroes on the planet?
CW. Nothing, just fluff. My first language is not english.
Boyfriend Superman! He loves to give quality time. The life of a superhero / investigative journalist, doesn't leave much room for downtime. Sometimes he has these holidays at the Daily Planet that allow him to plan a quick date at that cafe you've wanted to visit since it opened, all so Brainiac can arrive on earth demanding submission.
That's why the moments the two of them have alone are so important. Sometimes, it's all about Clark cuddling you in bed, his head on top of yours. Maybe you think of it as simple comfortable silence, but things with you are never simple for him.
The poor guy is too busy feeling your calm, warm breath on his skin, listening devotedly to the soft drumming of your heart, feeling you at peace next to him, in your bed. Oh, how he loves that.
Boyfriend Superman! Who is absolutely pleased to show you his love with acts of service. Sometimes you simply wake up in the morning to the smell of freshly squeezed oranges and bread with fried egg or bacon. Other days, after a particularly tiring day at work, he takes it upon himself to personally relax you with his hard hands on your muscles, massaging you.
He loves touching your body in all kinds of ways, but he especially loves when it helps you feel better, even if it doesn't end in anything else.
Clark loves to make you feel loved while reminding you that he is always going to be there for you, helping you with his brute strength but also with his loving actions, those that may even go unnoticed, but he doesn't care about that, because he doesn't grease you up because he wants you to congratulate him, but because he loves you to feel loved and protected.
Boyfriend Superman! Who loves to receive physical contact. Don't get it wrong, if he could, he would be hugging you, kissing you and generally touching your body in some way 25 hours a day, 8 days a week (Yes, I spelled that right).
He loves to feel your warmth and coziness, he longs for your smell, the softness of your skin, the sound of your blood rushing through your veins, he loves to be able to feel your skin against his, but he is afraid, and although he controls himself, much more than any other living being, and yet, he can't let go of the feeling that he can hurt you.
So when you initiate contact he is in heaven, it feels like you are giving him permission, like you are saying “I trust you” and allowing him to touch a piece of heaven with every caress, every touch, every hug and kiss.
Please, please, please, please, never stop initiating contact, he loves it, but feels you must give him permission to do it every time. Would you please do it for him? He doesn't know what he would do otherwise.
Boyfriend Batman! Who shows you his love with gifts. I don't think it's a surprise to anyone, in retrospect, the Dark Knight doesn't know about the various ways to love in depth. He's been loved by Alfred and his children, of course, but there's also something about him that keeps him from being as expressive as he'd like to be.
Bruce often fills that space with gifts. Sometimes it's things you wouldn't even expect, like a limited edition watch or a diamond necklace too ostentatious to be worn on the streets of Gotham, other times it's simple things, little wishes you didn't even think he heard (dear, of course he did) like a stuffed animal from your new favorite series/game/book.
He really just wants to make you happy, please don't refuse his gifts, you'll only send him into a downward spiral of thoughts about what he did wrong.
Boyfriend Batman! who often gives you words of affirmation… When he thinks you are asleep. It doesn't happen all the time, only when the day has been especially difficult, dangerous or tiring. He waits until enough time has passed, when your breathing is slow and merges with the sounds of the night breeze to talk to you, off the cuff.
He usually says things to you like:
“Thank you for being here for me."
“You really help me not to lose myself."
"I love you, so, so much, I don't even know how to express it."
"You are one of the most wonderful things that has ever happened to me."
"I will see to it that you are never hurt."
And the list goes on and on, the verbal vomit this man spews during those nights is so beautiful. Maybe someday he'll say these things to you when you're awake, though.
Boyfriend Batman! Who loves to receive quality time. By day Bruce Wayne, by night Batman, the lord of the night. But what about the man in the middle of it? Bruce loves when you find a way to spend time with him.
He loves it when you wait for him late at night until his patrols are over, and even when he's told you more than once about the importance of a good night's sleep, he can't help but think how lucky he is every time he finds you there, waiting for him.
He loves it when you look for him in the Batcave with a sandwich in your hand, when you decide that sitting next to him is enough, when you're willing to attend one of those boring galas with him, when you take him out of the mansion to take him to a fast food restaurant.
He loves when you show him how much you love him.
Boyfriend Flash! Acts of service, the fastest man in the world has attention problems, please let no one doubt that. This doesn't mean, however, that he doesn't listen to what you want. Oh, he does and loves to show you how much he listens to you and wants to make you happy.
Flash who cleans the house, runs the errands, sorts the receipts, makes you a cup of coffee in the morning. Flash who knows he's the fastest man in the world and uses it.
It's no problem for him, seriously, he likes to do it for you, let him do it for you, you come in so tired after work, don't you want him to massage your feet? He can prepare the bathtub for you, too. Shop at that Chinese food restaurant you like, make a little pillow fort to watch your favorite series.
Yep, this guy is pure sugar.
Boyfriend Flash! Who loves to feel your body in contact with his, he is the fastest man in the world and that, however, also takes precious time away from his side. Don't get him wrong, he can be anywhere instantly just by thinking about it, but sometimes when he thinks about how much he wants to be by your side, Gorilla Grodd attacks or something.
So he makes up for it in the best way he knows how: touching you, hugging you, intertwining his fingers with yours. He loves to be in contact with you, at all times, whenever he can.
Sometimes it's unconscious, as if you're watching a movie and he'll just start playing with your hair. There are other times, however, when he knows exactly what he's doing, and he loves it.
Boyfriend Flash! loves to receive words of affirmation, he loves to hear your cute voice while you whisper sweet words in his ear, he loves to be acknowledged, to be told how hard he's trying, that he's doing things right.
He's like a dog that loves to be pampered, like he just wants you to pet his tummy while you tell him what a good boy he is. Please do it more often, catch him in your arms while whispering to him what a good boy he is.
Oh dear, if he had a tail, he'd be wagging it so sweetly for you.
Pairings. M.D.Luffy- R.Zoro- V.Sanji - shanks - T.Law - P.D.Ace - E.Kid
summary. Fav part on your body
— (a/n): DARLING!, every inch of you is perfect. Plus request are open (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)
Monkey D. Luffy – Your Hands
Luffy is fascinated by your hands. Whether they’re soft, calloused, or adorned with tattoos, he loves them because they’re yours. He’s constantly grabbing them, playing with your fingers absentmindedly, or holding them against his cheek. He especially adores when you feed him—his eyes light up every time you bring food to his lips, and he sometimes playfully nibbles on your fingers just to make you laugh. And when you ruffle his hair with those same hands? He melts.
But Luffy’s obsession goes beyond just holding them—he finds comfort in them. If he’s sleepy, he’ll take your hand and press it against his cheek, his lashes fluttering as he hums in contentment. If he’s excited, he’ll grab both of your hands and swing them around, his laughter ringing through the air. And if he’s feeling extra affectionate? He’ll kiss your palms, grinning up at you before pressing them against his face dramatically. And when you cup his face in your hands, gently stroking his cheek with your thumb, his usual playful energy softens. His lips part slightly, his expression suddenly unreadable. He stares at you—wide-eyed, almost mesmerized—before he suddenly grins, rubbing his face even further into your touch like an overgrown puppy. “Heh, your hands feel nice,” he mumbles, before promptly biting your finger again, his laughter echoing through the air as you scold him.
Roronoa Zoro – Your Back
Zoro has a thing for your back—he won’t outright say it, but his actions make it obvious. Whenever you wear something that exposes even a hint of skin, his eyes linger. He finds something undeniably strong yet elegant about the way your back curves when you move. If you have scars, he respects them deeply, running his fingers over them with quiet admiration. If you have tattoos, he studies them in silent appreciation, perhaps even tracing them when you’re resting together. And when you stretch, arms raised above your head, your back arching slightly? He has to physically stop himself from pulling you into his arms.
But if he’s feeling bold—or maybe just a little tipsy—he’ll step up behind you, fingers ghosting over the bare skin of your spine, his breath warm against your ear as he murmurs, “You’re showing off, aren’t you?” His voice is low, teasing, but there’s a rough edge to it, like he’s holding himself back. “Knowing you’re what man need”. If you turn to face him, expecting him to retreat, he doesn’t—he just smirks, eyes locked onto yours, before running a calloused hand down your back with slow, deliberate intent.
Sanji – Your Neck
Sanji worships your neck. It’s his personal sanctuary, a place where his lips constantly find their way. He loves to nuzzle into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent as his hands settle on your waist. His kisses are slow and lingering, sometimes teasing, sometimes desperate. He whispers sweet nothings against your skin, praising you like you’re the most divine being in existence. If you wear something that exposes your neck—off-the-shoulder tops, delicate necklaces—he’s doomed. He’ll place kisses there absentmindedly, even in public, murmuring, “Mon amour, you’re making it very hard to behave.”
If you wear something that leaves your neck exposed—whether it’s an elegant dress or just a loose button-down—Sanji is done for. He’ll run his fingers over the delicate skin absentmindedly, his touch featherlight, his breath hitching slightly. And if you so much as tilt your head, offering him more space? He’s pressing his lips against you instantly, But his favorite? When you’re cooking together and he sneaks up behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder, arms wrapping around your waist. His lips graze your neck as he murmurs something about how beautiful you look, and before you can even react, he’s already pressing a lingering kiss to your pulse. He lives for the way you shiver under his touch, and you can feel the satisfied smirk against your skin.
Shanks – Your Breasts
Shanks is shameless. He doesn’t try to hide his admiration—he fully embraces it. He loves resting his head against your chest after a long day, sighing contentedly as you run your fingers through his hair. He’s the type to slip his hand under your shirt absentmindedly, not necessarily with ulterior motives, but just to feel your warmth. If you wear something that accentuates your figure, expect him to tease you endlessly. He’s the kind of man who smirks, takes a sip of his drink, and drawls, “how god create something perfect like you” before pulling you into his lap.
He’s convinced that anything can make your breasts look even sexier, and once the idea enters his head, it stays there. One day, in that deep, playful voice of his, he casually suggests, “You know, a piercing right here—” his finger traces between your breasts, his touch featherlight yet purposeful, ”—would look absolutely stunning on you.” If you decide to tease him back, tilting your head with a smirk and saying, “How about nipple piercings instead?”—his reaction is immediate. His grip on your waist tightens, his pupils darken, and he exhales sharply through his nose, as if he’s just been hit with a vision too tempting to handle. He leans in, voice rough with amusement and something deeper, “get ‘em, I’d love to feel them on my tongue.”
Trafalgar Law – Your Collarbone & Shoulders
Law is a man of precision, and there’s something about your collarbones and shoulders that drives him crazy. Maybe it’s the sharp elegance of them, the way they peek through when you wear certain outfits, or the way his fingers trace over them absentmindedly when you’re lying together. He appreciates the way they flex subtly when you move, the strength hidden beneath softness. If you have tattoos here, he’s even more obsessed—he studies them with sharp, quiet interest, his fingers brushing over the ink as he asks about their meaning. And when he’s feeling particularly possessive? He marks you with slow, deliberate kisses, leaving faint traces of his touch behind.
When he’s feeling possessive, he won’t just admire—he’ll mark. His lips will graze over your collarbone, pressing slow, deliberate kisses, his grip tightening on your waist. He’s not one for open displays of affection, but the moment you’re alone? His hands are on your shoulders, his mouth tracing along your collarbone.
Portgas D. Ace – Your Hips
Ace has a love for your hips, and he’s not shy about it. His hands naturally settle there, whether he’s pulling you closer, steadying you after a stumble, or just holding you while talking. He likes the way they move when you walk—so much so that he often ends up staring without realizing it. He’s the type to hook a finger into the waistband of your pants or skirt, tugging playfully just to see your reaction. If you have dimples on your lower back, he’s obsessed, pressing kisses there whenever he gets the chance. And when you straddle his lap, resting your hands on his shoulders? He swears you’re going to be the death of him.
He loves how easy it is to tease you when he has his hands on your hips. He’ll grip them suddenly, just to see you react, and his grin only widens when you give him a playful shove. And if you’re straddling him, hands braced against his chest? He’s gone. His fingers tighten instinctively, his voice rough as he chuckles, “you make me feel like a dream”
But the real kicker? If you jokingly sway your hips while walking away, knowing he’s watching. He’ll groan dramatically, running a hand down his face, before catching up with you, tossing an arm around your waist. “You can’t just do that and expect me to hold on,” he huffs, but the way his fingers flex against your hip tells you he’s not complaining.
Eustass Kid – Your Thighs
Kid is obsessed with your thighs. He loves the way they feel under his hands, whether they’re soft or toned, and he often absentmindedly grips them when you sit close to him. He’s the type to pull you onto his lap with zero hesitation, his metal hand resting heavily on your thigh like a silent claim. If you wear something that shows them off—shorts, skirts, anything that accentuates their shape—he’s staring. And if you dare to tease him, pressing your legs together in a way that draws his attention? He’ll lean in, voice low and full of challenge, “you wanna play bad bitch role ~ hmm?”
If you wear something that shows them off—shorts, skirts, anything that accentuates their shape—he’s staring. He won’t even try to hide it, his red eyes dark with something dangerous. And if you catch him looking, raising an eyebrow at him in amusement? He just smirks and shrugs, completely unashamed. “Not my fault you look this divine.” But his absolute favorite? When you’re sitting with your legs draped over his lap, and he gets to absentmindedly trace patterns along your skin. His touch is rough yet oddly tender, and if you tease him about it, he just grunts, “Shut the fuck up,” but doesn’t stop. And if you so much as playfully squeeze his waist with your thighs? He growls, his grip tightening as he leans in, voice low and taunting, “they will look perfect spread, don’t you think?”
redamancy | jason todd
genre: comfort x3
warning: jason todd
summary: jason is reminded of how much he loves you–and how much you love him
a/n: after a handful of failed tinder dates, i just needed to write something to remind myself that if no one got me jason todd got me
Redamancy: a love returned in full
The word itself stems from the New Latin redamantia, and from the Classical Latin redamō meaning, “I requite love”. How we translate redamancy is this: a love returned in full; an act of loving the one who loves you; the act of loving in return.
He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but the clicking sounds from your last-minute essay writing and the soft sounds of The Cranberries had lulled him into the first real nap he’s taken in the last few months. The book he had barely gotten a chapter through laid over his face, blocking the overhead lights you both hated but you swore made you more motivated to do homework. In reality, you just hated them so much that it drove you to work quicker so you could turn them off as soon as you were done.
You had a lot of small things like that – things that made Jason’s heart swoon in a way he didn’t think it was capable of. Like when you tell him that pile of laundry would eventually get done, you just had to get hit with the cleaning zoomies which occur “approximately every 3-4 weeks.” And when you do get hit with the cleaning zoomies, you put on your headphones, blare Deftones, and deep clean your entire apartment. You could spend hours cleaning the bathroom, neglecting all your other responsibilities.
Like eating your meals, which in that case Jason always came to your rescue. He’d pat your pretty head and once you took off your headphones and looked up at him with those eyes, he’d tell you he made your favorite meal. You’d reluctantly go to eat with him, and after enjoying the meal with your lover you’d feel lazy. You’d blame him for ruining your motivation, and Jason would just kiss your sweet lips and tell you he could find a way to motivate you again.
Jason also likes the way he feels when you look at him. You two would be over at Roy’s place, Lian in Jason’s lap as Roy talked about some sports team that pissed him off recently. And Jason would be bouncing Lian in his lap or mindlessly curling her hair with his fingers. Roy’s voice would fade into the background and your focus would only be on Jason – on that smile that creeps on his face whenever Roy curses and Lian repeats it, on the way his eyes seem to gleam whenever he glances over at you, on the way you picture him holding your child, which you two have talked about but you’re both far too young to consider now.
And Gods, when he catches on to you staring, his hands get clammy the way they did when he first met you. His cheeks turn as red as his vigilante helmet and he noticeably clenches his jaw to keep from nervously laughing. He’s never been looked at with that much love before. He’s had you by his side for years yet he still hasn’t gotten used to the feeling.
What is he supposed to do when he wakes up to the feeling of you perching yourself on top of him during his nap? He remains still, for the most part, feigning sleep as you try to get comfortable. You must have finished your essay because from under his book’s pages, he can see a candle flickering, the smell of whiskey and vanilla filling the small apartment. He’s quick to close his eyes when you gently move the book away. He hears you take his bookmark, one you had handcrafted yourself, and save his page before setting the book aside. He feels as you lay down fully, your head resting on his chest and your arms attempting to wrap around his waist. Your head moves as Jason’s heart flutters, and your lips brush his jawline in a way he’d only let you do.
“Baby,” you whisper to him, your hand moving to brush the bangs away from his face. He pretends to be woken up, his eyelashes fluttering open to see you.
“Hi,” he manages to whisper, making a smile form on your lips. You lean in and nuzzle your face against his neck, and a shaky breath leaves his lips.
“How’d you sleep?” you mumble against his skin. He slowly moves his hands, slipping them under your hoodie so he can hold your hips. You feel so warm.
“Fine,” he mumbles back, watching as you lift your head. You look like Heaven, and Jason’s heart is pounding so hard against his chest he fears it may explode.
What a beautiful way to die, he thinks.
“Finished your essay?” he asks, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. His thumb slowly brushes your chin, then traces your bottom lip. You blush, leaning against his palm.
“Mostly,” you admit sheepishly. “You looked so comfy and I was starting to get a headache, so I wanted to cuddle with you. I’ll finish it tomorrow morning.”
He bites back the smile you never fail to produce, and his thumb pulls back your bottom lip.
“That can be arranged,” he says, tucking your outgrown bangs behind your ear. His fingers trace along your earlobe, fiddling with the earrings you wore. A peaceful silence falls over the two of you, and Jason’s extremely aware of the look in your eyes. His cheeks twinge that red shade, and he clenches his jaw.
“I love you,” you finally whisper. He gulps, his eyes flicking to yours. At that moment, he swears no one could make his body react in the way you managed to do.
“I love you too,” he whispers back after a few moments. The words are new to him, almost sounding foreign on his tongue. But he makes an internal promise to practice this language for you.
He practices it as you lean down and press your lips to his. He cups the back of your head to bring you closer, in an attempt to become one. You let out a soft sigh that makes his body shiver, and you pull away with yet another gorgeous smile on your lips.
You lay on him again, your head resting in the crook between his shoulder and neck. Jason’s fingers thread through your hair as soft snores leave your lips.
He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but your body on his makes his eyes shut and his arms move to rest around your shoulders. His muscles relax and his heart returns to its natural pace. He feels you shift for a moment, your lips brushing his neck to give him one final kiss. To remind him you’re here, and that you’re not going anywhere.
Another thing Jason loves about you – you love him back just the same.
HOW HE LOVES | d. wayne | 0.4k
SYNOPSIS: how does damian wayne show his love for you?
ANON: “hi author!! wanted to just make an ask to see if you would write something with damian? if it's okay with you, may it be sfw and romantic? hc's or not, whatever you prefer!!”
A/N: i did some research about his culture and found some interesting facts about how love and endreament is shown in the arabic languages. if i made any mistakes while turning the gendered phrases gn, please let me know.
✹ ꕀ MLISTS . NAV.
REDAMANCY: The endless labyrinth of your minds has been unlocked and explored by both of you. Words are unnecessary for Damian to understand what you want and need. Your presence has left an indelible mark on his heart. It’s the way the two of you gradually reshape your speech, crafting a language of your own—how a glance across a crowded room signals that you want to leave, and he’s at your side in an instant. Your hand finds his. Together, you’re out the door. He knows your routine by heart. He knows you’ll come home tired, so he’s already queued up your favorite show on the DVR, snacks spread out on the table.
ACTIONS FOR YOU: In the beginning stages of your relationship, Damian doesn’t express his love through words or elaborate phrases woven with sophistication. His love shows in his actions—the subtle ways he tries to brighten your everyday life. It’s the way he washes your hair when you’re too exhausted, how he wakes up early to prepare you something to eat, how he ties your shoelaces when they come undone, how he straightens your outfit with care.
“I’ll do it. Only because you asked me to.”
ONLY YOU: Damian only sees you. The crowd fades to a dull blur, while you stand out like the sun. You’re his choice, the one he wants to share every moment with. Waking up, getting ready, cooking, strolling to the grocery store, wandering through the park at dusk—all of it is with you. He can’t imagine it any other way.
“You—you are the exception, ya hayati.”
THE DETAILS: Nothing escapes his notice. It’s the way he brews two cups of coffee for you both, the way he listens to every word you say as though it’s etched in his mind, even if it’s as simple as how your day went. After particularly hard days, he stays close. He peels a piece of fruit, splitting it in half to share, because everything tastes better when it’s with you. Damian cares for the small things.
“You’re definitely the only person I’d do this for.”
WORDS LIKE AMBROSIA: As your relationship deepens, Damian’s promises become like whispered prayers on an altar—a vow etched into his soul. With his words, he assures you that he’ll be by your side, if you’ll have him. Softly, he tells you, “Bahlam feekum”—I dream of you—each night, a phrase that carries weight in its quiet way. To dream of someone is no small thing; it’s a gesture of devotion.
© ROBINSFILM ﹕ I do not give consent for my writing to be posted or used on any other platforms without my permission and proper credit.
⟢ 𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐍 𝐊𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐁𝐅 𝐇𝐂𝐒 • GN!S/O!READER | FLUFF.
⟢ 𝐇𝐘𝐄𝐎𝐊 𝐆𝐖𝐎𝐍 𝐇𝐂𝐒 • GN!S/O!READER | FLUFF.
⟢ 𝐉𝐔𝐖𝐎𝐍 + 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎 𝐄𝐗 𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐒 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐂𝐒 • FEM!RIVAL!READER | FLUFF.
⟢ 𝐒𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐖 𝐈𝐍 𝐏𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐂 𝐕𝐒 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐄 • GN!S/O!READER | FLUFF.
⟢ 𝐉𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐅 𝐇𝐂𝐒 • GN!S/O!READER | FLUFF. ⟢ 𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐂𝐒 • GN!S/O!READER | FLUFF.
⟢ 𝐒𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐖 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐂𝐒 • GN!S/O!READER | FLUFF.
⟢ 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐏𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐓 𝐒/𝐎 • GN!S/O!READER | FLUFF.
⟢ 𝐉𝐔𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐅 𝐇𝐂𝐒 • GN!S/O!READER | FLUFF.
⟢ 𝐔𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐆𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓 wooin • GN!READER | N/A.
You’re Jay’s best friend. And you somehow stumble into Wooin, turns out you guys have the same taste in suckers.
⟢ 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 joker • FEM!READER | FLUFF.
You have an arcade date with Joker
⟢ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇 vinny hong • GN!READER | FLUFF.
You end up spending the night alone on the beach with Vinny.
⟢ 𝐌𝐔𝐓𝐔𝐀𝐋 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 harry shepherd • GN!RIVIAL!READER | N/A.
You and Harry are both on Light Calvary team, and despise each other.
⟢ 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 jay jo • GN!BESTFRIEND!READER | FLUFF.
You and Jay have been childhood friends forever, apparently he’s developed some feelings within that time.
⟢ 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐀𝐃 harry shepherd • FEM!READER | ANGST.
Harry has been cheating on you for months now, you decide to confront him
𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒 || 𝐅. 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐬 - 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
･:*:･ 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒 ⇢ 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐱 𝐠𝐧!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
･:*:･ 𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇… 𝐘/𝐧 𝐂𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐲𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝟐𝟗 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝟏𝟑 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐨𝐥𝐝, 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝟒𝟑 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝐬𝐭 𝐝𝐮𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐬. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐢𝐞𝐠𝐨 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞, 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫. 𝐌𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐅𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐬, 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐝𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐰𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐧. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐨𝐭𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩, 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭? 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞, 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭.
･:*:･ 𝐒𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐮𝐩𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬, 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐝𝐞.
･:*:･ 𝐀𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐮𝐩𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬, 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. @navs-bhat 𝐈'𝐦 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬
ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴀʟꜱᴏ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ ᴀᴄᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ. ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ɪꜱɴ'ᴛ ᴀꜱ ᴍᴇꜱꜱʏ ᴀꜱ ᴛʜɪꜱ
𝐎𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬:
ᴏʀɪɢɪɴᴀʟ ᴏɴᴇ-ꜱʜᴏᴛ
𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬:
ᴢᴇʀᴏ || ᴘʀᴏʟᴏɢᴜᴇ
ᴀᴄᴛ ᴏɴᴇ ↴
ᴏɴᴇ || ᴡᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ꜱᴇᴇ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴀᴛ ᴡᴇᴅᴅɪɴɢꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴜɴᴇʀᴀʟꜱ
ᴛᴡᴏ || ʀᴜɴ ʙᴏʏ ʀᴜɴ
𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐐𝐮𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬:
ɪɴᴄᴏʀʀᴇᴄᴛ Qᴜᴏᴛᴇ #1
ɪɴᴄᴏʀʀᴇᴄᴛ Qᴜᴏᴛᴇ #2
ɪɴᴄᴏʀʀᴇᴄᴛ Qᴜᴏᴛᴇ #3
ɪɴᴄᴏʀʀᴇᴄᴛ Qᴜᴏᴛᴇ #4
ɪɴᴄᴏʀʀᴇᴄᴛ Qᴜᴏᴛᴇ #5
ɪɴᴄᴏʀʀᴇᴄᴛ Qᴜᴏᴛᴇ #6
© ᴜɴᴏꜰꜰɪᴄɪᴀʟ-ᴊᴀʏᴛᴏᴅᴅ-ᴡɪꜰᴇ. ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ/ꜱᴛᴇᴀʟ/ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ
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