League Of Justice Headcanons!

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.

† 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.

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bbsaeko

2 months ago

HER MAJESTY OF SMAUS HAS RETURNED YAY Could I request this SMAU please: you promising to post pictures of them in your IG to solidify publicly that he’s your BF, but you only post cheeky and sneaky pictures like his back, his hand and stuff like that (making it hard to tell who is it) and them getting irritated or amused by it (or they just don’t give a f)

with Kiri, Baku & Shinsou (and maybe Denks if you're generous) THANK YOU

HUZZAAAHHHHHH thank you for this silly req <3 even though its been a minute heh

soft launch // smau

kirishima, bakugou, shinsou, denki

HER MAJESTY OF SMAUS HAS RETURNED YAY Could I Request This SMAU Please: You Promising To Post Pictures

mha tag: @lotuslovers @babylambdietcoke @0skullyard0

katsuki tag: @bitchyfestivalbouquet @kaldurahms-lover

1K notes View Post

bbsaeko

7 months ago

i. what's up danger?

SYNOPSIS: "Alright, let's do this one last time. My name is Y/N Kyle. I was bitten by a radioactive spider, And I've been the one and only Spidey in Gotham. I’m pretty sure you know the rest." PAIRING: Older! Damian Wayne/Fem! Reader TAGS: Established relationship, Mild sexual jokes, Making out, Blood, Explosions, Mentions of Child Abuse, Good Aunt-Mom Selina Kyle AO3: yenwayne SERIES LINK: gotham's only spidey

 NEXT ->

༻⊰───⋅

“Uh, good morning?” you offered weakly, trying to give a casual shrug despite the mess around you. “Mom, this might sound insane. But, I think I might have accidentally discovered superpowers.”

Selina stared at you, blinking slowly as she processed the scene before her. Her lips twitched as if she were trying to hold back a laugh or perhaps some form of disbelief.

“Accidentally discovered superpowers?” she echoed. “I think you've been around your boyfriend and his family too much. Baby—”

Before she could finish, your hand instinctively reached out. With a flick of your wrist, a web shot from your fingers and latched onto the door behind her. In a heartbeat, the door was yanked from its hinges, splintering as it flew across the room and crashed into the wall with a resounding thud.

Selina’s eyes widened in shock as she turned to face the now doorless doorway. She blinked at the empty space where the door had once been.

“Well,” she said, “I guess that’s one way to explain things.”

༻⊰───⋅

Saturday, 9:02 PM - Catwoman’s Apartment, Gotham City.

SELINA'S DEFT FINGERS SLID over the fabric of the dress, adjusting and smoothing it until it drapes perfectly over your figure. The elegant emerald gown shimmered softly under the dim apartment lights, the material flowing luxuriously against your skin.

"You didn’t steal this, did you?" you murmur, adjusting the necklace that rests delicately around your neck. "I’d rather not end up in jail tonight."

"The dress? No, it’s one of my old ones," Selina scoffed, turning away and handing you a pair of black heels. "But if anyone asks about the necklace, just say it’s a family heirloom. Which, technically, it is."

You shot her a pointed look. She rolled her eyes with a smirk.

"Oh, hush. I haven’t stolen anything in... at least a month," she drawled.

"A month, wow! That’s a new record," you teased, slipping into the heels.

Selina laughed and shook her head. "Don’t get too comfortable. Just because I’m on a hiatus doesn’t mean I’ve gone straight."

"Well, let’s hope your hiatus lasts at least through tonight," you winced.

She smirked, giving you a once-over. "Trust me, darling, tonight is all about you."

You were about to respond when Selina suddenly snapped her fingers.

“Before I forget...” she said, reaching into one of her drawers. She pulled out a thigh strap and wrapped the leather around your leg, fastening it securely.

Then, she slid one of her blades into the strap. You rolled your eyes but accepted the gesture with a resigned nod. It was Gotham, after all—being prepared was always a need.

“Damian’s got me covered tonight,” you say, trying to reassure her. “You don’t have to worry so much.”

Selina paused, her hands still on the thigh strap, and gave you a skeptical look. “Sweetheart, I worry about you all the time. It’s not that I don’t trust Damian—he’s solid. But Gotham? That’s a different story. Where those Bats go, trouble’s sure to follow.”

You chuckled, adjusting the strap to make sure it was secure. “We’ll manage, mom.”

Selina Kyle might not have been your biological mother, but she became your mother the moment you were placed in her arms years ago. In that instant, the blood that bound you was inconsequential compared to the unspoken promise she made to protect you.

To Selina, you were her child. Not because of any legal ties or shared genetics, but because she chose to be your mother every single day.

And to you, Selina was more than just an aunt. She was the lifeline who stepped in when everything else had crumbled around you.

Selina and Maggie, your biological mother, had both grown up in a fractured family. Their father was a vicious drunkard. Their mother, Maria, was a ghost in their lives—emotionally absent and detached.

When Maria died, the world turned colder. The sisters were torn apart: Maggie was adopted by a warm, loving family, while Selina was abandoned to the unforgiving grip of Gotham’s orphanages. Those grim streets, steeped in shadows and danger, carved her into Catwoman.

But darkness has a way of creeping back into the light, no matter how hard you try to keep it at bay. Maggie, who had managed to build a life of stability and warmth, became a target for the shadows of Catwoman’s past.

Black Mask.

Kidnapped, tortured, and left to die, Maggie was nothing but a ghost by the time the attack was done. Her husband was slain in the carnage, and the only remnant of their family was you— barely a toddler, too young to grasp the gravity of your loss but old enough to feel its weight.

With no other family to turn to, she took you in, binding her fate to yours and vowing to protect you from a world that had already taken so much from both of you.

Her life wasn’t easy. She was young, barely in her twenties, struggling to make ends meet in one of Gotham’s most unforgiving neighborhoods. The meager jobs she managed to scrape together were barely enough to cover the rent, let alone the needs of a growing child.

Selina's decision to take up the mantle of Catwoman was never about the thrill of the heist or the allure of jewels; it was about survival—yours and hers. Gotham demanded a price, and she chose to pay it herself, risking her life each time she donned the suit to give you a chance at something better.

You grew up with a keen sense of the world, your intelligence uncovering bits and pieces of her double life. The mysterious disappearances, the luxurious items that mysteriously appeared—each clue painted a picture that you slowly began to understand.

When the time came for the truth to be revealed, it wasn’t easy

Selina’s hand glided across her vanity, fingers brushing over the cool surface before settling on a sleek black clutch. With a flick of her wrist, she turned and handed it to you.

You accepted it with a gleam in your eye, stepping back as you held it close. A playful twirl sent the emerald fabric of your gown swirling around you, catching the light in a way that made it shimmer.

“Well? What do you think?”

Selina’s stern look melted away like ice under a warming sun. Her gaze swept over your outfit, absorbing the delicate neckline, the tailored fit around your waist, and the gown’s fluid cascade to the floor.

In this small, quiet moment, the weight of the world seemed to lift. For just a heartbeat, she allowed herself to pretend that the two of you were simply a normal mother and daughter, sharing a simple, beautiful moment together.

“You’ve always had a way of making everything around you look better,” she purred. “You’re going to knock the whole school off their feet. Damian’s going to need a crowbar to keep the other guys away.”

Selina reached out to adjust the straps on your dress, her touch precise and caring. Her fingers brushed a stray strand of hair from your face, the movement as gentle as a whisper.

“Just remember, darling,” she spoke slowly, “it never hurts to stay safe.”

Ruby-red manicured nails tapped your cheek as she straightened up, a knowing look in her eyes.

Pause. Your eyes widened as you caught the hint of her meaning. “You’re not saying I—”

“I was at that age,” she interrupted with a mock-serious tone. “I’m just saying you should be prepared. Especially with the way that boy looks at you like you’re the only person in the room. You’ve got him wrapped around your finger. Make sure he wraps something else too.”

A flush of embarrassment rose to your cheeks. You sputtered and fumbled with the clutch in your hand. “Mom! What the hell?! I think that’s enough advice for one night!”

BEEP!

Just as Selina was about to respond, a car horn blared from outside, slicing through the evening’s quiet. Both of you turned towards the window, where a Porsche 911 emerged from the darkness. It looked painfully out of place against the backdrop of your neighborhood—cracked sidewalks strewn with trash, graffiti-streaked walls, and the occasional flickering streetlamp battling the encroaching shadows.

“Looks like your chariot awaits,” Selina said, her hands sliding up your shoulders as she gently nudged you toward the door. “Have a great time, but keep your wits about you. Gotham’s never as calm as it seems.”

With one final hug, you stepped out of the apartment and descended the narrow, dimly lit staircase. As you reached the bottom, you emerged into the cool night air, where Damian stood by his car parked right under a street lamp.

He was impeccably dressed in a deep black suit that seemed to swallow the surrounding light, giving him an almost smoky allure. An emerald button-up shirt peeked from beneath the jacket, its rich hue a perfect match for the striking color of your dress.

Damian’s smoldering gaze warmed as he saw you approaching, a small, approving smile curling at the corners of his lips. He lifted two fingers in a beckoning motion, and though you rolled your eyes, you stepped forward.

“Beloved,” he greeted, extending a hand to you. “You look stunning.”

“Hi, handsome,” you grinned, taking his hand and stepping closer to press a gentle kiss against his lips. Damian responded with a soft hum, his arm slipping around your shoulders as he tilted his head slightly. The kiss deepened just enough to make the moment linger, leaving a warmth that held between you.

Just as you were about to lose yourself completely, Selina’s voice sliced through the night air.

“You’re going to be late!”

Damian pulled away from you so abruptly that it looked as if he’d been yanked back by an invisible force. His face flushed a patchy red, a blend of embarrassment and irritation. He shot a sidelong glance at Selina, his eyes quickly shifting back to you.

Damian huffs, releasing a sharp exhale through his teeth. “Shall we go?”

The click of the car door echoed as Damian opened it for you, his lips twisting into a scowl. You settled into the plush passenger seat, the soft fabric of your gown rustling as Damian carefully lifted it to prevent any creases.

While you adjusted yourself in the seat, you glanced back and waved at Selina, her silhouette framed against the windows. A snort escaped you as you noticed the deadpan look Damian shot in her direction.

Damian was always somewhat awkward around Selina. As Robin, his view of Catwoman was clear-cut—she was a criminal to be dealt with. And yet, he still held a deep respect for her as your mother.

Once he settled into the driver’s seat and started the engine, the car roared to life with a smooth, powerful purr. The sleek vehicle glided down the streets with impressive speed, Damian navigating through traffic with a confidence that bordered on recklessness.

As he shifted gears, the radio flicked on, filling the car with a soft, pulsing beat.

This may be the night that my dreams might let me know All the stars are closer All the stars are closer All the stars are closer This may be the night that my dreams might let me know

Tilting your head back into the seat, your hair bunching around your shoulders, your thoughts drifted to the first time Damian took you for a drive. Both of you had been sixteen then, and his aggressive maneuvering had left you gripping the seat, your heart racing as if you were in a high-speed chase. Now, though, the thrill was familiar, adrenaline thrumming steadily in your blood.

The ride was brief but exhilarating, and soon the car pulled into the school’s parking lot. Sleek cars and limousines lined the lot, each more extravagant than the last. Students and their dates, dressed in their finest formal wear, mingled and laughed, making their way toward the entrance.

Stepping out of the car, the crisp night air greeted you like a refreshing embrace, carrying the delicate scent of fresh flowers and the faint strains of classical music wafting from the entrance. The soft glow of string lights and lanterns illuminated the path ahead, casting a warm, golden hue over the scene. Damian drew you close, his arm slipping around your waist as you walked together.

The ballroom was stunningly elegant.

Crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, their shimmering prisms scattering colorful reflections across the polished marble floor. Tables draped in white linens, adorned with fresh roses and flickering candles, lined the room. The dance floor gleamed under the ambient light, already alive with couples swaying gracefully to the gentle strains of Franz Liszt.

The whole scene practically screamed old money.

You were going to die.

You’d never quite get used to events like these. Over the years, you’d been to your fair share of galas and charity balls, mostly because of your relationship with Damian and that brief, awkward phase when Selina was involved with Bruce.

Each time, you had a knack for stumbling through social minefields, unintentionally insulting high-profile guests or spilling wine on someone’s multimillion-dollar gown And, without fail, the next day’s press would seize the opportunity to spotlight you and your social faux pas.

Gotham Academy, with its glossy veneer and elite crowd, was just another arena

It was a breeding ground for rich fucks, each one more insufferable than the last. The halls echoed with the chatter of kids who had everything handed to them, their lives a far cry from yours. The only reason you’d managed to slip through those gilded gates was thanks to the Martha-Wayne scholarship. Without it, you’d still be stuck in the middle of nowhere with your mother, scraping by on whatever scraps you could find.

“Ya amar, are you going to keep staring at the floor? Or may I have the honor of requesting a dance?”

Damian’s voice cut through your self-deprecating spiral as he snapped his fingers in front of your eyes.

Blinking up at him, you pursed your lips. “I don’t know... this is a really interesting floor.”

Damian raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “Oh, really? Pray tell, what makes it so interesting that you’d rather stand here instead of dancing with me?”

“I don’t know. I could stare at it all night,” you hummed, crossing your arms. “Plus, we’ve got to keep our thing going, you know? I can't give in that easily.”

“Our thing? What thing?” Damian blinked.

“The thing where we act like we hate each other but still want each other carnally,” you said, throwing your head back as you laughed.

"Tt," Damian deadpanned, reaching out to grab you by the waist. He lifted you off the ground, your feet barely brushing the polished marble beneath. You wrapped an arm around his neck and giggled, holding on as he carried you toward the center of the ballroom.

“You never miss an opportunity to mortify me, do you?” Damian scolded, gently setting you back down on the floor. Both of you assumed a waltz stance, your hands finding their places on each other’s shoulders and waist.

“I think I just enjoy keeping you on your toes,” you replied with a grin, swaying gracefully with him as the music enveloped you.

Damian's lips curved into a wry smile, despite his grumbling. "You know how much I despise these games you play, Cat."

“Oh? Cat?” you laughed, the rich, velvety fabric of your dress brushing against Damian’s sleek suit as you danced. “Are we going for the classic Batman and Catwoman trope here? Because once Selina retires, I could always take up the mantle of the next Catwoman.”

Damian’s smile dropped, replaced by a look of exasperation. “Please do not. I fear what will become of you then."

“Why not?” you asked, batting your lashes coyly. “Does the idea of me as Catwoman not thrill you?”

Damian made a noncommittal sound, his ears tinged with red as he averted his gaze.

“Don’t get shy on me,” you said with a grin, your voice dropping to a teasing purr. Your hand glided up his jaw, your touch lingering just enough to be felt.

A shadow of something intense flickered in the depths of his jade-green eyes. Damian’s grip on your waist tightened slightly, his gaze narrowing into a mock glare that barely concealed the warmth beneath.

“I guess I would not... be entirely opposed to that idea,” he muttered.

He led you into a slow dance, his movements fluid and graceful, reminiscent of those quiet, moonlit nights in his manor’s kitchen. You recalled late evenings when the room was bathed in the soft, silvery glow of moonlight streaming through the windows. On those nights, the world outside felt far away, leaving just the two of you swaying gently to the soft strains of music playing from his phone’s speakers.

It was moments like these that peeled away his walls. In the soft glow of the ballroom lights, the tender, affectionate side of him emerged—like a rare flower blooming in the quiet of twilight. Each layer revealed a deeper, more intimate part of him, offering you a special kind of attention that made every shared glance and touch feel intimate.

“This crazy, almost maddening attraction I have for you makes me feel like I want to stab myself,” Damian murmured as he spun you around, the fabric of your dress flared out like a blooming flower at his feet.

“Wow, you really have a way with words,” you said with a smile. “Admit it—you love every second of it, don’t you?”

Damian’s lips curled into a smirk.

“Perhaps,” he conceded. He drew you back into his embrace as he guided you across the dance floor, your bodies moved in perfect harmony, like two pieces fitting together in a delicate puzzle.

The world around you seemed to blur into a gentle haze of soft music and swirling lights. Damian’s gaze, however, remained sharp and vigilant.

“I don’t like how they’re staring at you,” he murmured, his green eyes narrowing as they scanned the crowd. His voice carried the familiar edge of possessiveness. “Perhaps they need a reminder of whom you belong to.”

“Damian, no—”

Before you could protest, Damian leaned in, closing the distance between you with a smooth turn of his head. The kiss was tender yet heated, his teeth gently tugging at your bottom lip.

Anyone who glanced your way would see Damian Thomas Wayne with his lips pressed against yours, making it clear who he was with. It wasn’t the first time he’d been so overt—there was that incident when you both ended up in detention because he couldn’t keep his hands off you by your locker.

You whined softly, trying to pull away, a thin strand of saliva connecting your lips in a delicate, glistening thread. “We’re in public—”

“Shut up,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough yet tender, before diving back in. The breath you had been holding escaped in a slow, shuddering sigh, mingling with his as he drew you closer, his hands firmly cupping your hips.

Damian seemed to swallow every sweet sound you made, chuckling softly as you mumbled curses against his lips, your grip on his tie tightening. The world around you blurred into insignificance, leaving just the two of you enveloped in a bubble of intense sensation. Your breaths came in ragged bursts, eyes fluttering open and then closing again, lost in the heat of the moment. When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless and flushed, the lingering electric buzz of the kiss still crackling in the air between you.

Damian and you locked eyes, his face blank until a shit-eating grin slowly spread across his face.

"I hate you so much," you scowled. “You’re impossible, Damian Wayne.”

“Perhaps,” he murmured, his voice a low, teasing whisper. He leaned in, using your own words against you. “Admit it—you love every second of it, don’t you?”

Before you could respond, he tilted your chin up, his lips brushing lightly against yours as he whispered, “Let them see. They’ll just have to get used to the sight.”

The kiss was softer this time, more tender, as you swayed gently against him, savoring the moment of calm.

BOOM.

Without warning, the tranquility was shattered by a deafening explosion.

The sound of shattering glass and a violent burst of energy tore through the ballroom, turning the once elegant space into a scene of utter chaos. Crystal chandeliers swung erratically from the ceiling, their light flickering in disorienting patterns as debris rained down like confetti. The room erupted into a frenzy of screams and frantic movement as everyone scrambled for cover.

“Holy shit!” you gasped, your voice barely piercing through the screams and destruction.

CREAK.

A sudden, ominous groan echoed through the room, drawing your gaze upward. The chandelier, swaying precariously, seemed to shudder as its support gave way. Then, with a heart-stopping creak, the massive fixture began to fall.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Damian’s hand shot out, grabbing your arm with a firm grip.

“Move!”

You scrambled to keep up with his rapid pace, but your long gown snagged on the edge of a flipped table, sending you sprawling to the floor with a jarring thud. Your hand slipped from his grip, and Damian, realizing you were no longer beside him, turned back in a surge of panic.

With no time to guide you gently to safety, he yanked you up from the floor. He pulled you both behind the overturned table, using it as a makeshift barricade.

The chandelier crashed down with a thunderous roar, sending shards of glass, splintered wood, and shattered fragments spiraling through the air. As the debris rained down, you screamed and reached out desperately for Damian. Without hesitation, he rushed to your side, enveloping you in his arms. He pulled you close, pressing your face into his chest and shielding you from the rain of debris with his body.

Finally, the noise of destruction faded into a heavy silence. Damian lifted his head slightly, peering down at you.

“Are you okay?” he panted, voice edged with worry.

Shaken up, you heaved and shook your head vehemently, unable to find the words through your trembling fear.

“What the fuck was that?”

"I don't have a single clue," Damian shrugged, eyes still scanning the room as he peeked over the edge of the table.

From the smoke emerged a middle-aged man, suspended in the air by his mechanical arms—sleek, metallic, and bristling with a variety of intimidating gadgets. The arms whirred and slashed through the air with deadly force, carving through the walls and sending more chunks of debris down.

“You think you can just throw away everything I’ve built?” the man roared. “This school, this place, it’s all been a mockery of my work, my life! I’ve sacrificed everything for this and you’ve repaid me with nothing but scorn!”

Damian cursed under his breath. He settled back down, biting off the fingertip of his glove and pulling it off with a grunt. Pulling up his sleeve, he tapped an emergency button on his wrist, activating a silent alert to his family.

“We have to go,” Damian whispered. He shrugged off his suit jacket and wrapped you in the fabric, pulling you close. He lifted you effortlessly, cradling you in his arms as he sprinted through the chaos.

He carried you swiftly through the building’s hallways, the shrill sound of distant alarms and the echo of your hurried footsteps reverberating off the walls. When you finally reached a safer location, he paused briefly, his sharp eyes scanning the area for any further threats.

“I’ll be okay,” you said, your voice trembling as he gently set you down. You gripped his hands tightly, trying to steady your breath. “Do—do you have your suit?”

“It’s in the car,” Damian grumbled, frustration evident in his voice as he ran his thumb over your knuckles.

“I’ll stay here and start helping with evacuations,” you say, already moving to slip out of your heels, the shoes discarded onto the floor.

Damian opened his mouth to protest, but you cut him off, shaking your head firmly.

“No,” you said firmly, your scowl sharpening. “None of this again. I make my own decisions.”

Damian’s expression hardened. “You’re not a trained fighter. You’re not supposed to be in harm’s way.”

"It's just evacuations. I’m not going to be fighting," you met his gaze as you stood up straight again. “And I’m not going to stand by while others are in danger.”

“Fine,” he said begrudgingly, “but stay hidden and keep away from the villain.”

“I know,” you said softly, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. You met his gaze lovingly before turning to re-enter the chaos. The corridors were now a frenzy of frantic students and faculty, desperately trying to evacuate.

Damian shot you one last look before sprinting back toward the parking lot.

You slipped back into the ballroom, heart pounding in your chest. The smoke swirled around you, as decor and debris lay strewn across the floor. Amid the chaos, you spotted a girl trapped beneath a toppled table, her muffled cries barely reaching your ears. Clutching your dress in your hands to avoid tripping, you hurried over to her.

“Hey, we need to move!” you called out, shoving aside the debris and wrestling with the heavy wood. With a determined push, you finally freed her from the wreckage. She wobbled as she stood, but you swiftly caught her, your grip steady and reassuring. “You’re okay now. Let’s get out of here.”

“Where’s everyone else?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“Everyone’s heading for the exits. We need to move quickly,” you replied, guiding her toward the nearest emergency exit. The sounds of the villain’s rampage echoed through the room, punctuated by the distant wail of sirens.

Once the girl was able to get back on her feet and run on her own, you rushed to assist another group, directing them towards the exits and making sure they stayed calm.

SWISH.

There was a sudden, sharp slice, and you snapped your head back toward the ballroom. Damian had reappeared, now clad in his suit.

“Robin?!”

With a decisive, diagonal slash, his katana cleaved through one of the villain’s mechanical arms. The blade sliced through the metal with a sharp, resonant hiss, and the arm’s severed end burst into a cascade of dazzling sparks. Pieces of twisted metal flew through the air like shrapnel, their jagged edges catching the erratic light from the shattered chandeliers.

His cape, a deep, blood-red shroud, billowed behind him like a dark wave, trailing in his wake as he moved. The clash of his katana against the villain’s mechanical arms echoed through the room, each strike a precise blur of red and black.

Amidst the fight, your eyes were drawn to a figure huddled in the far corner. The student, paralyzed with fear, was frozen in place, eyes wide and fixed on the destruction unfolding before them.

Without a second thought, you sprinted towards them, nimbly navigating through the scattered debris and overturned tables. As you reached the student, you crouched beside them and gently placed a reassuring hand on their shoulder.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay. Alright? We’re going to get through this, but you need to move—now!”

The student’s terrified eyes flickered with a glimmer of hope as they slowly began to rise with your help. Their breath came in shallow, panicked gasps, each exhale mingling with the smoky haze that filled the air. You grunted, your muscles straining as you slipped your arms beneath their shoulders, lifting them to their feet.

"Move!" you urged, guiding the student toward the doors. Their feet stumbled over the debris, but you kept a firm grip on their arm, pulling them along through the chaos. As you hurriedly navigated the wreckage-strewn floor, you felt a strange tingling sensation creeping up your leg.

It started as a subtle prickle, almost like static electricity, but quickly grew into an unsettling sensation that made your skin crawl. You glanced down, trying to pinpoint the source, but the shifting shadows and debris obscured your view.

The legs of a spider, sleek and shadowy, crawled up the fabric of your emerald dress. Its tiny, pulsating body was nearly camouflaged against the rich material, and its eight eyes glinted with an eerie green glow, peering out from the shadows of the gown.

Oblivious to its presence, you continued leading the student toward the safer part of the ballroom, focused on ensuring their escape.

The spider’s glow intensified, its eerie green light pulsating with an ominous rhythm as it crawled up your arm. Just as you pushed the student to safety, a sharp, burning sensation erupted where the spider sank its fangs deep into your skin. A piercing scream erupted from your lips. The searing pain surged through your body, radiating outwards from the bite like a fiery wave. In a frantic, instinctive reaction, you slapped at your bicep, your nails digging into the skin.

Panicked, Damian’s head snapped in your direction, eyes widening in alarm as he spotted you writhing in pain. In his moment of distraction, a metal arm swung violently towards him. The arm connected with a sickening thud against his side, the force of the impact sending him hurtling through the air.

Damian crashed into a wall with a bone-jarring slam and his body crumpled to the ground, the force of the impact visibly shaking him. He lay there, gasping for breath, spit and blood spilling from his chin.

Groaning, he raised his head, feeling the crack in his mask press against his face. Strands of dark hair fell over his single exposed eye, partially obscuring his vision. Squinting through the haze of pain, he cursed under his breath as he saw the villain advancing toward you.

The spider's venom surged through your veins, a wave of searing, unbearable pain radiating from the bite. You stumbled and collapsed to the floor, struggling to stay upright. Pain tore through you as you crawled toward a nearby pillar, your fingers clawing weakly at the surface

Through the haze of your deteriorating vision and the throbbing fog that clouded your mind, you could barely make out the figure of the villain advancing toward you. His mechanical arms whirred with a menacing hum, their sharp, glinting edges catching the dim light of the ruined ballroom.

The last thing you saw before darkness swallowed you was a blur of red.

With a snarl, Damian lunged, his katana slicing through the air with deadly intent. The blade crashed into the villain's mechanical arm, the impact resonating like a gunshot. Sparks exploded from the severed joint, showering the room in a cascade of crackling light as the villain staggered, his metal limbs convulsing with malfunction.

Sliding across the debris-strewn floor, Damian executed a perfect skid, coming to a stop on his knees. He positioned himself between you and the advancing threat, his katana held in a poised, defensive stance.

“Is this all you’ve got?” Damian seethes. “A pathetic tantrum because your grandiose plans fell apart? You’re nothing more than a washed-up has-been clinging to your failures.”

“You think you know what it’s like to sacrifice everything? To watch your life's work crumble? You have no idea what I’ve lost! My research was going to change the world!”

The villain’s mechanical arms flared up in response, their whirring growing louder as he prepared to strike again. Just as an arm was about to land, the piercing whir of a batarang sliced through the air. It struck the villain’s mechanical arm with precision, a bright explosion erupting from the impact. Damian grunted as he braced himself, holding firm against the shockwave, his muscles straining to keep steady. One hand instinctively dropped to your head, shielding you from the force.

The villain recoiled in surprise, momentarily disoriented by the sudden blast, his movements faltering as the shockwave threw him off balance.

Suddenly, the room was engulfed in darkness. The lights flickered and died, plunging the space into a pitch-black void. Shadows danced along the walls, punctuated by loud bangs and the crackling of debris.

Through the darkness, Batman emerged, his imposing figure cutting through the shadows. The sound of his cape rustling was almost like a herald of doom as he got into a fighting stance.

“Robin,” Batman’s voice was a low, commanding growl, “take the girl. I’ll handle it from here.”

Damian wasted no time, swiftly scooping you into his arms. The icy chill of your skin against his own drove a spear of terror through him. The panic clawing at the edges of his mind was a monster he couldn’t afford to face, not now. He focused on keeping you as steady as possible, though your limp form felt like dead weight against him.

He tore out of the ballroom, his shoes skidding on the polished floor as he barreled into the hallway. His breath came in ragged gasps, each inhale burning in his lungs, but he didn’t slow down. He couldn’t. The entrance was just ahead.

Bursting through the doors, Damian propelled himself into the open air. The scene outside was pure pandemonium. Parents screamed for their children, kids clung to each other in terror, and the harsh wail of sirens pierced the night. Ambulance lights flickered like distant stars in the dark, red and blue blurs.

Now outside, Damian spotted a group of paramedics and, without a second thought, sprinted toward them. His hands shook slightly as he laid you down on the gurney, the coldness of your skin searing itself into his memory.

“She’s unresponsive,” he rushed out in a pant. “Pale skin, cold to the touch. Vital signs are unknown. She needs immediate attention.”

As he spoke, Selina rushed over, her fur coat billowing with each urgent step. The strands of her short, dark hair whipped wildly around her face, framing eyes wide with fear.

She bent down to your level, her breath visible in the cool night air as she placed a trembling hand on your forehead. Her fingers, warm against the alarming chill of your skin, recoiled slightly at the clammy coldness that greeted them. Selina winced, her gaze hardening as she took in the stark contrast between your deathly pallor.

“What happened?” she demanded, her voice taut with concern.

A paramedic, swiftly assessing your condition, replied, “We think she’s in shock. We’ll stabilize her and check for any other issues.”

Selina’s eyes, reflecting a storm of emotions, darted between you and Damian.

“Go,” she urged Damian, her voice carrying a firm edge despite the underlying tremor of her fear. “I’ve got this under control. Go take down that bastard and make him pay for what he did.”

Damian hesitated for a heartbeat, his gaze lingering on you. Every muscle in his body screamed to stay, but there was still a threat that left no room for hesitation. He nodded and without another word, turned and sprinted back toward the building. His cape flared out behind him, a streak against the night sky.

Selina's eyes followed Damian's retreating figure momentarily before refocusing on the paramedics. She watched them with sharp eyes, taking in every action and every word. Her hand never left your forehead, each pass of her thumb trying to provide comfort that her heart couldn’t.

As the haze of unconsciousness began to lift, you slowly became aware of your surroundings. The dim, unfamiliar light filtered through your closed eyelids, and a dull, persistent ache from the bite lingered in your arm. You winced, raising a hand to your arm to find that the pain had subsided, leaving only a faint, dull throb. There was no scar, just a vague sense of discomfort.

Was that just a dream?

Before you could think about it anymore, your aunt's face was already in your peripheral.

Selina's voice caught in her throat as your eyes began to flutter open. Her grip on your hand tightened involuntarily, a mix of relief and worry playing across her features.

"Hey, there," she said softly. "You gave us quite a scare, sweetheart."

You stared at her in confusion, teeth chattering against the biting cold. Selina’s eyes softened and she shed her coat, the plush fur rustling softly as it slipped from her shoulders. With gentle hands, she draped the coat around you, the dense, velvety texture brushing against your skin. The rich, warm scent of her perfume mingled with the coat’s embrace. As the coat enveloped you, its heat began to seep into your shivering body, gradually easing the icy grip of the cold.

“You’re going to be okay,” she whispered, the words more for her own reassurance than yours.

The night was supposed to be a celebration, a rite of passage, a milestone to cherish. Instead, it had turned into yet another brutal reminder of what Gotham’s streets truly were: a merciless battleground that chewed up hope and spat it out with a sneer.

God, this city was shit.

Selina sighed, pushing those thoughts aside for the moment. The priority now was clear: get you home and into dry clothes.

"How are you feeling?" she asked softly, her fingers tracing a path along your cheek as if trying to reassure herself that you were truly okay.

“Dizzy,” you mumbled. A soft groan escaped your lips as you tried to shake off the haze clinging to your senses. Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, only to snap open again with a jolt as a sudden realization struck you.

“Damian—where—” you gasped, your voice barely more than a hoarse whisper. In a frantic attempt to sit up, you tried to push yourself upright, but the paramedics and Selina were quick to intervene. Their hands gently, yet firmly, guided you back down onto the gurney.

“Whoa, easy there,” Selina murmured soothingly. “Don’t push yourself. The paramedics said you’re in shock. You need to stay still for now.”

You could feel the gentle pressure of her hands, steady and reassuring, as they anchored you in place. Her eyes, bright green, locked onto yours, conveying more than words ever could. She took a breath, her gaze flickering to the paramedics who were working swiftly around you.

“And Damian is... with his father,” she said, her voice trailing off as she gave you a look, the unspoken meaning in it clear.

Selina’s gaze shifted back to the paramedics with her usual air of confidence. She squared her shoulders, her tone now authoritative.

“Is there a chance I could take her home?” Selina asked, brushing her fingers through your hair with a gentle but firm touch. “It’s getting late, and I’d really rather have her safe in her room.”

The paramedic, a no-nonsense woman named Helen, gave Selina a critical once-over before shifting her gaze to you. Her eyes, sharp and assessing, took in your pale face and the faint tremors still running through your body.

“Well, she’s stable enough for transport, and we’ve done the basic stabilizing procedures,” Helen said, her tone pragmatic. “But she’s still in shock, and it could be risky to move her too quickly. Are you sure you can handle her?”

“She’s my kid. I’ve dealt with worse, believe me,” she replied with a wry grin.

Helen’s gaze softened slightly, though her voice remained stern. “Alright, but she’ll need monitoring for the next 24-48 hours. Light meals, plenty of rest. And no strenuous activity. She should see a doctor as soon as possible.”

Selina’s fingers idly traced patterns on the back of your hand as she listened intently to Helen’s instructions.

“I’ll make sure all of that’s taken care of. Thank you,” Selina said, her voice carrying a rare note of sincerity. Helen nodded, seemingly satisfied with Selina’s response. She handed Selina a card with basic instructions and a phone number to call if any complications arose.

Despite your reluctance to leave while Damian was still knee-deep in the battle, your hazy mind and Selina's insistence eventually led to you being pushed into the back of your aunt's sleek convertible.

The drive was a blur of city lights and concerned glances from Selina. You leaned back, your head resting against the cool, smooth leather of the seat. The gentle hum of the engine beneath you was a steady, rhythmic comfort, a small solace amidst the turmoil.

"Don't worry," Selina murmured, her eyes flicking to the rearview mirror to check on you. "Damian can handle himself. And the Bat will make sure he's safe. You rest. I'll tell you if anything happens to him."

Her words were a quiet promise amidst the rush of the city outside. You nodded weakly, feeling the weight of exhaustion pressing heavily on your eyelids. As the city sped by, its neon glow and shifting shadows blending into a dreamlike haze, you closed your eyes. The fatigue finally overtook you, and you drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.

༻⊰───⋅

Sunday , 9:02 AM - Your room, Catwoman’s Apartment.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

There was a deep, throbbing ache in your arm, an insistent rhythm that seemed to pulse with each heartbeat, dragging you reluctantly from the depths of sleep. Your eyelids fluttered open to the soft, golden light spilling through the curtains, bathing your bedroom in a warm, comforting glow.

Through the thin walls, the distant murmur of the waking metropolis began to seep in—honking horns, the rhythmic rumble of early morning traffic, and the intermittent chatter of pedestrians starting their day. Occasionally, a siren's wail pierced through the background noise, a sharp reminder of the city's ceaseless pulse.

Faintly, through the walls, the muffled sound of the living room TV drifted to you.

“Good morning, Gothamites! Looking for another beautiful day here in the city. Clouds to start off with, but a pleasant afternoon ahead. Temperature’s in the high 40s—”

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

With a groan of frustration, you reached out to silence the blaring alarm clock. As you swung your arm toward it, the clock was crushed under the force. It slammed into the table, which splintered and buckled under the impact. Wood cracked and shattered, sending fragments skittering across the floor. The sudden and violent destruction jolted you fully awake. You stared, wide-eyed and disbelieving, at the mess, your arm still extended in mid-air as if it was frozen.

“What the—?” you muttered, your voice trailing off as you inspected your hand. It looked like your hand, perfectly normal and familiar. Just a normal hand.

Carefully, you climbed out of bed, wincing as you surveyed the mess of splintered wood and scattered debris strewn across the floor.

You paused. A sudden, sharp tingle pulsed through your arm, like an electric jolt that raced beneath your skin. It was both invigorating and disorienting, sending a rush of awareness through your senses. Instinctively, you turned your head, your reflexes sharp as your hand darted out to catch a fly that had buzzed too close.

To your shock, your fingers closed around the tiny insect with a reflex you didn’t know you possessed. You stared at the fly, trapped gently between your fingers. Carefully, you opened your hand and let the fly go.

It darted away, disappearing into the room.

“Okay... That was new,” you muttered, shaking your head as if trying to clear away the confusion.

The tingling in your arm surged again, sharper and more insistent this time. You winced, the sensation both alien and unsettling, your mind struggling to grasp what was happening. Instinctively, you extended your hand, your gaze fixed on it in growing confusion.

Then, without warning, your fingers curled involuntarily, and something shot out from your wrist. A thin, silvery thread erupted into the air, glistening with a strange, iridescent sheen.

THWIP.

The web snaked through the room, swift and fluid, before anchoring itself with a solid thunk against the wall. The sight of it—a web, unmistakably organic, stretching taut and firm—left you gaping in shock.

“What the actual fuck,” you freaked out. You took a hesitant step forward and tugged on it, half-expecting it to dissolve under your touch. But the webbing held firm.

You tried to pull it away, but it stayed stubbornly in place. Grunting, you pressed a foot against the wall for leverage and yanked harder. The webbing resisted with surprising strength, and a series of warning cracks echoed before a chunk of concrete broke away, crumbling under the strain.

The sudden release caught you off guard, sending you stumbling backward. You lost your balance and fell hard onto the floor, the impact knocking the breath out of you. For a moment, you just lay there, sprawled across the hardwood, your chest heaving as you tried to make sense of what just happened.

“What the fuck did I just get myself into?” you muttered to yourself, a disbelieving laugh bubbling up in your throat.

When you finally moved to stand, curiosity got the better of you. Experimenting, you aimed your hand at different parts of the room, determined to understand this strange new ability.

This time, when you extended your hand, the web shot out with precision, latching onto a nearby lamp. You gave it a pull, and the lamp skidded across the floor toward you.

There was another tingle, and you perked up. The sensation was almost electric, a ripple of anticipation that seemed to focus on your bedroom door. As you turned toward it, the door swung open and Selina stepped in, dressed in her pajamas.

"What's with the noise...?” she trailed off and froze in the doorway, her eyes widening as they took in the chaos of the room. Broken wood and scattered debris covered the floor, interspersed with strands of glistening webbing clinging to the walls and lamp.

“Oh,” Selina murmured in surprise. She stepped cautiously over a particularly large piece of broken wood, her eyes darting around the room. Her gaze lingered on the webs, her brow furrowing as she raised an eyebrow at you.

Selina stared at you, blinking slowly as she processed the scene before her. Her lips twitched as if she were trying to hold back a laugh or perhaps some form of disbelief.

“Accidentally discovered superpowers?” she echoed. “I think you've been around your boyfriend and his family too much. Baby—”

Selina’s eyes widened in shock as she turned to face the now doorless doorway. She blinked at the empty space where the door had once been.

“Well,” she said, “I guess that’s one way to explain things.”

You stood there, face heating up as you tried to pull your hand back. “Y-Yeah, I think I need to work on my control.”

Selina shook her head, a frown on her lips. “Okay. First... Let’s get this mess cleaned up before the landlord starts asking questions. And maybe—just maybe—try not to redecorate the whole apartment with your... spider silk.”

༻⊰───⋅

A warm mug of coffee was placed in your hands as Selina settled beside you. You took a sip, but your knee continued to bounce in an anxious rhythm. She had called the school earlier to inform them that you would be taking it easy for the week, citing sickness as the reason.

You cast a glance at the puncture marks on your wrists with a mix of disgust and unease.

Oh, you felt sick alright.

"Alright," Selina said, taking a sip from her own coffee mug and setting it down with a clink. "We need to figure out what’s going on and how to handle it. The sooner we get a grasp on this, the better."

You nodded absentmindedly, flexing your fingers around your mug.

Selina sat with a laptop positioned between the two of you, its screen a chaotic mosaic of open newspaper articles and news websites. Humming softly to herself, she clicked through the pages, her eyes darting across headlines and images. The rhythmic clatter of her clicks was punctuated by occasional pauses as she focused on key details.

“Am I a meta?” you blurted out, staring at your reflection in the dark liquid of your coffee.

"Well," Selina began, her tone measured, "based on what we've seen so far, you're likely displaying meta-human traits. Though," she added with a wry smile, "I'm pretty sure I’m human despite the whole cat shtick. Same goes for your mother. Your father...well, that’s a different story."

You raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "What do you mean by that?"

"Secretive guy. Kind of insane," Selina murmured to herself. "He did genetics research—"

She paused.

"Wait a minute," she said, her voice trailing off as she seemed to piece together something significant. "Your father was involved in genetics research..."

Selina licked her lips before grumbling and typing into the laptop. The screen flickered, and she pulled up a dense academic paper with your father's name prominently displayed. The title read: "Genetic Enhancement through Arachnid DNA Integration: Potential and Pitfalls."

She stared at the screen for a moment, a mix of disbelief and concern crossing her face. "Total nutjob," she muttered, shaking her head.

You squinted at the screen, trying to make sense of the technical jargon. "So... what’s it say?"

Selina’s fingers danced over the keyboard, scrolling through the dense paragraphs. "It describes experiments involving spider DNA to enhance human traits—strength, agility, and reflexes. Medical use too."

RING!

The sharp ring of your phone shattered the silence, jolting you both. Startled, you fumbled with the mug in your hand, which slipped from your grip and tumbled toward the floor. Your reflexes kicked in, and your foot shot out, catching the mug mid-fall with a swift kick, sending it flying back up into your hand. You blinked.

Selina’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, her gaze flicking from the mug in your foot to you. She grabbed a notepad from the desk, her pen already poised, and began scribbling furiously.

“Fast reflexes,” she muttered.

You scrambled to set the mug back on the table, your hands slick with sweat as you snatched your phone off the couch.

"Hello?" you answered, nervously wiping your damp hands on the fabric of your jeans. "W-Who’s this?"

"Beloved?" Damian’s voice crackled through your phone, sharp with an edge of worry. Arabic curses slipped through his words. “I’m sorry for calling so late. I didn’t mean to. I was knocked out after the confrontation.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “You got knocked out? What happened?”

"Just a minor inconvenience for someone of my skillset," he said dismissively. "I’m fine now. But what of you? Father mentioned that Selina told him about your sudden absences from school.”

You hesitated, glancing at Selina, who shook her head vehemently. She pressed a finger to her lips, urging you to stay silent about the spider situation.

"Fine!" you squeaked. "Totally fine. Just... family matters."

Damian’s voice was laced with skepticism. "Family matters? Are you sure you’re alright?"

"Yep," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady despite the strain. "Absolutely. Just... you know, the explosion rattled me a bit. The paramedics said I needed some rest for a few days.”

"I can head over to care for you—"

Selina rolled her eyes and extended her hand.

“Give me the phone,” she said, her tone brooking no argument. You hesitated for a moment, but the stern look on her face made it clear you had no choice. Reluctantly, you handed it over.

"Damian," she greeted him with a sickly sweet tone, "this is Selina. Everything is under control here. There’s no need for you to come breaking into my apartment."

There was a grunt before Damian responded, "Miss Kyle, I insist. It’s no trouble. I should be there to help. As any partner would."

Selina’s eyes flashed with irritation as she leaned against the couch, arms crossed. "I appreciate your concern, kid. But it’s really not necessary. She’s fine."

"Fine?" Damian’s voice took on a mocking tone. "After a confrontation like that? I highly doubt it. Recovery after such an incident can be complicated.”

Selina scowled. Her voice cut through the phone line with a sharp edge. "Damian, do you seriously doubt my abilities as a guardian?"

There was a pause.

"With all due respect—"

"I've got this!" Selina hissed. "She's safe, she's resting, and you're not needed here right now. Understood?"

There was another pause before Damian reluctantly agreed. "Understood. But if anything happens—"

"You'll be the first to know," Selina assured him "Now, go take care of yourself. I have got this handled."

"Fine," Damian said, still sounding begrudging. "Take care."

Selina handed the phone back to you, her expression exasperated. “He’s persistent, I’ll give him that.”

“You couldn’t even imagine,” you snorted as you pressed the phone back to your ear. “Hi, baby.”

Damian’s voice crackled through the speakers, the faint static only adding to the gruffness of his tone.

"Tt. Hello," he grumbled, his tone falling flat. You couldn’t help but snicker, the sound escaping despite your best efforts to stifle it.

“Don’t be mad,” you whisper into the phone. “I’ll only be gone for a week. You’ll survive. Mom's right—I’m in good hands. You need to focus on recovering too.”

“Anything at all. Father and Alfred have confined me to my bed, but the window to my bedroom remains open. The sheer ignorance of their restraint measures astounds me—they failed to account for my skills in evading such confinement.”

"Please, don’t try to escape through your window on my behalf. I really don’t need Bruce lecturing us again,” you groaned, pressing a hand to your forehead.

“Very well,” Damian said with a hint of a pout, “but do remember, I am at your disposal if you should require anything.”

“Uh huh,” you hummed. “I’ll see you soon. Take care of yourself, Dami.”

“And you, my beloved,” he said, his voice softening. “Until then.”

There was a beep, and the call ended. You sighed, letting your hand drop.

Selina took a sip of her coffee, her lips curling into a wry grin. “He’s just like his father—equally obsessive and protective. Must run in the genes. That or we just have a knack for ensnaring emotionally constipated men.”

You laughed, a light, nervous sound that filled the room. As you tried to drop your phone back on the couch, you were met with unexpected resistance. The phone stubbornly adhered to your hand, as if it had decided to become a permanent accessory.

“Uh…”

You squinted at the phone, wriggling your fingers and trying to shake it off. No matter what you did, the phone remained firmly in place, glued to your palm.

"Sticky hands?" Selina suggested, glancing at the notepad in her hand now filled with scribbled notes and observations. She made a note with a touch of amusement, her pen moving quickly across the page.

Grumbling under your breath, you made a few more attempts to pry the phone off your hand. “Looks like it. Just another thing to add to the list of weird,” you huffed.

With furrowed brows, you used your other hand to grip the phone, attempting to twist it away. In your distracted state, you failed to account for your newfound strength. The device crumbled under your grip, shards of plastic and glass exploding across the couch.

You stared at the wreckage in disbelief, your heart sinking. Not missing a beat, Selina quickly scribbled down “Enhanced strength” on her notepad.

You grumbled as the remnants of your phone fell to the floor, a mix of frustration and embarrassment washing over you.

"Can't we—can't we call Batman for this?" you asked, your hand nervously tangling in your hair. "Why'd you stop me from telling Damian anyway?"

Selina’s expression turned severe. Her hands gripped your shoulders firmly, guiding you to face her.

"Listen to me. Batman, Damian, or anyone else cannot know about this right now."

"What—Mom—"

"Not a word," she cut in sharply. "This is meta-level stuff we're dealing with. The Bats don’t handle metas well. We need to keep this under wraps until we fully understand it. The last thing I need is Bruce doing something to hurt my daughter."

Your face fell as her words sank in.

Selina’s grip on your shoulders relaxed slightly, and her gaze softened. Her voice took on a gentler, more empathetic tone. "Power frightens people, especially when it’s something they don’t understand. When they encounter something extraordinary, their confusion often morphs into fear. And fear... well, fear can make people see threats where there are none."

She took a deep breath, her expression grim. "Batman, in particular, has contingency plans for every potential threat, even for his closest allies. We—I can't risk him viewing you as one." Her fingers tightened on your shoulders, a silent plea for understanding.

"Alright," you said quietly, trying to steady your voice. Lying to Bruce was one thing. But Damian... Damian was different. The thought of deceiving him felt like a weight pressing heavily on your chest.

Selina seemed to sense your hesitation. Her gaze softened, and she placed a hand gently on your shoulder. “I know it’s not easy,” she said, her tone soothing. “Damian is—”

“Different,” you finished for her, the word catching in your throat. “He’s always been there for me, and now... I’m just lying to him.”

Selina nodded. “I understand. But you know, that boy looks up to his father. There’s no telling he won’t spill something. I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

"I get it,” your lips pursed. “But... what do we do now?"

Selina’s expression shifted from intense to thoughtful as she took a step back, her grip loosening. She glanced at the scattered remnants of your phone, then at the notepad filled with her hastily scribbled notes.

"Well," she sighed, "we need to find another space. I think you've done enough damage in our apartment."

 ༻⊰───⋅

NEXT ->

Tumblr

ii. what's up danger?

SYNOPSIS: "Alright, let's do this one last time. My name is Y/N Kyle. I was bitten by a radioactive spider, And I've been the one and only S

859 notes View Post

bbsaeko

2 months ago

➺ 𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄 | ♡

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

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

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

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

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

766 notes View Post

bbsaeko

6 months ago

hes so hot

I genuinely love how in batfam fanfics….

Dick is like: little D (Damian), Timmy Tim, little wing (Jason) I’m on my way my baby bros!!!

And then in canon….

I Genuinely Love How In Batfam Fanfics….

Dick: *perpetually perturbed by his codependent siblings but knows he’ll never not answer cause who else is gonna pull their dumbassses out the gutter*

26K notes View Post

bbsaeko

1 month ago

barista (t.d.)

Pairing: Tim Drake x Reader

Word Count: 6.2k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I bet I’m better looking."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tim Drake was wearing a suit.

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

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

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

"Um, hey?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So, what will you be having today?"

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

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

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

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

"it's on the house."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

And yet—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which lead Dick to do some sleuthing.

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

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

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

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

"Are you sure?"

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

His eyes narrowed still, "Are you sure?"

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Last day? What do you mean?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You physically shook the thought out of your head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It was this morning!"

"I was eight hours younger."

***

Forever Taglist:

@simonsbluee

@notslaybabes

@superheroesaremyjam113263

@writers-whirlwind

DC Taglist:

@tchatso

@p--e--a--c--h--e--s

@sometimeseverythingsucks

@sokkas-honour

@unstable1902

@lostgirlheart

@missdisapear

@tadpole-san

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@uxavity

@battlenix

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@evermoore580

@dumbbitchgalore

@fuckingjinkies

@some-lovely-day

@that-one-fangirl69

@eloriis

611 notes View Post

bbsaeko

6 months ago

Confession:

"Rip in advance to Greg and Anna romancers if the Hunger looking dude is a LI he will totally eat up whatever screen time they have left"

123 notes View Post

bbsaeko

5 months ago

Our Love

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

A/N: something a lil mushy because I made a coffee to soothe my head from a couple drinks last night and i got inspiration HAHA nothing like some good fluff to start my morning ENJOY :) comment if your comfortable, please let me know if you enjoyed my silly words <3💐

Summary: It was a no sleep kind of night, but Jason being right next to you made sleep feel a little less important.

Tags: ✨FLUFF✨

Word Count: 1k

“I’m so tired that I can’t fall asleep.” You groaned into the pillow. Aches and sleepy eyes finally relaxing as you crawled into bed for the night, pulling the blanket over your body, morphing yourself into soft cushions.

You had all you needed to get a good night’s rest. A pillow with the perfect softness, comfortable pajamas, your teeth brushed, and your partner radiating a nice and relaxing warmth next to you.

But you only laid there, closing your eyelids trying to mimic sleep and unsuccessful in tricking your body.

“Welcome to the club.” Jason slightly chuckled as he laid in the spot next to you, the bed dipping at the two of you.

He laid on his stomach, arms laid beside his pillow with his head facing you. The blanket kicked aside, weaving between his legs from his movement.

You lazily reached your arm out and rubbed your fingers through his hair. Feeling the strands, swirling the white pieces to make it stick forward towards you. You smiled when you continued to section off different part of his head. By the time you were satisfied, the strands were going in every direction.

You listened to Jason hum while you played hair stylist, making mindless, unintentional movements, but Jason appreciated the touch, easing him into relaxation.

This time with intention, you slowly made your way down to rubbing his temples, physically making Jason melt into the mattress. The bits of tension in his shoulders easing.

Everything felt so perfect in the little world you both had. Fighting no night of sleep because it didn’t come easy tonight, but like the perfect person Jason was, you were in this together, soaking in each other’s presence at the fact that you didn’t have to face this alone.

Your fingers made its way to his cheekbones, gently smoothing the pads of your fingers into the bone. Using your thumb to rub his eyebrow, tracing the direction of the hair before touching the sensitive skin underneath his eyes.

The slightly darker skin, affected by months of no peaceful sleep. Only when he was so exhausted that his body would shut down for a moment, but it wasn’t rejuvenating, more akin to a reboot than a rest.

You analyzed his eye bags, letting a little bit of sadness seep into your own skin. Trying to soak up any of his struggles through the skin contact.

“We can’t sleep, but it just means I get more time with you.” You admitted, not fully realizing the cheesy line you said aloud.

“So romantic.” Jason smiled and your palm molded to the lift of his cheek. He kept his eyes closed, but the clear enjoyment from the skin-to-skin contact was felt in the way he was so content.

He was always a very patient man, allowing you to receive and offer the physical contact he didn’t give to others, but the way he didn’t flinch at even the smallest touch from you was bittersweet.

If he couldn’t sleep tonight, the least you wanted to do was get him to relax.

So, you continued to caress his face. Tracing over soft and textured skin. Feeling the slight overgrown stubble growing onto his jaw.

Jason’s breaths were even, letting you do whatever to his body. Trusting you enough to keep his eyes closed as you roamed his face.

“What should we eat for breakfast?” You asked him, your fingers gently touching the edge of his lips, tracing a healed over scar.

Memories came back to you, of you sitting in the rain of a back alley. As you felt your body freeze over looking at Jason covered head to toe in soot and a mixture of his and another’s blood, only the drops of rain cleaning tiny bits of his skin from the damaging night.

You tried to reach your hand out to touch him, to see if that really was the Jason you shared so many memories with. You remember that your hand shook so badly that you couldn’t even touch the gash on his lip profusely bleeding.

The flinch that ignited Jason out of his stilled state once you did manage to touch the sensitive skin for a moment.

“I’m thinking we could pick up something.” Jason suggested, interrupting your thoughts, slightly moving his head toward the hand that stopped moving while you stayed silent. “I remember you talking about the spot down the street. You must be craving it because you mentioned it every time we passed it.”

You continued your rubs again, pushing back harsh memories and resurfacing back to reality.

“We haven’t been there in a while. I wonder if the owner remembers us.” You used your thumb to trace Jason’s nose. The slight bump was no doubt from a previous fist fight gone wrong and it must’ve really hurt.

“We went there probably three times a week, we even have a photo on his wall.” Jason warmly laughed. “He might buy us a ‘Welcome Home’ cake if we go back.”

Jason opened his eyes, his eyelashes moving from his cheek to fully see you. A kind, childish sparkle was in the centers of his eyes. It brought another smile to your face.

“I wouldn’t mind cake for breakfast.” You let your hand travel down to his jaw, to the back of his neck.

You felt the overgrown hair as Jason also reached out to rub at your side.

A subtle ticklish feeling was making you want to flee from the funny feeling, but also refrain from breaking contact. Jason played at this motion by continuing to run his fingers into the fabric of your clothes, but once he was satisfied in making you slightly squirm, he let his hand rest on you.

“Breakfast cake it is.” Jason spoke into the relaxing air, tracing your face with his eyes. Making longer glances at his favorite features, knowing every detail.

“I can’t wait.” You looked back at him, seeing the messy hair you styled and his love-struck tender gaze. How his cheek slightly smushed from laying on the pillow, his scar that crushed your soul, and the gaze you would move Gotham for.

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bbsaeko

6 months ago

what if batfam catches reader listening to Ayesha Erotica? Or just "inappropriate" music in general? I know for a fact Tim would snitch so hard...

Ayesha Erotica 🔛🔝❗❗❗❗

Anyway, what they do depends.

Are you younger than 15? Then turn that shit off >:(

I'm not gonna send you nudes, chad--

WHAT VULGAR LANGUAGE!!!! DON'T LISTEN TO HER, CHILD!!!!

"But dad, she's Ayesha Erotica, she's 13 years old, and she's a porn star :((("

I don't think this would actually happen, but the image of Jason smashing a speaker with a bat (a baseball bat lol) flashed in my mind. I'm not saying that he would, but...

What if you're between 15 and 21? If your behaviour isn't getting worse after you started listening to Ayesha Erotica, then you MAY be allowed to listen to her music. If you're a good child and not too wild, then Bruce would begrudgingly let you listen to her. HOWEVER, make sure that he is FARRR away when you turn that music on >:(

He cannot for the life of him imagine you listening to that or even singing it!!!!! Let him remain in denial!!!!

Dick would be unsure if he agrees with Bruce's sentiment, but as long as you are good and listen to them (and are not a rebel), he wouldn't complain.

Damian would also be uncomfortable, but if father says it's okay, he will not comment on it.

You probably think that if you're above 21 that you could 100% listen to it, right? Well, no.

Again, it depends. Have you adapted to the family? Yes? Hmm...

After careful consideration, Bruce has decided that if you, from that point on, hadn't tried to escape for over 2 years, then he would begrudgingly allow it, but please, buy headphones.

Assuming that Bruce made it clear that you could NOT listen to Ayesha Erotica after he heard the lyrics of Emo Boy, you would be snitched on if anyone heard you listening to it.

Dick hears the song coming from your room? Snitched. Jason sees it on your screen? Snitched. Tim sees your phone screen on his pc and SNITCHESSSSSSS.

Cassandra sneaks up on you and listens to the music with you? Well, she may snitch, but she may also pretend that she was never even there. Stephanie hears the first second of Tome Mi Foto? Fuck it, she's singing with you.

Yes, the girlies are cool like that. They won't snitch. Anyway, it would be a pity if Bruce found out just because you refused to sleep in their room, right? ;D

Damian wouldn't even tell Bruce, he'd just tell you to turn that disgraceful music off. If you refuse? Snitched.

Duke would be on the edge, not sure if he would want to snitch or not. On one had, the music is making his head hurt. You're his sibling and shouldn't be listening to Vacation Bible School, because of the...interesting lyrics. However, he doesn't want to be a killjoy. In other words, it depends how you are to him.

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