i knew almost nothing about donna troy and after reading the titans 2025 annual i am in tears i love her so much that is my girl now and i need to read more of her
gn!teacher!reader, no use of y/n, red hood x reader if you squint
Everyone that lives in or around Crime Alley knows Red Hood. They know he’s one of them, that he grew up on the same streets and stayed to become the protector of the side of the city overlooked by the authorities and vigilantes alike. But they don’t only know Red Hood as the man who runs Gotham’s underground.
Children know him as an older brother figure always ready to give advice, provide encouragement, or soothe worries. They know him as the man that provides some of their parents with jobs and benefits without being pushed into the more unsavory aspects of how he makes a living. He’s their tutor, babysitter, and referee for the occasional kids soccer game in an abandoned lot.
Red Hood is the most stable adult figure in their lives. These children don’t call out for Batman for help. They call out for Red Hood.
So it wasn’t a surprise that Red Hood accepted a request from a young child to come to his parent teacher conference because the child’s elderly grandmother wouldn’t be able to make it to the school.
Well, it was a surprise for you.
You taught in a public school on the poorer side of Gotham, the district that contained Park Row. Not all of the children that should be in school actually attended. Amongst those that did come, a small percentage came regularly. Many of the children had different circumstances that prevented them from doing so.
But then the Red Hood appeared and slowly but surely more children began attending school daily. One of these was Caleb. Caleb was a bright and charismatic student in your class. You learned him and his younger sister were adopted by an elderly lady who lived in Park Row. None of the three were related by blood to each other, but they formed their own little family. From the little information Caleb shared, it seemed like he and his sister were orphans that found each other on the streets. He fiercely protected the little girl he deemed his sister alone until Josephine, the one they call grandma, came across them and took them in.
Josephine is an elderly lady, having difficulty getting around due to an explosion from a rouge’s antics nearly turning deadly. While she was lucky to make it out the situation alive, she no longer has much use of her legs. The school was a bit of a journey from their apartment for someone like her.
You had offered to visit their apartment or do a video call, but Caleb refused. He said someone will make it. You never thought it would be the Red Hood.
You stare wide eyed as you take in the sight of the large helmeted man padded in Kevlar armor at your classroom doorway after hours. You had never been so close to a vigilante before. Your eyes flicker to his holsters. You couldn’t help but check if he was currently carrying guns. “Is a rogue loose in the school?” The sight of any vigilante meant danger wasn’t too far behind.
He shakes his head. “I’m here for Caleb’s parent teacher conference,” he responds. You blink at him as if he were speaking another language.
“Are you his guardian?” you ask slowly as your gaze shifts down to your student appearing from behind Red Hood’s legs. “Caleb?” you call over to him softly before squatting down. “Sweetheart? Where’s your grandma? I said I could come visit her if that makes it easier.”
Caleb shakes his head before pointing up at Red Hood. “Grandma said Red Hood can go for her.”
You can’t help but raise a brow. You aren’t originally from Gotham and aren’t too familiar with the relationship Gothamites had with the vigilantes of their city. You’re used to a distant relationship between a city and its hero. You can’t exactly imagine The Flash or Superman stepping in for a child’s guardian to attend a parent teacher conference.
You stand up and focus your attention on Red Hood. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to call Josephine to confirm as she’s Caleb’s legal guardian.”
Caleb is overall an easy child. Outside of a few comments about his abilities to socialize, you have nothing but nice things to say about him to Josephine, but a student’s information is confidential. It was in your best interests to call Josephine to confirm regardless of how much good Red Hood has done. He is still a stranger even if you did spot him walking a few kids home from school several times in the past. (You always double take when you spot him walking a line of kids. The other teachers who had been there longer don’t question it.)
Fortunately Red Hood doesn’t give you any trouble. He simply nods. “I understand,” he relents easily.
You motion for Caleb to follow you into the classroom. ”Come here, sweetie. Let’s call your grandma, okay?”
Caleb hesitates, looking up at Red Hood for assurance. You should be insulted. You were Caleb’s teacher for half the school year. You would have thought you had built enough rapport by now. But there was still a bit of a wall between you and the other students. You did your best, knowing the kinds of backgrounds they came from. But children are a lot smarter than most gave them credit for, and children that grew up like this were guarded. Failed by the system, failed by what society claimed would be safe, and forced to look for safety in other places such as a helmeted man with a gun.
Red Hood pats Caleb’s shoulder and motion towards you. “Go ahead, bud. I’ll still be here.”
Caleb nods and walks over to you, taking your outstretched hand. You give Red Hood a small smile as a thanks. “One minute please,” you excuse softly before closing the door behind you and Caleb.
Fortunately for you, you have all your students’ emergency contact information. You lead Caleb to the seat in front of your desk as you pull your cellphone from your desk drawer. Caleb fiddles in the seat as you flip through your clipboard with student information, landing on Josephine’s number. You dial it and put your phone on speaker so that Caleb could also speak to her if necessary. She picks up after two rings.
“Hello? Josephine? This is Caleb’s teacher,” you greet. “I’m calling regarding his parent teacher conference.” You glance over at Caleb.
“Oh, yes. Red Hood said he’d be able to take care of it,” she responds. “These legs aren’t what they used to be.” She chuckles in the way old people do when discussing their loss of their motor functions. “Did he have to reschedule?”
You blink down at your phone, taken aback. Huh. You didn’t doubt Caleb’s intent, to remove some sort of burden from his grandmother, but you didn’t think Josephine had actually spoken to Red Hood about this. “Oh, no. He’s here. I have to confirm it’s alright to speak to him about Caleb since he wasn’t a guardian or an authorized contact.”
“Oh yes, it’s quite alright. He helps the kids out with school more than I do nowadays,” Josephine informs me. “He’ll let me know if I need to be informed about anything.”
Caleb hops off the chair and bounds over to the door to let in Red Hood after hearing Josephine’s approval.
You nod, realizing a moment too late that she can’t see you. “Of course, thanks for letting me know.”
You motion for Red Hood to sit down in one of the chairs in front of your desk and nearly miss Josephine’s request. “Can you be a dear and put Red Hood as Caleb’s alternate emergency contact? I’m afraid there may come a time I won’t be able to be down at the school fast enough to pick him up if something happens. Can you do the same for his sister as well?”
You’ve heard of parents trusting superheroes with their children, but this was on a whole new level. “Right, of course. I’ll get that arranged. Since it’s the middle of the school year, the children will bring home a paper for you to sign for each of them to confirm the change in emergency contact. Once that’s signed, the office can add Red Hood to their file.”
“Perfect! Thank you, deary. And thank the Red Hood for me. He’s been a doll.” You hear the Red Hood chuckle under his helmet.
“Of course, Josephine. Have a nice day,” you say before ending the call.
You place your phone down, feeling awkward at the brick of a man in front of you with the small child at his side. Caleb kicks his feet out as they dangle off the chair, but Red Hood places a hand on his knee to steady and slow Caleb once your call is over.
“Sorry about that,” you say as you pull out a folder you had with Caleb’s work you had prepared for this meeting. “This is a little unorthodox, but if Josphine’s okay with it, I don’t mind talking to you about Caleb.”
You lay out the work, facing Red Hood and Caleb: spelling tests, math quizzes, and a book report. “Josephine mentioned you were the one who helps with his school work?” you ask.
Red Hood makes a sound of agreement as he looks over the sheets of paper. You can’t really tell with the helmet over his face if he is, but his head is tilted down slightly towards your desk.
Caleb beams at his papers and points to the math quizzes. “I told you I got better,” he tells Red Hood excitedly.
Red Hood chuckles and places a hand on Caleb’s head, ruffling his hair. “I know, squirt. Soon you won’t need me anymore to help you.”
That doesn’t seem to be what Caleb wanted to hear. His face falls and he quickly shakes his head. “No! I don’t know what one plus one means.”
Red Hood tuts and turns his head to Caleb. “Oh, really? Then looks like I’ll have to return the model airplane kit I was going to give you for doing well in school.”
Caleb whines as if physically pained. Seems like Red Hood put him between a rock and a hard place.
You can’t help but smile at the exchange. “I would hope you don’t start doing bad on your tests to keep seeing Red Hood, Caleb,” you comment to the child before looking back up at Red Hood. “Whatever you’re doing, it’s working. Caleb’s always shown to be a good student, but he doesn’t always apply himself. He seems to be doing so more these past couple of months.”
Red Hood pats Caleb’s head. “You hear that, squirt. Looks like you will be getting that model airplane kit after all.”
Caleb throws his arms up in the air and cheers.
You try to keep your focus on Caleb’s schoolwork on your desk as you quickly move between different pages. “Caleb’s one of our highest scoring students. I had actually hoped to talk to Josephine, or I guess, to you about getting Caleb tested for Gotham Academy.”
This makes Red Hood straighten up. “Oh really?”
You shift in your seat as you set the papers down. “It’s not really a secret that this district doesn’t have the best resources. I would like for all of my students to have this chance, but I really think Caleb could win it. Gotham Academy has a couple scholarships for underprivileged kids. Bruce Wayne funds the largest one that goes to children from Park Row. It’s the Jason Todd scholarship. It covers one child per grade. There are other scholarships for older children, but the Jason Todd scholarship is the only one available for children Caleb’s age.”
You motion over to Caleb who’s in his own world, still riding the high over the idea of his gift. “His younger sister won’t be eligible for a couple years though which is what worries me. Those two are extremely close. I’m afraid they’re too dependent on each other. I think he would purposely fail if he knew he wouldn’t be attending the same school as her. But it’s easier for children to get the scholarship when they’re younger as it stays with them the duration of their time at Gotham Academy. If it goes to someone else, it won’t be open for his year unless that student leaves the academy. I know they’ve been reliant on each other for their whole lives, more so than they should be due to their circumstances, but I think it’d be good for them to have a bit of separation as well. And it will only be two years if his sister also wins the scholarship for her year.”
You pull out a couple pamphlets from your desk, one for Gotham Academy and one for the Jason Todd scholarship. “If you can please talk to Josephine about this. The testing will be next month and conducted here. If he passes, he gets automatic admission and a full ride. It’ll cover everything so his tuition, his textbooks, his uniforms, and food from the cafeteria. He also gets a generous stipend for things such as public transportation, school supplies, and miscellaneous costs.”
Your words are muffled to the vigilante as, unbeknown to you, Red Hood is thinking of his own time at the academy.
Little Jason Todd just happy to be there. He didn’t care that the students looked at him different for more than just his adopted father being Bruce Wayne. They saw him as lesser, as dirty, no matter how kind and friendly he tried to be. But it was fine. He loved to learn. He loved it so much so that he would skip patrol and being Robin, the other thing he loved with all his heart, to do school work. Jason was excited to get a shot at a genuine education and not the sham of an education from that boy’s home or the bits and pieces he’d teach himself from thrown away books.
Not that it mattered at the end: how his peers saw him, his grades at the academy. He died before he could finish high school and receive his diploma.
“Umm, Red Hood? Sir?”
He shakes his head slightly as he pulls himself from his thoughts. Does he want to push Caleb towards that? He doesn’t disagree that the quality of education at Gotham Academy was superb. Nothing but the best for the children of Gotham’s elite. But the quality of people? A hit and a miss, but more likely than not, typically a miss if the people were similar to the ones he dealt with as a student.
Red Hood takes the flyers from you. “Yeah, I’ll talk to Josephine,” he comments gruffly as he stands up, the chair squeaking as it’s pushed back against the floor. Caleb hops off the chair to follow after Red Hood.
You tilt your head, confused by the reaction but shrug. “Well, that’ll be it with Caleb. He’s a bright young man. Still coming to his own socially but I’m sure everything will work out in time.” You reach your hand out to shake. “It was nice meeting you, and thank you for understanding earlier. I’m glad to see there’s another adult in Caleb’s life that he can count on outside of Josephine.”
You hesitate for a moment before tacking on, “The students adore you by the way. You’ve really made a positive impact on their lives. The other teachers have told me that it’s because of you that most of the students come to school regularly.”
Red Hood shakes your hand, allowing you to feel the thick leather of his gloves. Although his actions are normal, his demeanor is a bit shy as he chuckles. “Ah, it’s nothing. They should be in the classroom instead of causing trouble on the streets. Seeing these kids is a nice break from dealing with some of the other people I have to.”
You smile as your hand moves to your desk and you gather the schoolwork and pamphlets into Caleb’s folder. You hand it over to Red Hood. “A proponent of education I see. Have a good teacher growing up?”
“I think I was thankful for most teachers I had growing up,” Red Hood admits perhaps a bit too honestly. “I have been where some of these kids are. When I got to go to a real school, I was just excited to learn.”
You tilt your head at his words. A real school? You shake it off, not wanting to pry. “I’m sure you must have been top of your class when you were in school,” you comment. You never thought much of the IQ of vigilantes, but it would make sense they have as much brains to back up their brawns. Many of Gotham’s rogues did hold doctorate degrees. Even some of the lower level rogues had clever minds. You doubted a vigilante of all muscle would be able to defeat a Gotham rogue.
Red Hood shrugs. “I stopped going to school when I got old enough for grades and rankings to really matter.”
Although his voice went through his helmet’s modulator, there was something that sounded regretful in his words. Okay, that was definitely something you would have a harder time shaking off. If education was important to him, why would he stop going to school? It sounded like it was important to him when he was young as well. Your stomach sinks as you realize Red Hood must have been put in a situation where he had to drop out young. Your respect for Red Hood increases as you recognize he’s making sure these children have a chance for a better life than he probably did.
“Thanks for speaking with me, teach. I’ll talk with Josephine about what you said and see what they think about the academy.”
Red Hood is on his way out with Caleb in tow when you speak up. “I—” You stop yourself before you can get a proper sentence out. What could you even say?
Red Hood turns around, Caleb mimicking him. While you couldn’t see Red Hood’s expression, his head was tilted in a way that silently motioned for you to keep going.
“It’s none of my business,” you start carefully, “But if you haven’t gone back to school and you’d like to, I can provide you resources to get your GED. Many general education classes at Gotham Community College are able to be taken remotely and transfer to Gotham University. They have a partnership where the top 10% of students of the community college get guaranteed admission to the university. Some of the private schools in the state also have a similar program.”
Red Hood’s response is silence which only fuels your nervousness. Why did you open your mouth? “Sorry,” you apologize quickly. “I don’t mean to overstep.”
A chuckle. Red Hood shakes his head. “Nah, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Never thought much of getting my GED or going to college with the whole…” He lets his voice trail off, waving his hand as the implications fill themselves in. “Don’t really need it with this life.”
You simply nod, not trusting yourself to say much else.
“But maybe I’ll look into it. I’ll let you know if I need any help, teach,” he continues.
Your eyes widen, surprised he was open to the offer. You nod. “Of course. I know you walk some of the kids to or from school. Feel free to stop by whenever. I don’t mind.”
Red Hood makes a sound of acknowledgement, motioning for Caleb to follow him before you stop him once more. “Oh! Sorry, last thing. Before you go, may I please have your number?”
He chuckles. “A little forward, don’t you think, teach?”
Your cheeks flush. “For the emergency contact form,” you barely manage to spit out. “I need to add it to the form so that Josephine can sign it.”
Red Hood hums as if pretending to believe you. Dare you say, you think he may be teasing you? He walks back to the desk and fills out the forms you have out, one for Caleb and one for his sister. He doesn’t bother to sit back down, instead choosing to lean over the desk, hunching over as he writes in his contact information. When he’s done, he takes a step back and looks up at you. “All good?”
You look down to quickly scan through the forms. Perhaps if you were alone, you would have laughed at the form. It’s not like you were expecting to reveal his secret identity. (If he had one. You weren’t sure how you felt about the rumors that Batman and his associates weren’t human) But seeing Red filled in for his first name and Hood filled in for his last name would be hilarious if you didn’t have the pressure of Red Hood in front of you waiting for an answer.
You assumed the phone number was a burner phone and couldn’t help but be curious about the email address. Huh, you wonder if all superheroes had email accounts tied to their hero identities.
The address he gave though was Caleb’s address. You doubted he actually lived with Caleb — you were sure the boy would have said something about this at some point if that were true — but you were sure that administration wouldn’t mind. The phone number was the most important piece of information.
You pick up the sheets of paper and hand it to him with a nod. “Yeah, looks good. Have Josephine sign these and Caleb bring them back tomorrow. I’ll get it all sorted with the office.”
Red Hood slides the papers into the folder. He waits a beat by your desk. “Anything else?”
Your face flushes. You quickly shake your head, waving your hands in front of you. “No, that’s it. Thanks again for coming. Hope you have a nice night.”
Red Hood chuckles and waves Caleb over. “Alright, squirt. Let’s get you home. You still have homework to do.”
Caleb skips over to Red Hood and follows him out the door. “And a model airplane to build?”
You faintly hear a sigh, not one of exhaustion but one of amusement. Red Hood ruffles Caleb’s hair as they get to your doorway. “If you finish your homework early.”
Caleb cheers, his grin wide as he turns around and flails his hands in an excited wave. “Bye, Teacher! See you tomorrow.”
You wave back with a soft smile. “See you tomorrow, Caleb.”
Red Hood gives you a nod before they both disappear down the hall.
You let out a relieved sigh as you plop back into your chair. You knew your first round of parent teacher conferences at this school would be something, but you would have never expected this. You had never interacted with a vigilante one on one and never interacted with one for so long. How nerve wracking.
You quickly sit back up and compose yourself when a couple appears at your doorway, one knocking on your open door. “Ah, hello. Are you Simone’s parents? Please come in.”
Sukuna’s little nephew, Yuji, likes to overshare :)
On days like today, you often went to the park to enjoy the solitude, to read among the trees and take in the peace and quiet.
As an admirer of the beautiful green trees that thrived with the arrival of Spring, you decided to pull your phone out and take a couple of pictures, when suddenly, you felt something tug on your left pants leg.
You looked down, now staring into the blinking brown eyes of a pink-haired child. “Hi there. Are you okay?”
“Uh huh,” he nodded.
“Where are your parents?”
“Gone. My uncle’s here.” The boy pointed towards a man — a buff, tattooed one — who chatted on the phone a short distance away. “He says . . . he said that you’re pwetty.”
“Oh,” your eyebrows raised in surprise. “Well, um, tell him I said-”
“When do you come home with us?”
“Hm?” Confused, you tilted your head a little.
The little boy matched your head tilt with one of his own. “I asked ‘cause my uncle said he- that he’d take you home with him. When I’m home, I watch T.V.! I live with my uncle cause-because my parents are gone. Will you come home with us soon?”
The stunned silence didn’t last long, because, soon enough, the man who wanted to take you home was making his way over.
“Yuji!”
Yuji glanced back with a guilt-free smile.
“Yuji, what the hell are you doing?” The man gently grabbed the small child by his hoodie. “Sorry, lady.”
Looking up at his uncle, the clueless little boy went on, on, and on. “I just ask when she coming home with us. Because you said you wanted to-”
He was cut off by the man suddenly lifting him up. “Just for that, brat, your lunch has changed from dino nuggets to broccoli. No cheese.”
“But I didn’t do anything! Miss? Can you give me the dino nuggets when we go home? I’ll let you play with my twansformer toys!” The boy kicked, pouted, and gave his uncle hell as he tried to toss him over his shoulder.
“She doesn’t wanna play with your transformer toys, Yuji, and she isn’t coming home with us. God, you weren’t even supposed to hear that, you nosy little . . .” The man sighed in pure exhaustion, and, for the first time, found the courage to look you in the eye. “Sorry. I think he fell on his head a coupla times as a baby.”
“It’s alright. It’s funny,” you grinned.
“Can we get her ish cweam?” Yuji said, now using his uncle’s upper body like a jungle gym as he turned himself over to sit on his shoulder.
“Ice cream,” the man corrected.
Yuji frowned in frustration, chubby cheeks poking out, and he tried again. “Ice cweam.”
“Close enough.”
With a grin, Yuji did what he did best. Overshared. “You said that she’s super, super, duper hot, so I think that ice cweam will- because it’s cold, the ice cweam will cool her down.”
“Yeah, we’re leaving.”
The man turned away from you just as you started to giggle.
“Wait,” you called out, letting your laughter die down a bit. “I do like ice cream.”
they warn you about your neighbor jason todd the same way they warn you about black cats. and on halloween, you meet his cat in an alley, see through the superstition, and choose kindness where others always chose fear.
people in the neighborhood don’t really talk about jason todd so much as they talk around him. half-sentences, raised brows, little warnings passed along like they’re being helpful. don’t park there. don’t get involved. don’t expect anything nice.
you hear it through open windows when you walk past, through chain-link fences and over low music, through the way voices dip when he’s mentioned like he might hear them anyway. like he’s listening from the walls.
but jason never does anything that matches the reputation. he keeps his head down, hands in his pockets, fixes things that don’t belong to him without asking. you’ve seen him patch the broken gate by the alley late at night, quiet and focused, like it matters to get it right even if no one thanks him for it. mean people don’t do that.
so when you hear about the cat, you already know not to trust the story.
someone tells you it’s aggressive, feral, unpredictable. says jason dragged it home off the street like that explains everything. someone else adds, offhand, that it’s black—like that alone settles the argument. bad luck, they say. bad omen. the kind of thing you’re supposed to keep your distance from. you just hum and keep walking, already guessing how much of that is projection.
it’s halloween when you go looking for him.
the neighborhood’s louder than usual, porch lights blinking orange, fake cobwebs sagging between railings, kids running in packs with sugar-high laughter that carries a little too far.
people say it’s harmless, say it’s tradition, say it’s just jokes. you hear someone mutter something about bad luck and black cats and you feel that familiar, irritated pull in your chest.
you grab a jacket and your keys and head out before you can overthink it.
you don’t have a plan, exactly. just a feeling that sits wrong in your chest, heavy and insistent. the kind you’ve learned not to ignore. halloween does that to people—gives them permission to be cruel and call it tradition, lets them dress it up in superstition and laugh while they do it.
you cut through the block behind the strip of houses, where the lights thin out and the noise dulls into echoes. trash cans line the alley like a bad idea, lids dented, wheels squeaking when the wind nudges them. one of the dumpsters is tipped slightly open, lid rattling every time a car door slams somewhere nearby.
something’s been left behind near it—a kid’s bike tipped on its side, one wheel bent in on itself like it was kicked too hard. a plastic pumpkin is still taped to the handlebars, cracked straight down the middle, grin split and useless now. it feels intentional. like someone decided it was easier to break something than carry it home.
at first you think you’re imagining it.
then you hear it—soft, panicked, trapped.
you slow to a stop.
there’s laughter, too. not close, but close enough. you round the corner and catch the tail end of it: a group of kids in cheap masks, one of them kicking the side of the dumpster before darting off. “bad luck,” someone says between laughs, like it’s the punchline.
“hey,” you snap, sharp enough to cut through them. “get out of here.”
they scatter, startled, bravado evaporating the second they’re noticed. the alley goes quiet again, except for the rattling lid and the small, broken sound coming from inside the metal bin.
you crouch immediately.
“it’s okay,” you say, softer now. “they’re gone.”
a hiss answers you—thin, defensive, more fear than threat. you peer inside and see him pressed tight into the corner, fur puffed up, eyes blown wide. black as midnight except for a clean white stripe cutting through his fur, stark and unmistakable, like it was painted there on purpose.
someone wedged the lid down.
your jaw tightens.
“that’s not superstition,” you mutter. “that’s just being cruel.”
you don’t reach in. instead, you grab a stick from the ground and use it to prop the lid open, slow and careful so it doesn’t clang shut again. the sound makes him flinch, body tensing like he’s bracing for another scare.
“hey,” you murmur. “i see you.”
your voice comes out softer than you expect, like you’re talking to something fragile instead of something everyone keeps calling dangerous. you don’t move closer. you don’t reach in. you just stay right there, knees pressed to the pavement, hands loose in your lap so he can see you’re not a threat.
he only settles when your hands stay where he can see them, fingers still.
his body stays coiled tight, every line of him drawn inward, claws scraping faintly against metal as if he’s deciding whether fear or hunger gets the final say.
the sound is sharper than you expect. harsher. it makes something flicker in your chest, a brief, unwelcome thought slipping in before you can stop it—maybe they’re right.
you let him.
you breathe slow on purpose, make yourself small in all the ways that matter. the night air smells like candy wrappers and cold metal and something burnt from down the block. somewhere a car passes, bass rattling windows, and he flinches again, a sharp little shudder that pulls at your chest.
“you’re okay,” you say gently, like reassurance is something you’re offering, not demanding. “i promise.”
you reach into your pocket carefully, narrating the movement without thinking about it. “i’m just grabbing something, sweetie. that’s all.”
when you pull out the treat, you don’t hold it up like a prize. you set it down instead, just outside the dumpster, sliding it across the pavement with one finger before pulling your hand back into your lap.
then you wait.
it takes time. long enough for your legs to start aching, long enough for another burst of laughter to float down the block and fade again. every sound makes him tense, but he doesn’t retreat further. that feels important.
finally, he leans forward. sniffs the air. pauses like he’s waiting for punishment.
none comes.
when he jumps down, it’s clumsy, awkward, like he hasn’t trusted his own footing in a while. he eats fast, eyes darting up between bites, waiting for the trick, the grab, the laugh.
you don’t give him any of it.
you just sit there, quiet company in a loud world, letting him finish.
when he’s done, he stands there uncertain, tail flicking once, twice. you slowly extend your hand, palm open, stopping well short of him.
“it’s okay if you don’t want to,” you say softly. “i’ll still stay.”
that’s what finally breaks something open.
he steps forward and presses his head into your palm like he’s been holding the night up by himself and finally decided to put it down. his purr starts hesitant, like he’s embarrassed by it, then grows steadier when your fingers scratch gently behind his ear.
you smile without realizing it.
“hi baby,” you whisper, fond and warm. “there you are.”
he looks up at you when you say it, really looks, and that’s when you notice his eyes—green, bright even in the low light, sharp in a way that feels more observant than aggressive. they soften a little when your fingers keep moving, slow and steady, like you’re not afraid of what you’ll find if you linger.
you smile without thinking.
“what’s your name, cutie?” you murmur, like it’s the easiest question in the world.
he blinks at you, purr stuttering for half a second, then continuing like he never meant to stop. you laugh softly and reach for the tag, careful not to tug, reading it by the streetlight’s glow.
ONYX.
you hum. “onyx,” you repeat, trying it out. “yeah. that fits.”
he leans harder into your hand, like he agrees. you think about the way people talked. aggressive. feral. dangerous. you look at the way he lets you cradle his head now, the way his claws stay tucked in, the way his whole body relaxes like he’s been waiting for someone to get it right.
“they really don’t know you at all,” you say quietly, more to yourself than him.
onyx flicks his tail.
you shift closer, careful, and when he doesn’t pull away you scoop him up just enough to rest his front paws against your chest. he stiffens for half a second, then melts again when you keep petting him.
“so scary,” you murmur, affectionate and teasing. “so mean. clearly a menace to society.”
he purrs louder, offended on principle.
you laugh, soft and breathy, and before you can second-guess it you lean in and press a kiss right between his ears. your lipstick leaves a bright little mark against black fur, messy and unmistakable.
you already brace for it—the scramble, the hiss, the way trust evaporates the second it’s asked to stretch too far. you accept the risk as soon as you take it, hands staying open, still, ready to let him bolt if that’s what he needs.
you stroke his back, slow and soothing, and think about how easy it is for people to mistake silence for hostility. how often stillness gets read as threat. how often something hurt gets called dangerous just because it doesn’t beg to be loved.
“you’re not bad luck,” you tell him softly. “you’re just… misunderstood.”
onyx presses his forehead into your chin like he’s sealing the agreement.
then he pulls back, not startled, not afraid—just done, the way cats decide a moment has reached its natural end. he hops down from your arms with a little huff of independence, tail flicking once like punctuation.
“hey,” you laugh softly. “okay, okay.”
he pauses a few feet away and looks back at you, green eyes catching the light. calm. like he’s committing you to memory instead of running from it.
he blinks slow.
then he turns and trots off down the alley, quiet and sure, lipstick mark still stamped right on his forehead like a secret only the night knows about. you watch until he disappears between the houses, the sound of his steps fading into the hum of halloween.
you sit there a moment longer, letting the quiet settle back in. thinking about reputations. about how easily people confuse silence for danger, fear for cruelty, scars for intent. about how some things don’t need to be fixed—just seen.
you stand eventually, brushing off your jeans, the feeling in your chest lighter than it was when you left.
and somewhere, not far from here, someone else with the same reputation has no idea that tonight—of all nights—the story is already starting to change.
jason comes home late, jacket half-zipped, helmet tucked under his arm, the night still clinging to him in the form of cold air and old exhaust. the neighborhood’s mostly asleep now, halloween burned out to candy wrappers and sagging decorations, porch lights flicked off one by one like the block’s finally exhaled.
he sets his keys down. toes off his boots. routine. quiet. the kind of careful movement you learn when you don’t want to wake anything that might already be on edge.
“onyx?” he calls, low.
there’s a pause.
then soft footsteps.
the cat appears in the doorway like nothing in the world could possibly be wrong. tail high. eyes bright. whole. he pads over like he owns the place, hops up onto the counter with practiced ease, and sits.
that’s when jason sees it.
he stops short.
right between onyx’s ears, stamped clear as day against black fur, is a smudged lipstick kiss. unmistakable.
jason just stares.
“…what,” he says finally, flat and confused, like the word might rearrange itself into an explanation if he waits long enough.
onyx blinks at him. slow.
jason steps closer, squinting like maybe the light’s playing tricks on him. he reaches out, hesitates, then gently cups the cat’s head, thumbs careful, like he’s afraid to break something.
he makes sure his hands stay visible, movements slow and cautious, like he’s learned that some things only relax when they can see you coming.
his chest does something weird.
“someone touched you,” he mutters. not angry. not upset. just… stunned.
onyx purrs, leaning into the touch like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
jason exhales through his nose and rubs a hand over his face. “…yeah,” he says quietly. “guess they didn’t think you were so scary after all.”
he scratches under onyx’s chin and the cat melts, trust absolute, like tonight taught him something important about hands and voices and the difference between cruelty and care.
jason leans back against the counter, watching him, the quiet settling in around them. he doesn’t know who you are. doesn’t know where you found his cat or what made you stop or why you left your mark like a promise instead of a claim.
but he knows this much: someone saw gentleness where everyone else kept insisting on danger.
and for reasons he can’t quite explain, that thought stays with him long after the night finally goes still.
he doesn’t wipe the mark off right away. later, when the apartment’s quiet and onyx is curled up warm and safe, jason finds himself standing by the window longer than usual, looking out at the dark like he’s waiting for something he doesn’t know how to name yet.
summary: damian wayne is at a total loss in the matters of love and winning over your heart, so much so that he dreadfully ends up on each brother’s doorstep seeking love advice.
pairing: damian wayne x fem! reader (featuring dick, tim & jason)
content: flufff, absolute chaos and only one bat brother comes out on top in teaching damian the ways of yearning, not that he needed help for that in the first place.
“You—” Dick’s grin is barely repressed, chest puffed in pride of being the first confidant Damian thought of. “—seek dating advice?”
Damian makes a non-committal shrug. “I admit that I may harbour feelings towards her that differ from my usual disdain to the average person.”
Dick’s laugh escapes his lips, but quickly conceals itself into an overly serious nod when Damian’s glare pierces through him.
“And you… travelled all the way to Blüdhaven to ask me for help?”
Damian would much rather be stabbed with a jagged-edged blade than admit that. There was always a price to pay for relying on others, especially when it came to his tooth-grinning brothers.
“Would you like to tell her.. about these feelings?” Dick tries again, settling for a more emphatic approach.
Damian winces, averting his gaze—trying to displace the sudden lodge in his throat. “I assumed there were more steps that entail to a courtship. You’re clearly well-versed in them.”
Dick clears his throat. “It isn’t like a routined dance, Damian.” At Damian’s furrowed brow, he continues. “Falling in love—dating, it comes naturally between two people. It’s the million little moments, built upon each other that no practiced motion can recreate. It happens regardless of choices, and that’s the beauty of it.”
“Naturally.” Damian tests the word on his tongue, but like he suspected, it ran off with a bitter taste. While he has been deemed a prodigy, a perfect weapon—being a normal human was not something trained into his veins, but rather suppressed.
“Maybe it is for you, Grayson—but where I was raised, details of courtship and emotional connection with another person were never discussed. My body is not programmed to have these natural decisions come forth to my mind, and I-”
It feels like swallowing glass when he mutters. “I require your assistance to explain it to me.”
Dick’s gaze softens in pity, which weighs heavier, worse than his laughter earlier. “Hey, we actually started off on the same boat. If anything, at least you didn’t have to experience Bruce’s attempt at explaining it. He’s more an expert than any of us when it comes to emotional suppression.”
“Love..” Dick ponders. “It hits you when you least expect it, but spending time together does test if the feeling is reciprocated.”
“I suppose there are some steps that you could follow.” Dick murmurs, thumb trailing his chin in thought. “Alright, here’s the plan.”
Damian may not be well-versed in the matters of courtship. However, standing stiffly in competition with the street lamp beside him, his nose buried into his green scarf more so to hide his shame rather than from the winter cold, his regret grows tenfold with every passing minute for even agreeing to this.
You're bound to arrive at any moment, and he'd rather suffer in his regrets than leave you stranded on a date his brother suggested. Not that he used that term, he could barely handle deeming it a hang out.
In his earpiece, Dick’s voice echoes with irritating amusement.
“Damian, you need to relax. You look like an assassin waiting for your target to appear.”
“Train to be one from the moment you were born with a family legacy on your shoulders and see how that affects your posture.” Damian grumbles.
“It’s okay if you’re nervous. I’ll guide you if you freeze, remember?”
“I’m not nervous—”
His peripheral vision recognises your silhouette before he can even finish his retort. All sound seems to fade past the stuttering in his chest, including his brother’s teasing, and maybe time slows too—he wouldn’t put you below that possibility. You’re busy with your scarf that’s loosened enough to reveal your lips, and you don’t even notice that you’re speed-walking right towards him.
It’s instinctive, not at all pleasing when his hands reach out just in time to grab onto your shoulders before you slam face-first into his coat.
Your eyes widen comically, but it doesn’t appease the thundering of his pulse, not especially when you smile at him like that, bashful and sweet. “Damian! Fancy bumping into you here." You tease.
“Perfect meet-cute.” Dick whispers to himself. “Tell her it’s fine—that you actually think it’s cute.”
“What?” He snaps, feeling ashamed at the mere suggestion.
You blink twice at his sudden reaction. He needs to recover quickly, say something.
“Watch where you’re going.” He slips out.
He can hear the sound of Dick slapping his own forehead, echoing in his eardrums.
Thankfully, you don’t seem deterred by his slow-witted response, grin still in-tact. “Apologies for almost ruining your luxurious scarf. Though I’ll must say, green looks really good on you.”
He tenses. This is the moment, he must say something right this time.
“Brings out the colour of my eyes.” Dick offers through a sigh.
Perfect. Something witty, and completely appropriate for the situation.
“Brings out the colour of my eyes.” Damian’s delivery is completely robotic, unlike the one he heard in his ears, carrying none of the light-hearted tone that made it sound right.
Miraculously, it only cracks a laugh out of you.
“She’s an angel.” Dick groans, almost pitifully.
He winces, letting you go before offering his hand. “The snow’s slippery.” His excuse is well-rehearsed, recovering back into the steps Dick gave him.
Your expression brightens, taking ahold of his hand. It’s a perfect fit, your glove in his and a warm glow is forming behind his ribs—an unsteady, pleasant feeling, almost enough to forget the mistake he made.
“Smooth recovery.” Dick comments in approval. “Bring her to the next location.”
If Damian could, he’d mute Dick's channel immediately if he was going to be reminding him every second. It was distracting and nerve wracking to be multi-tasking two tasks at once, especially when you easily compelled him to lose all train of thought.
The skating rink is crowded, more than he’d like, but he wasn’t up for improvisation after his earlier attempt. It’ll have to do, and he’s sure his withering glare can clear enough space for the two of you.
“I’ve always wanted to try ice skating.” You’re brimming with glee with your gaze glued to the ice, and his eyes trail over your excitement with a tender patience. He’d like to sketch it out when he was back home, but even the thought of ending this moment was incomprehensible, so he settles on bending down to tie your skating shoes.
”Just to warn you—” Your joyful glimmer falters into a rare bundle of nerves. “I’ve never skated—like ever. You’ll need to teach me the ropes.”
His lips quirk the slightest lift. “You have the best teacher in all of Gotham.”
“Really?” You tease, leaning down slightly that he feels the warmth of your breath over his nose, sending goosebumps down his arms. “That’s a bold claim.”
“I was raised on snow mountains since I was an infant. A skating rink in Gotham is a small feat for me, and it shall be for you.”
“Less bragging, more swooning.” Dick’s voice echoes in his eardrums.
Damian’s expression clamps shut as he leads you towards the ice. He takes the first step and balances himself perfectly on the naturally formed ice. You enter immediately on the wrong angle, and slip. He doesn’t think, his free hand wrapping around your waist before you fall.
He freezes, and you do too. Caught at the entrance of the rink in the corner where no one is watching, you’re wrapped so closely in his embrace—his body instinctively shielding and protecting you. He feels his entire face burning up from the lack of distance.
“Maybe ice and me are less compatible than you think.” You whisper, as if the ice would crack and swallow you whole if it heard you.
It’s enough to kick him back into his senses, and he quickly lifts you back up to your feet. Gently letting go of your waist, he ignores the jittering in his fingers by taking hold of your hands instead.
“Hasn’t been proven yet.” He answers, looking down at your feet. “Mirror my stance.”
Your own gaze shifts down, and you adjust the blades of your shoes into the same V position. You’re shuffling less, which is already a sign of improvement.
“Alright, now one step forward, and the other leg lifts like a kick.” Damian instructs.
You try, but your feet wobble at your first kick, making you fall into his arms again. Not that he minds.
“You’re lifting too early.” He notes. “You’ll have to glide with your other foot first.”
Your brows furrow together, an adorable concentration creased in the centre as you try again. You manage it the second time, and he finds it despite himself, vulnerable to smiling when you let out a huff of joyous laughter as you glide with him, his hands still holding onto you.
“I guess you proved yourself right.” Your focus is still on your feet, but when you lift your gaze, you’re leaning close to him just like before when he had caught you—with such pure, content bliss that the word ‘beautiful’ fails to describe your features. “You are a good teacher.”
Dick’s muttering something in his ear, but the erratic signals shooting through his brain fries all comprehension of what he’s supposed to do next other than stare at you speechless like a bumbling fool.
He messes up his next step, and before he knows it, he’s tumbling down to the ice, and you fall down with him through your connected limbs. His body shields you from the freezing ice, but nothing protects him from the shame that drowns his entire conscience—of falling onto the ice which he has never done in his lifetime, and dragging you down with him.
He hears Dick clearly now, laughing so hard that it stings his eardrums from the high frequency.
“Damian!” You call out, and your gaze is half worry, half shock. “Are you okay?”
His ears flush with blood at your question, most likely reddened as if there wasn’t enough to mope about.
“I would very much like for the ice to swallow me whole.” He mutters dryly. “Other than that, I am uninjured.”
“I so have that captured.” Dick howls through the earpiece. “I’m calling it, this is going to be the topic of discussion for our next family dinner.”
Damian discreetly rips his ear-piece out and shoves it into his coat’s pocket when your gaze averts to an elderly couple stopping by the two of you like his fall is some tourist attraction, asking if he needed any help to get back to the entrance.
He is never asking Grayson for help ever again.
The Bat-Cave, Wayne Manor
(Drake’s Secondary Home)
“You sure you have the right person?” Tim guffaws, his expression a mixture of horror and fascination. “Haven’t you tried—”
“Grayson, yes. He has failed.” His scowl has dug deeper if possible, the faint memory of Dick’s laughter still penetrates his eardrums when he isn’t preoccupied with his responsibilities.
Pointing an intrusive finger to his new prey, he speaks. “You are to prove yourself more worthy than he is, as the next best in line for successful courtships.”
Tim raises a brow. “Didn’t know you kept track.”
Damian scowls. “Your methods are unconventional, but there are no other better alternatives.” Imposing and distracting with his crossed arms, casting a shadow over the littered papers, his presence eventually forces Tim to detach from the case he was working on.
“Alright, what’s her name?” Tim sighs, his fingers switching to a new tab where the identity search bar flickers.
Damian stiffens, defensive. “Why would you require her name?”
“To search for her, genius.” Tim comments as if it’s obvious that an illegal identity search is the best course of action. “I can have her interests, dislikes, and her entire profile mapped out in less than five minutes.”
“That’s dishonourable.”
“It’s efficient.” Tim fires back. “Or else we’ll be here all day. Why waste time on the uncertainties when you can already mould everything to go perfectly?”
“My respect for you shrinks by the second, Drake.”
Tim snorts. “As if you had any in the first place. Don’t act like you haven’t done your own illegal searches. Suddenly, it’s your crush and I’m not allowed to look into it?”
The back of Damian’s neck grows hot at the mere use of the word ‘crush’, dumbing his feelings down to something so.. pathetic. “Fine, I’ll do it myself. You’re not allowed to so much as glance at her.”
Tim’s hands raise in mock surrender. “I would never.”
As Damian settles into the seat, given the privacy as Tim launches himself into the spare chair, spinning it backward with his back facing the Bat-computer, he can feel the latter brewing with something to say.
“Spit it out.” Damian huffs.
“I just—” Tim starts. “Never thought I’d live to see the day of you softening up for someone. I mean—it’s even made you come all the way for my assistance.”
“I did not come for assistance.”
“Advice is practically the same thing.” Tim remarks. “You may have called it dishonourable, but can you truly claim you love a person if you don’t know them fully? I think falling in love means having a curiosity so strong for someone that you would like to know them as deeply as they know themselves. Isn’t that what it means to love?”
Damian’s gaze flickers to Tim who yawns widely, tucking his head into his elbows over a long drought from sleep after staying up for two days straight. It… resonated with him, his never-ending greed to learn the intricacies of your emotions and actions, to know the depths behind each story you held in your mind.
He’s spent long, treacherous months avoiding even the mention of your name anywhere outside the confinements of his mind, aside from the occasional scribble and tear of his paper, and his hunger has become an obstacle that even he can’t tackle any longer. With a mental push, the mere action of typing your name numbs his fingers from the anticipation.
Your social media accounts pop up—one is public with your name listed, and another is a photography account. There’s not many photos, but there’s enough that it feels like he’s peeking into something intimate, a catalogue of your life that has his heart quickening.
He remembers vividly of you asking to exchange social media accounts when you had first met, before he quickly shut it down, commenting that he refused to have such useless applications.
Yet, here he was—frozen, mesmerised at the sight of your smile captured on your digital camera, unable to scroll further past your most recent post. It didn’t capture the true essence of your joy like he remembered so clearly from that failed date, but it still struck him all the same.
Even his denial falls silent when he’s looking at you, because he’d be a fool to pretend away the quick pattering of his heart, or the small smile etched into his lips caused by you. His mind has formed a despicable habit—a quiet, dreadful longing whenever he envisions even a frame of you in his mind.
He has fallen for you quietly—strongly, and even as he scrolls further, to the latest bookstores you’ve frequented, or your blurred snapshots of sunsets along the Gotham horizon, he’s not satisfied. What is the use of seeing these images if he wasn’t there to witness it or hear from you in person?
He wants to be in your life, not just a mere bystander, but he doesn’t know how to say it.
“You’ve been deathly silent for ten minutes.” Tim comments. “It’s kind of making me curious—”
“I will gouge out your eyes myself, Drake.”
There’s only one person he has left to ask, and as he pierces a coffin-burying glare into Tim’s prying gaze, he wasn’t sure if he’d get the answer he needed.
89, Skirley Apartments, Park Row (Crime Alley)
(Todd’s Rebellious Man-Cave)
Jason whistles, leaning against the door to his mess of an apartment. “You must be desperate if you’ve come to see me.”
The disgruntlement in Damian’s expression comes mostly from embarrassment and partly from the state of disarray he finds from one single swipe past the gap of Jason’s shoulder and the door frame. Motorcycle gear is splayed out over the scratched floorboards, signaling another random side project.
Barely lived in, and somehow a complete mess that would have Alfred over in a snap with his emergency cleaning set.
“Grayson’s overly optimistic and Drake’s downright creepy.” Damian huffs.
“And that leaves me..?” Jason’s brow raises, a taunting smirk on his lips.
“As the last option.” Damian grits.
Jason steps back, his back pushing against the wood to allow Damian into his less-than-adequate living quarters.
“Well, sorry to break it to you, kid—” Jason plops down onto the couch, and the pillow-seat sinks under his weight. “But my understanding of love is barely any better than yours.”
“You’re still the second oldest.” Call it desperation, Damian isn’t sure if he’s above that anymore after the failure of his two other brothers. “You must’ve had some experience.”
“Now, age matters?” Jason mocks. “Well—if you want my two cents, I suppose I can give it.”
“There’s no point beating around the bush.” Jason states. “If you really like her, you just have to say it. Even if it hurts, especially if you’re scared it’ll hurt. That means there’s something worth to lose, and to never ask, it’s always gonna hurt worse than knowing.”
“That’s the whole point of love. It takes being brave, and realising the possibility of something real right in front of you—and fighting for it. You only have so few chances in the world to experience it, and you’re going to waste something like that over fear of what—rejection?”
“Have a heart-to-heart. That’ll always mean more than some hidden message, hoping she’ll notice and give in first.” Leaning back, Jason eyes Damian with a rare look he doesn’t recognise, because there is no possibility in the world that wisdom could exist in that big-head of his. “If she doesn’t return how you feel, that sucks. You’ll live barely, then it’ll heal and you move on. If you never answer the question? It’s gonna haunt you for life. The one that got away.”
The thought of losing you to cowardice, of being a permanent outsider to your life, nearly ruins him. Damian can’t afford that, not when there’s never been a person he desired for more than you. This week has made sure of that.
Even more of a horrifying realisation is that of all people, Jason Todd was the one that got through to him. His trained eyes scan the perimeter for any signs of a secret partner, a reason for this sudden shift in his usual, thick-headed sibling. “Where did you obtain such knowledge?”
Jason’s lips quirk up. “Jane Austen, you should try her sometime.”
135, Kane Street, Otisburg
(Damian's Last Resort)
Damian has only felt the urge to puke on two occasions this past year. Firstly, when he discovered old photos of Dick’s first Nightwing costume in an old album, and had to wash his hands twice with anti-bacterial soap. Secondly, when a rare poison seeped into his bloodstream that he had not already trained to be immune to.
Never had the nauseating feeling of nerves scale till the point of trembling fingers and stiff legs. He just needed to tell the truth, so why did the matter seem so petrifying?
He’s been standing outside your door, letting the winter frost bite at his exposed skin—like a pathetic loser for the past fifteen minutes and if he stood there any longer, he might as well brand himself as one. His hand comes up to knock in three measured beats, and he waits with the patience of Dick’s pit-bull for a belly rub.
The door unlocks, and your tousled hair greets him first. His heart tugs at the sight of you in your home attire, with your loosened shirt and pajama pants dragging against the floor. You’re utterly beautiful, even as you’re slapping your cheeks lightly to coerce yourself awake. It takes a few seconds for the realisation to hit your half-asleep features before your eyes nearly pop out.
“Damian? It’s five in the morning! What are you doing here?”
“I have romantic feelings for you.” He blurts with the subtlety of a ramming gun.
“If you reciprocate, I would like to..” He pauses, his thoughts competing with the rapid pace of his heartbeat. “Wait, I didn’t think this through.”
You blink slowly, shock blasted over your face, before a soft, warm smile creeps over your lips. “No-no, go on.”
He wants it to be perfect, but his words were too direct, too harsh. He wasn’t like Dick, who was naturally charismatic with others, or Tim who thought two steps ahead for every interaction, or Jason who bulldozed through without a care in the world. He doesn’t want to risk losing you over his own incompetence. “No, I feel like I’ve started it all wrong.”
“It’s five in the morning, even Damian Wayne is human enough to mess up his words at this hour.” You tease. His shoulders sag in relief at the sound of your comforting voice, which he suspects is the purpose of your teasing. To calm him, tell him it’s okay.
“Right.” He mutters. “May I start over?”
“I’m all ears.” You grin.
He cracks a soft smile in return. It is difficult for him to be human, to feel his faults bubble to the surface, but in front of you, he is willing to try. “I am unfathomably, undoubtably.. and completely in love with you. Romantic feelings don’t even come close to describing the knowing in my heart that it has chosen you from the very moment you entered my life.”
“When I am around you, it’s as if the world disappears, and all I envision is you.” He admits. “From the moment you approached me with your maddening smile and charming wit, I don’t believe I could have ever fought against it, against you.”
“Your laughter brings joy to me, your sadness distracts me of all my senses, and your very existence is a gift in my life that I cherish deeply and.. I’m terrified at the idea of losing that, losing you.”
“Love..” He hesitates. “..is a difficult concept for me to understand, because it has never been shown to me outright. So when I felt this desire—this constant want to be in your presence, I sought for understanding.”
“I see now—that love can’t be explained in just mere words. It is the shared moments between us that I replay in my mind, the small details I find myself noticing of you and cherishing deeply, and the fear of losing that privilege of knowing you. I realised.. that I can’t fathom continuing my life without you in it.”
“I don’t know if I deserve to be by your side, but I would like to try.” His gaze finds yours, and he hopes. So desperately, he hopes. “Would you have me, even if I am a fool who doesn’t know the right things to say?” His plea is quiet against the silent rustle of the trees, the dark twilight sky that watches over them.
Your eyes soften, filled with warmth and that same, brimming happiness he has memorised from the time spent on the ice. “You’re only an idiot if you think you didn’t say all the right things, Damian.”
His chest, tight till the point of rupturing, feels like it’s finally able to breathe.
Leaning in slowly, right across the barrier of the doorstep that separates you from him, you gift him with a soft kiss pressed against his lips and his entire world falls apart, not that it ever truly existed before you.
He takes you into his arms, lifting your feet off the doorstep as his boots crunch against the melted snow when he kisses you back. He has never kissed anyone before, but the feeling of wanting you so close to his soul only feels natural when you’re here in his arms.
It’s sweet, clumsy—and out of all the moments he’s spent with you, he truly wished he could replay this over and over.
When you break the kiss, he has to remind himself to not follow after you when you whisper softly against his lips. “You never finished. What did you want to do if I reciprocated?”
Visions, blurred and incoherent, flash through his mind but it’s nothing compared to the real thing right in front of him. “Everything. As long as you’re mine, the possibilities are endless.”
“Of course I’m yours, Damian.” Your eyes crinkle into that puddle of warmth that melts through all his defences. “No one has ever come to my doorstep, at five in a winter morning, professing their love before.”
His brows furrow, lips nearing to a pout. “Has anyone ever tried professing their love in other ways?”
You laugh, and he can get used to that. Making you smile and laugh as if it’s his one purpose on this planet. “No—I think my heart was too busy being taken by the person in front of me, who just conveyed what love is so perfectly that I can never think of anyone else.”
He relaxes at that, feeling his own smile deepen at the relief of finally having you in his arms, and in the comfort of the warmth shared under the dim streetlights, he thinks he’ll have to temporarily bump Jason to the number one spot in his long line of siblings.
Not that he’d ever tell him that—but he supposes if a limited edition of Jane Austen's collection ends up at Jason's doorstep tomorrow, it would have simply been the universe's divine gift.
likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated! <333
tim drake when you fall asleep in his shoulder ˚.✦
Oh, he's panicking. He's panicking bad. It's been a long mission and you, YOU!!, have chosen him as the perfect place to rest. He's on another dimension right now, floating above the clouds, flying with pegasus, he feels like a whole new man.
Tim's been crushing for you for two whole years. He can't stop thinking about you in the stupidest moments, specially when you completely ignore him (like most of the time, but it's fine! He knows that you are focused on being a vigilante, and he respects it and admires it!).
But he still wants you so bad and having you resting on his shoulder, with your hand impossibly close to his is making him wonder things. Should he declare his love for you when you wake up? Should he wait a little longer? It's eating him alive.
And now you're moving. Oh, no you're moving! Tim freezes, holding his breath only for you to accommodate yourself closer to him... and rest your hand on top of his.
Is that a declaration?
Aaaand, he's spiraling again. His mind goes four thoughts per second, he's so afraid to make any type of movement and he kinda forgot how to breath. He tries to look at your from the corner of his eye but he's only able to catch a blink of your hair.
"We arrived, someone wake Y/N," Cassie says from the other side of the car. Tim almost forgot that there's more people there than you and him.
Bart and Kon turn their bodies from the driver and passenger seats, laughing a little at you completely asleep and drooling in Tim's suit.
"Ah, I'll wake h—"
"Y/N! Y/N WAKE THE FUCK UP," Kon shouts
"Y/NNNNN, STOP DROOLING IN TIM'S SUIT, EW, EW, EW," Bart laughs loudly and completely annoying.
i know it was for plot reasons and i didn’t care much for veronica vreeland overall but the btas episode chemistry did something to my brain when veronica was in trouble and supposedly the first and only person she called was bruce. so here’s some veronica vreeland headcanons with some bruce and veronica friendship headcanons
veronica being the first person from gotham’s high society to welcome bruce back to gotham with open arms. no one knew where he had gone off to. they remembered how lost bruce was as a teen, barely an adult when he left to travel the globe. there were whispers of what he had possibly done: skiing in the alps, hiking in japan, clubbing in brazil. no one was really sure what he had been up to for the years he was gone and didn’t know how to approach him now he was back. not veronica. she greeted him as if he was in gotham the whole time and pulled him onto the dance floor, filling him in on all the high society gossip he missed.
veronica who was the one bruce based his brucie wayne persona off of: always having fun, the life of the party, her heart usually in the right place, and never intentionally cruel. not really, just a product of their environment that rewards self-centeredness, upholds high standards, and coming from a family where one never has to want to the point where one can’t imagine what it’s like to be in need for anything, whether it be money, goods, or companionship. typically people knew what they were getting into when involving themselves with veronica. it’s never very serious with her around as she never takes much seriously, and brucie wayne mimicked that.
childhood friends bruce and veronica who always got side eyed. they grew up in the same circles so it was inevitable that the older crowd spoke about them being a potential match when they were growing into themselves. it only got worse when they became adults. heaven forbid a man and women actually only be friends. there were bets going on about when they’d eventually get married. rumors swirled around about how veronica fell in and out of marriages because she’d never be able to tame bruce and get him to settle down. there were whispers behind closed doors that bruce was the reason for all her marriages ending as quickly as they started.
in reality, veronica loved love and was driven by impulse. why wait when you could do it now? she wanted to live a life of no regrets. she never wanted bruce in a romantic sense. she enjoyed being his friend, and while she had toyed with the idea before (she had heard it enough times after all), she never saw herself as being his wife.
still bruce was always veronica’s date when needed. a scorned ex wouldn’t leave her alone? a man was getting too handsy and trying to pull her into a darkened hallway? talk to her “boyfriend” bruce wayne.
it went the other way too. veronica was always there to whisk bruce away from the gaggle of women that wanted to be the next one to try their shot at his heart. bruce was always ready to entertain but sometimes a draining meeting went on for too long beforehand or he had one too many drinks.
no one ever questioned their supposed on and off again relationship, eventually being seen as two free spirited young adults who would never be permanently tied down.
bruce who’s geniunely happy for veronica each time she gets married, no matter how short she’s known her partner. her excitement was infectious and she’s proven to be able to find partners who don’t hurt her and are decent people. they may not be what’s best for her but she has a fun time as she rides out the honeymoon phase. if that’s how she wants to live her life, he’s glad for her.
veronica who was ecstatic about bruce’s marriage and immediately offered all of her contacts she’s acquired through her four marriages so that bruce can pull off the wedding of the century.
veronica who joked about how bruce owes her for helping him find the love of his life. veronica who gushed about fate, double dates, and how their future children were going to be the best of friends as well.
bruce who couldn’t help but be disappointed that veronica didn’t show up to his wedding. although he was simply happy to be married to his supposed love of his life, the back of his mind prickled with the reminder of veronica confirming she’s moving her travel plans for her honeymoon and that there’s nothing that can stop her from seeing her friend finally tie the knot.
veronica who’s heart dropped when she realized her perfect husband may not be so perfect after all. veronica who had enough sense to pretend that she didn’t notice the leaves on her husband’s chest when she caught sight of him changing. veronica who knew immediately who to contact for help when her husband went downstairs after she asked for a cup of water. veronica who knew bruce was safe, safer than her security, safer than the cops. veronica who knew her day 1 would make sure everything will be okay.
I've known you for years, but don't know your name. I trust you with my biggest fears, but you'll never even know how I look. I wish I could take you to my favourite coffee shop or park, but I'll never be able. If something were to happen to you I would never know. You are one of most important people in my life, I wish I could introduce you to others
okay i personally see jason todd as the ultimate lover boy (soft boy who believes in true love and sweet gestures and the whole nine yards because that bright happy boy is still there even if he’s protected under anger and frustration now) but i saw in the comics he’s stated to have one night stands so that got me thinking jason todd who when lonely falls into bed with someone, anyone to feel close to a person. its both a punishment (because he thinks he doesn’t deserve it after everything he’s done and who he is) and a temporary solution (because he cant help himself he still longs for human connection and to cure that deep ache he has). everyone he cared about has failed him at some point. these people who will make him feel good and who he’ll never see after that night won’t get the chance to. he can pretend even if it’s for that moment that the person cares as they make him feel good, as they cry out for him when he returns the favor, as he buries his head in the crook of their neck when he finally pushes in because he tries to kiss them as little as possible (preferably he doesn’t kiss them at all it’s too soft, too serious even if it’s a messy kiss full of tongue and teeth).
