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Uuuuhh... can I get a fic with Damian high on meds after having a surgery.... with extra drama in the form of him having a secret relationship, and asking for her(reader) while drugged.... uhh with a side of fluff hold the angst .... that's all thank you
Love ur fics sm, have a great day/night
݁ 𓈒 ཐི 𓉸 𝓗ALF-𝓐WAKE, 𝓦HOLLY 𝓨OURS !!
⏜︵ pairing 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 damian wayne x fem!reader
꒰ 🦇 ꒱ synopsis 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 damian gets knocked out during a mission and wakes up post-surgery with enough pain meds in his system to dissolve every wall he’s ever built. you’re supposed to be secret, but he exposes your relationship, obliterated by narcotics and his complete inability to hide how deeply he’s attached to you.
WAYNE MEDICAL WING LIGHTS WERE TOO BRIGHT for someone who’d just stopped being technically unconscious, but damian surfaced like someone annoyed at being dragged from a nap he didn’t consent to, an insult so personal his eyelids twitched before they even opened. the brightness pressed through his skull like it was trying to etch itself directly into his brain. sterile white, the kind that had never once existed in a place he trusted. he cracked his eyes open anyway.
bad choice.
the ceiling came into focus in pieces: harsh tiles, vents humming cold air downward, a hairline crack near the corner he’d catalogued months ago during someone else’s medical emergency. except this time it wasn’t someone else lying flat on their back in a bed built for recovery and compliance. it was him. which meant something had already gone terribly wrong.
the sheets were tucked too tightly, pinning him with all the subtlety of a net trap. the IV line tugged whenever he moved his fingers. his throat tasted dry, surgical dryness, not dehydration, and every breath carried that over-sterile antiseptic scent that hospitals diffused like perfume. it stung in a way memory recognized before consciousness did.
he hated it. he hated it viscerally, instinctively, the way you hate an enemy you’ve fought before.
a chair creaked. dick. of course. no one else sat that way, half-slouched, half-alert, like a golden retriever trying to look responsible. “hey, baby bat,” dick welcomed softly, which was exactly the wrong volume. “back with us?”
damian squinted at him as if being spoken to was rude. his voice, when it came, sounded like someone had replaced his mouth with cement. “why,” he croaked, blinking slowly, “are you here.”
“you had surgery.”
damian paused like the word needed to be decoded. then his eyebrows knit together, slow, offended, gradually outraged. “i didn’t agree to that.”
dick huffed a tired laugh. “yeah, well… it was kind of an emergency. and you were unconscious. and also? you literally signed the consent form before the anesthesia.”
damian stared at him, long and unimpressed. “forged.”
“it wasn’t forged.”
“i do not sign things.”
“you sign things all the time.”
damian shut his eyes briefly, like acknowledging that was beneath him. then he opened them again, narrower, sharper, but the effect was ruined by how unfocused the pupils were, drifting like his thoughts kept hitting walls before reaching their destination. the air was too clean. the lights too white. the smell coiled into his chest and pulled memories he’d rather leave buried, metal tools, cold hands, the way the world looked when he was small and helpless and expected to endure instead of resist. nothing specific, just impressions. sensations. hospitals always woke old ghosts.
his jaw tightened. he wasn’t supposed to be the one in this bed. he didn’t get hurt. not enough to be downed like this. the last patrol replayed in flashes — a blade catching him off-balance, the impact hot, surprising. he remembered the pain, but not falling. not blacking out. that made his stomach twist.
failure. vulnerability. unacceptable.
dick watched him with that older-brother sensitivity that always made damian bristle, like being perceived was an attack. “before you say anything,” dick added, “you did not lose the fight. you didn’t mess up. you got blindsided by a meta with a strength boost and you still managed to take him down. you just… didn’t stay upright afterward.”
damian glared. “i don’t recall being horizontal.”
“because you passed out.”
another glare. this one personal. dick raised his hands. “don’t look at me like that. i didn’t make you lose consciousness.”
damian’s fingers twitched against the sheets. the fabric felt wrong, stiff, overwashed, hospital-issue. the kind meant for patients who stayed still. he hated being still. he shifted slightly, and something tugged sharply at the back of his hand. his gaze snapped downward.
an IV. taped in place. tubing snaked up to a bag overhead, dripping fluid into his bloodstream without permission. his entire expression went cold. “remove it.”
dick inhaled sharply. “damian—”
“remove it.”
“don’t— okay, don’t—” dick took two hurried steps forward as damian’s fingers curled around the line. “don’t you dare pull that out. i mean it. don’t.”
“i am not a lab specimen.”
“you’re not,” dick agreed. “you’re someone who needs fluids and pain meds because you were— what’s the word— oh yeah— stabbed.”
“it was minor.”
“it was internal.”
damian blinked at him, insulted. “i don’t want it.”
“too bad.”
there was tension in damian’s shoulders. that hyper-focused alertness from childhood, when beds were places you recovered because you weren’t allowed to move, not because someone cared. his muscles remembered even when he didn’t think about it. his back never fully pressed to the mattress, his hands never fully relaxed. his breath always came measured, as if steadying itself for violence. the medical wing amplified that tension. the smell. the lights. the machines. everything too reminiscent of control.
he’d been so busy cataloguing exits and shadows and the exact height of the IV stand that he hadn’t even noticed how his own body felt until—
oh.
there it was.
the meds hit him. that soft, warm fog rolling in, blurring everything he tried to focus on. his thoughts glitched, trying to line up in formation and instead tripping over themselves. “grayson,” he said, voice suspicious, “did you put something in my blood?”
dick, who’d been leaning on the side of the bed like a worried parent pretending not to be one, blinked back. “uh—no, bud. you were asleep during the operation, remember? anesthesia? pain meds?”
damian stared at him like dick had just recited a riddle in an unfamiliar dialect. “i was… asleep,” damian repeated. “you let them do that.”
“you needed them to do that.” dick corrected.
damian’s eyes narrowed, though the effect was ruined by how glazed they looked. “i do not need unconsciousness to survive.”
“you do when your insides are trying to become your outsides.” dick muttered.
damian ignored him entirely, still watching him with a narrowing-bandwidth intensity. “you allowed it.”
“you signed the form.”
“forged,” damian said, again, instantly, with the complete confidence of someone who barely remembered what a pen was. “i would not voluntarily be medically compromised.”
“it wasn’t forged,” dick sighed. “you filled it out. you even wrote your full name at the bottom—very neatly, might i add.”
damian frowned like he was conspiring against him. he opened his mouth to deny it… but then a wave of dizziness rolled through him, like someone had tipped the room on its axis. he went still. his eyes went a little wide. “i feel… peculiar.”
“that’s the painkillers.”
“i dislike them.”
“i can tell.”
damian shifted, which was a mistake, his brain lagged behind the movement by a full second, like his consciousness had to sprint to catch up with his body. “my head is—” he paused, searching the ceiling as if the correct vocabulary word was written there. “—float-adjacent.”
“you’re high, dami.”
“i am not—” damian began, then stopped mid-denial, staring at the wall with deep betrayal. “i am.”
“yep.”
“i dislike this.”
“we’ve got that part,” dick said gently. “but you’re safe. and you’re okay. and it’s temporary.”
damian’s eyes tracked dick’s face like it was the only stable object in a shifting landscape. his brow furrowed with an almost childlike confusion. “i… don’t remember agreeing,” he murmured. “or anything. i was… focused. then pain.” he paused, blinked. “…then nothing.”
“that’s normal.”
“…where’s—”
but the name got lost on damian’s tongue.
not forgotten, more like the conveyor belt of his brain jammed halfway through delivering it. he blinked, confused, mouth still slightly open like the word might tumble out if he waited long enough. dick straightened, alert. “where’s who, bud?”
damian stared back at him, unfocused. something flickered behind his eyes, something searching, reaching. but whatever it was refused to surface. his brows knit, annoyed at his own mind for failing him. “…i don’t—” he frowned, as if the thought had slipped between his fingers. “i knew it. i know it. i just… can’t… hold it.”
dick softened. “hey. it’s okay. you’re still coming out of anesthesia.”
damian frowned. the door opened before dick could say anything else, tim walking in first, rubbing his eyes, followed by cass. tim raised his coffee cup. “look who’s conscious.”
cass tipped her head.
damian’s eyes snapped to them—well, halfway. they snapped, stalled, then drifted into their direction like his neurons were buffering. “you are loud,” damian announced.
tim blinked. “we… didn’t say anything.”
“your face is loud.”
tim nodded solemnly. “makes sense.”
cass stepped closer, tracking damian’s micro-movements with an ease that came from years of knowing how to read bodies better than minds. damian tried—tried—to push himself up. his arm trembled. his shoulder lifted a fraction. cass reached out with one finger and pressed it lightly to his sternum. damian went down like gravity had increased selectively on his body alone. his eyes went wide. “that is unfair.”
cass offered a tiny smile. “doctor’s orders.”
“i do not listen to orders.”
“you listened to hers.” tim added dryly.
damian glared at him. or tried to. the effect was softened by the fact his eyelids kept drooping like they were too heavy. “she cheated,” damian muttered.
cass watched the way damian’s eyes refused to work with him and smiled shyly. “you’re high.”
“i am not—” damian started, then hesitated, as if realizing halfway through the lie that he didn’t have the cognitive precision to pull it off. “i am… moderately under the influence.”
“that’s one way to put it.” tim mumbled.
damian’s head tilted back toward dick like his mind was circling back to unfinished business. “i was asking.”
“about who?” dick asked.
damian stared at him again. long, slow, pondering with the full force of a malfunctioning operating system. he opened his mouth, then closed it. frustration etched across his face. “…gone,” he said finally. “i lost it.”
“it’ll come back.”
“i hate this,” damian declared. “i hate hospitals. i hate beds. i hate drugs. i hate this room. i hate—”
“oh boy,” tim breathed. “here we go.”
damian lifted one hand. studied it. flexed his fingers—delayed, clumsy. he stared like his own hand had betrayed him. “my reaction speed is compromised. this is humiliating.”
“don’t worry,” tim said cheerfully. “we’re taking mental notes.”
damian shot him a bleary glare. “i will end you.”
“in your current state?” tim asked. “you couldn’t even end a game of tic-tac-toe.”
“i could,” damian insisted, leaning forward as if to intimidate him, except his torso only made it two inches up before cass’s finger sent him right back down again. damian let out a low, affronted noise. “stop that.” he told her.
she shook her head.
damian’s eyes narrowed, then drifted, then narrowed again as if the glare needed to be reinstalled every few seconds. he sighed, long and dramatic. “i should not be in this bed.”
“you were stabbed,” dick said gently.
“everyone gets stabbed.”
“not in the liver.” tim said, absolutely delighted to be here, absolutely delighted that damian wasn’t at full power to stop him.
damian blinked. “my liver?”
“yes.”
he frowned, deeply betrayed. “i use that.”
“not today you don’t.”
damian ignored him, attention wandering again, circling back toward the hole in his memory like a bee drawn repeatedly to the same window. tim rocked back on his heels, arms crossed, grin already sharpening. “so,” he began casually, “speaking of things you ‘use,’ want to talk about the stuff you were saying while you were unconscious?”
dick’s head snapped toward him. “tim. no.”
tim ignored him completely. “because wow. i didn’t know you had a romantic side. like—it was actually kind of sweet? a little embarrassing? honestly extremely embarrassing.”
damian’s face twisted. “what are you—”
“you kept saying,” tim continued, pitching his voice into a dreamy falsetto, “‘my beloved… come back… come here… where are you…’” he clutched his chest dramatically.
“I did not say that,” damian barked, though it came out slightly slurred, tragically soft, devastatingly unthreatening. “drake is lying.” damian announced to the ceiling, as if the ceiling could issue a rebuttal.
except —- then damian froze, not visibly, internally, like someone had pulled the emergency brake on his thoughts. the hazy warmth in his veins pulsed, rising like heat behind his ears. something in his chest tightened, memory stirring sluggishly but insistently. the drugs softened everything except that. that memory. that wanting.
the warmth in his bloodstream pulsed again, stronger, like a tide he couldn’t fight. he blinked slowly, vision blooming and fading at the edges, and in the middle of that blur, something clear rose to the surface. you.
your face. your voice. your hands brushing the hair off his forehead last week. your breath against his neck in the quiet hours. your laugh that he pretended didn’t undo him. he inhaled sharply, like the thought of you punched through the haze. tim, seeing the shift, took a step back. he knew this was no longer teasing territory, this was damian’s guard dissolving in real time. dick moved a little closer. “damian?”
damian blinked again. confusion, longing, frustration, and beneath all of it, a tenderness so raw it seemed to surprise even him. “where’s…” his voice wobbled, more breath than sound. “(y/n)?”
tim’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. cass’s head tilted, studying him. damian didn’t notice their reactions—didn’t even register that he’d slipped. the meds made the truth feel natural, inevitable, impossible to contain.
“i want her here.”
dick blinked rapidly. “her?”
“yes, her,” damian muttered like they were stupid for being confused, tone clipped but dreamy, like he was trying to be irritated through marshmallow fog. “she should be here.”
dick tried gently, “who—”
“(y/n).” damian snapped. “the one i— the one who—” he cut himself off, annoyed at how hard the words suddenly were. his tongue felt slow. his brain fuzzed.
everything except the wanting.
“i’d much rather be with her than you guys.”
damian pushed on, voice dipping into something warm and unrestrained and utterly unlike him. “she doesn’t talk so loudly,” he mumbled, glaring at tim for existing. “and she doesn’t hover.” a pointed look at dick. “and she’s gentle.” he added, a little dreamily, glancing at cass.
cass’s eyes softened. dick’s heart did a little somersault. tim opened and closed his mouth like a stunned goldfish. damian continued, because the drugs had him rambling, pouring out affection he’d buried so deep even he forgot it was there. “and she smells nice,” he said, brows furrowing like this was deeply important. “and she holds my hand when i’m hurt. why isn’t she here.”
“d,” dick said softly, “we… didn’t know she existed.”
“that’s not my problem.” damian glared at the wall. “she should be here.” he shifted, trying to sit up, but cass stopped him again. he slumped back instantly, blinking up at her like she’d just used dark magic. “i need to talk to her,” damian insisted. “she’s probably worried.”
damian’s face, already soft from the medication, creased in a way none of them had ever seen. not anger, not annoyance, something else. something gentler. unguarded. dangerously unguarded.
he frowned. a slow, heartbreakingly earnest frown. “…she should be here,” he murmured again, more wounded this time, as if the room’s failure to produce you was a insult.
tim whispered, “we’re in uncharted territory,” like a man narrating a nature documentary about a dangerous, delicate creature.
dick pulled a chair closer. “we’re not keeping her from you,” he said. “no one knew you wanted her here.”
damian scowled. “i always want her here.”
tim choked on a laugh. cass elbowed him. but damian wasn’t done—if anything the words were pouring out faster now, because every thought of you made the meds tug him deeper into that warm, floaty honesty. “she knows how to touch my hair the right way,” he admitted, cheeks flushing faintly. “you don’t just— you have to go with the grain, not against the—” he gestured vaguely at his head, missing by several inches. “she knows. why isn’t she here.”
“she doesn’t know you’re awake.”
“you should have told her,” damian argued, scandalized. “you should have— obviously you should have—” his breath stuttered, foggy frustration ripping through him. “i want her.” he repeated, smaller.
“okay,” dick said. “okay. we’ll get her. just… try to relax.”
damian tried to glare, but it melted halfway into a woozy pout. “i won’t relax until she’s here.”
dick exhaled, long-suffering but soft. “i’ll call her. just—stay in the bed. stay horizontal. stay… not ripping out your IV.”
damian made a grumpy sound that was supposed to be dignified and was absolutely not.
you arrived like someone who had run every red light between your apartment and the wayne medical wing. you hadn’t even finished tying your shoes when the call came—an unfamiliar number flashing on your screen, a clipped voice saying, “hi, uh, this is dick grayson—damian’s brother—please don’t panic, he’s okay, but he’s asking for you and we… think you should come.”
you barely remembered hanging up. or grabbing keys. or the elevator door almost closing on your shoulder. ten minutes, maybe eleven, but it felt like one long breath held in your chest. in those ten minutes, everything in your head spun: damian doesn’t get hurt. damian doesn’t call for anyone. damian doesn’t need.
so what could’ve happened for dick to sound like that? what could’ve happened for damian to ask for you?
the security staff let you through without question—dick must’ve put your name on some list, because no wayne employee is normally that chill about strangers sprinting through sterile hallways with fear in their eyes.
your boots echoed off polished floors. the medical wing always had that cold, expensive, unnecessarily white look—a place built to fix bodies, not calm nerves. you followed the signs, heart hammering, palms damp.
room 3B.
your hand hovered on the handle for half a second—half a breath—because you had no idea what version of damian you’d find on the other side of the door. injured damian? angry damian? scared damian?
you pushed the door open.
damian had not relaxed. if anything, he had stewed, curled miserably in a hospital bed that looked like it was offending his entire lineage by existing. his hair was a mess. his eyes were half-lidded and glassy. a deep, irritable crease sat between his brows.
when you stepped in, the room shifted. dick straightened in his chair, relief flooding him. tim blinked like he couldn’t believe you were a real person. cass smiled at you like she’d expected this all along. but damian—
damian’s eyes snapped open like someone had turned the sun directly toward him. the transformation was instant. his whole face softened and brightened all at once, surprise flickering into recognition, recognition melting into something warm and wreckingly tender. “beloved,” he breathed.
and it was so quiet.
then he tried—immediately, stupidly, disastrously—to sit up. “no—no, no,” dick sputtered, grabbing his shoulder, flattening him instantly.
damian blinked up at him, betrayed for the thirtieth time today.
but then his gaze dragged back to you, heavy, warm, intoxicated—not just by meds but by relief. “you’re here. finally.”
your heart dropped somewhere into your stomach. “of course i came,” you started, glancing wearily at everyone in the room but stepping closer. “you called for me.”
“i needed you,” he said, so matter-of-factly it felt like the room stopped breathing. “i told them. repeatedly. they were slow.”
“hey—”
dick shot tim a glare.
damian reached for you without hesitation, fingers outstretched, messy and uncoordinated but desperate. cass gently caught his wrist to keep him from yanking at his IV. “come here,” damian insisted, eyes locked on yours. “i hate this place. i hate all of them.” he gestured vaguely at his siblings. “i want you.”
your lungs forgot how to work. “dami,” you murmured, stepping to his bedside, taking his free hand carefully—careful because he was loopy, careful because he was fragile, careful because he was looking at you like you were the only real thing in a world made of fog.
he exhaled, shoulders sinking in relief the moment your skin touched his. “yes. that. stay.”
and suddenly you’re the idiot standing in a hospital room surrounded by the waynes. you don’t look at any of them. you can’t. eye contact feels like a trapdoor.
because this is the exact scenario damian spent months avoiding. the one he insisted would “complicate matters” or “invite unnecessary scrutiny” or “destroy our operational advantage,” which was his very dramatic way of saying he didn’t want his family to know he had feelings like a human being.
and now he’s clinging to your wrist like a toddler afraid you’ll evaporate. your voice tries to work but it comes out small. “uh… okay. i’m here. not going anywhere.”
dick makes a soft, amazed sound, like he’s watching a wild animal eat out of someone’s hand for the first time. tim is frozen in place, eyes narrowed like he’s trying to run a facial-recognition scan on the situation. cass just looks deeply entertained. damian doesn’t notice any of it. he’s too busy hauling your hand into his chest like he needs the pressure to stay anchored.
he nudges closer to you on the pillow—well, he attempts to, but he’s so high that the movement is less “smooth shift” and more “gentle toppling.” you catch him before he face-plants, hands awkward around his shoulders, and he… softens. actually softens. melts into your touch like he’s never heard of pride in his life. “don’t leave,” he mutters. “they’re awful. you’re the only tolerable one.”
his siblings watch this happen with the energy of people witnessing a natural disaster in slow motion. your heart does something inconvenient. “i’m not going anywhere,” you say again, softer.
he’s going to regret every single word of this when the pain meds wear off. damian relaxes immediately, head tipping toward you, completely unconcerned that half his family is witnessing this emotional striptease he’ll definitely deny later. then his hand paws clumsily at the air until it finds yours again. he drags it to his chest, then up toward his jaw, nudging, nudging, nudging like a disgruntled cat demanding to be held exactly the right way. you blink down at him. “what are you doing.”
“you know what i’m doing,” he mutters, pushing your palm against his cheek like he’s molding clay. “closer.”
“i am close.”
“not enough.” a pout forms soft lower lip pushed forward in wounded royalty. “you’re supposed to…” he gestures with his other hand, fingers fluttering like he’s trying to summon the word. “kiss me.”
your body goes rigid. “damian. your entire family is three feet away.”
tim chokes on spit. dick makes a strangled noise. cass is already covering her smile with her hand. dick, bless him, claps his hands together. “alright! great time to take a break. we’re gonna… uh… give you two some space.”
“a lot of space,” tim adds, sprinting for the door like the room is on fire.
cass pauses beside the doorway, gives you a thumbs-up, then closes the door behind them. immediately, muffled bickering erupts.
“you didn’t record that?”
“i’m not filming our brother in the hospital!”
“coward.”
“guys, shut up—”
“i can’t believe he said kiss me—”
“cass stop laughing—”
“OH my god—”
you drag a hand down your face. “this is mortifying.”
damian doesn’t care. damian cares zero percent. damian is busy guiding your hand back to his cheek and pressing into it like it’s a heat source keeping him alive. “they’re idiots,” he announces, voice thick with anesthesia and indignation. “loud. insufferable. invasive.” he blinks heavily, lashes brushing your wrist. “i’m glad they’re gone.”
“they’re right outside the door still arguing.”
“they’re always arguing,” he says, sleepy venom coating every syllable. “they argue about toast.”
you try not to smile. “and you don’t?”
“i argue with purpose.” he says this with the gravitas of a dying king. “they argue because they’re incompetent.” his fingers curl around your wrist and he tries to tug you closer again. “come here,” he murmurs, cheeks pink from more than medication. “you’re being difficult.”
“i’m being respectful.” you correct.
he frowns. actually frowns, like you’ve just informed him gravity is optional now. “disgusting.” he sighs like a martyr. “just kiss me.”
his fingers skate clumsily up your wrist, slipping twice before finally hooking behind your hand, dragging it back to his cheek with the determination of a drowning man reaching for a lifeline. his pulse flutters beneath your palm, fluttery in that way that tells you the meds are hitting harder. “i need one,” he murmurs, barely audible. “just—one.”
“damian—”
“please,” he whispers. he looks at you like you’re the single point of focus in a world that’s tilting. pupils blown, cheeks flushed with medication and emotion he can’t register enough to restrain. he’s trying so hard to keep his eyes open, to hold onto you, to stay with you in the haze.
the battle between logic and instinct lasts all of four seconds. maybe less. you lean in, careful, so he can pull back if he wants. he doesn’t. he meets you halfway, or at least tries to, except he misjudges the distance and bumps your chin first, blinking like the world betrayed him again. you soften. cup the side of his face, steady him, then you kiss him.
it’s gentle. warm. barely there at first, just the press of your mouth against his, letting him feel it, understand it. his breath catches, a soft inhale against your lips like he can’t believe he got what he asked for. then the tension melts out of him all at once. his shoulders sag. his hand slides up to clutch weakly at your shirt. he makes this tiny, involuntary sound—half sigh, half relief—like the kiss untied some knot inside him he didn’t know was choking him. he kisses you back clumsily, lazily, chasing the contact with unfocused devotion. the kind of kiss that says i’m not fully here, but what i feel for you is.
when you finally pull back—because he’s still recovering—his eyes remain closed for a moment, like reality hasn’t quite caught up. they open, glazed and adoring in a way he will absolutely deny to the grave. “that,” he murmurs, voice dropping like he’s drifting toward sleep. “better.”
you smooth his hair back gently. “yeah?”
he nods against your hand, eyelids lowering again. “you fixed the… everything.” his lips twitch like he wants to smile but doesn’t have the energy. “kiss me again later.”
you can’t help it. you laugh. “we’ll see.”
he hums—hums, like he’s some exhausted, medicated cat settling into sun-warm sheets instead of a post-surgery assassin with a reputation to maintain. for a few minutes, everything is strangely easy. soft. he drifts in and out, eyes half-lidded, expression mellow in a way that would terrify gotham’s criminal underground. he asks you three questions in a row (“what time is it… why does the ceiling breathe… can you make the bed stop tilting?”), only for his attention to wander halfway through the third answer.
you stroke his hair and he melts like warm wax, that stiffness he always carries dissolving like you’re seeing a piece of him that only exists under anesthesia and around you. “you should rest,” you observe.
“i am resting.” he sounds offended you’d suggest otherwise. “i’m the picture of—” he yawns without warning. “—discipline.”
“sure,” you say, hand smoothing down his cheek. “very disciplined.”
he narrows his eyes, but the effect is ruined by how heavy his eyelids are. “mockery is unbecoming.” he drifts again, fingers twitching once like he wants to pull you even closer but can’t muster the energy. ten more seconds pass before he murmurs, barely audible, “don’t be gone long.”
your chest folds in on itself. “i won’t.”
but you still have to go. he needs his siblings updated. you need to breathe something other than recycled medical-wing air. and—let’s be honest—you need to apologize for walking in and accidentally detonating a family-secret bomb.
you pry his hand gently off your shirt, not easy, because he makes a soft, grumpy noise at the loss, and settle it over his blanket. “i’ll be right back,” you whisper.
he scowls, soft and half-asleep. “you better.”
you slip out. the door clicks shut behind you, and immediately, the hallway noise stops. immediately. like a switch. one second there’s muffled arguing, sharp whispers, annoyed sighs, something that sounds suspiciously like tim saying “that’s not fair, cass, you can’t hit people in a debate—”
and the next? dead silent.
you step fully into the corridor. three faces turn to you at once, frozen mid-conflict like you just walked in on a crime scene. dick stands with his arms out like he was physically separating people. tim looks defensive, hands half-raised, mouth half-open. cass is calmly holding what looks like tim’s hoodie string, like she’s been yanking him back into line.
they all stare. you blink. “…hi,” you say. it comes out small. painfully polite. the kind of greeting you use when you’ve just barged into the batfamily’s private meltdown because your secret boyfriend couldn’t keep quiet on morphine.
dick straightens so fast you actually hear the click of his spine. “hi! hey! um. hi. wow. okay. you—you came out.”
tim elbows him. “of course she came out, she used the door—”
cass smacks the back of his head without looking.
“ow???”
you exhale slowly. “so… um. i guess i should say—sorry? for all of that? he’s… not usually like this.”
three pairs of eyes give you the exact same expression:
oh we know.
you swallow, fingers twisting together because suddenly you’re seventeen again and meeting someone’s parents in a too-small living room where everyone is staring. “right,” you say. “um. so. i’m—” the word lodges in your throat. girlfriend.
technically true. emotionally true. secretly true. publicly, though… this was supposed to come out months from now. carefully. intentionally. maybe after damian finished having a internal breakdown about letting anyone know he had feelings at all. definitely not in a fluorescent hallway with him high on enough pain meds to take down a rhinoceros.
you clear your throat. “i’m… his—”
they all lean in a fraction. like wolves scenting vulnerability.
“—girlfriend.”
silence. not the casual kind. not the “oh okay” kind. no. this is the thick, suffocating, batfamily kind of silence, where shock ricochets between them. you want to die.
“wow,” dick finally says, voice high and bright and absolutely panicked. “so you’re—uh—wow. okay.”
tim takes a step back from you like you’re a rare cryptid. “wait, wait. damian—our damian—has a secret girlfriend and he didn’t tell anyone?”
“it wasn’t—” you rub your face. “it wasn’t my idea to keep it secret.”
every head turns toward the door behind you. the door damian is behind. three simultaneous: “of course it wasn’t.”
you sigh. “he didn’t… want the attention. or the questions. or the—” you gesture vaguely at the cluster of energy in front of you “—this.”
dick nods so hard you’re briefly concerned for him. “yeah. okay. right.”
tim crosses his arms. “he trusts none of us with his personal life. unbelievable.”
cass tilts her head, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “he likes her,” she says simply.
everyone turns to her, startled by the rare verbal input. she shrugs. “i watch him.”
you’re still mortified.“i’m sorry,” you say again, because apologizing feels easier than existing in this moment.
“no, no,” dick insists. “don’t apologize. we’re just—processing.”
“poorly.” tim adds.
“yes, poorly.”
you glance at the door, then back to them. “he… didn’t mean to tell you. he’s just… really high.
tim snorts. “yeah, we noticed.”
but then—dick softens. visibly. his whole posture loosens. “we’re… glad you’re here. really.”
cass nods once. tim looks like he wants to be annoyed, but deep down, he’s already building a spreadsheet called damian’s girlfriend: things to investigate. you inhale, steadying yourself. this is fine. you’re here. damian’s safe. they’re… intimidating, but also weirdly welcoming in a way. dick takes a half-step toward the door. “he’s probably freaking out that you’re gone.”
you grimace. “…yeah. he’s not subtle right now.”
tim snorts. “understatement of the century.”
you all slip back into the room—well, you walk in, and the batfamily kind of fans in behind you like an unnecessarily dramatic procession—and immediately you’re met with a very specific sound: damian huffing.
he’s upright again, God knows how he managed it with stitches and sedation, blanket bunched around his waist, hair a complete disaster, eyes sharp but unfocused and dark with irritation. he looks like someone who’s been abandoned in a desert for hours, not eight minutes. the second he sees you, everything in him unclenches. the frown softens. the shoulders drop. the tension behind his eyes dissolves like sugar in tea. “finally.”
you take a slow breath. “i was gone for like ten minutes.”
“ten minutes,” he repeats, scandalized. “i could have died.”
dick, behind you, mouths jesus christ into his hands.
you step closer and damian instantly reaches for you, hands out, grabby, zero dignity, all instinct. he looks like he’s two seconds from climbing out of bed and onto you. “i told you,” he mutters, leaning toward you with the gravity of someone confessing state secrets, “i can’t sleep without you.”
your brain stalls. his siblings collectively short-circuit behind you. “you’ve… never said that.”
“i’m saying it now.” he tries to sit up even straighter, immediately winces, then stubbornly ignores the pain. “i hate it when you disappear. it’s—” he squints, trying to find the word in the fog of anesthetic swimming through him, “—unacceptable.”
“unacceptable,” tim echoes under his breath, shaking his head like this is the best day of his life.
damian hears it and snaps—not very effectively, because it’s slurred and soft and deeply non-threatening—“shut up, drake.” then he turns back to you, expression going gentle again so fast it’s whiplash. “come here,” he says, voice lower, sleepy, warm. “please.”
you move without thinking. “better,” he mumbles, leaning into your palm. Leaning. “i hate hospitals.”
“i know you do.”
“they smell like fear and bleach. drake smells like bleach too. it’s suspicious.”
tim throws both hands up. “what—why—what did i even do?!”
damian doesn’t answer, mostly because something else catches his attention. his gaze drifts back toward the IV taped to his hand like he’s just spotted an enemy combatant. “…it’s still there,” he mutters darkly.
you can practically hear dick’s soul leave his body. “damian—”
too late.
damian’s fingers curl, determined and clumsy, reaching for the line like he’s about to solve all his problems via self-sabotage “nope,” you say quickly, sliding your hand over his before he can yank. “don’t start with that.”
he blinks at you, startled. “but it’s in me.”
“yes,” you say calmly, “and it’s supposed to be. if you pull it out, it’s going to hurt, you’ll bleed everywhere, and dr. thompson will throw a fit.”
damian glowers at the IV like it personally betrayed him. “i do not consent to its presence.”
“tough,” you say softly. “leave it.”
and something miraculous happens.
he listens.
he actually stops. his fingers relax under yours, he gives one final deeply offended exhale, then slumps back against the pillow, letting you guide his hand away from the tubing entirely. dick stares at the exchange like he just watched a unicorn descend from the ceiling. “you’ve gotta be kidding me.”
tim narrows his eyes. “yeah, no, I want that in writing. he listened? willingly?”
damian doesn’t even look at them. his attention is fully back on you, as if he’s forgotten anyone else exists. “you’re better at giving orders,” he mumbles, voice slurred and honest.
your eyebrows shoot up. “i didn’t give an order.”
“yes you did,” he insists, even poutier now. “and i liked it.”
tim chokes. you press a hand over damian’s, trying not to laugh. “okay. well. thank you for listening.”
“i listen to you,” he says, like it’s obvious. “you make sense.”
and then—inevitably—damian’s gaze drifts, catches something on the wall-mounted TV across from the bed, and brightens in a way that is actually alarming. “tch. finally,” he mutters. “something decent.” it’s… an anime. some shonen fight scene paused on a commercial break. “they always have commercials on. americans have no discipline.”
“do you—watch that one?”
“i watch everything,” he says, as if this is another well-known fact. “i have criteria.”
“criteria,” tim echoes. “oh this I gotta hear.”
damian lifts a finger dramatically, like he’s addressing a senate hearing. “strong character arcs. accurate sword technique. no filler episodes.” he narrows his eyes like the concept personally offended him. “most of them… disgraceful.”
and then—god help you—he turns his head toward you and says, in a tone so earnest it almost knocks you over: “if i recommended shows to you, you would watch them. properly.”
tim inhales sharply. “are you ASKING her to watch anime with you? publicly? in front of witnesses?”
damian blinks once. twice. “yes?” he says, baffled that this is even a question. “why wouldn’t i? she listens.”
dick puts a hand over his heart. “this is the most emotion he’s displayed since he was born.”
damian ignores him completely because a new thought has struck him, and he must share it immediately or die.
“and she likes animals,” he says. “this matters.”
you look around. “…does it?”
“yes.” he nods, solemn. “people who don’t like animals are not to be trusted. it is… foundational.”
“i mean—true,” you mumble, trying not to laugh.
“she,” he says, pointing at you again, “lets titi sleep on her jacket. on purpose.”
tim freezes. “wait. the demon cat? on their clothes? and—no blood?”
you shrug awkwardly. “she’s actually very sweet—”
“HA,” damian cuts in, triumphant. “i told you.” then, with no transition at all: “titi likes her more than she likes you.”
this is addressed to the entire batfamily.
gasps. outrage. betrayal. you pat damian’s arm, trying to settle him down. he looks up at you instantly—immediate, instinctive. “don’t go again,” he says, like you abandoned him for years instead of stepping outside to apologize to his siblings.
“i’m right here,” you soothe.
he exhales, satisfied. “good. if you leave, they talk. they always talk.” his voice drops to a whisper, conspiratorial. “they gossip.”
“WE DO NOT.”
damian waves a dismissive hand. “yes you do. you gossip like… hens.”
“hens??”
“LOUD hens,” damian corrects, settling further into your side. “and idiotic.”
you choke on a laugh as all three brothers erupt in overlapping offended noises. and you’re just sitting there thinking—
yeah. he is absolutely, utterly, painfully doomed when he sobers up.
hi hi!! can I request the lipstick and a split lip prompt with jason? maybe like a date night gone wrong and he shows up late and bruised but reader is mostly just happy he’s okay <33
lipstick and a split lip + hanif abdurraqib, “fall out boy forever” in they can't kill us until they kill us
He felt the world pulsing at the side of his head.
Even now with an ice pack pressed against his blackened eye and bloodied lip, the ache of a slow heal burned him as he sat on your couch. The night was too early to come home to you broken and bleeding as he did. Especially on a night like this, a night young and ripe with the plans to spend time together haunting some diner that hugs an overlooked yet well-loved corner of Gotham before letting the night pull you towards wayward wanderings or some movie theater replaying silver stories the both of you had yet to witness.
But instead, he sat on your couch letting the blackened eye bruise violently under the cooling ice and his reddened lip burn open while he saw from his half-vision that you were getting ready for what won’t come. And he hates having to bear this bad news to you, that at the very sight of him the night you looked forward to all week would be stripped from your hopeful imagination as if suddenly reduced to sand slipping from your fingers with no forewarning.
His head hung over the edge of the couch’s spine, unable to risk the chance of seeing your shadows move gracefully along the floor, spilling swiftly into the living room where he lay in self-inflicted banishment. You must not have heard him come in—and he thanked god for those little miracles—as your night rolled on with expectation and excitement tuning the weight of your steps. While he sat poorly nursing these small wounds, graciously decorated by some punk that got lucky once, you continued to get ready for what you assume will be a lovely evening spent in the life of the world.
The soft music rolled from your barely opened room, the door slightly ajar to the acoustics of a night vastly different from his. This is how you’ve always gotten ready for what you looked forward to: your music playing quietly along your room’s walls as you padded around searching for the best outfit, the best accessories, with the world melting away at your side as if its presence did not matter because it did not matter—you had better things to attend to, better business to make of what glimmers you can adorn for the night.
Jason stayed on the couch holding the burning freeze of the ice pack to his bruised face, eyes closed to the ritual of your symphonic sound. From where he sat, a near distance away from your arm’s reach, it felt as if the warm reddish-pink hues and the melodic jazz of what he assumed to be the used Nina Simone CD you purchased earlier that week forged some barrier, some intangible distance that he dared not cross. The disk spurred on, the delicate fabrics of your closet feathered under your thoughtful gaze (for he can see clearly in his mind’s eye how your brows furrowed in contemplation), and an unspeakable wave crashed over him. It was this overwhelming uproar of desire to hide away in the smallness of his swollen, splitting lip, to disappear into the pooling blood embellishing his skin, to draw the curtains and retreat under the covers—to call if a life and be done with the sorry mess of it all. You a blushing warmth and he a bloodied cold. In some wired entropic experiment played out in this apartment’s stage, it was only logical that he vanished into some corner of this space, into some balconied edge of your life.
The pull towards a smallness grew and settled deep within him, beckoning him like some siren song antithetical to the calming reach your presence from another room provided. Yet, for all the horrors and violences he has faced, for some reason the streak of disappointment that would paint over the glimmer in your eyes, that would sullen your perfect smile and weigh heavy on your orchestral voice—it was all a sight too much for Jason to bear. It would be easier that way, he thought, easier to flee and vacate your home and life, to rid himself of his bloodied apparition that haunts you whether you indulge in that gruesome truth or not. He ruined your night after all—and isn’t that a crime deserving a hefty punishment?
He felt himself sinking into the depth of your couch as his body pillared in refusing the crashing of his mind’s wanderings. Leaving, of course, would make this all easier: climbing out the window he entered routinely from and pushing his body north toward some forsaken safe house scattered around the city, offering him a sham place to rest his tomb of guilt, even if it was for one night. In leaving, sneaking through the front door possibly, he would be spared from your ache and your sullen expression that would overtake your form, and he would avoid shouldering the sole responsibility for this onset of grief at another failed night out together.
Yes, leaving would make this all easier, but what of his life has been easy up to this point? Even getting into a hapless altercation with some jerk that wanted to boulder the risk of hurting him on a night he had already promised to you strayed from his easy task of laying low and out of trouble. Not even loving you has been easy solely because of his own lingerings, his own mind’s temptations naming him villain as you slept peacefully in his arms. Every glance and touch and smile you offered him in those quiet moments of your life shared with him made his heart ache for what kindness had your eyes marked him as, for what damning truth had your soul mischaracterized him for. Your love—gentle as a well-missed summer breeze caressing his being on the turn of autumn’s leaves; beautiful kisses remembered on warm skin—crept so easily into his heart before it was his own faulty wiring that wrenched him small, cornered, and undeserving. Was there, after all, a place for a love this gentle for vanished men? It was a bloody thing, this guilt, and while it was mostly confined to the bruises now blooming along his eyes, lips, and jaw, the guilt had marked him into threaded smallness, some lump craving a disappearance as if it would ease any heartache of yours to come.
He moved from his upright position to lay down on your all-too-small couch, letting his head pillow along the armrest as the rest of his body shrank into the curves and grooves of the worn material. He tried to stay as silent as he could hoping that his stillness would maintain the shining illusion that your night had not been altered. Of course, an enemy to all that which is easy, Jason’s shuffling to find some semblance of comfort in his growing kingdom of small things carelessly knocked over one of your knitted throw pillows, its plush landing onto the floor somehow carried over the jazz harmonies into your room alerting you to his presence.
“Jason?” you called out to him from your room, your voice melodic in its own beautiful, rhythmic cadence—music for his tainted ears. “Is that you?”
“Yeah,” he offered back without hesitation, his voice attempting to masquerade the bruises forming on the terrain of his throat. How he wished to vanish now, to retreat into the crevices of the world and disappear from this disappointment that will mark you. He kept his eyes closed and concealed, unable to witness the pending ruination ticking into reality.
You moved towards him, your footsteps coming closer and closer before the door of your room creaked into its open embrace to the rest of your small apartment.
“Jason? Are you okay?” you questioned as you approached his shrinking form on the couch, one arm tossed over his eyes to hold the barely noticeable ice-pack in place (intentional on his part, hoping that he could conceal the truth as long as possible) while the other rested limp on his torso. You kneeled beside his place on the couch as your hand brushed against his bicep, gently urging him to look at you as if the gesture of your hand resting along his skin alone could melt his defenses and wither the moat he’s hidden himself behind—and, as it has now, it often did. Jason moved his arm from his face, grabbing the ice pack in his slow and labored movement, revealing fully what crimes and mistakes and faults have done upon his features.
You looked at him with a mix of shock and worry with how your posture straightened slightly and your breath hitched briefly, but his mind could only read this as the disappointment he expected the moment he entered the threshold of your apartment. Your brows furrowed as your hands came to hesitate into a caress of his face; your eyes widened, your mouth slightly open to the bruised creature he returned to you as. He couldn’t bring himself to fully look into your eyes, but he knew from how your fluidity and buzzed excitement of the night waned that he had singlehandedly undone you. The waves of his mind and smallness calmed and he knew it akin to the end of time.
“I’m sorry,” Jason remorsefully said, shame clinging to the only string of words that his mind could conjure, that his voice could bear the weight of on his tongue. You looked down at him from your place on the floor, the contact of your divine eyes meeting his was almost too much; the beauty that enveloped you, like some diamond cave glimmering brightly in the depths of some forsaken cave, distracted his mind, stunning him and his heart into a dumbfounded silence. He softly bit his lips, forgetting the injury sustained at its site. The slight taste of blood landed on his tongue, and he confused its rusted salt with love.
He shuffled, freeing himself from your hands’ gentle caress in attempt to sit up as if the position would remedy the guilt weighing heavy on his chest: “I just- I didn’t think. I didn’t expe-”
“Jason,” you said in such kindness that felt unbelonging to him, cutting his stuttered mess of words cleanly in two. Your hands came to rest on his thighs, and his hand—habitually, instinctually, as if destined in its path the way nightly constellations map the season’s sky—came to yours. You continued, grounding and calming, like waterfalls in springtime marshes: “Shut up.”
He needed your firmness, especially in moments like this where his mind taunted him, stretched him into a desire for disappearance. He felt your eyes upon him, the soft blinking of your lashes a lighthouse calling upon his return.
You reached to hold his face once more, “Look at me.”
Following your words like a command meant for some wounded dog devoted solely to your kindness, he did. You appeared to him as divinity, like light withstanding the darkened shadows of Gotham; the beauty you possessed, especially in how you had readied yourself for an evening of unbridled laughter and smiles, a barrier of joy in a city that worked to jostle its stability, was unearthly in its angelic chorus ushering you to him.
Under your gaze, worry draping the corners of your perfected face, he found himself at some crossroad of big and small, of love and guilt. Your hand carefully caressed his bruising wounds, the warmth of your skin against his, uncomfortable at first, melted into the cool in some minute and ancient practice of healing neither of you were aware. He shuddered at your hesitant touch before leaning fully into the love your palm carried.
“Your face is cold.”
“The ice,” his words slurred.
Your fingers traced a path along his bruising blackened eye, almost excavating the ruins of his skin after being pillaged and stormed. You studied him with worry never ceasing against your features, unyielding along your form in contrast to the adornments and style you spent the evening preparing. He ruined not only the night, but you—plaguing your manicured beauty with his ailments and trappings of blood, dirt, and grime.
At the warmth of your gentleness against his cooled skin, it was as if all he can bring you was pain: bloodied knuckles that you would stay awake into the early morning patching up, unsavory gashes to his torso that you would cautiously hold in sleep, split lips that now threaten you with ruin. If loving you was not easy for him, as he rationed in his perverse labyrinthine thinking, loving him had to be a newfound layer of hell—one which his presence here, your hand upon his cheek, had doomed you to.
The call to vanish rose within him again, louder than before as if the shadows inhabiting the darkened corners of your barely illuminated lamp-lit apartment yearned for his disappearance just as much as his cells screamed. But your steady hand stayed firm along his skin beckoning him into visibility, into submission. Your thumb now hesitated along the rust-blood stained contours of his split lip.
“I’m sorry,” Jason started again.
“Don’t.”
“I know you were really looking forward to tonight.”
“Jason.” You said firmly, softness grasping each syllable of his name. You spoke his name like it was a reaffirmation of life and present-ness: a call to look into your eyes, your voice some kind of siren song that doomed him from ever hiding. Your hand rose to move rebellious strands of hair from his face, you as well rising with this gesture to let your hand fully meet the forest of his hair as you moved fluidly to sit beside him on the shrinking couch.
“Who cares,” you continued. “We can order takeout and watch a movie here. I just wanted to spend time with you. That’s all I ever want. I don’t care how.”
Your fingers lightly brushed through his loose locks and Jason felt himself undone. He met your eyes once more, unable to find anything of hatred or disappointment in their diamond-shine, anything that would prove the voice in his head correct. No, instead all that was verily there was a softness you always looked at him with, a profound gentleness that witnessed and made him whole, and not stretched or split at the seams. His head moved, almost out of its own volition, to rest on your shoulder, your hand remaining in the garden of his hair to play at the soft curls, to compose harmonies through the gentle pull of his scalp.
Jason had always expected love to be something violent, something bloody and rusted, but all you have ever given him was music: melodic gemstones of kindness and tender touches that feel anything but damning. Your touch was salvation, Nina’s cry—playing still from the other room now forgotten—for a saved world.
event info: while I’m on vacation, I can’t help but miss writing for yall.. so this is an excuse for me to keep giving you guys fics, and making sure everyone’s in the summer mood !!
I’ve come up with a lot of ideas already, but would love to hear from you guys if you have ideas! Send a request and specify it’s for the summer event 🩵🧡
DISCO LIGHTS ✔︎
Dick Grayson x Reader
HONEYMOON GLOW
Bruce Wayne x Wife!Reader
RED AS A LOBSTER
Jason Todd x Reader
BACKROADS AND HEARTBEATS
Roy Harper x Reader
more to come..
It would mean a lot to me if people reblogged this post! :)
summary: one can hardly blame you for having a crush on your boyfriend's hot dad...right?
warnings: innuendos, pda, Damian being jealousssss 😋
Damian would be absolutely disgusted at the thoughts filtering through your mind at the moment.
He would, no doubt, shove you onto a plane and send you back to Gotham without blinking if he were able to read minds. A justifiable reaction to the one thought you kept on revisiting.
His dad was a total dilf.
Now, everyone on the planet knew that Bruce Wayne was an attractive man; he had insane chemistry with nearly everyone he came across and managed to have his name and picture splashed across the front page of all newspapers due to his power and prestige. But what the papers neglected to inform its readers was that he was an absolute babe.
While Damian had inherited his emerald eyes, tan skin, and lean frame from his mother, he still bore an uncanny resemblance to his father with their raven hair, regal features, and the fullness of their mouths. He had been rather blessed in the genes department, much to your envy and elation.
The first time you met Mr. Wayne, was during the family dinner Damian brought you to after your fifth date. He had been absolutely charming and had your cheeks pink with schoolgirl shyness. It had been embarrassing.
Fortunately, you had gradually become used to his charisma after spending so much time with the family and it was easier to ignore the harmless crush you harbored towards him. Until now...
"Who's up for a round of sand volleyball?" Dick offered after having polished off his eighth slice of watermelon
"Only if I don't have to team up with you again," Jason grumbled, standing from his chair to stretch his limbs.
Damian had brought you along to his family vacation on their private island off the coast of Hawaii, feeding you all kinds of exotic foods, ravishing you in your private cabana, and relaxing with you on the beach where worries and stress held no power.
Currently, he was laying beside you, stretched out on his stomach on his beach towel, cheek resting on his forearm as he napped. You were sitting under an umbrella with a book open on your lap and a half-eaten plate of fruits beside you.
Tim had offered to grab the net and then came back, helping his two brothers to set it up as they all fought over who would pair up with who.
Mr. Wayne stood from his own chair and looked at you. "Would you like to join us? I'll make the boys promise to control their rough-housing."
You shook your head good-naturedly. "I should probably stay and watch over Damian so he doesn't burn."
Mr. Wayne chuckled, working his shirt off and-
Wowza!
You didn't know forty-year-old men could have abs like that!
A blush spread across your cheeks as he lathered sunscreen all over his toned torso and muscled arms, the display making you feel light-headed despite it's basic purpose.
You were so focused on keeping your thoughts PG that you didn't realize he had asked you another question until you saw the furrow in his brow and heard the distant call of your names.
You shook your head and smiled apologetically. "Sorry, I think I'm thirsty-" Your eyes winded at the unintended innuendo. "I-it's just so hot out here!" Oh brother. You were just digging yourself further into a hole.
Oblivious to your mental chastising, Mr. Wayne grabbed a water bottle from a cooler nearby and handed it to you. "Drink up some. Damian would have our heads if we let his little girlfriend get heat stroke."
And with that, he was off to join his other sons on the makeshift court.
You stared after him, oh so confused and guilty for having ogled at your boyfriend's dad. You were the worst person alive.
You attempted to busy yourself by massaging sunscreen into Damian's sun-warmed skin as he slumbered, not wanting him to burn. This was the only man you were supposed to ogle. And you did. Frequently.
While he was more slender than his father, Damian had what people liked to call 'sleeper build'. You couldn't tell so much when he wore clothing but as soon as it all came off, you could make out the distinct definition of his muscles. Even now you could see a whisper of his strength as he rolled his shoulder blades back as he started waking up.
He blinked his eyes open and smiled softly at you. "Beloved,"
You finished rubbing sunscreen into the nape of his neck and kiss his forehead. "How'd you sleep, Dami?"
He shrugged. "One can hardly sleep well with three obnoxious idiots nearby."
He referred to his brothers, obviously.
"They're all playing sand volleyball if you wanted to join them?"
"Not at all." He sat up and stretched his arms above his head, biceps bulging and causing you to bite your bottom lip. "How much water have you had?"
You held up your half-full bottle. "Your dad gave me one a few minutes ago. Said you would beat them all if they let me dry up."
He put a hand on your knee, thumb brushing the inside of your thigh. "I would."
You looked down at his skin on yours and found yourself wishing you were locked away in your cabana where he could take apart your bikini and kiss all of the skin that had been hidden from the sun and...
"That is disturbing," your boyfriend muttered under his breath, attention fixed on his family who were conferring with their prospective teammates as they started another round.
"What?"
"My father believes he still has the virility of a younger man. He shouldn't be taking his shirt off in front of my girlfriend." He shook his head in disgust.
You chuckled. "He's at the beach on vacation."
"Still." He looked at you and searched your features. "It doesn't unsettle you, does it? Seeing old men in a state of undress? I can make him-"
"No, no! He's fine." You were quick to say.
Maybe too quick.
Damian's eyes narrowed at your rejection and he slowly asked, "You're hiding something from me."
Yeah, the fact that you find his dad insanely attractive and can hardly look at the man without your face bursting into flames.
"I'm not." You lied.
"You are." His hand trailed up your thigh and the side of your stomach until he held your rib-cage. Your heart stuttered at his possessive touch. "Beloved...I could never be mad at you. You know this."
You shook your head adamantly. Perhaps he wouldn't be mad but most definitely grossed out. "It's nothing, Dami. Seriously. Do you want some fruit?"
Your attempt at throwing him off your trail was futile. Damian was nothing if not persistent. In fact, it was one of the most admirable traits about him.
"Talk to me." He urged and, for a man who disliked any form of public displays of affection, he pressed kisses to your neck. "Please, beloved."
Curse him. Your hands flew to his strong shoulders, unable to resist his intimate ministrations as he flicked his tongue at your sensitive pulse. "It's so silly, you'll think me foolish."
His hair tickled under your chin. "My girl is anything but foolish. She is the smartest, kindest, most beautiful-"
"I think your dad is a hottie."
He paused with his lips on your collarbone and you felt yourself stop breathing in fear of his reaction.
"Y-you know how people have crushes on their history teachers or firefighters?" you reasoned nervously. "It's like that! I don't think he's hotter than you, of course. No one could ever compare to you, believe me. But he is your father so that should compensate for something and-and you probably hate me and-"
Damian pressed his finger to your lips to shut you up and you swallowed. He took a moment to gather his thoughts before saying quietly, "You think Bruce is hot?"
You nod dumbly.
He shook his head in disappointment. "He's an old man. How would he inspire any sort of interest in a sensible girl such as you?"
Oh Damian, your sweet summer child. He was obviously ignorant to the sexual appeal his father held over nearly everyone. Hell, even men liked the billionaire. The past rumors of his 'affair' with Metropolis' Clark Kent could only attest to that.
You scrubbed a hand over your face. "Do you know how many men are that fit over the age of thirty?"
"No."
"That's because there are only like five in the entire world and your dad is one of them. Not to mention he could bewitch a cockroach with just one look."
He scoffed.
You pulled him to you and hugged him tightly. "You'll always be my number one though, baby. You know that, right?"
He grunted against your shoulder but didn't pull away, a good sign.
He let you shower his face with kisses then pulled back and sighed. "I should probably defeat them all, shouldn't I?"
You rolled your eyes in amusement. "If that would make you feel better, then go ahead."
He stood to his full height, casting a shadow over you and then headed off to his family where Tim had just spiked the ball onto the opposite side of the net. Damian spoke to them for a while, no doubt negotiating terms and inserting himself.
They all jeered and mocked him but came to an agreement and then a new match began. Surprise, surprise, with Damian choosing the team opposing Mr. Wayne.
You watched as Damian would shove in front Dick and Tim and, more than once, strike the ball off his father's head.
"Y/n!" Jason called, a hand held to his forehead to block the sun. "Tell Damian he needs to play nice!"
The volleyball smacked into his shoulder in response and you chuckled.
By Damian's fifth win, everyone cried off, complaining about needing to cool off in the water or getting hungry. Damian came back to you with a touch of a smug smile on his lips, a sure sign that he was proud of himself.
"You are such a jerk." You chastised.
"I do not share, beloved. Not even your attention." He put out a hand to you and you took it, letting his long fingers intertwine with yours.
"I never knew you could be so jealous," you replied dryly, letting him lead you away from his family and towards the cabanas.
"Will you two be joining us for dinner?" Mr. Wayne called behind you.
Damian's lip curled in annoyance. He was still brooding over your earlier declaration, it would seem. So you looked over your shoulder and smiled politely. "Not tonight, but thanks!"
You figured you would be spending the rest of the day tucked away in the bedroom with your boyfriend in order to...apologize.
"In my defense," you said once you were out of earshot, "most men his age have pot bellies and flabby skin and-"
You squealed as Damian hoisted you up over is shoulder, effectively shutting you up.
Synopsis: Reader and Jason have been friends for a long time. Both of you are vigilantes. Tonight, after escaping from a few cops on your tail and coming down from your adrenaline high, a heated moment turns into your first fuck and some feelings are confessed.
Details: jason todd x fem!reader, smut, piv, fingering, praise, confessed feelings
w.c. 4k+
"You're an idiot, you know that?" Jason huffed as he dropped down beside you on the roof of your apartment building, groaning and rolling back his sore shoulders. "You do know look both ways before you cross the street, right?"
You rolled your eyes at him, still panting lightly from your quick escape from the cops who pulled up as you finished tying the group of idiots you were kicking the asses of up to some broken light poles. While running, a car almost turned you into roadkill, but Jason yanked you back by your pants so hard you got a wedgie.
You rubbed your sore bottom as he leaned against the nearest vent, pulling off his hood and the mask covering the lower half of his face, chuckling softly as he shook his head. "You know, im getting tired of saving your ass all the time."
"You're one to talk, Todd. That cut on your outer thigh would have been a stab to your dick if i hadn't thrown the trash can lid at him." You pull off your own mask, the breeze carding though your hair and cooling your flushed cheeks, sweat drying on the back of your neck.
It's Jason's turn to roll his eyes, tsking as he looks down at his left thigh, muttering about how he liked these pants as he ripped the tear in the open a bit more to get a better look at the cut. You noticed it looked deep, but before you could say anything, he waved a gloved hand.
"Its fine. Just a scratch."
"Its not a scratch, and you're not nonchalant enough to pretend it doesn't hurt, even just a bit."
Blood was oozing from the wound and doen his leg. It wasn't fatal, it didn't hit an artery and it wasn't large enough to be at risk of him bleeding out, but you were still worried. You stayed silent though, not pushing right now.
"C'mon, lets get cleaned up." You turned and hopped down onto your fire escape just below, knowing that if you pushed to help him, it'd just make him shut you out. You didn't want to push any boundaries by asking to patch him up yourself, so you asked to make sure he was okay in this subtle way. Come down and you can both clean yourselves up together in a way that would let the other know they're okay without getting too intimate. The last thing you wanted to do was pressure him or make him uncomfortable.
You didn't look back to see if he was following you, knowing he would eventually, and there was a heavy thud of his boots on the metal of the fire escape behind you. You slipped in to the window of your living room, turning on the lamp next to your couch as you sighed and started to strip your suit off, glad to be rid of the tight fabric.
Jason moved behind you, quiet as he slowly stripped of his gear first, then he took off his shirt aswell. His muscles were broad and tight, his skin littered with bruises and puckered with thick, pale scars. There was a bit of blood on him, much less than the last tine you'd seen him topless. Last time, you didn't have the time to admire the sight in front of you and were focused on stitching a gash on his side that he wasn't able to reach it properly to stitch himself.
You took your time watching him now, the way his muscles bunched and stretched beneath the tanned skin, the olive tone mixing with the purples and greens of abused flesh quite nicely. His autopsy scars were clearly visible, deep and darker than the rest of the raised and healed flesh from blades and other things. Below that, the muscles in his abdomen flexed nicely as he moved, tapering off into the nice V of his hips and down lower, where a dark trail of hair snuck into his pants, down to what you could only imagine as a beautifully big-
"My eyes are up here, babe."
Your gaze snapped up to his, the green of his iris piercing into you as you met eye to eye. Your neck felt hot as you scoffed, looking away and putting your an old shirt on before dropping the bottoms of your suit, standing in your panties. You ignored the way he called you babe and the way heat pooled low in your belly. "Yeah, and your shirt is over there so put it on."
Jason was quiet then and when you looked to see what he was doing, you caught him staring at your ass and thighs before looking away, clearing his throat and putting a shirt on.
"Neon green lace?" He shook his head, amused, eyes half-lidded as he looked at you again. "Well that's a first."
"They're comfortable, Jay. Maybe you should get a pair in your size and see how you like 'em." The words left your mouth in a rush, a hot flush filling your face before you could think, and Jason started laughing again.
"Oh, I wont deny it. They match my eyes a bit, so im flattered." His cheeks also flushed slightly, and he stepped closer, looming near your shoulder as you reached for the first aid kit you had. You felt his heat radiating off his chest and seeping into you through your back, felt his soft breath against your neck, felt the warmth pooling low in your belly.
"You look tired," he murmured, and you almost wanted to groan at the low rasp of his voice in your ear, wanted to lean back into his chest as he subtly pressed you against the back of your couch.
"Adrenaline is just wearing off," you replied, grabbing some alcohol and a bandaid for a cut on your cheek, when you saw his hand twitch, jerking upwards toward your own as you moved. It hovered in the air for a moment, and he let it drop when you turned to face him fully.
His eyes raked dragged over you slowly, and you felt bare beneath his gaze, bare in a way that made you press your legs together, feeling a bit slicker between your thighs. Your face felt hot now, embarrassment and want turning in your stomach as he looked at you like that.
He stepped foward, close enough that your faces were only a few inches from each other, and murmured, "you have a cut." Before you knew it, he was pressing a cotton pad soaked in alcohol against the cut, the sting making you hiss, and when you parted your lips to protest, he stuck the bandaid over it, smoothing it over your skin for a second too long before pulling away.
Your breath was shallow now, a slow and faint throbbing pulsing between your legs that intensified with his eyes drifting across your form. Mentally you berated yourself. You needed to calm down. You're both exhausted, now isn't the time to get horny.
You swallowed thickly, throat bobbing as you stepped away, excusing yourself to go shower and disappearing into your bathroom. You stripped quickly, eagerly stepping into the cool shower to relax. It didnt seem to help, your muscles were still tight, shoulders bunched up to your ears, and you were still slick between your thighs. You sighed wearily, gathering soap on a washcloth and starting to scrub blood and grime off of you.
You were rinsing shampoo out of your hair when you heard the bathroom door creak. At first you passed if off as a breeze just moving the door, then it fully opened. The glass door of the shower was blurred with the running water running across it, but you could still make out a figure slipping into the bathroom.
"Jay?" You called, voice shaking a bit. It was silent before the shower door opened, and all six feet (give or take) of jason and his gloriously toned body stood on front of you. Naked.
"Jason-!" You couldn't help but look down between his legs and-wow, you were right it wss beautifully big-had to force yourself to keep your eyes on his, still shocked and confused at him coming into your damn shower. You crossed your arms and legs to cover your breasts and your cunt.
"Jason, what the fuck-?" He cut you off with a kiss, stepping fully into the shower as you gasped against his lips, his tongue taking the opportunity to slip between your lips. The door closed behind him and he gently pressed you against the shower wall, the cold tile making you shiver against him. "Mmph-!"
He pulled back after a moment, breath heavy as his eyes searched yours, visibly nervous and embarrassed with their intensity. He bit his lip before asking, "Was that okay...? I'm so sorry if it wasn't, i-i just really wanted to kiss you."
You were shocked into silence, mouth gaping like a fish out of water, and his cheeks turned bright red, him mistaking your reaction for rejection. "Christ-im so sorry. I just-"
Your lips crashed down on his, kissing him to shut up up because you wanted this. You've wanted this for a while, honestly. Jason was so beautiful, not just physically. He was funny in that sarcastic way that scratched your brain just right, he was sweet beneath all that sass and muscle of his, he was scarred but still let you patch him up and see him bare because he trusted you, he was passionate about books and poetry and loved ranting about whatever novel or old play he borrowed from the library near his apartment and wa snow reading.
You liked him. A lot. So you kissed him back, sliding your tongue into his mouth and gripping his hair ro pull him closer. "Yes," you whispered against his lips. "This is more than okay, Jay."
He let go then, groaning as he devoured your lips again, grabbing the backs of your knees and hauling you up, slotting his hips between your thighs in such a delicious way, the friction at this angle feeling heavenly as he held you against the wall.
His kisses got sloppier, pressing his lips against your neck, trailing slow, lingering kisses down to your collarbone. He whispered softly against your skin, confessing how long he's wanted this, how he's felt about you.
"I didn't think you'd feel the same." He nipped at your jaw, making you gasp softly, your hips bucking against him, grinding slowly against his lower stomach as you moaned. "I-god-i havent been able to get you out of my damn head. [name]." He slows then, breathing heavily against your shoulder.
He lifted his head to look at you, eyes soft. "How far do you want this to go?" His hand squeezed your thigh, thumb stroking softly. "We won't go any further than you want. I promise. Just tell me."
Your heart was hammering in your chest, fast and insistent against his as you swallowed, throat bobbing, before responding. "All the way." Your cheeks turned red as you said it, but you continued. "A-all the way, Jay. I'm sure. As long as you're okay with it."
He watched your face for a moment before a small smile touched his lips and he kissed you again. "I'm more than okay with it, baby." He paused then, pressing his forehead against yours. "But we aint doing it in the shower. Not for our first."
He hauled you against him, turning the water off before stepping out of the shower door, grabbing a towel as he walked out of the bathroom and to your bedroom. The warm lighting your lamp gave off washed over you both, accenting the flex of his mucles as he carried you toward your bed.
He placed you down gently, using the towel to dry water off you and then himself, and you noticed the cut on his thigh was till bleeding. "Jay-"
"Not now, baby," he said gruffly, tossing the towel away and slowly pushing you back on the bed, getting on top of you and kissing down your chest. "Not when i have you right here, open and wanting me like this."
Your hand slips down his chest to his stomach and lower, slowly wrapping your hands around his firm cock and making his groan. Your thumb flicks over the tip, smearing precum as he hisses softly, nipping your shoulder. "Fuck-"
He kisses you again, slowly thrusting into your hand and making soft noises of pleasure into your mouth that turn you on even more. "God, you feel so good. Don't stop," he whined softly, biting his lip as his face ducked between your neck and shoulder. Your pussy was throbbing now, slick and warm and waiting. God, you wanted him inside you.
"Jason," you panted against his shoulder, impatient, and he groaned quietly.
"I know, beautiful. But we gotta warm you up first." His hand reached between your legs, slow enough to give you time to pull away if you wanted, before his thumb flicked your clit. You gasped softly, whimpering as he rubbed slow circles on the little bud. "Oh, god-"
"This okay?" He whispered, gently kissing along your jaw before pulling back to see your face, eyes half lidded as he watched all your reactions to his touch. "Just tell me if its too much, baby. Ill stop if it is, i promise."
You moaned again, shaking your head and tangling your fingers in his hair. "No, its okay. Just-more. Please. Please, Jason-"
He kissed you softly, smiling against your lips gently as he murmured, "There's no need to beg. I got you." He plunged a finger inside your pussy, then a second to slowly stretch you, and a third was added not too long after.
You cry out as he finds that spongy spot inside you, his fingers curling as your walls clench around his fingers. "Jason-"
"God, you're so tight." He kisses down your chest gently, sucking marks down between your breasts as he breathes the scent of you in. "You okay, baby? You close?"
You nodded, too blessed out to form a coherent response as you felt yourself orgasm rapidly growing in your belly. "M'gonna-"
"Let go, baby. I got you, I promise." Hos thumb flicked harshly over your clit again and you shattered, crying out as you gushed all over his fingers, drenching them in your slick with his name on your tongue as your orgasm crashed over you.
His fingers keep moving through your climax, slowly easy you back down to earth as you come back down, legs trembling as you whimpered from overstimulation. "Hmph... Jay..."
"You did so good," he whispered, the praise sliding off his tongue as he trailed kissing along your neck and pulled his fingers out of you. "You okay, baby? It wasnt too much, right?"
You shook your head, trying to slow your breathing as you trembled in his arms, tucking yourself against him and his solid warmth.
He rolled you both over, letting you relax against his chest, you both breathing in sync in the warm room.
You spoke after a while, murmuring, "I didn't think you'd be able to do all that."
He scoffed softly, amused, and turned his head to look at you, brow arched. "So you thought about it?"
"Well-no, but..." you trailed off, biting your lip as you pressed your cheek against his chest. "I just... I didn't think it'd feel that good." You cheeks flushed again but before you could hide your face in his neck, he tilted your chin up to look at him.
His eyes were soft, now the shade of evergreen in this light as he looked at you, gentle but intense. "I'm glad i made you feel good. I..." he hesitates, closing his mouth before continuing. "I dont have a lot of experience with this. Im just glad I didn't hurt you or anything."
He was shy all of a sudden, looking at the sheets as his hand trailed down your spine. "I... I'm sorry for barging into your shower like that. It wasnt right. I just... god, it was shitty of me. Cornering you in the shower and just kissing you. Even if you wanted it, I should've asked. I'm so sorry."
You paused, looking at his profile, at the flush in his cheeks, the small guilt in his eyes as he mentally scolded himself, and a soft smile touched your lips. You lifted your hand to cup Jason's cheek, turning his face back to yours.
"Jason," you said his name, making sure his attention was fully on you. "It's fine. Yeah, maybe you should've asked, but I didn't mind what you did. I... I've been wanting this for a while too. I think if you didn't do it, we would still be dancing around each other. Its okay, I promise. If it wasn't, you wouldn't be in my bed right now."
Your smile widened as he chuckled softly, pressing his forehead against yours. "Yeah. You would've beat my ass if you didn't like it."
You stay like that for a moment before you slowly lean in, pressing your lips against his in a gentle kiss. He makes a soft noises lips parting to taste you as he reciprocates.
The kiss deepened quickly, both of you grinding against each other before you turned you onto your back again, his body hovering over you as you continued kissing.
You felt his hips press between your legs hesitantly, and he pulled back to see your face, shy again, and you understood what he wanted.
"We... we don't have to if you dont want to. I just..." he trailed off, his neck turning red as he hesitated, and you kissed him again, tangling your fingers in his hair as you nodded.
"I want it. I want you, Jason."
He was silent for a moment before groaning, pressing his lips hard against yours as he got into position, lining his tip up with your entrance before easing himself inside. You both gasped as the feeling of his tip inside you, moving in unision as he slowly pushed himself in, inch by inch, until he bottomed out.
"God, you're so tight," he practically whimpered, not moving to let you get used to the stretch. "Fuck-"The stretch burned deliciously, the tip of his cock sitting against thats gummy spot deep inside you, making you whimper. "Jason."
You moaning his name seemed to do something to him. "Fuck, baby, please let me move. You feel so good around me." You nodded eagerly and that was all he needed. He pulled back slowly before sliding back in, faster and faster each time, fucking you hard enough that the bed frame hit the wall with each of his thrusts, his soft moans and grunts muffled against your neck.
You moved in unison, your nails digging into his back and hips rising to meet his as he pistoned in and out of you, breaths heavy with the sound of skin meeting skin echoing in the room.
You almost cried out when you felt his thumb on your clit, pinching and flicking in time with his thrusts. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes and you whined his name, your stomach tightening as you felt yourself on the edge.
"Jason, im close-"
"I am too, baby, just hold on, okay?" He wanted heavily, moaning into your neck as he fucked you deeper into the mattress, groaning. He grabbed your hands and intertwined your fingers, pressing them into the sheet on either side of your head.
It wasnt long before you both shattered, moaning into each other's mouths as you came. He pulled out, releasing onto your stomach with a groan against your neck. He collapsed on top of you, almost crushing you, but you were too dazed to protest. He nuzzled into your neck, shy again all of a sudden. "Im sorry," he murmured, trailing soft kisses down your jaw. "I was too rough, im sorry. I didn't mean to be."
Your heart melted at his sweetness and you cupped his face in your hands, pulling him back to see his face."Jason, im okay," you assured him, pressing your head against his. "I liked it. And you didnt hurt me, I promise. I'd hit you if you did." That got a chuckle out of him and he leaned in slowly to kiss you, lips meeting in a tender embrace.
"Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you for this. For... for feeling the same."
You ran your nose along his. "I've felt like this for a long time, Jason. I dont plan on stopping any time soon either."
He kissed you again, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, feeling same and warm in his embrace, as you did for every night after that
A/N: This is probably so ooc, sorry if it is! Also haven't written smut in a while so if its weird, im also sorry! This is also much longer snd more in detail than the male version (mostly with the confession and fluffy parts), for that I apologize. I wrote the male one at like 1 am and was super tired towards the end so I kinda rushed it. I do plan on going back and editing the male version, though, so that should fix things.
i don’t think i’m exaggerating when i say that the average height for women in the US would increase by at least an inch if teen girls were allowed to eat as much as teen boys are
and not to bring my own clocky bitch ass into this but if cis women weren’t so consistently starved their entire lives you’d see a lot more cis women with the kind of bodies that we currently associate closely with trans women. the amount that the standards of feminine presentation are culturally defined by malnutrition is crazy
hii can i request jason todd x wonder boy reader headcanons? 🥹
↺ . wonder in love﹖ ♱ jason todd ノ robin
࣪˖ଓ⋆.˚ ── wonder boy reader x boy wonder jason todd
⭑ 𓂃 headcanons
• sfw.ꜝꜝ reader & jason are implied to be around 14, it's purely platonic in these tho ༢ tiny bit of angst at the end
wonderboy!reader who first met robin 'the boy wonder' when diana insisted on him and robin having a play date, they didn't say play date, but you knew what it was
wonderboy!reader who didn't expect robin to be so happy go lucky, robin teased you about stealing your name, and to your surprise, he understood the pressure of a mantle, and you two actually got on great
wonderboy!reader who got close with robin within a matter of days, you revealed your identity to each other a 2 weeks after meeting each other for the first time
wonderboy!reader who teased jason when flying with him by dipping him close to the ground, enough ti make him squirm before pulling him back up and laughing at him
wonderboy!reader who spent so many nights at wayne manor, you practically knew your way around in the dark better than jason, he'd get grumpy when you'd warn him of a post he was about to run into when you two were on your midnight snack run
wonderboy!reader who used the justice league systems to find the best gift you could possibly find for jason's birthdays, diana wasn't very happy with the abuse of the systems, but she let it slide
wonderboy!reader who distracted jason whenever you saw him start to get twitchy and unconsciously go to grab a cigarette packet that hadn't been in his pocket for years
wonderboy!reader who listened to jason's rants about bruce's over-protectiveness and his stupid moral code, you'd always take him away from the mansion and onto gotham's rooftops and spar with jason to make him let off some steam
wonderboy!reader who was right there beside jason when he told you about sheila and his plan, you weren't very happy with the idea, you told him it was stupid to go on his own with no backup, jason told you he'd be okay and he'd tell you all about his trip
wonderboy!reader who never got to hear about jason's trip, instead you got to see a cold body in a coffin at a funeral jason would've called boring
an. i actually love the wonder reader trope so much, if this does well i might make a series if the people would want that, thank you for your requests nonnie! i hope i delivered (can you tell i'm bored? i've posted so much today)
arkham knight who pretends to not need physical touch, but he can't help but lean into your hands whenever they find their way to his shoulders, lovingly working out all the knots
arkham knight who has such immense trust issues he doesn't allow himself to be vulnerable for months, if years into your relationship, the moment he lets his guard down, you know he loves you without question
arkham knight who shows his love through acts of service, listening to the song you off handedly mention you like, researching all your hobbies and interests and taking an interest in them himself
arkham knight who doesn't know how to love, so he hurts you believing you're too good for him, he's just trying to protect you
arkham knight who, despite his impressive size, is always gentle with you, his grip on your wrist is never too tight, he's always careful with doors around you and places things down with care
arkham knight who gets really competitive when playing games with you and sulks if you win
arkham knight who stands really awkwardly beside you if you bump into a friend on the street
arkham knight who actively contributes to the sassy man apocalypse, he's a little why with it at first, but as you gain his trust, he begins to let out sassy comments in the most monotone tone - his favourite is to say "nice weather we're having" when it's heavily raining
arkham knight who secretly tests all your food, he says it's to test for poison but it's mostly so he can steal some of your food, he makes it up by giving you some of his
arkham knight who always cheats in uno to the point it had to be banned
arkham knight who stalks the internet to see what people are saying about him and then rants to you when someone says something inaccurate
࣪˖ଓ⋆.˚ ── gender neutral reader x aged up damian wayne
⭑ 𓂃 headcanons
• sfw.ꜝꜝ fluff ༢ tiny bits of angst
boyfriend!damian who struggles to let you know that he loves you, verbally at least - he finds words are easy to misplace and can be taken poorly, he prefers to let you know through small acts of service
boyfriend!damian who is fiercely protective of you without being possessive, he understands that you're your own person - he knows what it feels like to be suffocated with the weight of someone's 'ownership' and he'd never want you to experience that
boyfriend!damian who values honestly more than anything, growing up surrounded by manipulation makes deception one of the fastest ways to lose his trust, he can forgive mistakes much more easily than lies
boyfriend!damian who finds how you treat animals a top priority, he wouldn't outwardly judge you for eating meat or unethical animal byproducts, but he would offer to do most of the cooking to minimise how much you do consume animal products - he wouldn't force you into the lifestyle but he would slowly introduce you to new foods that don't have animal products in them in hopes you pick it up naturally
boyfriend!damian who isn't naturally verbally affectionate, he struggles to find the right words to compliment you, and if he believes you are perfect, why wouldn't you?
boyfriend!damian who loves peaceful silence, simply being with you is his favourite pastime - he doesn't require physical affection or words to fill the silence, he's happy to just be in a room with you and co-exist
boyfriend!damian who remembers everything about you, from your favourite animal to which plate you like the most, he remembers everything and stores it away to make life a little better for you, he'll always give you the best portion of food, the nicer plate, he'll let you steal the bigger blanket - he wants to improve your quality of life, not take away from it
boyfriend!damian who gets embarrassed by public affection, he isn't embarrassed of you - he just isn't used to that social norm, affection (especially publicly) was frowned upon in the league, he never got quite used to it in the manor either, to so publicly state your relationship status feels like something he should be shameful of, he hides it the best he can because he'd hate to make you feel like you he is ashamed of you rather than the situation
boyfriend!damian who struggles to ask for comfort, years of training told him vulnerability was weakness, to blatantly ignore that instinct feels wrong, instead of asking for reassurance, he'll hover closer to you to the point of being suffocating
boyfriend!damian who once he feels comfortable, he becomes surprisingly domestic - he enjoys gardening, cooking and maintaining your animals, he finds it grounding, he lets his guard down and will teach you how to do various skills, laughing with you when you get soil on your cheek or cake batter on the ceiling
boyfriend!damian who just wants you to feel as loved and treasured as you are by him - he wants you to feel safe in a way he was never allowed to
an. okay i've finally done a damian work, i feel proud - he's actually really cute to write for ❤️🩹
Menstruating, halucinating only one of her dead sons, surrounded by rats, unable to sleep since that's presumably the bed her mother died in, husbuncle wants to kill her little brother who is actually just some kid, girlfriend wants a worker's revolution, 3/6 kids of her kids are dead and one of her step daughters is unaccounted for, drunken gay ex-husband's father is comparing his whoring around to her and Laenor having a sperm donor/poly situation and then throwing a tantrum in public, head of the church won't even crown her until they procure her brother's remains. Terrible day to be Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen
Synopsis: Reader and Jason have been friends for a long time. Both of you are vigilantes. Tonight, after escaping from a few cops on your tail and coming down from your adrenaline hight, a heated moment turns into your first fuck and some feelings are confessed. I had sm fun writing this.
w.c. 2.8k+
Details: jason todd x male!reader, smut, fluff, confessing feelings!
Fem!reader version.
"You're a fucking idiot, you know that?" Jason huffed as he dropped down beside you on the roof of your apartment building, groaning and rolling back his sore shoulders. "You do know look both ways before you cross the street, right?"
You rolled your eyes at him, still panting lightly from your quick escape from the cops who pulled up as you finished tying the group of idiots you were kicking the asses of up to some broken light poles. While running, a car almost turned you into roadkill, but Jason yanked you back by your pants so hard you got a wedgie.
You rub your sore bottom as he leaned against the nearest vent, pulling off his hood and the mask covering the lower half of his face, chuckling softly as he shook his head. "You know, im getting tired of saving your ass all the time, dude."
"You're one to talk, Todd. That cut on your outer thigh would have been a stab to your dick if i hadn't thrown the trash can lid at him." You pull off your own mask, the breeze carding though your hair and cooling your flushed cheeks, sweat drying on the back of your neck.
It's Jason's turn to roll his eyes, tsking as he looks down at his left thigh, muttering about how he liked these pants as he ripped the tear open a bit more to get a better look at the cut. You noticed it looked deep, but before you could say anything, he waved a gloved hand.
"Its fine. Just a scratch."
"Its not a scratch, and you're not nonchalant enough to pretend it doesnt hurt, even just a bit."
Blood was oozing from the wound and down his leg. It wasn't fatal, it didn't hit an artery and it wasn't large enough to be at risk of him bleeding out, but you were still worried. You stayed silent though, not pushing right now.
"C'mon, lets get cleaned up." You turned and hopped down onto your fire escape just below, knowing that if you pushed to help him, it'd just make him shut you out. You didn't want to push any boundaries by asking to patch him up yourself, so you asked to make sure he was okay in this subtle way. Come down and you can both clean yourselves up together in a way that would let the other know they're okay without getting too intimate. The last thing you wanted to do was pressure him or make him uncomfortable.
You didn't look back to see if he was following you, knowing he would eventually, and there was a heavy thud of his boots on the metal of the fire escape behind you. You slipped in through the window of your living room, turning on the lamp next to your couch as you sighed and started to strip your suit off, glad to be rid of the tight fabric.
Jason moved behind you, quiet as he slowly stripped of his gear first, then he took off his shirt aswell. His muscles were broad and tight, littered with bruises and puckered with thick, pale scars. There was a bit of blood on him, much less than the last tine you'd seen him top less. Last time, you didn't have the time to admire the sight in front of you and were focused on stitching a gash on his side since he wasn't able to reach it properly to stitch himself.
You took your time watching him, the way his muscles bunched and stretched beneath the tanned skin, the olive tone mixing with the purples and greens of abused flesh quite nicely. His autopsy scars were clearly visible, deep and darker than the rest of the raised and healed flesh from blades and other things. Below that, the muscles in his abdomen flexed nicely as he moved, tapering off into the nice V of his hips and down lower, where a dark trail of hair snuck into his pants, down to what you could only imagine as a beautifully big-
"My eyes are up here, babe."
Your gaze snapped up to his, the green of his iris piercing into you as you met eye to eye. Your neck felt hot as you scoffed, looking away and putting your an old shirt on before dropping the bottoms of your suit, standing in your boxers. You ignored the way he called you babe and the way heat pooled low in your belly. "Yeah, and your shirt is over there so put it on."
Jason was quiet then and when you looked to see what he was doing, you caught him staring at your ass and thighs before looking away, clearing his throat and putting a shirt on.
"Superman boxers?" He shook his head, amused, eyes half-lidded as he looked at you again. "How old are you again?"
"They're comfortable, Jay. And dont act like you dont think the color looks great on me." The words left your mouth in a rush, a hot flush filling your face before you could think, and Jason started laughing again.
"Oh, I wont deny it. Red and blue look great on you... and your ass." His cheeks also flushed slightly, and he stepped closer, looming near your shoulder as you reached for the first aid kit you had. You felt his heat radiating off his chest and seeping into you through your back, felt his soft breath against your neck, felt the warmth pooling low in your belly.
"You look tired," he murmured, and you almost wanted to groan at the low rasp of his voice in your ear, wanted to lean back into his chest as he subtly pressed you against the back of your couch.
"Adrenaline is just wearing off," you replied, grabbing some alcohol and a bandaid for a cut on your cheek, when you saw his hand twitch, jerking upwards toward your own as you moved. It hovered in the air for a moment, and he let it drop when you turned to face him fully.
His eyes raked dragged over you slowly, and you felt bare beneath his gaze, bare in a way that made your cock slowly harden in your boxers. Your face felt hot now, embarrassment and want turning in your stomach as he looked at you like that.
He stepped foward, close enough that your faces were only a few inches from each other, and murmured, "you have a cut." Before you knew it, he was pressing a cotton pad soaked in alcohol against the cut, the sting making you hiss, and when you parted your lips to protest, he stuck the bandaid over it, smoothing it over your skin with his thumb for a second too long before pulling away.
Your cock was getting so hard now, and you were glad your shirt was long so he couldn't see your boner. You needed to calm down. You're both exhausted, now isn't the time to get horny.
You swallowed thickly, throat bobbing as you stepped away, excusing yourself to go shower and disappearing into your bathroom. You stripped quickly, cock aching as you fisted it in your hand and bit your lip, quickly stepping into the cool shower to relax. It didnt seem to help, your muscles were still tight, shoulders bunched up to your ears, and your cock pulsed with your heartbeat as it stood erect against your stomach. Fuck you for doing this to me, Jason.
You froze as the bathroom door creaked open, the glass of the shower wall blurred with water so you only saw a tanned body stepping in. A tanned body that soon turned into a tanned naked body.
"Jay?" You called, voice shaking a bit, when the shower door opened, and all six feet (give or take) of jason and his gloriously toned body stood on front of you. "Jason-!" You couldn't help but look down between his legs and-wow, you were right it was beautifully big-had to force yourself to keep your eyes on his, still shocked and confused at him coming into your damn shower. You covered your crotch with your hands.
"Jason, what the fuck-?" He cut you off with a kiss, stepping fully into the shower as you gasped against his lips, his tongue taking the opportunity to slip between your lips. The door closed behind him and he gently pressed you against the shower wall, the cold tile making you shiver against him. "Mmph-!"
He pulled back after a moment, breath heavy as his eyes searched yours, visibly nervous and embarrassed with their intensity. He bit his lip before asking, "Was that okay...? I'm so sorry if it wasn't, i-i just really wanted to kiss you."
You were shocked into silence, mouth gaping like a fish out of water, and his cheeks turned bright red, him mistaking your reaction for rejection. "Christ-im so sorry. I just-"
Your lips crashed down on his, kissing him to shut up up because you wanted this. You've wanted this for a while, honestly. Jason was so beautiful, not just physically. He was funny in that sarcastic way that scratched your brain just right, he was sweet beneath all that sass and muscle of his, he was scarred but still let you patch him up and see him bare because he trusted you, he was passionate about books and poetry and loved ranting about whatever novel or old play he borrowed from the library near his apartment and was now reading.
You liked him. A lot. So you kissed him back, sliding your tongue into his mouth and gripping his hair ro pull him closer. "Yes," you wanted against his lips. "This is more than okay, Jay."
He let go then, groaning as he devoured your lips again, grabbing the backs of your knees and hauling you up, slotting his hips between your thighs in such a delicious way, the friction at this angle feeling heavenly as he held you against the wall.
His kisses got sloppier, pressing his lips against your neck, trailing slow, lingering kisses down to your collarbone. He whispered softly against your skin, confessing how long he's wanted this, how he's felt about you.
"I didn't think you'd feel the same." He nipped at your jaw, making you gasp softly, your hips bucking against him and your cock rubbing against his stomach. "I-god-i havent been able to get you out of my damn head. [name]." He slows then, breathing heavily against your shoulder.
He lifted his head to look at you, eyes soft. "How far do you want this to go?" His hand squeezed your thigh, thumb stroking softly. "We won't go any further than you want. I promise. Just tell me."
Your heart was hammering in your chest, fast and insistent against his as you swallowed, throat bobbing, before responding. "All the way." Your cheeks turned read as you said it, but you continued. "A-all the way, Jay. I'm sure. As long as you're okay with it."
He watched your face for a moment before a small smile touched his lips and he kissed you again. "I'm more than okay with it, baby." He paused then, pressing his forehead against yours. "But we ain't doing it in the shower. Not for our first."
He hauled you against him, turning the water off before stepping out of the shower door, grabbing a towel as he walked out of the bathroom and to your bedroom. The warm lighting your lamp gave off washed over you both, accenting the flex of his mucles as he carried you toward your bed.
He placed you down gently, using the towel to dry water off you and then himself, and you noticed the cut on his thigh was till bleeding. "Jay-"
"Not now, baby," he said gruffly, tossing the towel away and slowly pushing you back on the bed, getting on top of you and kissing down your chest. "Not when i have you right here, open and wanting me like this."
Your hand slips down his chest to his stomach and lower, slowly wrapping your hands around his firm cock and making his groan. Your thumb flicks over the tip, smearing precum as he hisses softly, nipping your shoulder. "Fuck-"
He kisses you again, slowly grinding into your hand and making the softest noises of pleasure into your mouth that turn you on even more." God, you feel so good. Don't stop," he whined softly, biting his lip as his face ducked between your neck and shoulder. Your own cock lay hard against your stomach, leaking onto the muscles in your abdomen, your tip flushed a furious shade of pink. God, you wanted him inside you.
"Lube, Jay-" you gasped into his mouth, his tongue licking across yours as he moaned softly. "Please. Bedside drawer."
He was gone and back in a few seconds, squeezing some lube onto his fingers and pressing his forehead against yours. "I'll go slow. I just need to stretch you a bit." Suddenly his fingers were sliding into your tight hole, slicking you up and stroking in and out of you in a way that made you whimper. Your cock twitched against your stomach as you moaned at a second finger, then soon a third one.
Your cock was drooling on your stomach, untouched as you whined and whimpered beneath him. "Jason-!"
"You sound so beautiful, baby, you know that?" He kissed your hip, fingers still moving inside you as he looked up at you through his lashes. "You think you're ready for me?"
You nodded eagerly, almost salivating at the thought of his cock stretching you open, of filling you so completely in a way no one else had. You groaned. "Jason, please. Yes, im ready, just please-"
He swallowed your words with a kiss before pulling back and lubing himself up for you. You felt his tip prodding at your entrance. "Slow, baby. I don't wanna hurt you," he murmured, before sliding just the tip in. The stretch made you gasp and you moaned as he eased in, his inches slowly slipping inside you before he bottomed out, both of you groaning in unison at the feeling.
"God, you're so tight," he practically whimpered, not moving to let you get used to the stretch. "Fuck-"
The stretch burned deliciously, the tip of his cock sitting against thats gummy spot deep inside you, making you whimper. "Jason."
You moaning his name seemed to do something to him. "Fuck, baby, please let me move. You feel so good around me." You nodded eagerly and that was all he needed. He pulled back slowly before sliding back in, faster and faster each time, fucking you hard enough that the bed frame hit the wall with each of his thrusts, his soft moans and grunts muffled against your neck.
You moved in unison, your nails digging into his back and hips rising to meet his as he pistoned in and out of you, breaths heavy with the sound of skin meeting skin echoing in the room.
You almost cried out when you felt his hand wrap around your cock, stroking you in time with his thrusts. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes and you whined his name, your stomach tightening as you felt yourself on the edge.
"Jason, im close-"
"I am too, baby, just hold on, okay?" He wanted heavily, moaning into your neck as he fucked you deeper into the mattress, groaning. He grabbed your hands and intertwined your fingers, pressing them into the sheet on either side of your head.
It wasn't long before you both shattered, moaning into each other's mouths as you came. Cum painted your stomach and dripped from your hole as he pulled out. He collapsed on top of you, almost crushing you, but you were too dazed to protest.
He nuzzled into your neck, shy again all of a sudden. "Im sorry," he murmured, trailing soft kisses down your jaw. "I was too rough, im sorry. I didn't mean to be."
Your heart melted at his sweetness and you cupped his face in your hands, pulling him back to see his face. "Jason, im okay," you assured him, pressing your head against his. "I liked it. And you didnt hurt me, I promise. I'd hit you if you did." That got a chuckle out of him and he leaned in slowly to kiss you, lips meeting in a tender embrace.
"Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you for this. For... for feeling the same."
You ran your nose along his. "I've felt like this for a long time, Jason. I don't plan on stopping any time soon either."
He kissed you again, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, feeling same and warm in his embrace, as you did for every night after that.
A/N: First smut fic in a whileeee. First time if written male!reader smut, too. I was very nervous to do this and did it to practice for another fic im writing and also just to understand how it'd be to write smut from a male reader perspective. I am so sorry if I made any mistakes, I am a girl so I don't exactly know how it'd be for two guys to go at it, but I tried. THIS ALSO WASNT PROOFREAD I WAS TOO TIRED TO DO IT.
