Dick Grayson x crazygf! reader and Jason Todd x crazygf!reader
Summary: You find out that they still kind of talk to their ex. It's professional, but you're not over it.
TW: Kind of smutty, death mentioned (Jason's part)
DICK GRAYSON
"Just answer the fucking question, Dick! Did you sleep with her in the Batcave? Yes or no?”
"No!" Dick groaned, dragging his hands down his face, his voice cracking with frustration. His eyes were bloodshot. "We did not do it in the Batcave. Why the fuck are we talking about this right now? It is two in the morning!"
"Because I looked at your phone and her name is 'Babs 🌶️'!"
"That's a chili pepper! It means she handles the red-alert comms, you psychotic brat! It’s an emergency tag!"
"I don't care! It looks like a fucking sexting emoji!" You dropped to your knees on the mattress, crawling over to him and slamming your knees right into his thighs. You grabbed his jaw, fingers digging into his skin, forcing him to look at you. "Who’s the better kisser? Me or her? Don't lie to me. Did you guys used to make out on roofs? Did she use tongue? Does she do that little sigh thing I do when you touch her? Tell me!"
"Jesus Christ, Babe," Dick choked out, his chest heaving, looking genuinely stressed. "You are lightyears better. You're fucking incredible. Please, look at me, you're the only one I want. Can we please stop this?"
"No! Because I’m prettier than her, right? Obviously I’m prettier. Look at my fucking face." You shoved your face inches from his, your eyes wide. "But she’s so good with your dad! Ugh! It makes me want to vomit! She talks to Bruce, and he actually responds like a human being! I tried to talk to him last week and he treated me like I was gum on the bottom of his shoe! She has history with your fucked-up family, Dick! Did you guys fuck while you were living there? In his house?!"
"No! Never! I swear to God, never!" Dick’s hands came up, grabbing your wrists, his palms sweating. He looked completely panicked now. "Babe, please, you’re making shit up. I hate when Bruce does that to people, I literally moved to Blüdhaven to get away from him. I don't want her. I don't want any of them. I want you."
"Are you sure?" you whimpered, the anger turning desperate. You shifted, straddling his lap entirely, your bare thighs rubbing hard against his sweatpants, feeling how stiff he already was despite the stress. "Because she has that red hair. You like the red hair, don't you? Did you pull it? Did you bend her over the fucking desk in the cave?"
Dick’s grip tightened on your hips, an irritated groan escaping his lips. He was miserable that you were this upset, but the feeling of you grinding against his crotch was pushing him over the edge. "I didn't bend her over anything. Stop saying that shit, it’s making me sick. I don't give a fuck about her. Right now, I care about the fact that you’ve been screaming at me for forty minutes, your nipples are hard against my chest, and you’re tearing me apart."
"I'm upset babe, you’re friends with your fucking ex!" you snapped, tears of pure rage blurring your vision. "You talk to her every day! I feel like a fucking idiot!"
"Babe, you’re losing your fucking mind, please don't cry," Dick mumbled, his voice breaking as he pulled you down, burying his face in your neck, holding you so tight it bruised. He was completely desperate to fix it, terrified you were actually going to leave him. He nipped hard at the skin right over your collarbone. "You want to know what we did? Nothing like this. She never made me feel like this. She never made me want to rip my own hair out just to get her to shut up and take my dick."
"You're just saying that," you panted, your legs already wrapping around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer, feeling him throbbing against your cunt through his pants. "You're just trying to manipulate me because you know your body is perfect."
"I'm not manipulating you, I’m fucking begging you," he hissed, flipping you under him so fast your head hit the pillow. He pinned your hands above your head, his face paler than usual "Look at me. Look at my eyes. I will block her number right now if you want me to. I'll do whatever the fuck you want. Just tell me you're mine."
"Prove it then," you choked out, pulling at his sweatpants "Put it in me right now and make me forget her fucking name."
"Shut up," he muttered, slamming his mouth down on yours, cutting off any other unhinged theories you had left as his hand ripped his sweats down.
JASON TODD
"Who the fuck is 'Artie'?" you shrieked. "Who the fuck is she, Jason? Because I just saw a message pop up on your secure line that said 'Rain check, Big Guy,' and I know for a goddamn fact it isn't one of your freak-show brothers!"
Jason froze, his knuckles turning white around the rifle barrel. He set it down with a heavy clatter and finally looked up, his green eyes flashing. "Are you fucking kidding me right now? You’re going through my secure comms? Are you out of your goddamn mind?"
"Answer the fucking question!" You stepped right into his chest, shoving him hard enough to make his boots slide an inch "Is that Artemis? The giant Amazon? The one you were playing house with in the desert? Are you still fucking her? Why’d she call you ‘big guy’!? Your dick’s not even that big!”
"We haven’t done shit since before I even knew you existed!" Jason argued, standing up to his full height, towering over you as his chest heaved. "She’s a teammate! What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"Oh, a teammate? So you didn't bend her over that ancient shit in Egypt?" you screamed right back, getting entirely in his face, your chest heaving against his. "Did you taste her? Did she taste better than me? Did you love it when she pinned you down, you fucking manwhore? Tell me right now! Did you put your mouth on her?!"
"We didn't fuck in the desert! We were trying not to get killed, you crazy bitch!" Jason snapped, his eyes were glowing green. He grabbed your wrists with an iron-tight grip, his fingers digging into your skin as he shook you. "You are making up disgusting, toxic shit in your head because you're insecure! Stop fucking yelling at me about shit from six years ago!"
"Is it because I'm not as strong as her?!" you went off, completely pivoting into a breathless rant, the words tearing out of you like a flood. "Is that what it is? You want some giant warrior bitch who can toss you around? Or is it the red hair? Are you obsessed with redheads? Is that why you're always so fucking chummy with her and Roy?! Oh my god, do you want to fuck Roy too?! Are you into guys?! Because I'm not a fucking guy, Jason! I can't be a guy for you! What the fuck do you want from them, do you want a threesome or some shit?! Is that what you guys do when you're 'saving the world'?!"
"Are you fucking insane?!" his face twisting in pure, unadulterated disgust and fury. He yanked your wrists down so hard your balance broke.
"Then why are they always texting you?! Why are you always looking at your phone like you miss them?!" you screamed back, your face flushed, tears of absolute blind rage spilling over your eyelashes. "If you're still playing orgy with your little Outlaw club, then I guess it's fair game! I’m gonna fuck my ex!”
"Say that shit again," he snapped. "Say you’re going to go touch another man. Say you’re going to let someone else lay a hand on you. See what fucking happens to both of you. I will hunt him down and paint the fucking walls with him."
"Why do you care?!" you choked out, your heart hammering against your ribs "Go call your Amazon! Go tell Roy how crazy I am while you guys jerk each other off!"
"She was before you! And Roy is my fucking brother!" Jason groaned, you were getting so deep under his skin. "Do you not understand how time works, you idiot?! I haven’t touched her, I don't want to touch her, and I sure as hell don't want a goddamn man I consider my brother! But you want to go fuck your ex?”
"Yeah! Because you're driving me fucking insane!" you screamed back, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper into the apex of your thighs. You could feel how insanely hard he was through his sweatpants "You're a liar! You're a dirty, lying fuckboy!"
"Shut the fuck up!" Jason snarled, his hand flying from your throat to catch your jaw, his thumb digging brutally into your cheek to force your mouth open. "I am not a liar. I am fucking obsessed with you. I haven't looked at another woman since the day I went out with you, and you're being a loon”
"Prove it then," you panted, your teeth baring as you bit down lightly on his thumb "If they're nothing, text them right now telling them we broke up and if either of them offer you a pity fuck, just know you’re going to die a second time, Todd”
A/n: was this a ploy to get banged hard? yes, yes it was
Summary - They believe that you are fighting and try to make it up to you- only to find out you aren’t fighting.
Characters - Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd
Bruce Wayne
⭐︎ You and Bruce don’t fight often, which is why it makes it such a dire situation to Bruce.
⭐︎ Your fights are usually quiet ones, a comment here or there but no yelling or shouting. Bruce isn’t an explosive man, his irritation and anger runs cold. You match his energy in a way that is both good and bad, especially when you are fighting.
⭐︎ It had started with you getting angry at him getting home late from patrol. He was irritated at first that you seemed to disregard the people who needed him. Then after a few days he calm down enough to see it from your perspective.
⭐︎ Bruce Wayne is someone who believes that actions speak louder than words so he calls up your favorite florist and sends multiple bouquets of your favorite flowers to your office.
⭐︎ He is slightly nervous to talk to you since you have been a little distant after your fight. Multiple times on the walk to your office he messing with his tie, just to give himself something to do to sieve off the anxiety.
⭐︎ You are looking at the note he told the florist to write when he knocks on your door. Your smile is radiant as you look over at him, no trace of irritation or anger on your face to be seen.
⭐︎ Bruce feels like he did a good job when you walk over to kiss him. He hasn’t had too much contact with you for a couple days since he was keeping his distance so he welcomes your touch like a man starved.
“What is this for?” You ask after pulling back from kissing him. “Did I miss something?”
Bruce blinks down at you in confusion, “You were upset with me about arriving home late, I am sorry for worrying you.”
A look of confusion crosses your face before you start laughing.
“The whole time you thought I was upset with you?” You stop laughing to give himself something a soft look. “I’m sorry Love, I was busy with work so you must have thought I was ignoring you.”
Bruce feels sheepish now that he got the situation wrong. “You don’t need to apologize for my misunderstanding-”
You kiss him mid sentence, cutting him off.
“The flowers are perfect don’t apologize.”
Dick Grayson
⭐︎ Dick would like to think that you don’t argue often and you agree except for the constant back and forth of him stretching himself too thin and putting everyone’s needs over his.
⭐︎ The fight happens when he misses a date because they needed his help in Gotham. He had left you a note and a text about it. There was a lot of apologies in both. But when he got back to his apartment all the lights were off and you were gone.
⭐︎ Your fights are usually conversations, there isn’t yelling involved unless it’s really bad. You always wanted to talk things out rather than just leaving them lie. So you leaving without talking about it made him scared.
⭐︎ Dick is a little desperate when he feels like he is being left. There’s an involuntary coil of dread that settles in his stomach every time. He always needs to make it right as soon as possible, he can’t wait because he is afraid of never seeing you again.
⭐︎ So he runs down to the 24 hour convince store a block down from his apartment to get, admittedly, a lot of your favorite candy. Then he breaks into the florist shop across the street to grab a premade bouquet of flowers, he makes sure to leave them money plus a little extra because he broke in.
⭐︎ He is stressing himself out the whole way to your apartment. The thought that you won’t have the window unlocked like usual crosses his mind. He imagines you locking him out and refusing to even see him.
⭐︎ When Dick knocks on your window at 2am you open it up with sleep still in your eyes. You look beautiful even half asleep, confused and in one of his old tee shirts. Your eyes eventually focus in on the bag and flowers.
“Dick? These are wonderful,” You take the flowers from his slightly trembling hands. “but why are you bringing me flowers at 2am?”
Dick pauses midway through climbing through your window, “You are mad at me for missing our date so I thought getting you flowers would help.”
Your expression softens as you take a deeper look at him, seeing the anxiety in his rigid posture and the desperation in his eyes as he takes off his domino mask.
“Oh baby.” You says softly and pull him into a hug. “I am so sorry my friend had to rush her pet to the vet and had no car so I drove her. In all the rush I forgot to text you that it was fine.”
Dick exhales, all the tension in his body leaving with the air. He slumps a little as the adrenaline from crime fighting and this whole debacle evaporates.
“Thank god.” He whispers as you guide him over to your bed and gently pull him down onto it.
“I will always tell you if I have an issue,” You press a kiss to his brow, “promise.”
Jason Todd
⭐︎ You and Jason try not to fight often. It reminds Jason of darker days and you just don’t enjoy the conflict.
⭐︎ But when it happens it’s loud. Jason doesn’t start out yelling, he doesn’t enjoy it. But that’s usually what it devolves into, the two of you yelling over each other over something you can’t even remember.
⭐︎ Jason always needs time to cool off after. He leaves the apartment so he can get some air, climbing up to the roof or going on patrol early depending on what time it is.
⭐︎ This time was a little different, there wasn’t yelling or raised voices, just a slow sigh and you leaving the apartment.
⭐︎ The fight started over a bookshelf. You were insistent that you could put it together yourself while Jason wanted to help. After a couple minutes of him trying to help you told him that you wanted to do it yourself. He left the room then a few seconds later you were grumbling, putting on your shoes and slamming the apartment door.
⭐︎ Jason knew that you enjoyed doing things yourself so him trying to help must have made you angry with him. He didn’t leave like usual, instead he began to clean. It was a nervous habit that stemmed from needing control over something. He left the book shelf alone because it was the source of the argument but everything thing else he could clean was.
⭐︎ You came home an hour later to a spotless apartment and dinner ready. Jason was moving around the kitchen silently when you set the bag you got from the hardware store on the counter.
“Thanks for making dinner Jay.” You walk over to wrap your arms around him.
He tenses a little and you pull back immediately.
“You are sending me mixed messages.” Jason says with a furrow between his brows.
You frown in confusion, “What do you mean?”
“You left earlier because you were angry and now you aren’t upset.” Jason points out to you.
Your eyes widen with realization then soften, “Jay, I didn’t have the right screw for the bookshelf.”
Jason feels the tension bleed out of him at your words. You hug him again and he won’t say it out loud but he holds you tighter than he has ever held anyone else.
“If I am angry at you believe me you would know.” You laugh.
“Good.” Jason breathes out in relief.
“Now,” You pull away and walk to the bag. “do you want to help me put this together? I am way past the point of having any pride to defend.”
He grins, “It would be my pleasure.”
Blue’s notes - Imagine being in a family prized for detective skills and misreading a situation lol. None of these men can have a straight forward conversation about feelings. Also Dick’s is so much more angsty then intended, it originally was just a funny misunderstanding then my brain was like ‘make him suffer’ and I succumbed to the voices.
☕️ you patch up batman’s wounds. || this can be read as after alfred’s death, kinda hurt/comfort with fluff? if that makes sense, drug usage for medical purposes, headcanon format, reader doesn’t know batman’s identity, … || ⋆˚࿔ main masterlist
Batman loves it when you patch him up.
Or at least, that’s what you think since he always comes to you.
You don’t know his real identity and even though you are dying to know, you won’t try to find it.
But you will patch him up no matter what.
Ever since the night he ended up in your fire escape, lying there like a wounded animal after getting a stab wound, he came to you whenever he needed to be tended.
You, without even realizing, have become his private nurse.
Whenever he ended up in your flat, you were ready to care for him.
He was not a burden for you. How could he be? He was the savior of Gotham, your hometown. That was the least you could do.
But you were curious… Did he not have somebody to care for him? Was he so lonely that he trusted a total stranger?
So, one night, you decided to ask. “Don’t you have another person for these?”
There was a beat of silence. You couldn’t see his face because of his cowl, but his lips parted— maybe because he was not expecting to be asked this.
“I— Sorry for bothering you—“
“No,” you cut him off immediately. That was not what you were saying. At all. “I’m glad to help you. I was just curious.”
He leaned back to the couch again. You were stitching a knife wound on his thigh. He was half naked right before you.
“I had someone.” He mumbled. The drugs you gave him were making him numb. He usually did not want anything to numb him, but tonight, he took it.
“Did they leave you?”
“You could say that.”
You kept stitching in silence after that. When you were finished, you gave him time to get dressed again.
His moves were slow. He seemed tired. You didn’t want him to leave like that. He was under the influence of drugs and he was hurt and tired.
“You can stay.” You said. “I won’t come here until you go. So you can take your cowl off.”
He was considering the offer. He had every reason to stay. He trusted you, you trusted him. He could stay. You wanted him to stay.
Batman didn’t say yes or no but he went back to sitting. You smiled at him and saw a small reflection of your smile appear on his lips.
You brought him a pillow and sheets, readied the couch for him to sleep.
“I can… wash your clothes—“ You tried to offer but before you could form the sentence, he held your hands in his gloved ones.
“That’s not necessary.” He gently squeezed your hands. “Thank you.” And brought them to his lips to press a kiss.
Your heart almost gave up.
You licked your lips, squeezing his hands back. The moment was so intimate, so precious that you didn’t want to leave him.
“Good night, Batman.” You pressed a kiss on his cheek and as your face burned with a shy feeling that came from deep inside you, you left him there in your living room.
That night, you had the Batman sleeping on your couch. That night, you kissed his cheek.
That night altered your small crush into an even bigger one.
jason todd never indulged in gossip
“you’re fucking with me”
“honest to god”
why would he? it was immature and ill-mannered to talk about someone’s life! their decisions are their decisions
“she slept with him. in his office”
“yup”
... at least that's what he liked to believe in
jason gave you the most baffled look you’ve ever seen on his face. it made you snort and wave a hand at his face. “hello? earth to jason”
immediately, jason blinked and snapped out of it. both of you were sitting on the couch, your legs sprawled on his lap and his hands idly tracing your knee.
“wait wait wait—" he slightly shifted his body to face you, the traces on your knee stopping as his large, warm hand just rested flat on it. “let me get this straight. you’re telling me that nancy—"
“uh huh”
“the same one who tried to get your promotion months ago--"
“that’s her”
“was caught sleeping with your boss at his office—"
“not caught, per se.”
“whatever” jason waved it off and continued. “and to top it off, she’s married to drew for— how long?”
“8 years” you hummed, scooting closer to him and biting your bottom lip to hold back a laugh from the look on his face as he was processing this new information you gave him. and when it did, he just sighed and shook his head, his fingers now resuming the slow and lazy circles he traced on your knee.
“sweetheart, your office environment is crazy” you could still hear how he was still slightly bewildered from the bombshell you just dropped on him. he was also confused as to why HR wasn't involved already
“hey, it pays the bills” you joked, lifting a hand to run through jason’s soft hair in that slow and gentle manner that always had him melt into your touch. “plus, at least there’s something to keep me entertained while i work in boredom”
“you know you can leave your job and i can take care of everything, right?” jason reminded you— for what felt like the millionth time—but you just smiled softly and nodded. “yeah i know, but how else am i gonna come bearing news to you?”
“…touché. i still need to know why carol and jesse aren’t talking to each other”
now that you couldn’t hold your laugh for. the wide smile on your face and your laugh softened jason’s eyes, a smile of his own appearing. his hand slipped beneath your knee to pull you close, the other hand cupping your face as he pulled you into a kiss
you could practically feel the smile on his face turn into a grin, and it made your smile grow as you kissed him back. it was a kiss of quiet contentment— slow, familiar and overflowing with the kind of affection that only came from loving someone for a long time
his hand remained cradling your cheek, his thumb lazily brushing across your skin with a small hum slipping out from your fingers combing through his hair
slowly, both of you broke the kiss, foreheads leaning on one another with nothing but pure love and adoration for one another
“so how was your night?” you asked, now laying your head on his chest. he just hummed, shifting his arm to drape over your shoulders and keep you close. “it was fine”
a beat
“…so bruce was basically being annoying like always and—"
okay maybe jason indulged in some gossip. keyword—some
Bruce Wayne is a lot of things. A billionaire, a philanthropist, one of the world’s smartest men, and a notorious playboy.
But he is also your boss… who you happen to sleep with from time to time.
You started working for Wayne Enterprises a few years ago, and took the position to be his executive assistant. As his assistant, you were there to schedule meetings, correspondence, and perform other administrative tasks. Bruce could count himself lucky to have you as his assistant because not only are you very professional and smart, but your main focus is also to help the company grow. But he could also count himself lucky because a beautiful, and smart woman like you was also sleeping with him behind closed doors.
And nobody fucks better than Bruce Wayne. He sure knows how to please a woman.
It was late at night, and everyone already went home after a long day at work.
Well, everyone except Bruce and you.
You were in his office, body half laying on his desk, your iPad still in your hands, and your skirt laying somewhere in this room.
“Go on sweetheart. Don’t let me stop you from doing your job.” Bruce said teasingly as his fingers slid beneath the damp fabric of your panties, and traced circles against your pulsing clit.
You held your head up and take a sharp breath before you start telling him about the meetings he has for next week.
“You have a meeting with Kord Industries on Tuesday-” you let out a sharp breath as you felt one finger slide inside your pussy. “Mhhhm, at two pm.”
The feeling of his fingers curling inward made you clench your thighs together slightly.
“Good. And why are they coming?” Bruce asked you mockingly.
“Just to get an update- fuck- on how the advanced research is going.”
You were trying your absolute best at staying concentrated but it was so hard. All you can think about is how good his fingers moved in a steady rhythm inside you. You shuddered under the touch as he swiped back and forth inside your pussy.
“Any other meetings I should know about?”
“Yes. A meeting with Ferris Aircraft is scheduled on-” you stopped talking as you felt Bruce slide in another finger, increasing the pressure as he flicked against the center of your pussy. “Fuck! Mr.Wayne."
Bruce lets out a small laugh, deeply amused with how you’re on the verge of falling apart with just his fingers. He’s not even fucking you properly, and you already feel overstimulated.
“Don’t stop talking sweetheart, tell me when the meeting is.” oh this cocky bastard…
“Mhmmm- it’s on friday. Five pm.”
“Yeah? Isn’t the gala on Friday at six?”
“No, it’s on saturday.”
“Perfect.”
Your walls were sucking in his thick fingers completely, and you felt how your legs were about to give up on you. You were helpless to the avalanche of your own needs, and you felt a coil of heat tightening deep in your belly.
“Bru- Mr.Wayne, fuck, I’m about to cum.” you cry out as the need to cum grows stronger with each time his fingers curl inside you.
“Stop calling me Mr.Wayne, and I’ll let you cum.” he replies calmly.
“Bruce, please.” you start begging at this point.
“Good girl, now make a mess all over my fingers, yeah?”
You let go completely, tumbling over the edge as you create a mess all over his fingers. A breathless gasp tore from your lips as your hips bucked into his fingers.
“You’re so beautiful like this.” you hear him whisper, and felt his lips leave a small kiss against your shoulder. The next thing you hear is the sound of his belt unbuckling. His pants fell down to the floor, quickly followed by his boxers.
His bricked cock that was shifting uncomfortably in his pants was now free. A gasp leaves your mouth as you felt his cock rubbing against your clit. His free hand braced against your hip, ready to push himself inside your wet pussy.
“Hold still princess.” he uttered before pushed his veiny cock inside your wet pussy.
You closed your eyes at the feeling of your walls trying to adjust to his size. Once he pushed his whole length inside your tight cunt, he started to move. The pace was careful, slow enough to draw out the tension before picking up the speed.
“You wanna hold the presentation for the–hmph- the Ferris Aircraft meeting?”
“Yes! Fuck yes, Mr.Wayne!” a low sound rumbled as he fucked you more urgent and desperately.
A moan left your lips as you felt a slap against your ass, the stinging pain immediately turning into pleasure. “What’s my name, mh?”
“Bruce, your name is Bruce Wayne.” you cried out.
A ragged breathing escaped Bruce’s mouth and the overwhelming physical heat consumed the both of you. Your back arched inward, and sharp gasps were punctuated the intensity of how his cock felt thursting deep inside you.
The iPad fell from your hands, and laid abandoned on his desk as you held onto the edge of his massive desk. His fingers trailed down your spine, raising a sudden rush of goosebumps.
Your overheated body shaked as Bruce kept thrusting deep and rough inside you. The feeling was so intoxicating, and so hazy… you’re sure that nobody could fuck you better than your boss.
“You’re doing such a good job, sweetheart.” you heard him say behind you, followed by a quiet moan. “Let me hear you, yeah? Struggle for me.”
“Bruceeee.” you whine out.
A loud groan escaped from Bruce as he felt you clenching around him, making it a little harder to push inside you.
“Such a mess for me.”
His pace quickened, each thrust driving you closer to your second orgasm. “Please, I need to cum.”
“Already?” Bruce shook his head. “I’ll let you cum -hmph- if you put another meeting for Thursday.”
“I will!”
“That’s my good girl. Now cum all over me.”
The pressure peaked, snapping the last thread of your restraint. Your body convulsed around him, earning a ragged groan from his throat. Bruce drove into you with a final thrust, and spilled his release into your pussy.
“Who do you have a meeting with on Thursday?” you ask him with curiosity in your voice. You can’t think of someone who is supposed to have a meeting with him.
Bruce sits down on his chair, pulling you by your waist, making you sit on his lap. The mixed fluid was leaking out of your pussy, and pooling on his thigh.
You immediately let your head rest against his chest, and you could hear how his heat was racing.
Hey pookie (ı hope you dont mind me calling that) can you do more dad bruce fanfics with inculding damian? Like y/n as a stepmother? Its okay if you dont want to add damian or dont want to do this but ı would like to see that from your handwriting 💋💋
Hi Pookie! (I actually love the nickname) I loved this request because I really love Bruce in his dad mode, and I love the Batfamily and Batmom. I truly believe all these traumatized children need a hug and a kiss from their mom before bed. Damian is definitely one of my favorites. I hope you like this!.
English isn't my native language. I'm sleepy, and this isn't fully reviewed. Requests are open.
"He is just a kid. A little kid"
It wasn't uncommon for members of the Wayne family to have nightmares. It was common, the screams of terror that would wake you up in the middle of the night.
It happened with your husband, who sometimes woke you up with his movements in bed, his furrowed brow, his body covered in a layer of sweat, and his labored breathing.
When you woke him up, Bruce would always stare into your eyes while you murmured; "You're okay, I'm here with you, my love."
Neither of you would sleep again that night, but you would continue lying in bed with your bodies intertwined; hearing the steady beat of your heart always reassured him.
This had also happened several times with your children.
Dick, when he had just arrived, was just a terrified little boy who relieve the moment his parents died every night.
Bruce and you would wake up and run to the boy's room, calming him by talking to him and hugging him.
Little Richard Grayson, eight years old, would end up asleep in the double bed between you and your husband. His legs were draped over Bruce's, his blue socks on, and his head was resting on your shoulder as you cuddled him.
On the other hand, when Jason had nightmares, he would enter the room without even knocking. He would touch your shoulder, and you, still half asleep, would step aside, approaching Bruce so Jason could get into bed. He would remain silent, simply clinging to you as if you were his only safe place, your fingers stroking his hair.
Tim was a different case from your first two children, as he was too similar to Bruce. When he had a nightmare, he would try to forget it by overloading himself with work, his brain half asleep, while he sat in front of the Batcomputer with a cup of coffee in his hand.
He would be silent as you came down the stairs, yawning softly in your black bathrobe. You always came over and sat next to him, taking the cold coffee from his hand and giving him hot tea.
Whenever he asked you how you knew he was here, you responded the same way.
"Maternal instincts."
So, after a brief conversation between sips of hot tea and affectionate hugs, Tim would go back upstairs and head to his room. He wouldn't go to bed without you there to kiss him on the forehead.
These boys might be the brave young vigilantes of Gotham to everyone else, but to you, they were just your little boys who jumped into your arms every time you entered and left the Mansion.
That was normal for them, but Damian Wayne was peculiar.
He didn't cling to you, no. He found your warmth unpleasant, but he respected you; you were his father's wife, after all.
From the moment he set foot in that house, he knew full well that you were a strong woman. No ordinary person could handle the villains, the blood, and the wounds that came with having three vigilante children and being married to Batman himself.
Despite everything, you were always kind to him. You cared about him; he was Bruce's son, and you saw a lot of your husband in the boy.
That concern for him was why you were here now. You had woken up to a loud scream and got out of bed, trying not to wake Bruce, who had recently returned from patrol. You walked to his room in your pajamas, a robe wrapped around your body.
You opened the door without knocking and saw the boy, breathing heavily, his hands clutching the sheets.
"Are you okay?"
Your soft tone of voice caught the boy's attention, as he was now looking at you with his piercing green eyes. He nodded slowly
"Father?"
"He's asleep. I don't like waking him up when he comes back from patrol. He needs to rest."
"Then you hear a scream in the middle of the night, and the first thing you do is run alone toward the source of the noise. It could have been dangerous."
"I've lived with bats and robins enough years to know how to perfectly differentiate a scream of danger from a scream of a nightmare." your tone was calm as you looked at him, trying to decipher what was going on in his mind.
"This is pathetic." he seemed embarrassed as he avoided your gaze and shook his head.
"It's fair Damian. Everyone here has nightmares, your brothers, your father, even Alfred and me."
The room fell silent. She observed his uncharacteristically nervous appearance, his hands fiddling with the green sheets.
"Do you have nightmares too?"
She closed the door and slowly approached him.
"The people I care about most are fighting crime, risking their lives, and I'm here, unable to do anything but wait for them and hug them when they return." her voice was soft and calm.
Despite Damian trying to hate her, he couldn't deny that she was pure warmth, the light in that house and the heart of this family. Without her, everyone would be lost, including Damian.
She was someone who had always tried to understand him. Even when Bruce lost his patience and saw him as a problem child trained as a killer.
When that happened, she would put her hands on her husband's shoulders and always tell him;
"He's just a little boy."
That same little boy was the one she saw now, scared, agitated, clinging to the bed with a blank stare and disheveled hair.
She slowly raised her hand in case he wanted to push her away, but when he didn't, she gently touched his unruly hair and combed it.
He turned his head, and his bright green eyes met hers.
"Are you okay?" she asked, caressing his cheek as if he were fragile and would break if she treated him with the same roughness everyone else had treated him with since birth.He simply nodded, his gaze lowered.
He wasn't used to being treated kindly, and she was like a ray of light that made everything bloom with her touch.
"Do you want to talk about what you dreamed?" He shook his head. He didn't want to talk, and she respected that.
"Okay," she nodded and looked away for a few seconds, pursing her lips. Usually, she didn't know how to treat him. Sometimes she was afraid of being too sweet for a boy trained by a league of assassins, and at the same time, she didn't want to be unkind because she didn't want to hurt him like everyone else had, like even the other members of this family did when they judged him for acting the way they had molded him.
"Do you want me to leave?" He didn't respond, so she removed her hand from his cheek so as not to upset him. But when she was about to move away, Damian leaned his forehead against her shoulder.
"No."
He didn't say another word, and she didn't need any more.
The next morning, when Bruce Wayne woke up alone in his bed, he wasn't so worried. Although he didn't like the fact that she wasn't the first thing he saw when he woke up, he knew his wife usually woke up earlier than he did.
But when he went to wake Damian, he found a sight that surprised him but made his heart warm.
The sight in front of him was unreal, something he'd never believed would happen.
His wife lying in bed, sleeping peacefully, with Damian curled up against her side, his face hidden in the crook of her neck, and Alfred the cat lying between the two of you.
Bruce smiled; she had this ability to soften the coldest hearts, to easily break through walls that to anyone else would seem impenetrable.
He laughed lightly, shaking his head, as he gently closed the door without making a sound.
It was the first time I'd seen Damian the way you saw him: a small, innocent boy who, no matter how much he fights with everyone, wants a hug at the end of the day.
He's just a kid, after all.
—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—★—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—
I'm sleepy and frustrated because I've been writing this for four days and I don't like the result. I literally just finished writing this while listening to The Life of a Showgirl (I loved Elizabeth Taylor and CANCELLED!).
I'd love to do the October challenge, but I don't have anything planned, so maybe next year. Anyway, I'll try to upload more things as compensation. I have some ideas, and your requests help.
Your likes, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated.
Summary - They believe that you are fighting and try to make it up to you- only to find out you aren’t fighting.
Characters - Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd
Bruce Wayne
⭐︎ You and Bruce don’t fight often, which is why it makes it such a dire situation to Bruce.
⭐︎ Your fights are usually quiet ones, a comment here or there but no yelling or shouting. Bruce isn’t an explosive man, his irritation and anger runs cold. You match his energy in a way that is both good and bad, especially when you are fighting.
⭐︎ It had started with you getting angry at him getting home late from patrol. He was irritated at first that you seemed to disregard the people who needed him. Then after a few days he calm down enough to see it from your perspective.
⭐︎ Bruce Wayne is someone who believes that actions speak louder than words so he calls up your favorite florist and sends multiple bouquets of your favorite flowers to your office.
⭐︎ He is slightly nervous to talk to you since you have been a little distant after your fight. Multiple times on the walk to your office he messing with his tie, just to give himself something to do to sieve off the anxiety.
⭐︎ You are looking at the note he told the florist to write when he knocks on your door. Your smile is radiant as you look over at him, no trace of irritation or anger on your face to be seen.
⭐︎ Bruce feels like he did a good job when you walk over to kiss him. He hasn’t had too much contact with you for a couple days since he was keeping his distance so he welcomes your touch like a man starved.
“What is this for?” You ask after pulling back from kissing him. “Did I miss something?”
Bruce blinks down at you in confusion, “You were upset with me about arriving home late, I am sorry for worrying you.”
A look of confusion crosses your face before you start laughing.
“The whole time you thought I was upset with you?” You stop laughing to give himself something a soft look. “I’m sorry Love, I was busy with work so you must have thought I was ignoring you.”
Bruce feels sheepish now that he got the situation wrong. “You don’t need to apologize for my misunderstanding-”
You kiss him mid sentence, cutting him off.
“The flowers are perfect don’t apologize.”
Dick Grayson
⭐︎ Dick would like to think that you don’t argue often and you agree except for the constant back and forth of him stretching himself too thin and putting everyone’s needs over his.
⭐︎ The fight happens when he misses a date because they needed his help in Gotham. He had left you a note and a text about it. There was a lot of apologies in both. But when he got back to his apartment all the lights were off and you were gone.
⭐︎ Your fights are usually conversations, there isn’t yelling involved unless it’s really bad. You always wanted to talk things out rather than just leaving them lie. So you leaving without talking about it made him scared.
⭐︎ Dick is a little desperate when he feels like he is being left. There’s an involuntary coil of dread that settles in his stomach every time. He always needs to make it right as soon as possible, he can’t wait because he is afraid of never seeing you again.
⭐︎ So he runs down to the 24 hour convince store a block down from his apartment to get, admittedly, a lot of your favorite candy. Then he breaks into the florist shop across the street to grab a premade bouquet of flowers, he makes sure to leave them money plus a little extra because he broke in.
⭐︎ He is stressing himself out the whole way to your apartment. The thought that you won’t have the window unlocked like usual crosses his mind. He imagines you locking him out and refusing to even see him.
⭐︎ When Dick knocks on your window at 2am you open it up with sleep still in your eyes. You look beautiful even half asleep, confused and in one of his old tee shirts. Your eyes eventually focus in on the bag and flowers.
“Dick? These are wonderful,” You take the flowers from his slightly trembling hands. “but why are you bringing me flowers at 2am?”
Dick pauses midway through climbing through your window, “You are mad at me for missing our date so I thought getting you flowers would help.”
Your expression softens as you take a deeper look at him, seeing the anxiety in his rigid posture and the desperation in his eyes as he takes off his domino mask.
“Oh baby.” You says softly and pull him into a hug. “I am so sorry my friend had to rush her pet to the vet and had no car so I drove her. In all the rush I forgot to text you that it was fine.”
Dick exhales, all the tension in his body leaving with the air. He slumps a little as the adrenaline from crime fighting and this whole debacle evaporates.
“Thank god.” He whispers as you guide him over to your bed and gently pull him down onto it.
“I will always tell you if I have an issue,” You press a kiss to his brow, “promise.”
Jason Todd
⭐︎ You and Jason try not to fight often. It reminds Jason of darker days and you just don’t enjoy the conflict.
⭐︎ But when it happens it’s loud. Jason doesn’t start out yelling, he doesn’t enjoy it. But that’s usually what it devolves into, the two of you yelling over each other over something you can’t even remember.
⭐︎ Jason always needs time to cool off after. He leaves the apartment so he can get some air, climbing up to the roof or going on patrol early depending on what time it is.
⭐︎ This time was a little different, there wasn’t yelling or raised voices, just a slow sigh and you leaving the apartment.
⭐︎ The fight started over a bookshelf. You were insistent that you could put it together yourself while Jason wanted to help. After a couple minutes of him trying to help you told him that you wanted to do it yourself. He left the room then a few seconds later you were grumbling, putting on your shoes and slamming the apartment door.
⭐︎ Jason knew that you enjoyed doing things yourself so him trying to help must have made you angry with him. He didn’t leave like usual, instead he began to clean. It was a nervous habit that stemmed from needing control over something. He left the book shelf alone because it was the source of the argument but everything thing else he could clean was.
⭐︎ You came home an hour later to a spotless apartment and dinner ready. Jason was moving around the kitchen silently when you set the bag you got from the hardware store on the counter.
“Thanks for making dinner Jay.” You walk over to wrap your arms around him.
He tenses a little and you pull back immediately.
“You are sending me mixed messages.” Jason says with a furrow between his brows.
You frown in confusion, “What do you mean?”
“You left earlier because you were angry and now you aren’t upset.” Jason points out to you.
Your eyes widen with realization then soften, “Jay, I didn’t have the right screw for the bookshelf.”
Jason feels the tension bleed out of him at your words. You hug him again and he won’t say it out loud but he holds you tighter than he has ever held anyone else.
“If I am angry at you believe me you would know.” You laugh.
“Good.” Jason breathes out in relief.
“Now,” You pull away and walk to the bag. “do you want to help me put this together? I am way past the point of having any pride to defend.”
He grins, “It would be my pleasure.”
Blue’s notes - Imagine being in a family prized for detective skills and misreading a situation lol. None of these men can have a straight forward conversation about feelings. Also Dick’s is so much more angsty then intended, it originally was just a funny misunderstanding then my brain was like ‘make him suffer’ and I succumbed to the voices.
Case notes: Aged up!Damian, established relationship
A/N: Here is a short fic/bullet point fic (?), while I finish my Jason Todd x Veronica Sawyer!reader fic. That will be properly written promise!
Arguing with Damian Wayne would include:
Not much yelling but more sharp, hurtful, condescending words. Damian is prideful and believes he is better and smarter than everyone else due to his upbringing (ahem, Bruce). He will rarely yell because it is "childish" but he will certainly make you feel stupid. Of course he doesn't mean it, but sometimes his emotions would get the best of him. Causing Damian to act and speak irrationally.
"TT, I do not expect you to understand the situation. Afterall, how can you? But I do expect you to listen. Unfortunately, you don't do that well either"
You both go to bed simmering with frustration. No cuddles, no talking, and goodnight's. Just turned backs and the darkness of the room guiding you both to an unpeaceful slumber.
The next morning, guilt would eat Damian alive, but his pride, still holding strong, refuses to apologize. The morning is silent and filled with tension so heavy, Superman himself could not push it away. Translation: Hardcore silent treatment from both parties.
Still, you two coexist in your shared apartment. Damian staying attentive to your needs and you to his, even without verbal communication.
Can't grab a mug from a particularly high shelf? Damian grabs it for you without hesitation.
A fitted sheet needs folding and Damian can't for the life of him figure it out? You do it for him.
Frustrated with a certain task? Damian will help always. Even without saying a word.
It is the same in public. Sure Damian won't hold your hand, but he will still stay close, keeping to the sidewalk rule, and ready to protect you at any given moment. He pulls up a chair for you, offers you the extra hair tie on his wrist when the winds happen to be stubborn that day, he helps you with your bags, and overall keeps an eye on you.
Because in your relationship, regardless of the status, partners never abandon each other.
Jealousy. Oh so much jealousy. The possessiveness in the relationship gets cranked up to 100%. While you both aren't on speaking terms, the two of you still very much love each other. When stranger comes up to you for directions in the street, it's instant glaring from Damian. And the jealousy isn't just from him, but from you as well. When a woman comes up to your boyfriend for a photo, inquiries, or worse, his number, you instantly take his hand in yours.
Strangely, that becomes the first stage in rebuilding the gap your argument has created.
You both walk around the streets hand in hand in this spiky bubble where nobody dares to come near. The hostile energy around you both practically radiates a big red sign that says, "DO NOT BOTHER." You are grumpy, he is grumpy, but at least you are grumpy together.
When the day ends, Damian and you forget what the fight was about. Tragically, all the energy was spent on getting irritated and keeping quiet that none was left to apologize properly. Instead, you both eat, shower, and settle in the covers and doze off. However this time, Damian's arms find your waist, spooning you to sleep. He will apologize in the morning once he regains energy. Maybe even make breakfast for you if he wakes up early enough. For now, your body against his is enough. He stares at the ceiling thinking,
"What were we so upset about again?"
Before finally dozing off.
A/N: I will probably make a part 2 where they forgive each other bc I love you guys and I know we can't leave these two lovebirds angry forever. Also thinking about making this "scenario" type fanfic a thing so my blog won't be empty while I write my more serious fics. Wdyt?
⊹₊⟡⋆ Marrying Bruce Wayne headcannons ⊹₊⟡⋆ (mdni, 18+)
contents: suggestive content/smut, cunnilingus, mentions of sex, slight angst (?)
a/n: I pictured Christian Bale's Bruce Wayne for this, but you can imagine whoever you like, he's just my personal fav.
You and Bruce Wayne had a very public engagement and wedding, partly because he needed to feed his public persona and partly because he wanted to show you off.
Bruce Wayne is a very busy man, consumed by his responsibilities as both a billionaire and vigilante, so it takes some persuading from Alfred to convince him to take a week off for your honeymoon.
But once you're on your honeymoon he will not leave you alone for a second.
You're staying at a secluded villa. You have no responsibilities, all the time in the world, and you look so beautiful with that ring on your finger, your cheeks glowing from the sun, he can't help but pounce on you from the moment you wake up.
I mean, you have an entire villa for yourselves, he wants to try things out.
Bruce Wayne who eats you out like a man starved. He doesn't so much as do it for your pleasure, I mean, sure he thinks of it, of the noises you'd make coming undone on his tongue, of how you'd shake your legs and arch your back— but that's a given with Bruce Wayne, he knows all your tells, knows exactly what to do to pull orgasms out of you like it's nothing.
So, sure, it will be pleasurable for you, but he's not really focused on that, it sort of comes out automatic. And he'll notice it, late at night when you're spent, lying in bed in one of his shirts, as he kisses your forehead and walks out the door.
Bruce Wayne who knows he isn't around nearly enough and who makes it up to you by showering you in lavish gifts, no matter how many times you tell him you're not upset.
Bruce Wayne who wakes up earlier than you but always presses a kiss to your forehead and leaves a note in your bedside table notifying you of his plans for the day, complimenting you or simply reminding you of mundane things.
Bruce Wayne who starts to leave little notes all around the house so that you can still feel him there when he's away. 'Prettiest girl in the world' stuck to your vanity mirror, 'Wear these today' stuck atop a jewelry box with a pair of earrings he got you.
If you're really lucky you'll find a note atop his pillow that reads 'at the cave'. You know what that means, he's letting you in— which he rarely does.
Batman who begins to cut his patrols short, starts to take less risks, all because he's got something someone to live for.
Batman who begins to let you in to his personal space, he does it slowly, in a calculated way that almost saddens you.
Batman who lets you sit on his lap, cock warming him as he works on a case. Your keens and whimpers are the only sounds echoing through the walls.
Batman who is an absolute munch. He eats you out when he's stressed, late at night after working in the cave, or early morning with the adrenaline from patrol drumming, beating through his veins.
He holds your hips down on whatever surface he managed to throw you over, and he doesn't stop until you're a blabbering mess, close to passing out.
Batman who holds you and praises you as he draws you a bath.
"so good for me," he mutters as he gets in the bath with you, kissing your hairline.
Bruce Wayne who finally gets in bed with you after a long day, limbs tired and aching, shoulders closing in on themselves; and he feels his body relax, he feels the tension leave his muscles as you wrap your arms around him sleepily.
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: fresh off a gala in metropolis, mrs. wayne shares the simple skincare routine behind her signature glow. with a little help from her husband bruce wayne, of course!
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: none, 1.5k words, dick + damian cameo, super super brief selina cameo? its a comment so idk if it counts?, reader (you) is the ultimate baddie, not edited just proofread
<𝟑: tags at the end :) please tell me if im missing anyone! (some weren't working so please lmk if they still dont so i can fix it). part of the mrs wayne in media series
Your make up is strewn across the bathroom counter, but this is out of shot. Instead, the skin care products are all neatly lined up on Bruce’s side.
You’re dressed in a fluffy white robe with your initials embroidered, hair clipped away from your face. Your make up from the gala is still on and you’re beautiful diamond studs— a present from Bruce, glitter under the bathroom’s lights.
“Hello!” You smile at the camera. “And welcome to Vogue Beauty Secrets. Today, I’ll be showing you my skincare routine for after galas. We literally got back from the gala..."
You glance over at Bruce, who is getting rid of his tie in the main bedroom. Luckily, the camera can’t see him. "What, twenty minutes ago?"
"Twenty-three," he corrects.
You laugh. "Twenty-three minutes ago. I wanted to film this while everything was still on because I feel like that's the only way to really show what works for me."
You carefully unclip the earrings, gently setting them down on a tiny golden plate. The camera picks the small metallic sound of the diamonds clicking against the metal. “These are usually the first thing to go because I'm terrified of dropping one down the sink. Bruce says that's what insurance is for, but I think he'd still judge me."
Somewhere off-camera, “I absolutely would.”
You laugh. “He's lurking somewhere off camera, don’t mind him.”
Slow and sure steps approach, Bruce’s is wearing a matching robe to yours and fluffy slippers the hotel provided. He looks absolutely adorable, but not like the camera sees it– the angle is too far off.
You pick up the cleansing balm, a yellow thing with a metallic lid. “This is the Elemis Cleansing Balm and an absolute jewel.” You rub the balm with circular motions all over your face. “And no, this isn’t sponsored.”
“When people always ask what my biggest beauty secret is.." You slightly turn your body in Bruce's direction. He grabs a cotton cloth, previously soaked in warm water. “It's probably hydration. Which is the most boring answer imaginable, but unfortunately it's true.”
Bruce begins removing the make up, with soft and soothing motions. His eyes are soft and focused on the task. Your heart swells, how is it you have such an amazing husband?
"People always think the gala is the exhausting part." Your eyes are still closed as Bruce keeps wiping a stubborn streak of mascara. "It's actually this. You're tired, your feet hurt, and the last thing you want to do is spend another ten minutes in front of the mirror." You smile. "It helps that Bruce loves to help with my skincare.”
He smiles, small and just for you. “If I didn’t you’d probably forget.”
You laugh. “That's not true!” You turn to the camera again. “Show them the cloth.”
Bruce’s massive hand appears in frame, veins noticeable and his golden wedding band shining. The cloth is now dirtied with varying shades of brown and a speck of maroon.
“As you can see I was wearing loads of make up, and for that reason– where is i–”
Bruce hands you the next product.
You barely look at him. “I use a second cleanser.”
You quickly apply it. “Okay, boom! Makeup is off.” You move your head, showing the different angles. “Now comes the fun part.” A small pause. "When I was younger I used to think skincare was something you only did when your skin looked bad."
Bruce hums. "It showed."
You gasp, pretending to be offended. "You're unbelievable."
“You still married me.”
You hum, smirking at the camera. “It’s never too late to get a divorce.”
“Hydration,” Bruce clears his throat, and hands you the SK-II bottle.
“I was actually terrible with skincare,” you say as you press your product-soaked hands onto your cheeks. “As Bruce here snitched.”
“She used a barsoap.” Bruce dryly says.
You laugh, glancing at him. “You’re getting kicked out of my video.”
“But then who would hand you everything?”
Just as you’re about to reply your phone rings. You quickly rinse your hands in the sink before picking it up. You click the speakerphone and set it on the counter.
“Dick, baby. What's wrong?”
“Can’t I just call to ask how my wonderful mother is doing?”
You suppress a smile. “So nothing is on fire?”
“Not on fire, no. Hypothetically... are all the cars insured?”
Beside you, Bruce pales. “Is someone hurt?”
Dick groans. “Please don’t tell me Bruce is there.”
“Sorry, baby,” You pause, shooting the camera a look. “And yes, all of the cars are insured. After you and Jason crashed the last one we weren’t taking risks.”
“Oh, okay! Thank you mom, love you. Bye!” He hangs up.
You look back at the camera with a fond smile. "Everyone says parenting gets easier when they're older."
Bruce slowly shakes his head. "It just gets louder."
You nod. "He's right. When they’re older they have their own opinions and personalities, and they have the confidence to argue back.” You scrunch your nose. “Eventually they realize I can out-stubborn every single one of them.”
You sigh affectionately. “This is part of the routine as much as the other steps. There’s always some emergency– so even if my phone is off there are certain calls from certain numbers that come through.”
“That being the kids and me.”
You grab the next product before Bruce can beat you to it. He grumbles something, but it lacks any heat.
You show it to the camera. It’s a tiny dark purple bottle, with a black pipette as lid. You squint your eyes, trying to read the description. “This is the Skin Ceuticals Hya–Hyaluronic… Acid Intensifier... Multi-Glyyycan. Wow, what a mouthful. Who even came up with the name?”
"Scientists."
You shake your head. "It’s all marketing." You slowly apply it. “I forgot to mention the names of the other products– wait, can I mention them? Since I’m not doing publicity or anything. Wait, am I going to get sued?"
Bruce shakes his head. “I’ll ask the lawyers tomorrow.”
"See?" You grin at the camera. "I don't even have to think about things like that anymore."
Bruce shrugs. "Occupational hazard."
You shift the camera slightly, so it doesn’t catch you giving Bruce a sweet peck on the cheek. His shoulders slump and you give him another.
A second after you’re back to the camera. “Sorry guys, I can’t resist my husband.”
Your phone rings yet again, the noise interrupting you mid-speech. You immediately pick it up, setting it on speaker again.
“Mother.” Damian’s voice can be heard. “I understood Richard called you?”
You raise a conspiratorial brow at the camera. “Yes, darling.”
“Richard has made yet another poor decision.”
“Ahuh.”
“I simply wished to clarify that I advised against it.”
“Thanks sweetheart— please go to sleep now, it’s getting late.”
There’s a beat of silence. “Fine,” he grumbles. “Good night, mother.”
“Good night Damian, I love you.”
He hangs up after a second.
You laugh, bright and amused. “I think we’ve gotten a bit sidetracked. But there’s only two more steps to go!”
Bruce’s hand appears on screen again, showing the eye cream. You offer your face, your side profile is the only visible thing aside from Bruce’s gentle fingers applying the cream on your under eyes.
“You know, you’re really good at this.”
He barely smirks. “I’ve had practice.”
"Bruce always does the eye cream." You whisper to the invisible audience.
"You poke yourself."
You roll your eyes. "Once."
He looks at you, stopping his ministrations for a second.
You sigh. "Twice."
Then the lipbalm, this time it's you who shows it to the camera. “And now my favourite part. The lip balm!” You apply it on your lips. “This one is honestly so good…” you finish rubbing it, “I keep one in each bag. A bit pricey though.”
“I think everyone expects some elaborate forty step routine. There isn’t one, just make sure your skin is clean and healthy. Oh, and really, really important. Don’t forget to drink water. The key for the whole glowy look is to be hydrated.”
“And marry someone who reminds you.” Bruce chimes in.
You smile. “That one definitely helps.” You unclipp your hair away, your hair gently framing your face. “Be kind to your skin. Don’t pick it, it’ll just get red and you’ll get more pimples.”
“Don’t compare yourself to people on the internet either— I’m literally standing under a studio light.”
Bruce leans into frame just enough to kiss the top of your head. You look up at him, then at the camera again. “Thanks for watching!”
Comment Section:
@snoopycftheday the fact that she looks BETTER after taking her makeup off ?????????
@vogue Thank you for joining us 🤍
@slutforthestarks Bruce's entire personality is 'yes dear'
@metropolismetrosfans she genuinely has the most insane face card i've ever seen
@parasocialalert she has the personality of a wallpaper lmao
@sukunt its sending me that 80% of the video is her flirting with her husband and talking to her kids and the other 20% is actual skincare
@selinakyle Can your husband fight?
@selinakyle Bruce CANNOT handle all that
@officialgothamgazette "there are certain calls from certain numbers that come through" being a mom never clocks out
@slutforgreenlantern they're both so hot idk if i want to be them or be with them #pleasepleasepleaseletmethird
@boostergoldslefttoe just added everything to my cart... why is the total $672 😭😭😭
@daschundmom "Bruce is lurking somewhere off camera" Bruce proceeds to become half the video.
@user7696the way she instinctively tilted her face up so bruce could put on her eye cream... they've done this a thousand times IM SICK
@truthhurts she's only famous because she married bruce lmao she's not even that pretty
@mrswayneisamilf everyone talks about his green flags but can we discuss HER ?? she's so patient and kind every time one of the kids called she's my role model
@hdjsiosjnx, @cassini-among-the-stars, @zhonglibestie, @jdksjsalaka, @godwishiwasreal @sogayitsalmostscary, @bat2nsignia, @mruizsworld, @just-a-random-girl1, @boundlessgladiatorrook, @nalah-whimsy, @xaxamd, @thestupidgirlakira, @queengirl2345, @whitemelanin, @deerest-darling, @outpostsworld, @gglouise23, @marliyndreams, @siennatk an extra big smooch for @llovelygood she was an absolute lifesaver i cannot stress enough how grateful i am for her!! THANKYEW LOML
HII i was wondering if you could do with Damian and possibly the other batboys if you wanted the prank on TikTok where you pretend to hide something( someone) in the closet when they return home from a patrol pls❤️❤️❤️😅😅
who's that?
IN WHICH... when damian returns home, you prank him by pretending you're hiding another man in the closet!
warnings: hurt/comfort ig but it's meant to comedic, fluff, f!reader, imo lowkey fucked up!reader bc this prank is so mean :(, yall r kinda goofy at the end, very briefly suggestive but no smut, pet names
wc: 1.2k
a/n: in a way this connects with "climbing your boyfriend" bc they're both pranks you pulled on dami :)
also i personally would never do this prank bc like cheating—even if it's not real and just a prank—just irks me so bad😭 for the fic tho
If it wasn't already obvious enough, you love to prank your sweet, mildly dense boyfriend. You climb him, you trick him into giving you $100, you've gotten him to accidentally say what's up dog? more times than you can count. It's easily your favorite pass time—he's just so precious when he's staring at you with furrowed brows, all confused and disoriented as to what the fuck is going on.
So, yes, when you saw a girl on TikTok pretend as if she was hiding another man in the closet upon her boyfriend's arrival, the prank was calling your name.
The moment you hear Damian's footsteps ascending the stairs, you purposefully make lots of clamor, banging your closet door a bit as you open and shut it, whisper-yelling "Go, go, go!" into the empty room. Your phone is hidden between some books, documenting everything.
Damian pauses on the staircase, frowning at all the ruckus coming from your bedroom, but he tries to think nothing of it. He continues his way up and turns the corner to your shut door. Well, now it's suspiciously quiet on the other side...
"Beloved?" he calls softly, knocking his knuckles on the wood. "Can I come in?"
"I— one second, Dami!" you call back, smiling brightly. You bang around in the closet a bit more, taking a deep breath to collect yourself before swinging open the door. Your smile is suspiciously big, eyes suspiciously lively. "Hi!"
"...Hi?" he replies, taking a tentative step into the bedroom. Your eyes keep darting from his to the closet doors. His own narrow with skepticism. "What's up with you, habibti?"
"Nothing! Nothing's up with me, Dami," you chirp, taking a seat at the edge of your bed. "C'mon, come join me!"
He blinks. He knows something's up with you, he has an inkling. He doesn't know what that something is, exactly, but it's definitely there. "Sure, love." He toes off his shoes and joins you on the bed.
He instantly clocks how you purposefully but yourself on the side of the bed that lets you see the closet, but prevents him from seeing it. You smile down at Damian, a hand fiddling with his dark hair—distraction.
"How's your day been, baby?" you ask curiously, eyes continuing to flicker up to the closet. He begins to turn over his shoulder to look at the 2 doors, but you stop him. "I said how's your day been?"
He turns back to you slowly. "It's...it's been good, habibti. Yourself?"
You nod, making a hurry up motion while looking at the closet. Damian's frown deepens. "What was that?"
You jump (or at least pretend to) "...What was what?"
"Why'd you go like—" he repeats your motion. "Who're you talking to?"
"Nobody."
"Please, do not lie to me, hayati."
You laugh in a way that sounds far too defensive. "Nobody, Damian. C'mon, let's keep talking." You reach for his chin, turning his head back to you. You smile big again.
His eyes dart between your own nervously. You're seriously beginning to regret this prank—the sad, doubtful look beginning to pool in his big green irises is sending aches straight to your heart.
"If there's something you're not informing me of, please do so, love," he murmurs far too gently for someone who's under the impression that they're being cheated on. "I'd rather hear it from you."
"Hear what from me?" you ask, being purposefully difficult.
He sighs softly, staring at your pretty, pretty face so adoringly. "If...if there's another man behind those doors. If you were with someone else before I showed up, I'd rather hear it from you, habibti," he clarifies.
Despite the pit in your stomach, you continue with the act. You scoff. "You seriously think I'm hiding another guy in my closet?" you laugh incredulously. "Don't be silly, baby boy. I'd never do that!"
"...Open the closet, beloved."
"No!" you reply maybe a bit too quickly. The immediate response makes Damian flinch, a look of disbelief and denial flashing in his eyes before disappearing behind the adoration once more.
Damn you and your stupidly loyal boyfriend.
"Love, please."
"N-no, Dami. I already told you that I'm not hiding anything."
You feel him begin to get up, slipping out of your grasp too fast for you to pull him back. You hear a soft sniffle come from him, and when he finally looks at you again—now standing directly in front of the closet—there's a shiny coat over his eyes.
The pit in your stomach grows. Please don't cry, please don't cry, please don't cry... "Dami..."
"I love you more than anything, anyone, in this world, do you know that hayati?"
You swallow. You nod.
"I always will love you dearly, no matter who's behind this door. Okay? You'll always be it for me. If I ever get married, you'll be the only one on my mind. Every woman I ever kiss, I'll imagine her as yo—"
"—It was a prank!" you blurt out before you can stop yourself. "I swear on everything, on Titus, that this is all a prank, Dami-baby!"
You stand up and approach him, cupping your boyfriend's cheeks. The pool of tears at the base of his eyes hurts your heart—in fact, it causes tears to gather in your own eyes as well. "Oh, baby, see?"
You point to the bookshelf where your phone camera peeks out, and something in his expression loosens with relief at the sight. "I've been recording since before you came in. I— I saw some girl do it on TikTok and her boyfriend just got really mad. I didn't think you'd cry and spit poetry at me, Dami. Oh, I'm so sorry!"
He relaxes entirely when you throw your arms around him, tucking your face into his neck. "I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you," you whisper against his skin.
His warm, soothing hands rest on your back, nudging you closer. "Oh, habibti," he coos softly, raining kisses down onto your hairline. "You and your little pranks, hm? Always getting you into trouble. I believe you, honey, but y'know I'm still going to open the closet, right?"
You nod, lifting your head to look up at him through your lashes. You grin. "Nobody's in there, I pinky swear."
He chuckles softly, ruffling your hair lovingly. "I know, love. But I gotta check."
Of course, when he swings the closet open, all that he sees is clothes...upon clothes...upon clothes. No men or women to be found. "Just what I suspected. My baby would never cheat on me, now would she?" he smiles, scooping you up into his arms and tossing you back onto your bed.
You squeal, laughing as your boyfriend climbs over you, hovering. His necklace dangles in your face. He leans down, kissing all over your face—your smile only grows. "Y'know something, beloved?"
You hum. "What do I know, Dames?" you ask.
"I think I deserve a big apology."
The smirk on his face is what influences your response. "Apology sex, eh?" you blurt playfully, giving him a dramatic flirty look.
He rolls his eyes, flicking your forehead lightly. "No, you dog. Cuddles. Lots of 'em. And maybe a movie. And you're required by law to play with my hair the entire time."
Now that? That's something you can—and will—gladly agree to. You reach to grab your phone off the shelf, ending the recording. "Looks like you have a deal, baby."
Jason with a gf that likes it when he's mean (and Jason who hates it)!
꒰ content ꒱ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ fem!reader, suggestive, established relationship
“I like it when you yell at me.” You liked it a bit too much for it to be normal, in Jason's opinion.
“Well, I don't,” he grumbles.
This was one of the many times you've brought this up, and it all started the first time he ever yelled at you.
To be fair, it was after a mission. One that left you injured due to your recklessness. Seeing you lying there, cuts littering your cheek, eyes droopy from the meds, he’d lost all sense of restraint as fear left him breathless.
However, the moment he’d yelled, the moment he uttered the words, “the fuck is wrong with you?!”, he didn’t quite expect your face to heat up, your eyes to suddenly widen, your throat to bob in a way he knew wasn’t from fear or shame.
That was when he realized he screwed up.
And now he lies in bed, a book in one hand, the other playing with your hair when he wasn't turning a page. He listens as you tell him your fantasies.
“So close, but this time don’t grumble—just yell, but in a really mean way.”
Pink spreads over his cheeks, his throat going dry. He somehow managed an “I’m busy.”
“You've been staring at the same page for like ten minutes.”
“…I’m a slow reader.”
“Jayyy,” you drag his nickname out in a way that has him biting his cheek. All this talking about what you want in bed hasn't gone unnoticed.
“Listen, I’m not slapping you, yelling, or whatever the hell else you want.”
You take the book out of his hand and shift so you're looking up at him with wide eyes. “I’ll suck—”
He cuts you off sternly by saying your name, his hand grabbing your wrist before you could touch him.
You press your lips together to stop a giddy smile from coming through.
“God—you liked that, didn’t you?” he groans, looking up as if begging the heavens to save him.
You pull your hand out of his hold and grab onto his arm, chin pressing against his bicep as you look into his eyes. “Pretty please?”
His fingers curl into your shirt, head leaning down towards you instinctively, and his resolve fails as it always does.
“Fine,” he struggles out. “…just let me take care of you after.”
You tilt your head.
He looks away as he speaks, eyes focusing intently on a wall. “You deserve to be treated gently,” he explains.
summary: getting a list of everything damian hates, you feel self-conscious about ticking the boxes in that list—and try to fix that, not knowing that you’re damian’s only exception.
pairing: damian wayne x fem! reader
content: fluffff, pre-established relationship, tim drake uses the wrong words and ensues a chaotic week.
“You want to know what Damian hates?”
Your inquisitive nature has become a known trait to Damian's family, and if anything, it fits you right in. Damian credits your 'detective work', he terms affectionately, as a perfect fit to his own.
Tim’s busy digging through another case, but your question surprises him enough to pause, an incredulous look crossing his tired features. “You know that doesn’t apply to you at all, right?”
“You’re the only person available to ask.” You plead. “It's a little awkward to storm right up to him with a ‘Good morning! Do you secretly hate me and I should jump off the face of the Earth?’”
“Define available.” Tim mutters, before snorting softly. “And Damian hating you? That’ll be impossible.”
You don’t budge, eyes purposely wide as saucers, hoping your pleading's visible enough to coerce his sleep-deprived brain cells to work on something that wasn't the large Bat-Computer, illuminating a spotlight on his eye-bags.
He sighs. “Fine. It shouldn’t be that hard to think of.”
“I guess..” He mutters distractedly, multitasking your strange request and his work and an indulgent sip of his over-steeped tea. “He hates clumsiness? One time, Dick knocked over his printed Bat-Cow mug and even though he caught it immediately, you should’ve seen the look on Damian’s face.”
Not off to an amazing start. You don't dare recall the amount of times he’s caught you from face-planting in your shared apartment—or the number of plates you’ve broken when they slipped from your hands while washing them.
“Right. Clumsiness.” Your laugh comes out forced. “Anything else?”
“Hoarders.” He mutters through another sip, even as his nose scrunches at the bitterness. “I keep a bunch of files in the Bat-Cave, because forbid a man for wanting physical archives in case the Bat-Computer’s compromised. He snapped at me on the amount of useless cases I had collecting dust in the corner.”
Your heart squeezes traitorously, already aligning yourself with the trait before you could even deny the semblance. You didn’t expect him to accurately describe someone like.. you?
Your collection of junk is still stored inside a designated cardboard box, keeping letters he’s given you throughout your relationship, receipts from closed-down restaurants, or even the bed that's littered with your worn plushies. You rarely threw away anything as long as it held a small amount of sentimental value.
“Uh-huh.” You mutter distractedly—thinking back on your shared apartment and the amount of drawers you took up.
“I suppose—people who can’t protect themselves?” Tim shrugs apathetically. “He’s already so strict on his own training regime, I doubt he could possibly understand anyone who doesn’t know self-defence.”
You feel like you’re going to pass out. Tim finally stops, looking over to your distressed expression. “Oh, I wasn’t referring to you.” His mug’s 'Best Detective' claim flashes at you, sipping awkwardly at the realisation that he may have made a huge error with his words. “I just think he naturally has a lower tolerance for anyone that isn’t you.”
Tolerance, something that wears out in time. What if Damian was holding in all these things and it could potentially lead to resentment that you’re a combination of all the traits he finds annoying?
“Don’t take it to heart.” Tim says, his expression akin to one trying to disarm a bomb. “Seriously, hell will freeze over before that demon spawn ever hates something about you. You’re like—his only exception.”
You nod faintly, mind too preoccupied to truly listen. Your phone buzzes, lighting the lock screen and a notification for one of your packages has arrived. “Ah, I better get back! Nice seeing you, Tim. Thanks for the.. information.”
“No problem?” He answers, sounding unsure. “Don’t tell Damian I said anything!”
—
“Beloved?” Damian calls.
You barely hear his voice over the furious typing on your laptop, much less his trained footsteps that you could never detect. You raise your head, casting him an over-enthusiastic smile. “Hey, Dami!”
He tugs his coat off, placing it on the coat rack—gaze lingering on your laptop. “What are you doing?”
You feel as if you’re caught in the middle of a heinous act. “Um—” It’s not like you’re doing anything wrong. Maybe he might even be proud that you’re being proactive about improving your self-defence. “I’m signing up for a martial arts class.”
His brows furrow, his expression perplexed. “All of a sudden?”
“Just thought I’d try something new.” Your white lie slips out easily. “With how Gotham is, I realise I should probably learn some moves. Just in case.”
He frowns. “Is there something concerning you regarding safety?” Looking around the apartment, he analyses the astounding upgrades he’s done with a displeased frown. “I was thinking of thickening the window’s glass to have an increased bullet-proof rebound rate. Or installing motion cameras-”
“No! No.” You stop him, already detecting the pattern of his mind, unravelling into a never-ending state of over preparation. You’re sure that even if the Earth splits into two, your apartment would still be standing unscathed with what he’s already done to the structure. “It’s just a hobby, Dami. You did a great job already.”
The last thing you wanted was to add on more burdens for him. He’s been taking on more cases than usual, back on another silent war with Tim on a silly tally-off, not like either has been keeping a fair count, and him being away for more hours meant that you had time—the chance to show him this improved side to you.
He pauses in his fretting, blinking slowly like a feline before beckoning himself over to where you laid, chin tucked to your neck as you hoarded your favorite corner of the sofa.
Brushing your hair aside, he places a soft kiss on your forehead. “Alright. Anything you want.” He obliges. “You’ve already charged it to my card, yes? If you feel anything inadequate about the instructor, cancel it immediately. I’m more than willing to train you myself.”
From the way he’s looking at you, it’s almost like he wants you to say you prefer his suggestion. You almost do, tempted to let him teach you instead—because a hot trainer who is also your boyfriend sounds like a match-made in heaven, then you remember Tim’s words. I doubt he could possibly understand anyone who doesn’t know self-defence.
If Damian saw you with his own eyes on how ill-equipped you were to protecting yourself, what if he sees you as even more inadequate? You shake your head, a perfect vision of Damian's disappointment swarming your thoughts. “I’ll see how the first class goes. Apparently, it’s super beginner-level so it should be perfect for me.”
He stares at you, and you can feel his mind racing in its analysis before he nods slowly. “Alright. I’ll join you.”
“What!” You splutter.
“I have to ensure the instructor is truly capable in teaching you.” He states casually.
“Damian. You’re probably more knowledgeable than he is.” You deadpan. “It’s going to feel like how advanced calculus was for you. Toddler’s work.”
His expression doesn’t so much as shift, but you spot tension in his shoulders. “He? Even more reasons to join then.”
Oh god, what did you just unleash?
—
“Welcome to ‘Gotham Martials-Beginner’s Class'!”
The instructor is in the tightest, most neon-green outfit you’ve ever seen and under the intrusive lights, it nearly blinds you with its reflective power. Damian doesn’t bother hiding his grimace at the sight.
“Don’t be intimidated, folks. I've only held a black belt in Taekwondo for the past fifteen years.” He boasts. “If there’s anyone who’s going to make you Nightwing-material, it’s yours truly!”
The mention of his brother sours Damian’s expression, visible in the tick of his jaw. Sibling rivalry was only ever intensified among him and his brothers. He schools it into perfect nonchalance when you look over at him, trying to contain your laugh.
“Now, who’s a willing volunteer to come up and let me show them the ropes?” The instructor calls out. “As I always say, learning from example is better than theory!”
The instructor eagerly scans the room, and his mark makes its target. “What about you, lady? You look excited to start your journey in becoming a Martial Arts expert!”
It must’ve been your nearly-dying expression over Damian’s scowl that caught you in the web of his gaze. Your smile drops, feeling nervous with the numerous eyes on you from the other trainees. “Well—”
”There’s no need.” Damian calls out, his hand brushing against yours in reassurance. “I volunteer.”
“Ah! An enthusiastic young man.” The instructor claps. “Very well, come on to the front.”
Damian casts you a grimace, before he strides to the front. It was almost a comical sight with how he towers over the instructor, his arms crossed in disinterest. His gaze flickers over to you, clearly unimpressed.
“Ah, the first rule is to never cast your eyes off your opponent—”
It happens in a flash. One moment, the instructor is charging at Damian, and the next, he was on the ground with a loud bang!, with Damian pinning him down.
“Agh!” The instructor chokes out, and a chorus of gasps echoes through the room.
Damian lifts himself off, brushing his hands against his shirt. “You were saying?” He says dryly.
Your own hand is clasped over your mouth, but unlike the others, you’re trying so hard not to laugh. Damian's clearly terrified the rest in the room, as the circle of trainees distance themselves from the spectacle.
The instructor lifts himself off the ground, gripping onto his lower back for dear life. “Ha-ha—Right! I was going easy on you. Good example, folks. This is exactly how you pin someone down.”
His eyes avert Damian’s raised brow, sweat pooling at his brows. “Now, let’s resume the class at its usual distance. I’ll be in the center, and all students will be behind the red circle.” He points down at the faded drawn line, suddenly not willing for an up-close demonstration.
The class continues on with a series of stretches followed by beginner poses. You doubt any moves you were taught would actually save you against an actual criminal on the streets, but seeing Damian being forced to do such minimal movement with a disgusted expression made it all worth it.
“I think I gained a six pack just by watching you.” Your core was still burning from the restraining laughter as he inserts the key to the door of your apartment. “Never seen you so—restrained.”
He casts you an unimpressed look. “The mystery of how this city has so many civilian kidnappings was all answered by that lacklustre session. If that’s the highest rated ‘self-defense’ class in Gotham, it’s no wonder this city’s crime rate hasn’t gone down.”
“It must’ve been a pain for you." You sympathise as best as you could with an Al Ghul prodigy. "Even if the session had been a hundred times better than Mr. Neon Tights, I doubt it would’ve been useful compared to your experience.”
His narrowed eyes soften, hand kept extended to hold the door open for you. When you enter, he swiftly closes the door, arm still hovering over you and cornering you in. “That wasn’t my intention.” He says. “If I had attended for self defence, that would’ve been highly unproductive. But—”
His free hand comes up to caress your chin, guiding your gaze to meet his eyes fully. “My intention was to spend time with you. And seeing you have a good time, regardless of the quality of the session, had always been the goal.”
Your cheeks warm, and he’s doing that weird thing again where he makes you feel special for doing absolutely nothing. “You’re cheesy.”
“Hm.” He hums. “Maybe I’ve been too affected by Mr. Neon Tights.”
You can’t help the laugh that slips out, and his smile deepens—highlighting a soft dimple that you secretly obsess over. Falling into character, you clear your throat. “Aren’t you aware, Mr. Wayne? It’s not always about the result, it’s the journey.”
He huffs in amusement. “I wasn’t aware of such peculiar words of wisdom. From now on, you’ll be training with me. No more of that nonsense, even if it entertains you, beloved.”
“What?” You pretend to gasp. “Whatever shall I do without his neon tights to motivate me, Dami? You’re cruel.”
Leaning in, he murmurs. “I can think of other ways to motivate you.” Hands parting from the door, they wrap comfortably around your waist, gently pushing you back against the wood as he leans in. His lips press softly against yours, and it’s the soft moments of domesticity like this that you wish so desperately to stay longer.
By the time he parts from you, your lungs were screaming for more air than they’ve ever did in that class.
“How’s that?” He taunts lowly.
“Not bad. I feel pretty motivated to do a push-up right now.” You affirm, a little dazed.
Damian’s rare laugh is heavenly to the ears.
—
Damian’s away on another patrol, and in the midst of his absence, you’re uncovering your hoard of memories that look more kindled to trash now that it’s laid out on the floor. Damian’s letters, still too precious to ever even consider throwing away are stacked in a pile to your left, and your childhood stash is on the right.
You stare seriously at your pre-school drawing, a horrible attempt of drawing the Bat with fangs coming out under his mask. It's abstract, and you're much too biased to throw away a four year old's masterpiece. Maybe you could use it as a birthday card for Bruce?
“Beloved, what are you doing?”
You quickly hide the card, your body covering the junk as Damian enters the bedroom from the window. He’s covered in soot, but no blood is seen on his suit. Your immediate relief soothes your body, but his gaze set on the mess behind you seizes you to stand.
“Dami!” Your voice sounds way too chirpy to be anything but suspicious. “Nothing, I was just cleaning out some old stuff.”
“At 3 A.M.?” He asks incredulously.
“Cleaning jitters.” You shrug.
“Alright.” He says slowly. “I’ll take a quick bath, then I’ll assist in sorting it out with you.”
“No, it’s fine!” You quickly interject. “You must be tired after patrol. I’ll just quickly clean this up. So you can go to sleep, I know you don’t like mess.”
His hand lifts to detach his domino mask. Nothing stops his trained eye from sweeping the floor for this supposed ‘mess’ you’re talking about.
“My letters?” He asks, surprised.
“Oh, I just wanted to store them somewhere safely.” You explain. “If it hadn’t been for the letters, we.. wouldn’t be here now. I didn’t want dust mites to get to them.”
His lips quirk up faintly, softening at the memory. He looks over to the corner, where Mr. Paddington, one of your remaining childhood plushies was stuffed into a paper bag.
“Why is Mr. Paddington there?” He interrogates.
You swallow, averting your gaze. It's just a bear. A bear who's been through your ups and downs for the past decade. “I realised he’s—in really bad condition. And I keep hoarding things because of sentimental value, but it’s taking up space over the apartment. Like the bed is 55% my plushies and I don’t want you feeling like you’re running out of space because it’s your apartment too.”
He stares long enough that you start to feel it dig into your skull, before he turns fully and stops in front of you, lowering himself to your eye level.
“Is this an indirect method of asking me to expand our living quarters?” He asks, straight to the point as ever. “I can have us a new apartment by the end of the week.”
“No way.” You say flatly, his words stoking a flame of protectiveness over your shared home.
It’s an understatement to say you love this apartment. Call it being biased, but it was the first place you and Damian truly created into a home, and the memories stored within the brick walls (another addition you love), is something that will have to be pried, tooth and nail, from your cold hands.
“I just—I want to be more considerate, of the space and my junk. You may need more hanger space for your 10% shade differences in sweaters.”
He doesn’t so much as shift at your teasing, a blunt attempt at distraction to his skeptical eye. “Whatever is mine is yours.” He emphasises. “I got us this place because I wanted you to have a comfort space. I want you to use it.”
He bends, taking Mr. Paddington into his arms and patting away some dust that’s gotten on him. “You’re right, the stitching in his eyes has come loose. I’ll send it over to Alfred. He has been itching for something to do ever since most of us moved out, and he’s adequate in sewing.”
You don’t know why, but Damian being so considerate despite you having full evidence of your hoarding habit splattered over the bedroom floor tugs your heartstrings hard. You can’t resist hugging him, even when his suit is dirty. He holds you tight, Mr. Paddington squished between the two of you.
“Is there anything else you want?” He asks gently, his other hand gently rubbing your back. “You can always ask, beloved.”
You shake your head. “No, this is perfect.”
He hums. “Leave it be. We’ll sort it out tomorrow, together. I’ll run a quick bath, so why don’t you put Mr. Paddington back on the bed where he belongs, and I’ll accompany you to sleep as soon as I’m done?”
He’s perfect. It’s almost terrifying how easy it is to lean into his arms and accept his help. You should take care of your mess, not give him another task to do when he’s already tired from patrol. Still, when he places a soft kiss over your forehead, you find it hard to disagree tonight.
When he sinks into the bed, the faint smell of his body wash envelopes your senses. His weight tips you towards him, but even gravity isn’t as quick as your boyfriend’s instincts, pulling you into his arms till his frame shields yours. His chest moves in synchronicity with your breathing against your back, and the thought hits again that you don't deserve him.
Somehow, against all odds of your bad luck where he’s discovered your flaws two times in a row now when you're only trying to improve them, the softness in his gaze has never shifted, annoyance never once making its way into his expression.
Was Tim really right? That Damian’s intolerance for the flaws he listed out fades when it comes to you? You want to ask, but hearing Damian’s slowed breathing, meaning he’s fallen asleep—you think not all hope is lost yet. There’s still one more flaw you could work on, to make his life a little easier for all the times he’s loved you despite your flaws.
—
If you’re not going to get better at self-defence or the habit to hoard, at least you’ll master tackling your clumsiness. You’ve managed in avoiding plate arson for the past week, and call it over-confidence, but when you spot the clock’s hand frozen over the kitchen, you think it’s finally time you get over your fear of ladders.
“Beloved? What are you doing?” Damian calls out, a hint of distress in his voice when he spots you, on the second highest level of the ladder, hands fumbling with the clock.
“Taking out the clock.” You answer, distracted with the hook that’s stuck onto the nail. “Its battery needs changing.”
“I can do it.” He offers, his hands coming up to stabilise the ladder. “You need not concern yourself with small matters like these.”
”Yeah, but I want to.” You answer, finally unlatching the clock. “Got it!”
When you feel your balance tilt, you realise your miscalculation. With both your hands on the clock, you’re no longer holding the wall, and your feet stumble as your back arches backward. You yelp, falling backwards—right into Damian’s arms.
The clock is still in your hands, covering your face halfway to hide your shame as Damian stares at you, and you see the waver of relief, worry, and amusement playing out in the flickers of his gaze.
“That’s so embarrassing.” You mutter to yourself, still using the clock to shield your face from his prying eyes. “Let me down. Oh—can we please pretend that never happened?”
He doesn’t respond, hands still firmly wrapped around your torso, leaving your feet dangling in the air as he pins you under his gaze. “No, I think I quite favour this position.”
“Don’t tease, Damian.” Calling him by his full name doesn’t do the trick. If anything, it makes his smugness triple in size. “I seriously thought I accomplished getting over my fear of ladders. Now it’s hyper-intensified and my fears have turned to actual trauma.”
He snorts softly, carrying you over to the sofa and settling down. You lay there in his arms, which is admittingly, very comfortable, making it difficult for you to climb out of his hold. Not like he’d let you, the only time his arms wasn’t wrapped around you was when he took one hand to tear the clock out of his hands, settling it at the coffee table.
“What is bothering you?” He finally asks.
You freeze. “What do you mean?”
“First, the training classes, then Mr. Paddington, and now, the clock?” He lists out. Damn him and how observing he was. “Something’s bothering you.”
You hesitate. It’s irrational, but what if you list out the traits he hates, and he realises that you’re really all the things he despises? Your mind knows Damian loves you, but at moments, your heart wonders why.
”Well..” You swallow. “Promise not to get mad?”
“I could never be mad at you.” He answers immediately.
You don’t even know where to start. “You always take care of me. And you rarely complain. So I was starting to wonder if there was anything I did that could.. piss you off that you never mentioned.”
His brows pinch together. “Was there anything I did to make you reach that assumption? I know my communication of my feelings still needs.." He grimaces as he manages the word out. "Improvement. If I ever made you feel at unease, it was never my intention. I’ve never felt that way about you. Ever.”
“No—no.” It’s a relief to hear him say that, but it’s much harder to sound convincing when he’s looking down at you with his unbridled concern, his gaze softer than you’ve ever seen. “I just didn’t want to accidentally do something in habit that irritates you when you’ve been nothing but good to me.”
Averting eye contact, you focus on the jammed hands of the clock. “I asked for a list about what you hated and—it felt as if each description pierced right through me, so I panicked and over-compromised.”
His gaze sharpens. “What list?”
“Um—” You discreetly feel Tim’s lifespan shortening. “Just a couple of things. Hearing them made me realise that I could be a burden to you because of all the annoying things you have to deal with—so I tried to improve them. I don’t want you feeling like you have to take care of me because I’m not good in doing it.”
He shakes his head, mouth pursed and ready to argue but not quick enough to avoid the finger you place on his lips. “It’s not that I don’t want you taking care of me, because I love that you do. I appreciate it so, so much that I’m scared that I’m relying too much on you.” You admit, feeling a lump growing in your throat. “And I’m scared that taking care of me gets tiring.”
He gently caresses your wrist, pulling it aside so he can speak. “I want to take care of you.” He reassures you.
“But you hate clumsy people.” You croak out.
“I love your clumsiness.” He answers in a factual tone. "It's easier to get you into my arms."
“And you hate people who hoard.”
“I hoard things you gift me.” He bites back. “It’d be hypocritical of me to judge you for that when I partake in the same habit."
“You—“ Somehow, his easy way of dissuading your worries is working, and you can’t think of much else. “You hate people who can’t protect themselves.”
“Then what is my purpose, beloved?” He asks. “If not to protect you. If I could not fulfill even that duty, I would condone that hatred on myself. Never you.”
“Then what has this week been for?” You moan. “Felt like a humiliation ritual—Like I was horribly incapable as Damian Wayne’s partner.”
His lips quirk up. "Adorable." He whispers, as if he can't help himself. "You are capable. Of more things than you think.”
“You understand people better than I do, which is why you tried to be considerate of me by doing this.” He adds. “I appreciate your efforts, beloved, but you don’t need to be anything more or change yourself because I cherish you as you are. You’re already perfect for me.”
Damian’s love has always been shown through his actions, his unwavering patience he’s harnessed just for you, evident by his siblings’ complaint of unfair treatment. Yet, to hear him say it so directly—you can barely think of what to say back without sounding like an emotional mess.
“Where did you obtain such an unreliable list?” He asks after a moment.
You wince. He stares and stares, akin to a falcon, till it comes out of you. “…Tim?”
He scowls, gaze hardening with a familiar murderous intent. “I’m going to kill Drake.”
“Please don’t.” You plead. “It’s my fault, really. And if it hadn’t been for him, I would still be avoiding this conversation and I wouldn’t have gained the guts to say it out loud.”
His lips purse in a thin line, which is his best attempt at consideration. “I’m still not pleased that he indirectly made you feel unworthy when that’s never been the case. But you are right.” His free hand brushes over your cheek, growing serious. “Next time, if you ever feel this way, tell me first. I’ll listen, always.”
“And believe me when I say—you could never irritate me.” He declares. “You’re my gift in this world, and there’s no other person who brings me peace the way you do. You’re not meant to exist without flaws, and I love every single one of them. It makes you human, and more precious in my eyes. So don’t hide your worries from me. Bear them with me instead, and I’ll reassure you.”
Your eyes feel wet when you blink, your lashes clumping together, and your heart is thumping louder than it should. “Oh, man.” You mutter. “You just made me fall for you all over again. That’s not fair.”
His lips twitch into a soft smile, and presses a feather-light kiss over your forehead. “Then you’ve been unfair on me too. I suppose I'll have to be more unbearable in my affections to not let such silly worries get to you. I haven't been doing a good job in my duty if you could believe in a list like that."
“And for the record.” His gaze softens. “I didn’t see anything we did this past week as a burden. I enjoyed spending time with you, at the martial class, and the morning we spent organising your childhood memories, and even now—because that’s the reason I want to be with you. To be in your life, to be your support, your person.”
Your throat clogs together, and if he wants to succeed in making you a wreck, he's done it well.
“Cause..” He murmurs. “You’re mine. And I’m yours. Isn’t that what we promised?”
“Then, do you also solemnly swear, Damian Wayne—” Lifting up your pinky finger to him, you muster your most serious expression. “That you’re truly in this even with my flaws, on the good and bad days?”
He links his pinky with yours, wrapping it close to his chest right above his heart. “I solemnly swear.”
Damian always keeps his promises. You could ask him to capture the Sun for you, and he'd somehow find a way to do it before Monday.
“What else did that lunatic say?” Damian interrogates.
Your mind scrambles for anything to save your future brother-in-law’s life. “Tim did say I was your only exception.”
He huffs. “I suppose there’s one thing Drake finally got right.”
likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated! <3333
You should do a story where the reader is giving Jason the silent treatment and he’s being pathetic
beg on your knees
IN WHICH... you've decided that you and your boyfriend aren't on speaking terms...he's not handling it well.
warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, f!reader, established relationship, jason groveling ofc, suggestive!!, MOMMY/MAMA KINK JASON ARISE, jason cries
wc: 916
"Please, baby, talk to me," Jason pleads from beside you on your bed. He's been laying there, begging profusely for easily 20 minutes. It's a miracle you haven't given in.
See, yesterday you'd taken the day off work to surprise Jason with a day together. But instead he decided to go out with Roy all day. You know it's not fair of you to blame him—he didn't know that you weren't working and hadn't found out until he and Roy were already on their way to New York. But in any case, you're still upset, and you don't want to talk to him.
You only turn slightly away from him, continuing to read the book in your lap.
"C'mon, ma," he sighs, laying down atop you and nudging his head against the book. "This thing can't possibly be more important than me."
He sighs, continuing to try to knock the paperback out of your hand. He stares up at you, and even in your peripheral you can see the pure love that swims within them. His pupils are blown wide with adoration, nearly swallowing the blue irises whole.
"So pretty, even when you're mad at me," he whispers, a rough hand coming up to fiddle with the leg of your shorts. "Let me hear your voice, please, doll..."
You humph, eyes focused firmly on your book. You refuse to look at him, interact with him...
"I'm just gonna keep sitting here until you talk to me."
Silence.
"Baby?"
More silence.
He grumbles. "Okay. Fine." You're a little surprised when you feel his weight lift from your lap and you finally spare him a glance as he stands up and round to the other side of the bed.
You tilt your head curiously, eyes widening as you see your big, brooding, 6'0" boyfriend sink to one knee and then the other. He looks up at you through his thick lashes, looking absolutely devastated.
His big hands come up, feeling up and down your thighs and hips as he keeps his eyes locked to yours. Your book is long since forgotten, shut without a bookmark on the other side of the bed. You swing your legs over the edge of it, sitting facing Jason.
"I can't go any longer without hearing your voice, mama," he sighs in distress. His forehead falls forward to rest against your plush thighs. "Please. I need you. I need your touch and your love and...you."
He stares up at you with big, sad eyes. Your heart aches despite yourself—he looks much like a fluffy, lonely puppy pleading for his owner's attention.
He all but whimpers when your fingers reach to brush through his dark hair. "Oh, baby," he whines, nuzzling his nose into your leg. His hands drag up to your waist, arms encircling you. "More, please..."
Your hands continue their ministrations, but you still do not speak to him. He hasn't earned it quite yet. That is, until you hear...sniffles?
"Jay?"
"Oh–" he whimpers, burrowing closer to you. Yep, you definitely feel wetness begin to soak into your shorts, and he's definitely sniffling. "Yes, ma? What is it? I'm sorry."
"Are you crying?" you ask him softly.
He sighs deeply. "Doesn't matter. I finally get to hear my baby's voice."
You frown. You thought before that he was just being dramatic, trying to annoy you with his whining and constant bargaining for your attention. But now, seeing the man cry in your lap like a baby... "You were really upset?"
He looks up at you with wet lashes and pouty lips. "Of course I was, doll. My sweetest, most beautiful girl wasn't talking to me and I can't do with that. I need you."
Despite yourself, you let out a little snort. "Jesus, you're pathetic."
He mewls. "Baby– please," he sits back on his knees. He's...really begging. On his knees. On your bedroom floor. "Forgive me, forgive me, please," he pleads.
"I don't know..." you decide to tease him a bit. "Should I?"
More tears fall from his big eyes. "Yes! Please, please, please—I'll do anything, my love. You're my everything and I didn't mean to ruin your day off," he locks his hands together, holding up praying hands. "I'll plan the most perfect day and I'll let you fuck me to sleep, baby, please. Just...love on me again, I beg."
You smirk. "I never thought I'd see the Jason Todd on his knees."
"Only for you, my angel," he sniffles, eyes never leaving yours. "I'm only pathetic for you, nobody else. Nothing else."
Alas, you let up. "Oh, my boy, c'mere," you open your arms. "Come to mommy."
"Oh, thank god–" he lets out the biggest sigh of relief and rises from his knees, crawling atop you in the bed as you lay down.
"Thank you," he whispers, tucking his head into your neck and kissing the skin there. "Thank you, thank you, thank you, mama."
Your hand cards through his hair, the other arm wrapping around his broad waist. "Shhh...no more crying, Jay."
"I can't help it. I lost you."
"For like 36 hours," you giggle.
"36 hours too long," he scowls up at you, but it's weightless with his soft-as-silk eyes. "I'm sorry for upsetting you," he murmurs again, hands feeling you up and down—it'd been too long since he was this close.
"I know, love, I forgive you," you reply. "Let me hold you, yeah?"
"Yes, babygirl, hold me, please," he sighs. "Fuck, I missed you..."
"My pathetic boy," you whisper, kissing his forehead softly and then his soft lips. "I love you."
"I love you more. Don't ignore me like that again. Please?"
Hey !! First of all I wanted to tell you that I looove your smau! And secondly I wanted to ask if you could do a smau where the reader discover their boyfriend secret identity and because of that they have a fight ?? I don’t know if you did that already but it could be cool. THANK YOUUU🩷
Second Persona
featuring: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Wally West, Roy Harper, Hal Jordan
warning: hurt/comfort, swearing
A/N: Heyyy!! I’m glad you love the smaus, thank you for reading. I hope you enjoy reading this too!🩶
Characters: Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne.
Synopsis: They are having a heated argument.
DICK GRAYSON
When his parents died, he grieved for a while, but eventually, he just... kept going. No regrets, no looking back.
He always managed to move on from bad things.
Or at least, that’s what he told himself while stuffing the candy you’d bought together onto the highest shelves — shoved all the way to the back where you wouldn’t notice them, even if you tried to reach.
That way, you’d have no choice but to talk to him.
He’d already lost count of how long you’d been ignoring him. The only thing he knew for sure was that he couldn’t stand sleeping alone.
Not again.
After the fight, he’d said maybe the two of you should take a breather. Cool off before things got worse.
So when he came back later, apology already rehearsed in his head, breakfast tray balanced carefully in his hands, he walked into the bedroom almost excited.
What Dick hadn’t expected was for you to take his words that seriously.
When he said take a breather, he meant maybe thirty minutes. An hour, tops. Just enough time to calm down before saying something unforgivable.
Not... whatever this was.
Not you refusing to talk to him altogether. Not sleeping on opposite sides of the bed. Not acting like the two of you were suddenly strangers trying to rethink your entire relationship.
The breakfast went untouched.
So did the small pout on his face.
You didn’t even let him sit beside you when he tried to talk.
He ended up sleeping on the couch.
The next day was fucking miserable. His mood was awful, and everyone in the manor could feel it hanging in the air.
Grayson didn’t act like this. Even with his half-assed “I’m fine,” it was obvious he was anything but.
And when he finally got back to the apartment that night, exhausted and emotionally wrung out, he went straight for the bed, practically collapsing on top of you like he needed the contact to survive.
You pushed at him weakly, nowhere near as firmly as you had the past few days.
He let out this quiet, bitter little laugh but still refused to let go.
“Baby, stop,” he mumbled softly.
Even when you tried to shove him off again, he just held you tighter, burying his face against your neck like he was starving for you.
“Please,” he whispered, completely drained.
JASON TODD
Jason could be such a fucking asshole sometimes — selfish, cold, always running his mouth before thinking twice. It was easier for him to let people hate him than let them get close enough to actually understand him.
Not that he acted that way around kids or women. Around them, he kept himself restrained. Distant. But the second he felt cornered — exposed in any way — those sharp looks and cruel words came out like second nature.
A defense mechanism. The only one he’d ever really had.
You knew that.
You knew about his mother leaving him behind like he was nothing. Knew how, for one brief moment, Bruce Wayne had made him feel wanted — safe — only for Jason to end up feeling abandoned all over again.
Trust didn’t come easy to him. Neither did vulnerability. Loving you probably scared the hell out of him.
So instead of fighting back, you swallowed the hurt along with your pride. You waved your hand dismissively, avoiding his eyes as you muttered a quiet, “Forget it,” before turning around and walking away.
And somehow, that felt worse.
Jason swallowed thickly as he watched you leave.
You didn’t yell at him.
Didn’t demand an apology.
Didn’t ask him to take back a single thing he’d said.
You just… left.
Like you were tired.
After everything he’d thrown at you, all you wanted was for him to forget it.
But he couldn’t.
Because after that, something changed.
You still talked to him. Still answered when he spoke. But there was distance in you now — something careful, almost detached — and Jason noticed every second of it.
It made his chest ache.
And, if he was being honest, it scared him enough to make him paranoid.
TIM DRAKE
This time, the fight started over something stupid.
You’d turned off Tim’s alarm so he could finally rest on his day off. In your head, it was a small act of care — something gentle.
Tim didn’t see it that way.
He had deadlines, reports, a million things waiting for him, and when he woke up hours later, disoriented and exhausted, the soft good morning kisses you pressed against his face quickly turned into frustration.
“No, because this isn’t about whether I should rest or not,” he snapped, shoving himself out of bed. “It’s about the fact that you don’t get to interfere with my work. You don’t get to decide when I stop.”
You frowned, trying not to react to the sharpness in his voice. “Tim, you hadn’t slept in two days.”
“Yeah? And just because you don’t have the same responsibilities I do doesn’t mean you get to make choices for me.”
The words hit harder than he intended.
Your expression changed immediately. Hurt. Shocked.
“Tim.”
But he was already too angry, too exhausted, too worked up to stop himself.
“Mind your own business, and I’ll mind mine.”
And after that, neither of you were exactly kind to each other.
The argument ended with Tim slamming the front door hard enough to shake the walls.
The second he got into the car, regret settled heavy in his chest.
Because Tim overthought everything.
Every failed relationship. Every mistake. Every moment where he’d been too distant, too busy, too emotionally unavailable. The thought looped endlessly in his head until he felt sick with it.
You’re ruining this too.
You’re going to lose them too.
By the time he sat down in front of his computer, he couldn’t focus on a single thing. His leg bounced anxiously under the desk while his mind tortured him with scenario after scenario of you getting tired of him. Leaving him. Finding someone softer. Easier to love.
Someone better.
The anger faded quickly, leaving behind only exhaustion and this horrible, crushing sadness.
So when he finally came home hours later, all that was left of his pride was exhaustion.
Quietly, almost nervously, Tim slipped into bed beside you.
He turned toward you carefully, watching your face in the dim light for a second with this small, hopeful look in his eyes. Like maybe if he stayed close enough, you’d roll over and pull him into your arms. Maybe you could both pretend the fight never happened until morning.
But you didn’t move.
You just turned your back to him.
And suddenly the room felt unbearably cold.
Tim bit down hard on his lip the second he felt tears gathering in his eyes, embarrassed by how fast they came. Still, he couldn’t stop them. They slid silently down his cheeks while he stared at your back, trying not to make a sound.
When you still didn’t turn around, the quiet sniffles eventually broke into shaky, uneven crying.
Because that was the moment it really hit him.
You weren’t going to comfort him this time.
Please.
Please kiss his swollen eyes and tell him you’re still here.
DAMIAN WAYNE
To everyone’s surprise, Damian Wayne was actually a good boyfriend.
It sounded absurd to anyone who only knew him from a distance. With the way he carried himself — sharp tongue, permanent scowl, an attitude that pushed people away before they could even try getting close — nobody expected him to be soft with someone he loved.
But he was.
Painfully so.
Damian was romantic in a way that caught you off guard. Quietly sentimental. The kind who noticed insignificant details you'd mentioned months before.
There was something unbearably delicate hidden beneath all that hostility.
And little by little, you had managed to reach it.
You peeled back every layer he tried so desperately to hide behind until you finally touched the vulnerable parts of him nobody else got to see.
At first, it felt like a victory.
Like warmth blooming inside your chest.
Being trusted by Damian Wayne felt sacred. Intimate. You thought you understood him now — the things he feared, the things he buried, the things he struggled to say out loud.
You were wrong.
Because somehow, Damian always found a way to shut you back out again.
One wrong moment, one careless outburst, and suddenly every wall you thought you’d broken down was standing taller than before.
You pressed your lips together tightly, forcing yourself not to say something impulsive.
The silence in his bedroom felt horrible.
Cold.
Suffocating.
“What’s wrong, Damian?”
He didn’t answer.
“Damian,” you tried again, irritation slipping into your voice this time.
The entire day had been fine. More than fine, actually. He’d left his classes early just to spend time with you. You’d gone out to eat together, watched a movie back at the manor, stayed curled up against each other for hours.
And then suddenly he changed.
Short answers.
Dismissive looks.
Ignoring you whenever you spoke.
The worst part was that he’d done it in front of your friends.
Having your boyfriend act cold and irritated toward you in front of your classmates was humiliating.
“I already told you. Nothing.”
“Then why are you talking to me like this?” you asked, frustration finally bubbling over. “If something upset you, how am I supposed to fix it if you won’t talk to me? We’re together, Damian. We’re supposed to work things out.”
He laughed quietly under his breath, but there was nothing amused about it.
“God, you’re irritating.”
You stared at him silently.
And there it was again.
That look.
Distant. Closed off. Like he’d shoved you outside the walls all over again.
“Do you genuinely believe something is wrong with me?” he asked mockingly. “I have far more important matters to deal with.”
Your chest tightened painfully.
“Fine.”
The second the word left your mouth, Damian hesitated.
Barely.
But you noticed it.
“What?” you asked flatly.
You grabbed your backpack from the floor and walked toward the door of his room.
Damian watched you the entire time without speaking.
Because what was he supposed to say?
That he hated how your friends interrupted the date the second things started feeling intimate? That it bothered him watching you laugh with them while he sat there feeling invisible? That he’d wanted your attention to himself for once?
It was supposed to be his time with you.
His moment.
The bedroom door shut softly behind you.
And suddenly the room felt unbearably empty.
Damian sat down at the edge of the bed slowly, his chest tightening with every passing second until it became difficult to breathe. His eyes burned.
You hadn’t even tried to stop him from pushing you away this time.
You just left.
Eventually, he collapsed face-first onto the mattress, burying himself beneath the blankets like hiding would somehow make the ache in his chest disappear.
He didn’t know how long he stayed there.
Minutes.
Maybe hours.
At some point, he grabbed his phone.
Your chat was still open.
Damian stared at your contact silently while his thumb hovered over the call button. His stomach twisted painfully with nerves.
Call them.
Don’t call them.
Call them.
Before he could think too hard about it, he pressed the button.
The ringing nearly made him sick.
Once.
Twice.
By the third ring, you answered.
“Hello?”
Damian froze.
Your voice was soft. Careful.
And suddenly, all at once, the anger drained out of him, leaving behind nothing but this awful ache in his chest.
He opened his mouth, but no words came out.
Because right then, curled up alone in his bed with tears stinging his eyes, Damian could only think one thing:
Who was he without you?
BRUCE WAYNE
Why are you arguing with this man? Leave the old man alone; he has enough problems already.
• I admit it, I just wanted to write about Tim being a whiny crybaby. oc tim (?
Also, as you know, I don't speak English and it's translated thanks to technology :) I've had this in drafts for months ()
