Yo…this is my first post on tumblr.. but here’s the Damian Wayne and he’s little precious kitty Alfred that I drew today!! 💞😼 ( you have no idea how many times I erased Damian’s face over and over again 💀)
summary : doing your makeup while sitting on leon's lap
notes : really self indulgent tbh
credits to the owner of the divider!
leon was feeling incredibly clingy today and you'd love to indulge him at his antics but sadly, you have work.
as soon as you woke up earlier, leon was trying to get you back to bed while mumbling incoherently and making some grabby hands at you. your boyfriend is so cute to be honest, but you cant miss work today cause you have an important meeting with some heads so with a kiss on his forehead, you immediately went to get ready and made some quick breakfast.
you ate and drank your coffee at the kitchen alone, thinking that leon will probably wake up later but after finishing up, you decided that you'll bring some cup of coffee for him if he wants to spend his morning in the bedroom.
"why are you awake already?". you asked in confusion when you finally went back in your room with a steaming mug of coffee to do your make up and you saw leon getting out of the bathroom.
"cant sleep without you". he grumbled as he scratches his tummy while walking towards you.
you just shook your head in amusement at him while you went to your closet to finally change into some work clothes. just a simple black pencil skirt, paired with some brown silky long sleeve top. then after adjusting everything, you went to your vanity but you found leon sitting on your plush chair.
"baby, go back to sleep". you softly said as you ran a hand through his hair. you know he's still tired considering he actually just got back from a long week mission yesterday night.
a week of being away from each other, only texts and phone calls are keeping you both sane.
leon hummed against your touch before he wrapped an arm around your waist and guided you gently on to his lap. he squeezed you tight causing you to smile and give him a kiss on his head again.
guess youre doing your make up on his lap today.
with that, both of you just let the silence fill the room while you started putting on your makeup and he's just feeling you up and observing you. from time to time, he takes the mug of warm coffee from the table that you brought with you earlier and takes a sip.
the warmth of the coffee and your weight on him makes him sigh in delight, he missed this. it was only a week but he missed this.
"whats that?". he mumbled as he watched you put something thin on your eyelids.
"eyeliner, its a new brand too". you told him as you finished up putting it before closing your eyes and turned your head towards him. "blow, please".
obediently, he carefully blows on your eyes to make the eyeliner dry. he did it for a few more seconds while his thumb on your thigh caressed the skin.
so soft and warm.
you smiled at him when you finally opened your eyes and leon swore he fell in love again. he watched you put down the eyeliner down on the table and you took another small pink bottle with a circle top on it. you opened it gingerly and tapped the applicator lightly on your hand before closing it back up.
leon kissed your shoulder as you spread the blush on your hand with a finger before patting it on your cheeks and blending it while looking through the mirror infront of you. when you blended everything, you figured its time to put some powder on your face before layering it with a powder blush soon.
"looks so beautiful". he hummed as he watches you through the mirror. he loves the way your blush highlights your apple cheeks.
he watched you put more stuffs on your cheeks and dusting it with some small dab of highlighter. you smiled at him through the mirror before your hands rummaged through your pouch of lippies.
"should i put some lip liner on today?". you asked as you glanced down at the pouch and eyed the different colors.
"sure, hun". he honestly dont know whats a lip liner but he's sure its going to go on your lips, your kissable lips.
you beamed and you took a neutral color one before you leaned more forward towards the mirror with leon holding your hips tightly to not let you fall. you spread the liner with a finger along the bows and ends of your lips after putting it on then you picked a lip gloss.
"wanna kiss you". leon said as he watched you glide the lip gloss on your lips before smacking it together.
you laughed softly at him as you closed the product before you moved closer and wrapped your arms around his neck. he looked at you with heavy lidded eyes but the love in it is so present that you cant help but blush a little.
your hand found the hairs on his nape and you played with it softly as you gazed upon his soft eyes too. sleepy and clingy leon is such a sight for you. he's just so cute and lovely.
"pick me up later?". you asked softly.
"of course, hun". he gave you a sleepy smile and you leaned down to press your forehead against his. "i missed you so much".
"i missed you more, baby". you whispered before pressing your glossy lips on his causing him to hum.
sitting with leon while he works on some paperwork at home. his hand is going to town kneading your thigh absentmindedly. his fingertips are worn so rough and your thighs are so soft, it's such a comforting sensation to have you alive and present underneath his hands. he doesnt even realize hes doing it until you lean on him a little which breaks him out of how deep in thought he was. he mumbles an apology and withdraws his hand. he almost feels like he should sit on it to ensure that he keeps his touch to himself. but in two seconds youre dragging it back where it was, curling further into his side, and kissing his jaw. he squeezes your leg again.
"'m not bothering you, baby?"
"never," you turn your gaze from the movie, volume turned down soft so leon can focus. the white noise is nice, and you like subtitles anyway. the main event you're really in the room for is currently looking at you like you've created the earth, moon, and stars just for him. "grab me all you want."
"that's a dangerous offer," his grip tightens on your leg, palm slipping further inwards. you didn't intend to start this, but you're not complaining.
"and yet, it's on the table," you place your hand over his. there's something mischievous in his gaze when it drags up your body back to your face. "i'm not afraid of you, big bad leon kennedy."
"with an attitude like that, maybe you should be," his lips quirk up in a crooked smile. you shrug. "you think you can take me?"
"oh, definitely," his hand travels upwards, underneath your pajama shorts. "but not in a fight."
Wait, I cannot believe I forgot to post about this, because this moment was so sweet. There was a point early in B&R: Year One where Dick dove into a burning building to save some kids, and the parallels between the kids’ father and Bruce kill me.
You have the civilian screaming while Bruce watches:
And then it’s juxtaposed to how Bruce is silently staring on. Like oh my god. The poor man is internally screaming the exact same thing.
Your honor, that’s his kid. There are two fathers helplessly waiting for their kids to come back and neither are handling it well.
summary: post-mission, you land yourself in the hospital with a concussion. in your daze, you plead for someone to tell damian so he won't tear the hospital down to find you, for him not to worry. only problem? you and damian are supposed to hate each other.
pairing: damian wayne x fem! reader
The faint beeping, the low hushed voices—it's an annoying, distant commotion disrupting your sleep, enough to rouse you from the heavy, dark haze enveloping your senses. Your heavy lids peel open, blinking slowly as your vision adjusts to the sight of the hospital ceiling.
The striking scent of disinfectant hits you, and your nose instinctively wrinkles. A low rasp escapes your throat, just enough to stop the whispers.
"—She's awake!"
It’s a familiar voice, you think. Dick. It wasn’t the voice you wanted to hear, no matter how reassuring—not when the one you're familiar with holds a much more begrudging tone.
"I need..." Who? There's an urgent pressure building up in the back of your mind, an important request hanging right off your tongue. "To tell him."
"Hey-hey, you're okay. Just a little disoriented." Dick’s face comes into view, his messy locks covering the fuzzy halo of light above you. “You have a minor concussion, but no fatal injuries.”
"No. You need to tell him." Your face contorts, straining with visible effort to rack your brain for a name, trying to fight past the thick fog. "I am okay. It's him you have to worry about."
The corner of Dick's mouth tugs down briefly, confusion lighting his features. "Who?"
There's that damn question you're trying to answer. The fluorescent lights are much too oppressive—overly bright and sharp. You needed a shadow, someone who would know what to do when your teeth grinds together in discomfort.
"...Damian." You mutter. Ah, there it is. You don't notice the abrupt confused glances exchanged around the room, of how Damian's name was the last thing they expected to hear.
Your lids fall shut not a second after your job was done, body screaming to rest. At least you won't have to deal with Damian tearing down the hospital to find you.
"They despise each other." Tim reminds for the fifth time.
"I am aware.” Dick mutters, thumb scrolling through his contacts list. "What did I say about hacking my contacts list, Best Robin?"
"You didn't say anything about that specifically." Tim's foot taps impatiently against the tiles. “And why'd you think that contact name was meant for the demon spawn—never mind, that's besides the point right now. She's clearly disoriented.”
“I just have a gut feeling.” Pressing the phone against his ear, Dick runs a habitual tug over his locks whenever another situation pops up that he has to solve. Being in this line of work is bound to give him early greys.
"A gut feeling." Tim huffs, shaking his head in disagreement. “We better hope this doesn’t start another scuffle. Wouldn't want to toss another bone to the press. 'Blood son of Bruce Wayne attacks hospital patient'. I can already smell the print.”
Dick's frown sticks as he eyes you through the open door frame, laying in a hospital bed—unconscious ever since your first waking. The dots aren't connecting, not when the soot from the explosion still singes the edges of his jacket and his mind is all fuzzed up from a lack of sleep and endless documents. Still, the world had a knack for surprising him whenever he least expects it.
The ringing on the other side stops after two seconds.
"Damian." Dick addresses, re-running his fingers habitually through his hair. "There's been a situation at the hospital..."
Here's the thing, Dick knows Damian. He understands the trait of impatience passed along their family, which is why he's already summarised the facts down to twenty seconds. The call abruptly ends at ten.
"Huh." Dick mutters, brows pressed together as he looks back to Tim. "He hung up."
Dick had barely made it beyond the mention of your name and their current location. Your voice echoes in reminder as he stares at his screen, the duration of the call staring back at him. It's him you have to worry about.
Damian's anything but subtle. Of his frigid attitude—his blatant dislike towards you. Putting the two of you in the same room, it was guaranteed disaster. Yet, Damian was the first name out of your mouth.
"Told you it doesn't make sense." Tim shrugs. "Logically, he's the last person we should've called."
"We'll see." Dick answers, head leaning back to rest against the wall. "He's surprised us both plenty of times."
"Yeah, by attempting murder on us both. Your point being?"
Dick restrains a much-needed sigh.
Barely fifteen minutes later, Dick stirs at a loud commotion beyond the walls of the waiting room. His neck is cramping from this unergonomic chair, and his feet are nerved with pins-and-needles. Tim's ears are plugged in with wired earphones, jammed high with Green Day as he concentrates on his tablet, opting to work through his insomnia instead.
There’s a slamming of doors, rapid footsteps thundering against the tiles, coming closer and closer. Dick barely has time to nudge Tim’s shoulder before the hallway door slams open.
Damian comes through like a storm, movements overly controlled in the way a person would seize up before a fight. As if he's expected the worst, and is prepared to battle whatever he might encounter—in a hospital.
“Where is she?” Damian commands, voice echoing off the tiles.
Staring back at Dick are frantic, darkened eyes pinpointed on locked targets—searching for his answer. It's so abruptly intense, almost inhuman, that his mind stutters in regaining its grasp on reality. He hasn't seen that look in a long time, not since their first meeting where one wrong answer would make Damian your enemy.
“She’s asleep.” Tim answers for him, one side of his earphones still plugged in throughout this entire mess. “She needs the rest.”
Damian disregards his words, brushing past him. “I have to see her.”
Dick must’ve subconsciously shifted his glance to your room, towards the shine of the metal carvings of 78 placed in the centre. Damian's gaze follows, and he doesn’t spare a second of hesitation in heading towards the door.
Dick catches Damian's forearm right before he enters, and the glare he receives? Murderous. As if everything in his way of getting to you has become mere obstacles he has to overcome.
"Grayson." Damian's voice is all wrong, shortened and taut, syllables used to convey only what was needed. "Unhand. Me."
"Dames." Dick tries to make sense of this adverse reaction, but nothing from that brief phone call provided him any clues. "She's still unconscious, and I don't think it's a good idea for you to be in there—in this state."
Damian's chest heaves once, but the storm in his gaze has only darkened. "She called for me, didn't she?"
Dick blinks once. "Well, yes but—"
"Then I will be there for her."
Damian disarms his grip with an alarming quickness, and Dick doesn't even have time to recalibrate his mistake before he's slipped through.
Dick's palm splays onto the door right before it closes, pushing it fully open with a warning ready on his lips to not disturb your recovery, only to find that—Damian hadn’t moved from his spot since he entered. Dick feels Tim pressing into his side, curious eyes flickering at the situation, but Dick is too busy watching to care about how they're practically hanging onto the doorframe.
When Damian catches sight of you, his entire frame freezes into place. He's watching you, and Dick's watching him—and he sees it then, and realises what an idiot he's been.
Damian's entire expression immediately shifts. Loosening in relief at the sight of you mostly unharmed, at the sound of a calm beeping from the heart monitor. It's frighteningly out of place, the tenderness softening his wrath-like panic mere seconds ago. He moves almost mindlessly towards your side, forgetting the presence of his two brothers gawking at him from outside the doorframe, peering into what must be a fever dream.
"Idiot." Damian mutters, but it sounds more like a prayer answered.
"We've got it all wrong, didn't we?" Tim mutters, staring at the sight in awe.
"Told you." Dick whispers, his lips tilting upwards into a smile. "Gut feeling."
You stir not long after Damian’s arrival, as if your body is already attuned to his presence. Lids peering half-open, you squint at the shadow towering over you. For a moment, there was nothing but held breaths and a long pause as you familiarise yourself with forest green.
Then, the most miraculous thing happens. You smile, completely unaware of the turmoil and confusion you've caused.
“Dami.”
Dick decides today is an absolute possibility for the world to end.
“You're an idiot.” Damian hurls the practiced insult out like he’s been running it off in his mind for the past couple of minutes, but his weakened voice holds no bite in comparison to his overwhelming relief.
Under the sheets, Dick swears he sees his brother’s fingers intertwining with yours.
“I told them to tell you not to rush.” You mutter hazily, still readjusting to reality. “At least—I think I did.”
Damian sucks in a breath, low, undistinguishable mutters whispered. Your lip twitches up slightly, which could only mean another insult you're brushing off.
“Yet, you’re still here.” You tease. “Fretting.”
The thin line of his lips creases deeper. “I do not fret.”
“Arguing with the patient?” Your body shifts, tilting closer to Damian.
“I prefer arguing with you unharmed.” Damian mocks lowly. Dick sees the stiffness bleed out of Damian’s expression the longer his gaze is locked onto you, as if materialising your talkative state in his mind.
"I am unharmed."
"A mild concussion, a hospital bed." Damian's frown deepens. "At least attempt at a reasonable lie."
Damian’s body tilts just slightly, lowering to match yours, and the light catches your features once more. Your lips tilt downward for a single second, the sting of the fluorescent lights irritating your vision.
In a sudden movement without words exchanged, Damian adjusts. His shoulders block the light over your face once more, covering you with his shadow.
You can't help the grin that escapes. "That is what I was thinking about, before I passed out again."
Damian's expression contorts, as if his mind can't decide on hyper-focusing on the details of you falling unconscious again or on what you were imagining about him. You decide for him.
"The lights were all in my face and—" You suck in a breath. "I kept trying to remember your name. I tried so hard to find it, this person who knows that I hate hospital lights without me needing to say it. Then, your name just slipped out."
“Oh.” Tim murmurs from afar.
“Oh.” Dick agrees.
“Don’t do that again.” Damian mutters in the quiet buzzing of the machines.
“Save people?” You tease.
“Put yourself in harm’s way.” Damian pushes back.
"Hey, what about the two of us?" Tim calls out, and Dick's quick to shove his elbow into the idiot's stomach. "Ow—what? We never got this treatment and all the fretting."
Damian's gaze shifts at the disruption, the softness creased into the corners of his eyes fading into annoyance. "Leave us."
"Woah." Tim holds a hand to his abdomen, still feigning hurt. "That's just cold."
Damian's eyes narrow further, and Dick's reminded instantly of how the press is probably waiting outside the hospital for any hints of a scuffle. It's already news enough for not two, but three members now of the Wayne family rushing to the emergency ward. Grabbing Tim by his hoodie, Dick tugs roughly. "We'll leave you two be to—catch up. No attempted murders, if the reminder's still needed."
It had slipped out so easily, the old warning, but it feels strangely out of place with this tender atmosphere. Dick's most definitely intruding on something he's not meant to see, but questions can be reserved for later.
Eyeing Damian one last time, he sees the way his brother's vision is trained on you—and he knows his job is done here.
You snort, a sheepish expression caught between your teeth, watching for confirmation as the door shuts with a click. When you have a shred of confidence that they're at least out of hearing range, you turn your attention back to Damian, unable to hide your grin.
“You know they’re probably freaking out right now?” You mutter conspiratorially. "They'll never buy into us hating each other anymore."
“That is not my concern.” Damian frowns. “You are.”
“That might be the sweetest thing you've ever told me.” You coo. "I matter enough for you to deal with family dinner interrogations now."
Damian's stare remains unimpressed. “I will smother you with pillows.”
“That’s unhygienic—and cruel.”
His tongue clicks softly as his hand comes up behind the pillow, instinctively propping them up higher as you adjust your neck, an action completely unrelated to his threat. “Only you would be concerned of bacteria before attempted murder.”
“Yeah, I’m a piece of work." You murmur distractedly, choosing to gaze intently at him instead. His hair's fallen into different directions, all un-Damian-like. "That’s why you rushed all the way here, didn’t you?”
He stiffens, hand shifting away from the pillow, but still hovering near you. He's been holding back from the moment he's entered this damned institution, and his mind is ticking, battling between his habit to be the steady one, and the crushing need to hold you.
After a moment, the inner workings of his mind switching between his logic and his emotions must've finally faltered, as his fingers delicately cup the back of your head. He doesn't move you towards him, choosing to come over to you instead, his body hovering halfway over yours before finally letting his weight topple gently over you.
His arms wrap around you gently as his comforting weight falls over you, and the first thing you feel is how quickly his heart is racing. He needs this, you realise, as he settles with his arms wrapped protectively around you. To be physically present as your shield, even when there is no danger present.
Damian is affected. More than he seems from his tightly concealed expressions, obvious now that you can physically feel the effects on his body. Slight twitches of his fingers that appear when he's still afraid, waiting for the noise in his head to calm down.
“I didn't want you to worry.” You mumble into his embrace.
“Impossible.” Damian huffs softly, tracing his other hand over your wrist, feeling the soft thudding of your pulse. “You're my problem to handle."
You feel a soft, imperceptible kiss pressed onto your temple, and your eyes flutter shut. This is the side of Damian only you get to have, the proof of its existence ghosting your skin. You have to force your eyes open, the lure of sleep already trying to dig its claws into you—and that's something you absolutely refuse. You don't want to miss this rare side to Damian, all soft and disarmed.
"You scared me." Damian admits after a long pause, barely audible.
You blink, surprised. "You're never scared."
"For you, I am." Damian confesses, his grip tightening slightly. "You tend to render me painfully exposed to weakness."
"Weakness, huh? Still haven't got rid of me though." You hum lightly.
"No." His tone is decisive, stern. "If I haven't decided that I've had enough of you, the world doesn't get to."
"I'm starting to think threats are your love language, Dami." Your hand lifts, struggling twice before you manage to run your fingers through his hair, resting its weight over the nape of his neck.
His body shudders slightly, and his nose buries itself deeper into the crook of your neck. If anyone were to look into hospital room 78, they'll encounter the strange sight of Damian Wayne embracing you as if you were his lifeline. No one would believe them, but the truth remains.
He was yours. Completely yours.
He was also definitely sentenced to a long interrogation the moment he steps out of this room.
"Who was the perpetrator?" He mutters after a moment.
"Damian." You're stuck deciding between a snort and a sigh. "It was an accident."
"You don't know that." He huffs. "I sincerely doubt in your ability to detect an attempted murder while you're unconscious."
Your grip tugs at his hair playfully, a pretty effective way of shutting him up. "Argue with me later."
You feel his lashes flutter against your skin, processing. "...Fine."
He breathes you in, his heart rate finally starting to calm the longer he hears your voice so close to his eardrums, your touch grounding his senses.
"It was torture." His voice is too still, stating the facts without the emotion that's driven behind them. "The drive here. I kept envisioning the worst, that you had called out for me—and if I didn't make it in time—"
His grip tightens with his words, and you're pressed into his chest, feeling what his words refuse to convey, starting to thud again below his ribcage.
"Damian." Your hand traces reassuringly over his neck. "I'm right here."
He listens, his rampant thoughts slowing in pace at the reminder. "I had never been so terrified." His voice remains level, his attempt at reinforcing his reality over his fears. "To receive a call from Grayson, hearing your name—I couldn't let myself think of anything else other than finding you."
"You did." You mutter reassuringly. "You found me. I'm safe."
He lets out a low breath, a slow exhale at the sound of those two words he'd been needing to hear. "Sometimes, I think you've ruined me." He murmurs in truth.
You think he's unused to this. Letting down his walls, experiencing the blatant terror for another person's life that is completely out of his control—that he's left with nothing but pieces to readjust, to compromise. By letting you into his life and allowing you to be his person, he has abandoned his need to preserve himself, to be above fear.
"You're not escaping the argument." He notes down distractedly, trying to regain his ground despite being wrapped into you. "I still have my reservations."
"Anything you need, Dami." You reassure softly.
"Anything?" He murmurs, head shifting out of the crook of your neck to face you fully.
His green eyes are narrowed with intent now, gazing at you with unhidden intensity.
You swallow, nodding slightly.
When he leans in, the palm of his hand slips from the back of your head to over your jaw. His thumb traces over your lips softly as he leans in, replacing the ghost of his touch with his own mouth. It's tender, a separate language to convey the emotions he hasn't learnt to spell out, on what you do to him. Yet, with the way he's handling you, nose brushing against yours, in a way so precious it makes your heart ache—you think that impending argument's worth it.
likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated! <333
Imagine a scenario where Batman gets de-aged into a way too young version of himself; think pre-Wayne murders, a toddling little babbling Bruce, basically
Everyone is panicking in the cave. He hasn't stopped crying. He doesn't recognize Alfred because at this age, they haven't met yet. He refuses to be held or tended to
There are weird people who brought him to a cave full of scary bats trying to ask him questions and he can't find his mommy or his-
"Papa!"
Tiny Bruce waddles to the tall, broad figure emerging from the shadows, clad in black and leather. He cries into his leg, hugging him tight. Everyone is frozen in fear and awe.
"Papa, I'm scared! Where were you? Where's Mama? Are you okay? Papa, help me! It hurts!"
Jason, meanwhile, is having the whiplash of his fucking life
Because Jason looks like Bruce, who looks like Thomas Wayne
And Jason, like everyone really, had forgotten that underneath the suit and armor — Batman was also someone's son
࿐ descriptions of what it's like living with them.
༅ DICK GRAYSON
: he's mainly out on the go, and when he comes back, it’s never empty handed. some mornings, it's you waking up to him all suited up with goods from your favourite bakery or your favourite whatever. a love language of his is remembering your preferences, and it's always on point when he watches you unravel what he got you.
: random dancing in the kitchen together. just music playing while he makes eggs at 11pm and you're leaning on the counter watching him. when night falls, and you're in the same kitchen, the tone's so different. it begins with attempting to slow dance to soft sounding speakers, just end up with him messing up and twirling you around cause that's always been your thing.
: physically and clingy affection that still feel domestic in a way; hand at the small of your back, forehead to yours, falling asleep with his whole weight half on you like he trusts you completely to hold it. he also has a way of turning sexual charged things (eg. showing together), into such pure acts with the warm water on your skin and his fingers on your scalp. the sensation calming you both down after a long day.
: he has a habit of getting into everything you like (music, foods movies, etc), which always means you can't have anything for yourself in the apartment, only cause he's just so determined to know everything little thing about. and even if he doesn't end up liking it, your lit up eyes and smile forever makes it worth trying.
: being the eldest means, your shared apartment has become the first thought for hiding out. damian's done something mischievous and he's not yet ready to face bruce in the manor and so on? your place it is. on days when he's out, you'll be the one to let anyone of the batfam or his friends, in to hang about and keep them entertained until he gets back.
༅ JASON TODD
: books everywhere. some gifted and most thrifted with marked pages and cracked spines. he annotated the margins with opinions that don't pull punches. you have this thing, that started out of boredom, where you write back to him in those same margins for his to read.
: affectionate things said through criticism as a way to care for you: your sleep schedule needs work, you should eat more protein, that coat isn't warm enough. most these are usually solved in seconds by him, eg. he cooks real food since he learned out of necessity.
: strangely, he’s skin always cold after missions. his favourite part of his days, are him coming home to find you cozy, snuggled up in blankets on the couch. so far from what he experienced outside, you use this as a chance to share warmth; hand on his sternum and his breathing slows.
: music played at odd hours of the day; he's earned his own taste that hasn't ever changed, just grown with yours. when you follow the played songs, you're usually met with he doing hands on work like mending the gears on his motorbike, in a spare room or garage.
: he thinks a lot, more than he should with you on the forefront of his mind, which leads to him sending day to day texts that are praised in the ways of, "thought of you when I saw this," or "this reminded me to get back to you." ever since he's got with you, his phone's been more use to him than ever before.
༅ TIM DRAKE
: your agreed quality time has been comfortable silence ever since you got together. most rooms you share in the apartment usually possess electric devices. there are some days he just has his laptops open, and you have your phone blinding as you tap away; different purposes, same couch. a word spoken every now and then.
: loves by having his space accommodate you, making thoughtful modifications before you noticed they needed to be made. that's how he loves; by asking precise questions, remembering everything you tell him, and then getting back to you weeks later. maybe with a detail, preference, or a thing you'd forgotten saying.
: he knows your daily schedule by heart, which leads to him randomly showing up at the place you're at, just to see you like the detective he is. it also helps that he's always glad to take some busy weight off your shoulders. they’re times, you wouldn't be able to make it to places like you promised, just to have him show up in your place, since he's an extensive of you the second you began dating.
: eating together since he forgets to eat when he's focused, most of the time. you've started leaving food near his workstation, to which you share together. it could be anything, and he'll let you have the bigger piece, cause they're just something about showing he cares more about you than these little things.
: when he's overworked and on the verge of sleep, he gets pretty affection, though he just brushes it off once he's conscious again. he'll slump into you, head heavy on your shoulder, whole body finally stopping. he's more honest at this these times with his confessions.
༅ CLARK KENT
: most mornings, waking up to decide whether or not to stay in each other's arms for just five more minutes and put his daily responsibilities on hold. it always ends up dragging on for longer than that, but he's never complaining, when it's just another way to spend time with you, between the sheets.
: cooks for most evenings, after long days as he was raised in a home where food meant effort and effort meant love. sunday dinners are enormous. the table is always set properly. he has a nagging thing for when you eat anywhere, but the table.
: when it's just you two, settling in, he's such an attentive listener. in the fast-paced city of metropolis, he's above the way most people listen like they don't have the patience to. he loves listening to you talk about things that make you happy. so much so that your eyes brightened up, and you sped up your words. this could be anywhere; sitting on the counter, talking his ear off whilst he does the dinners or laundry.
: brings in the cold when he's been flying through skies. warm again within minutes. but the refreshing, open sky smell has become your apartment main scent. wonderfully useful for the boiling summer time.
: your shared apartment gets archived with small, random things; a rock from smallville, a feather, something he wanted you to see. it's like everything he's collected has led him to the moment he finally moves in with you, and now he can finally display his world to you.
༅ WALLY WEST
: the fridge always has to be full, metabolically cause of his superpower. he cooks for ten, eats for ten, and still asks if you want more. you've started cooking bigger portions out of habit. food abundance at strange hours; running off at 5 am to go grocery shopping together, draped in his jacket, once finding out you're practically out of good foods. time wasted by messing around and sharing kisses in aisles, just to return home with a load of unnecessary purchases.
: restless to search for ways to be useful to you; fixes things, tidies in three minutes, appears with the thing you were about to go get. his hyperactivity being his way of getting your attention.
: remembers the date of random things; your first fight, the first time you laughed until you cried, the day you told him something you hadn't told anyone. he keeps those memories alive every year.
: when you're out for the night, doing whatever, without him. he takes over your side of the bed, sleeping. half unintentional, and half so he's given the chance to feel closer to what you left behind, a feel of your warmth and scent in the sheets.
: falls asleep fast and hard. holds on tight even in sleep, like something in his nervous system knows what it's like to lose track of time. you wake up every time, stuck in a death hold.
༅ ROY HARPER
: topic of conversations, ranging from anything to everything from your past fears to the little things, like what you ate. he just innocently wants to know everything about you. it's so easy to open up to him, since he always makes you feel heard, especially at night before bed. that's your go-to time for talking it out together, no secrets hidden ever.
: crafts things purely with his hands: arrows, obviously, but also, fixed the loose hinge, built the shelf, fixed your bike on a random day in the parking lot with tools from his truck. handiwork as his love language in the name devotion.
: over time, your apartment had taken a red tinted route to it, in his favour; flannel, a hunting jacket on the hook, a little worn. his wardrobe culture being, that he doesn't mind when you slip into his clothes, even going as far as to leave some of them behind when he's out of town.
: it's harmless when he does it, but given the fact that he has a daughter. his role is sometimes reflected in your settings. from making you something warm like tea or soup when you're sick, to making sure you get enough rest. not a single chance, he'd let you do anything that'll possibly weigh you down and make you feel worse, until you feel better. for him, the apartment only runs best when both heads are well.
: speaking of his daughter, lian, she sleeps over sometimes. and when she does, the energy moves. roy becomes fully there for her, allowing you to understand that she's essential to who he is as a person. and as for you, with another girl in, that makes for fun times like game night and movie nights.
༅ KORIAND'R
: your apartment's always set warm, literally, since she radiates heat. the second you moved in together, you stopped needing an extra blanket. in winter, rooms she spends time in stay degrees warmer than the rest.
: social rules are so lost on her whenever you're in public, especially in regards to displays of affection. she grants kisses when waiting in busy lines, holds your face in public, says things about love out loud without shame before you part ways; about time you stopped being embarrassed, and started being grateful.
: fierce and protective over your most authentic self, that it feels like being wrapped in something bright. you laugh at each other's bad jokes so hard you end up wheezing and letting loose. her comfort comes through by just braiding your hair, painting your nails, sitting close.
: she panics quite a lot, with all she knows about your differences in species, which leads to her thinking she's taking too much space with her alien habits. she collects random earthly things with genuine delight every time you're out with her, to the point where she's made the ordinary world her own.
: her favourite domestic thing she's always looking forward to, is watching movies and tv shows with you. just something about the screen being as bright as the sun, that she can't look away cause the plot's so good. all cuddled up in the others arms, limbs tangled on and dipped hands in stacked snacks.
ellievsbear
jbbartram-illu
origamiaround
blakekathryn
pixelskylines
kianamaiart
snowghoul
gummygunk
areudirty
