- roy harper is a slut for tramp stamps and really any back tattoo and he’s also a slut period because i said so and im always right
- his favorite position is doggy regardless (cowgirl very, very close second), but knowing you have a pretty design on your skin means he’ll bend you over whenever and basically wherever. or if he comes home late at night after a mission and sees you sleeping on your stomach, that’ll work too
- he will let you tie him up and he WILL whine if you tease him enough. binding his wrists behind his back while he sits in a chair and edging him until all he can do is beg and whimper 🤤
- on the contrary, he will do the same to you and in my opinion, worse. he’d be so condescending and yet so soft with you it’s crazy. he would use toys 100%.
- “too much? do you want me to stop?” in a disingenuous tone while he has a vibrator on your clit and all you can do is mewl and squirm. you’re too desperate to remember he’s a cocky bastard and isn’t being serious so when you agree, he’d hum softly and turn the toy up higher. that’s not the safe word, silly
- will fuck your ass if you let him, or the very least toy with your hole when he has you bent over. will also eat your ass
- if you aren’t a vigilante like he is, he’ll teach you how to fight. it is in good faith but he’s a dog so it’s also an excuse to toy with you and give you praise if you earn it or whisper whorish things in your ear while he digs his hard-on against you.
- if you are a vigilante, when he asks you to spar it’s literally just foreplay. he’d be painfully hard the entire time. ugh especially if you both are worked up/mad at each other so it’s semi-genuine. biting his bicep after he gets you in a headlock so he can call you a whore and fuck you reallll good 🤤🤤 or pinning him so you can ride him painfully slow while you tell him he needs to shut the fuck up if he wants to cum 🤤🤤
- he actually loves doing missions with you because fighting alongside you is just as good as sex. usually tries to find some place private so he can touch you and drop to his knees to eat you out.
- one of the best things ever is a sloppy make-out with him. no rush, slow and unhurried. dry humping and panting in each other’s mouths. mmm
- convinces you to let him record his cock in your mouth because missions can be long and hard and he misses you. turns into literally every other time he fucks you because it’s fun. loveeeeesss to capture your face as you cum and shiver on his cock because you’re so fucking pretty.
- he does adore making love to you, because obviously there’s a difference. holding you close while he pumps into you at a steady pace and kissing your forehead and nose. putting you in a mating press and murmuring sweet things he means with his entire soul and bites out an “i love you” when he fills you up.
clark kent who finds out youre a vigilante through your heartbeat 🤔
he wouldn’t be mad, because you’re one of the good ones (unless…), but he’s disappointed because he told you he’s superman. surely you’d have the same level of trust, right?
he wouldn’t approach you about it for a while, though he’d hover nearby when you’re patrolling, just to be sure. you’re lowkey hot when you fight, he thinks.
eventually he does confront you because you pulled a stupid move and almost got yourself hurt. you’d find him on your balcony, suit and all, staring at you. not mad, not angry, just intense. it was new look and had your stomach twist.
being such a good boyfriend, he hears you out, and you guys talk.
and then his brain focuses on how your suit fits on your body, and he can’t really pay attention to what you’re saying, which ends up with you bent over the counter, the bottom half of the spandex tugged down just enough to mouth at your pretty little clit 🤔
while I normally try to stay in my lane, I’ve been noticing a concerning trend lately and wanted to put something out there any writers who may not be aware.
There been a serious uptick in fanfic writers on this app who are putting content behind a pay wall.
While I understand wanting to be compensated for your work, and all the time you put into this hobby, this is a slippery slope.
I have a limited understanding of of copyright law, but I understand enough to know that what you’re doing is illegal.
In fanfic, we are only able to use characters and intellectual property (IP) that doesn’t belong to us because we are posting it for free. By putting it behind a paywall you are now profiting off of someone else’s IP, which is a direct violation of copyright.
There have been multiple lawsuits on this topic, multiple times where fanfiction as a whole has almost been ruined because of authors trying to do this.
A great way around this is a kofi, or other similar apps. Because it is not a direct exchange of goods, it is perfectly legal and safe.
Thank you for humoring me, getting off my pink soap box now. Just be careful, and remember that just because you haven’t had a problem with it yet, doesn’t mean you won’t. It’s always better to be safe than sorry, especially when any legal action taken could have negative effects on the entire fanfic community.
includes 🧺 sfw,, gardening,, wally being a serial plants killer,, reader working in a gardening store
wally west kills plants the way some people kill time.
absentmindedly, apologetically, and with a lot of “wait, no, i thought—”
it starts as a bet. it always does.
donna says wally can’t keep a hobby that requires patience. that he’s constitutionally incapable of sticking with anything that doesn’t reward him immediately. that anything that grows slowly will die under his care, starved for attention or drowned by it.
wally laughs, loud and offended, and says that’s ridiculous. he can do slow. he just prefers fast.
they put twenty bucks on it. and pride. pride is the dangerous part.
so wally buys a plant.
it’s a succulent first—supposedly unkillable. the little tag says low maintenance, which feels like a personal challenge. wally waters it every day for a week because how else will it know he cares? it turns mushy and collapses in on itself like it’s embarrassed.
he googles. he adjusts. he overcorrects.
the next one is a spider plant. then a pothos. then something leafy with dramatic veins that looks like it belongs in a museum more than a windowsill. he names them all stupid things, like zoom and sprout and wally jr. and watches them wilt anyway.
he learns the sound a pot makes when the soil is too dry. he learns the smell of rot. he learns that 'indirect sunlight' is a lie invented to humiliate people.
by the time he kills the monstera, he’s genuinely upset.
it’s not dramatic. no flames, no lightning, or any big tragedy. just one morning where the green looks less alive than it should, and by evening the fronds have curled inward, giving up. wally sits on the floor of his apartment with the pot between his knees and presses his thumb into the dirt like he can will it to breathe again.
“i’m sorry,” he tells it, because apologizing feels better than admitting defeat.
that’s when he goes to the gardening store.
it’s a small place wedged between a laundromat and a bakery that always smells like sugar and burnt coffee. the bell above the door rings softly, like it doesn’t want to startle or disturb anyone. something wally can’t personally relate to. he steps inside and immediately knocks over a display of seed packets with his hip.
“sorry,” he blurts, already crouching to pick them up. “i swear i’m not—”
you laugh. it’s not loud, just a little breath of a sound that makes him look up.
you’re kneeling on the other side of the display, hands already gathering fallen envelopes with practiced care. there’s dirt under your nails. your sleeves are rolled up. you look like someone who belongs here.
“not a… not a thief or something.” ginger gulps, suddenly too aware of his clumsiness, his hair that he may have forgotten to wash this morning, and his jeans that were his ‘meh jeans’ with stretched knees and yellowish spots that could no longer be washed out. the kind of jeans you throw on to run out for a second, not to meet the most gorgeous outworldly person in the whole parallel timelines. all he can think about now is why i couldn’t put on better jeans?
“it’s okay,” you say. “they like being shuffled.”
wally blinks. “the seeds?”
“mm-hm. keeps them humble.”
he grins despite himself. “wow. even the plants here are more emotionally regulated than me.”
you glance at him then—really look—and something in your expression softens.
“what are you looking for?” you ask.
wally exhales. “help,” he says honestly. “i keep killing things.”
you tilt your head. “on purpose?”
“no. that’s the worst part.”
you stand and gesture for him to follow. he does, hands shoved in his pockets like he’s afraid they’ll betray him.
you ask the quiet questions. how often he waters. where the light hits his windows. whether he gets bored easily or anxious about forgetting. he answers too fast at first, tripping over his words, until you gently interrupt.
“slow down,” you say. not unkind, just firm. “plants don’t like being rushed.”
neither, it turns out, does wally.
you show him how to check the soil properly. how to feel for dampness instead of guessing. how roots need space and air as much as water. you talk about patience like it’s a muscle that can be trained, not a moral virtue you either have or don’t.
wally looks at you as you are sharing the secrets of alchemy, like you are opening him the door to a reality filled with magic. a garden fairy casting spells of fruition, strength, and apparently love.
“growth happens underground first,” you tell him, handing him a small fern with delicate, hopeful fronds. “you don’t see it, but it’s the most important part.”
wally cradles the pot like it might disappear if he blinks too hard.
“i think i can do this,” he says, and means it in the careful way, not the cocky one.
you smile. “i think you can too.”
he comes back a week later. then the week after that. sometimes to ask questions, sometimes just to stand near you while you mist leaves or rearrange pots. he learns your schedule without meaning to. learns the way you hum when you’re concentrating. learns that you talk to the plants when you think no one’s listening.
he starts waiting before he moves. before he speaks. before he waters.
the fern doesn’t die.
it unfurls, slowly, like it trusts him. new growth curls out of the center, pale and tender and alive. wally takes pictures. he sends them to donna with the caption still breathing.
one afternoon, while you’re helping him repot it, he clears his throat.
“i, uh,” he says. “i named it.”
you glance up. “oh?”
“yeah. i hope that’s not weird. i mean, i name everything. my treadmill. my favorite mug. one time i named a thunderstorm but that didn’t stick.”
“what did you name the plant?” you ask.
he hesitates, pink in his cheeks spreading across the whole face and even ears and neck. “you.”
you freeze for half a second. then you laugh, soft and surprised.
“that’s… a lot of pressure,” you say.
“i know,” wally says quickly. “i can change it. i was thinking—”
“no,” you interrupt gently. “i like it.”
you brush soil from his wrist without thinking. he stills like a startled animal, then relaxes.
“but now you have to really try not to kill it.” you point at him playfully.
“sir, yes, sir!” he nods rapidly, grinning from one red ear to another.
the fern sits between you, green and steady, roots settling deeper where they can’t be seen.
wally goes home that night and places it by the window, where the light is kind and indirect and patient. he waters it just enough. and… waits.
your number sits in his contact list tightly yet patiently. you promised to text him once your shift is over. so wally waits.
because now he knows how.
dedicated to all fellow plant parents. i thought about giving wally pot flowers but then decided to have some mercy 😭🪴
would anyone be interested in a super angsty fic where you and dick have been friends since his robin years and like, you’ve loved each other foreeeeever.
but like, your friendship is TOO good so you both haven’t done anything about it.
but like, maybe dick is dating kori, and maybe they have a fight and end things, and maybe a few weeks later dick finally confesses and you two get a little freaky.
but maybe a week later dick sends you a text telling you he’s sorry, and he wasn’t in the right head space, and he still loves kori, and he begs for things to go back to normal.
clark’s been punched through buildings, set on fire, locked in a box with kryptonite, and publically slandered by lex luthor for the better part of a decade.
but nothing—and he means nothing—hurts quite like your super-hate campaign.
you don’t work for luthor. you’re not a villain. as far as he knows, you’re just a normal woman with a phone, a wicked sense of humor, and 2.6 million followers who eat up every single post you’ve made about how much you hate him for for six straight weeks.
hate is a strong word, but you use it. liberally. with memes, photo edits, slideshows, even.
“supershit strikes again.”
“this mf built like a flagpole and just as useful.”
and the justice gang will not let him live it down.
guy mentions it mid-battle. kendra reads the threads out loud. michael sighs every time you trend.
clark’s seen his own cape photoshopped into an actual toilet bowl at least three times.
he tells himself it doesn’t bother him, but it does. it really does.
he doesn’t understand. he saves people. he’s careful, kind. he’s never done anything to hurt you—at least, he doesn’t think he has.
which is why, one cloudy evening, after seeing your latest post—“i hope superman bites into something with a crunch that’s meant to be soft, and then panics about whether or not it’s kryptonite”—he loses it just a little. not in a criminal way. just in a slightly unhinged, definitely against protocol kind of way.
he follows you home.
from the sky… in full suit.
there’s a low hum in his ears from the wind, the city beneath him blurring into rows of windows and streetlights.
your voice drifts up to him—sharp, expressive, laughing—crackling faintly through the phone you’re speaking into, unaware of the caped god tailing you from above like a nervous pigeon.
you don’t notice—too busy ranting on the phone to what he assumes is your sister.
you’re animated, gesturing with one hand as the other balances a half-full to-go cup, hoodie riding up slightly where your bag tugs against your shoulder. you’re nothing like the internet persona he’s obsessed over for weeks.
clark lands on your balcony before he can rethink it. his boots touch down with the softest thud. he stands still, shoulders stiff, arms at his sides, glowing faintly in the dim evening light like something divine and misplaced.
when you see him through the glass door—tall, silent, glowing slightly from the chest emblem up—you don’t scream.
you squint, brows furrowing, and slide the door open.
superman.
just… standing there like a weirdly polite porch pirate.
“seriously?” you say, deadpan. “you stalking me now, supershit?”
clark blinks.
because—wow.
you said it to his face.
he clears his throat. “i just want to know… what i did.” his voice is as polite as ever. “did i hurt someone you care about? did i accidentally cause property damage? is this about taxes?”
but before you can respond, a large, very round calico cat waddles between your feet and meows.
clark freezes.
that cat. that specific cat.
he remembers now—weeks ago, in the middle of a city attack. that very same cat had gotten stuck in a tree, crying its head off, while fireballs were raining from the sky. he remembers you—breathless and scared—yelling up at him to please save your baby. he’d rescued it. gently, carefully. handed her to the woman now glaring at him.
you’d smiled—complimented his suit even. and he’d just… stared at you.
didn’t say a word, didn’t even blink. just stared. then flew off.
because he short-circuited.
because you were so pretty.
and now here you are. face-to-face. clark kent, flustered alien, and the woman whose digital slander campaign has singlehandedly ruined his reputation and his self-esteem.
turns out?
you don't really hate him.
you just think he purposefully ignored you.
and that fat cat?
might be the only reason clark gets a second chance.
- When you realize your mistake, or rather hear it, you find Bruce already in the kitchen, fanning out the room with a towel.
- And then he notices the egg carton. The barely-recognizable char in the pan is eggs.
- He looks…sad.
- “Um…I got distracted,” you say sheepishly.
- He’ll make you sit in a chair that’s suspiciously close to a corner.
- You watch him scrape off the pan, the sound mocking.
- He hasn’t said a word, but you can feel the disappointment radiating off of him.
- You feel like one of his kids instead of his partner.
- He makes you actually-edible food. He kisses your forehead after handing you the plate. Then, he leaves.
- The eggs taste like pity.
- He doesn’t bring it up, however he secretly watches you through the security cameras (of course he has them in the kitchen) just in case you decide something is more important than ruining pans and attempting to burn the manor down.
- He has the feed up at the Batcave.
- His kids call him creepy because you’re totally competent, right? You can cook for yourself.
- They watch in horror as you forget to put oven mitts and try to fish out your scorching hot pan of onion rings.
- He asks Alfred to teach you basic survival skills. Probably how to bake, too, but preferably the first one.
Dick Grayson:
- He feels bad for you but he’ll try to make you less embarrassed.
- I mean, there’s some parts that are fine to eat, so he’ll carefully remove the burnt pieces.
- It makes everything worse.
- You can tell he’s trying not to laugh.
- The amount of egg that’s left over is maybe like a fourth of one.
- You did three.
- He finally laughs. And then he sees you, unamused and shameful, and he’ll hug you and redo them for you.
- Tim asks in the Bat-Family group chat why the kitchen smells like someone cooked something too hard.
- He’ll take the blame.
- It’s followed by a photo of the scraps in the trash.
- “Dude, did you burn eggs???”
- He still takes the blame, even if he’d never do such a thing.
Jason Todd:
- He’s burnt his own eggs, for whatever reason.
- He may or may not have eaten them anyway.
- But you doing it? It’s different.
- Will do a humiliating photo.
- Will make you pose with the pan.
- He calls you “my little dumbass” from now on.
- He asks you to cook for him to see if you’ll fuck it up.
- It’s just funny to him, almost kind of endearing.
- When he brings it up to anyone else, it’s immediately shut down.
- “Remember how you tried to put water on a pan fire?”
- He’s only allowed in the kitchen with supervision ever since that incident.
Tim Drake:
- He’s confused because he thought you were capable of scrambling your own eggs.
- Clearly not.
- He’s questioning you while he redoes them.
- He needs to make sense of it.
- He inspects you more thoroughly as you do literally anything.
- He will probably make you do an IQ test, innocently.
- He wakes up before you now to make you breakfast.
- He doesn’t want Alfred getting mad at you for ruining pans—he can be scary.
- When he’s asked why he’s up so early, he’ll say he’s cooking eggs for you.
- “Can they not do it themself?”
- The silence that follows is answer enough.
Damian Wayne:
- Worst mistake of your fucking life.
- When you remember, you’re inconspicuously jogging to the kitchen.
- He’s waiting for you, hands folded on the table, the eggs on a plate in front of him.
- He gestures vaguely to the seat across him.
- The eggs slowly slide towards you after you sit, followed by, “Are you stupid?”
- Maybe he has two fathers: Bruce Wayne, and Gordon Ramsey.
- Your ego is ripped to shreds.
- He’ll probably make you try your “work” to prove his point.
- He’s right, though. You could’ve burned down the kitchen.
- “Alfred would be devastated.”
- You aren’t in the mood to eat anymore, but he’d probably teach you how to scramble eggs with the persona of Ramsey.
- He’d bring it up anytime you happen to piss him off.
- You might be self-conscious now.
- Bruce has to get him to chill because you’re really guilty.
Duke Thomas:
- He’d find it funny, and he can understand getting sidetracked.
- But he’s also concerned.
- What if you did burn down the kitchen? The manor?
- He’d never see you again because you’d be in prison for arson.
- Bruce would probably be pissed enough to try to make your sentence for life.
- Now he’s just nervous about you cooking.
- He’ll do it for you, or redirect your attention to something else like a puppy.
- Honestly, he’d fuck with you by getting you one of those toy kitchen sets.
- “The stove works,” he’d say as a justification. “Isn’t it cool?”
- It just makes “stove noises”.
- He’ll mention it to Alfred.
- Said man will hover, and by that I mean him taking over because it’s literally his job.
- You can do something safe, like add seasoning.
- Or maybe you should just watch, seeing as you dropped the bottle of paprika everywhere.
NOTE: I don’t own any artwork on these posts, I find them on Pinterest. This one tho is from Batman: Wayne Family Adventures. Damian’s meant to be read as platonic, he’s like 2 years old (/j)
guys i hate to be the bearer of bad news but it's easy to tell when something is AI written.
not calling anyone out personally as that's disrespectful, but it's so important to realise how damaging AI-stories are to others and yourself!
i totally understand if you need AI just to get some ideas on what to write, like getting some inspirational prompts or a basic plot-line for a story you've thought about writing but don't know where to start. i totally get that as writing can be suuuper complicated, especially when your brain just doesn't want to...brain. and sometimes, AI can be handy in these cases.
but to copy and paste a whole story from AI and post it here as if you'd written it? oh baby nooooo.
you have no idea how much better you are than AI! stories are meant to be raw and messy and challenging because that's what it means to be human, and it's evidenced in the way we write!
as humans, we were not created to write perfect, zero-mistakes, inauthentic pieces of storytelling because that's robotic; that's what AI is.
while AI excels in it's pacing and grammar and, all in all, the story, it misses one major thing: emotion.
emotion is so evidenced when we write because that's what human writing is based on! whether it be something angsty or fluffy or smut because we were feeling a bit shitty, or happy, or - god forbid - horny. when we write, it's our emotions that make the best of our stories!
which is why AI is so easy to capture, because there's no love put into it, and it's too perfect. i would rather someone's writing be a little messy than AI-written, because it means the author has given it a go and tried their best- that's what art and creation is all about!
and trust, you will feel so much better knowing you were able to complete a story written all by yourself, like how cool is that?!
please don't let AI make stories for you, i would so rather you do it than a stupid robot.
mwah xx
(i've only tagged media that i read and am apart of so if you want to help spread more awareness, please do reblog and tag other fandoms! xoxo)
Do y’all ever read the most scrumptious, jaw-dropping, heart-stopping, mouthwatering fanfic or piece of work that you think about days later and consumes your entire brain only to realize you have not followed the author or liked the post? Like literally why do I do that. I fucking love your writing. You are the best person ever and I adore you. So why am I not invading your feed? What the fuck am I doing?
Might be an ADHD moment idk. I wish my phone was hooked to my brain so when I’m reading something that gives me a crazy amount of endorphins I’ll already like and follow.
WARNINGS: smut, threesome, oral m!receiving, afab!reader, oh my god this is filthy
WORD COUNT: 737
MDNI, PLEASE.
They never really thought they’d be in this position. Especially with a teammate. Two teammates, actually. One, a best friend, and the other almost overwhelmed with the attention.
Clark was flustered. It’s not like he hasn’t touched a woman before, but to be instructed by the Batman on what to do had his stomach flutter an indescribable amount.
“You can go harder than that, can’t you Kent?” he murmured. His tone was genuine, yet the question was teasing.
You were on your hands and knees, back arched and nuzzling your face into Bruce’s chest. He was the only one with some clothing on, not that you were focused on that. You were getting stretched open and it utterly fried your brain.
Clark’s hands ran over your hips soothingly, almost apologetically, because you’re doing so good. For him, for them. “I don’t want to hurt her.”
He knew the other man’s eyes were on him, watching. He couldn’t pull his attention off of his cock sliding into your cunt, though, which was probably worse. Christ, you were gripping him. The size difference was driving him insane.
“You can take it.” Bruce ran his fingers through your head, gently tugging your head back to see your face. He had an obvious habit of asking questions in the form of sentences, you knew, yet your body gave an involuntary clench at the idea of it being a command. In response, Clark groaned, fingers twitching on your hips.
Despite everything, despite watching his friend fuck you borderline on top of him, he was the most level-headed person there. He was aching in his boxers; your face was right there, an easy way to soothe the pain. But, surely he was a masochist.
His eyes were lidded, and a hint of a smirk crossed his features. You were too busy thinking about his cock in your mouth, mixed in with how deliciously you were being filled. You were staring dazedly.
“Right?” he continued softly, his hand shifting to cup your jaw. You instinctively leaned into his touch. “Be nice to him, won’t you? You’ll let him go harder.”
“Mhm,” you whispered in agreement, a whine messing up your intent to keep a steady voice. Bruce’s eyes trailed back and so did yours. You turned your head over your shoulder.
Clark’s lips were parted to let out soft breaths, his cheeks dusted in a boyish blush—there was nothing boyish about his gaze, though. He looked feral, disguised in practiced restraint. And then he noticed you and it softened.
He was so pretty like this. You could tell he thought the same of you without any words exchanged.
You moved your hips back against a thrust. It was deeper, the intensity causing your next exhale to stutter. For him? That unbridled need instantly came back on his face.
A part of him wanted to make sure, to tell you that Bruce was just being a cocky asshole and you didn’t have to, but you agreed, and you pulled such an evil stunt, so…
His hips grew more purposeful. You buried your face back into a chiseled navel, a comforting hum following suit. Your moans and gasps were soaked up by flesh.
“There you go,” the billionaire purred, the compliment meant for both of you. You already knew you had a thing for praise, but Clark was fucked.
He wanted to get his friend in the same boat—affected and desperate. He just couldn’t bring himself to do anything. All he focused on was how your ass moved against him, and how he was coated with your slick.
It was why he was grateful to see you sink your teeth into Bruce’s happy trail. It was a mean one, unintentionally. It worked.
You looked better, now, with your mouth being used as much as your pussy.
The Kryptonian had to force his pupils off of your body. Instead, it landed on how his colleague’s jaw ticked when you took more of him, his eyebrows pinched together in concentration. His hips bucked ever so slightly every time you ran your tongue along the underside of his length.
“See something you like?”
He smiled. He had the audacity to smile, even as he was getting sucked off by a pretty thing who was stuck between a rock and a harder place.
Yeah, Clark wasn’t sure he could make eye contact with either of you again without imagining this.
Note: I wanna do all our other pretty best friends (dick and wally, jason and roy, etc.) but like is that ok with u guys
BATBOYS’ reaction to you asking to paint their nails
WARNINGS: fluff, gn!reader, but you wear nail polish
NOTE: DUKE IS HERE. EVERYONE SAY HI DUKE
Bruce Wayne:
- You’re doing your own nails when he walks in.
- Clearly you’re bored, or something, because he can easily pay to get them done professionally.
- He approaches you, gently lifting your hand to inspect.
- “Pretty,” he murmurs, followed by a kiss to your knuckle.
- You grin. “Can I do yours?”
- He considers, even though there’s already a denial on the tip of his tongue. But, it doesn’t come out, because you look really excited at the thought.
- He agrees. And it’s lame.
- A clear top coat. That’s all he’ll let you do.
- Bruce Wayne can’t be seen with sparkles on his hands, even if he doesn’t care what the media thinks.
- He believes it’s too feminine for him.
- They’d probably be chipped immediately given how handsy his nighttime life is, anyway.
- Still, it’s something—you’ll take what you can get.
- He actually comes to you every few days so he’s able to keep it on.
- He does try on black at some point. It looks odd on his large, calloused hands. That’s just him, though.
- The top coat is too unnoticeable for anyone to comment, but his kids are smart, observant.
- “Why are your nails shiny?”
- “Because it makes them happy.”
Dick Grayson:
- He really likes watching you do your nails and is very satisfied when you do a color he recommends.
- Said color most of the time is blue.
- You’re waiting for the polish to dry when you ask, “You want me to do yours?”
- Grayson is open-minded, but he’s also utterly in love with you, so obviously he agrees.
- You’d both have black on your thumbs and pinkies, with that iconic vivid blue on the rest.
- Unfortunately, colliding his fist into jaws and his training does get in the way of keeping them nice.
- Which means he gets spoiled with your attention even more as you fix them. Yay!
- He’s lowkey cocky when he takes down criminals with it on.
- “LOL I just kicked your ass with nail polish my partner put on” ahh mf.
- He’s incredibly defensive if anyone teases him.
- They’re basically insulting you, too.
- They eventually stop because he’s dead serious.
Jason Todd:
- “You look better with it,” he would say upon the offer.
- But he’s equally bored. He’ll agree.
- Black. Pure black. Black hole black.
- He’d make an edgy comment about how it’s his “soul” or whatever.
- He actually kind of likes it. It fits his aesthetic.
- Beats people a little harder if they happen to chip it.
- He’ll let you add a small, red matching heart on a finger.
- Preferably middle. It’s his favorite one.
- He would make snide comments when he’s fighting.
- “They did my nails so pretty, don’t you think?” (Morseo his “fingerless gloves” era.)
- Not that they’d notice. His knuckles are being too personal with their face.
- He’d be like Dick. Why is simple nail polish just so fuckin’ funny?
Tim Drake:
- He won’t necessarily be interested in polish, but rather small designs.
- Like a little flower, or a heart.
- Super simplistic stuff that has him smile when he looks at it.
- You did, as cheesy as it is, a Red Robin one time.
- May or may not have taken forever.
- He’s genuinely sad if they get ruined. You worked hard on them.
- He’d probably apologize because clearly it’s his fault—heavy sarcasm, by the way.
- You remind him that it gives you an opportunity to do more.
- He probably would ignore whomever made comments that weren’t compliments until they apologize.
- He hasn’t talked to Jason in a while.
Damian Wayne:
- “Don’t you have your own nails?”
- You’ll offer to bathe Titus for the rest of the year, and suddenly he’s sitting on your floor while you put a tacky hot pink on him.
- He lets you do whatever, because he doesn’t keep it long. He’s just not into it.
- But if he isn’t doing anything, he won’t take it off until he has to.
- Him texting Jon about how stupid he is with cunty ass nails.
- No one finds out. It’s his little secret.
- And then Bruce forgets to knock one time during a session.
- “Father,” he greets flatly, not looking up.
- You’ve never seen the Batman so…confused.
Duke Thomas:
- He’d be in the same boat as Tim—simple designs.
- Ones that make something with both of your nails together. Like a heart.
- He let you do acrylics one time for shits and giggles.
- “How do people…do things?”
- He’s been trying to open a can of soda for the past ten minutes.
- He keeps the designs absolutely pristine, somehow.
- He’d avoid doing certain things, but he also has crazy luck.
- He’ll bring you new ideas.
- He wears it with pride in public.
- If anyone brings it up in a mocking manner, he’d say, “I think you’re mad because you’re single and I’m not.”
- The time Jason did it, he’d sulk, because Duke’s right. He is mad.
BATBOYS’ reaction to you asking to do their makeup
WARNINGS: fluff, gn!reader but it’s stated you wear makeup
Bruce Wayne:
- Would give you a gruff, “No.”
- He loves you, but that’s simply not something he’s interested in.
- You bring it up a few more times and the answer is always the same.
- And then one day, he stares at you while you’re sitting at the expensive vanity he bought you, watching you as you do your eyeliner.
- “You can put that on me,” he says after a few moments of mental gymnastics.
- You turn towards him, slightly surprised. “Huh?”
- He’s not fond of repeating himself, so he’d just pat his thigh.
- You’re getting up, because this is a chance of a lifetime, and you quickly settle yourself on his lap.
- His hands hold your hips. He looks at you with those pretty blue eyes expectantly.
- “Do you want a cat eye? Smokey?” You cup his jaw with your free hand, tilting it.
- He grunts in response. Probably a “be quiet and do it” grunt.
- He waits patiently as your fingers work, following your soft-spoken instructions to close his eyelids or look up. Other than that, he’s not moving an inch.
- You do something simple—just under his waterline, above his top eyelashes.
- When you're done, you drag him over to the mirror. You weren’t sure what his reaction would be.
- “Hm.” The noise is acknowledging, not displeased.
- You smile at him. “Do you like it?”
- There’s a difference between liking it and not being bothered by it.
- Still, he gives you an imperceptible nod. Just to see you smile wider.
- He didn’t take it off for patrol. His kids teased him about it, and Alfred had a barely-concealed humored expression.
- It’s the only thing he’ll let you do. He doesn’t ask, but at this point, he expects you to put it on.
- It’s a reminder of you while he’s out, that you’re waiting for him to come back.
Dick Grayson:
- He would probably ask you to do it, instead of the other way around.
- Just out of curiosity.
- But if you brought it up first, he’s immediately sitting.
- “Make me look pretty,” as if he already isn’t.
- He’d let you do what you want, however he’ll mention how certain colors don’t look good on him.
- Wouldn’t protest if you did a full face. He feels like a pampered princess, and he definitely enjoys the attention you’re giving him.
- He needs progress updates, and information on what you’re using.
- He’ll try to make you annoyed by shutting his eyes when you tell him not to, or talking in the middle of lipstick application.
- “Do you want to be gorgeous or not?” you huff.
- Yes, he does. He quickly stops.
- When you’re done, he’s gasping at himself, fluttering his lashes.
- He wants to match with you, so he offers to do yours.
- Sits in your lap, just like you did with him.
- It’s…a process.
- But it’s not half bad.
- You both take selfies together.
- He’s your devoted expirementee, now.
- He sets himself up by sending some of the photos to the Bat-Family group chat.
- Gets hounded on by Jason. Heavily.
- Does he care? Absolutely not. They are totally jealous.
Jason Todd:
- He’s going to laugh in your face. Sorry.
- And then it turns into confusion when he sees how serious you are.
- He’d shut it down, at first, but he keeps thinking about it for some reason.
- Secretly scrolls on his phone to look at things that he might like.
- Eventually, he approaches you, inspiration picture in hand, and says, “It has to look exactly like this or you’re fired.”
- It’s simple: light eyeshadow, some eyeliner. Stuff that isn’t super heavy and is still “masculine”.
- He can hear the teasing he’d hypothetically endure from everyone as you do it. It pisses him off.
- And then you murmur praises like, “You’re so handsome,” and suddenly he doesn’t care. It’s for you.
- Despite his lighthearted threat, he requests more things, just so you can keep giving him attention.
- Like Grayson, he’d question what you were using. He’d throw in some stupid comments about how using your fingers to apply stuff would be easier.
- When you’re finished and show him, he doesn’t actually mind it.
- “You didn’t fuck it up,” he mumbles.
- He’ll let you do it again. He finds himself enjoying it—the feeling of your soft brushes against his skin, and how you’d gently guide his head to where you want it.
- One time, while you were perched on his lap, focusing on applying, the door opened. Dick was mid-sentence before he finally processed what was going on.
- “Oh, wow.”
- To make things worse, he snapped a picture and suddenly you were moved off of Jason’s lap.
- Cue the super unnecessary and dramatic chase in an attempt to get Grayson to delete it.
Tim Drake:
- He’d look flustered. Why?
- You’d have to explain it’s just for fun, and how you’re bored.
- He’ll begrudgingly agree. He supposed there’s no harm.
- He wants you to tell him what you’re doing as you work. He’s nervous, like you’re going to poke him in the eye or something.
- You don’t want him to be uncomfortable, so you ask, “Do you want me to stop?”
- Well, your presence and warmth on his lap is enjoyable, and he shakes his head.
- It has his brain quiet down. He just listens to you. He absentmindedly leans into your touch sometimes.
- “Do you want glitter?”
- “I do want glitter,” he murmurs. The sentence has his cheeks heat up. When has he ever wanted glitter?
- Of course you don’t tease him, even if it’s cute.
- After you finish, he isn’t sure how to react. He gives an awkward smile.
- “It would look better on you.”
- While you put away your makeup, it seems everyone decided they needed him for something.
- He honestly forgot he had it on, so he’s confused why Jason is laughing and Dick is trying not to. Damian looks as amused as he can get.
- Bruce, a clueless bypasser, pauses for a moment. He makes an inquisitive hum before he keeps walking.
- You force all of them to apologize and send them on their way. Tim, who is so very embarrassed, gets an extra amount of love from you.
Damian Wayne:
- Damian would stare you down for an unholy amount of time, like you just said the stupidest thing he’s ever heard.
- He’s expecting you to backtrack, to take it back. It is a stupid idea.
- But you’re immune. You give him a soft smile. “Please?”
- He dislikes how easily he gives in. Very, very much.
- He grumbles a lot, insulting you, even as he holds still.
- He lists things you owe him for letting you do this. A lot of them are said just to mess with you.
- At some point, he gets less irritated. It’s only because he’s grown tired of wasting his breath.
- You give him the handheld mirror when you’re done, and he takes a long while to inspect himself. He doesn’t care about the fact that there’s winged eyeliner on his face, he cares that they are uneven.
- He gives you criticism. Actual, somewhat informative criticism.
- “You need to blend outwards, not in.”
- He makes you fix it until there’s no mistakes.
- It’s actually a weird and kind of unbelievable experience for you.
- You are never doing it again—you wanted to have fun, not be reprimanded.
- He still has it on when Alfred calls for dinner.
- They all kind of stare. They’re too confused to comment.
- “Am I high?” Jason whispers quietly.
- The only thing Damian says is, “Can someone pass me the salt?”
Duke Thomas:
- He would probably let you do his eyebrows and some eyeshadow to accentuate his eyes.
- He doesn’t mind if you do more, he’s just not keen on keeping it on long.
- It’s for you, and he likes you.
- He’d ask to do yours. It’s only fair.
- He lowkey knows how to do some fire ass eyeliner.
- It’s actually really enjoyable so he does it more than you. He can see why you brought it up in the first place.
- “Should I become a makeup artist?”
- He finds himself looking up inspiration ideas that he brings to you later.
- Maybe he should. Specifically, your makeup artist.
- You went to Bruce’s parties one time with a look that he did. He was smug as fuck when you got a lot of compliments.
- He’s a little sad when you do your own instead of letting him do it.
- Dick walked in on him once.
- He just watched you both.
- Eventually asked Duke to do his, as a half-joke, but now he’s stuck sitting in line until he finishes yours.
- He took a picture of you and Grayson and put it on his Instagram.
NSFW - GAMER!BSF!GRAYSON who has a massive crush on you.
WARNINGS: masturbation (grayson), gn!reader but you wearing a skirt is mentioned, filthy evil thoughts (grayson)
MDNI, PLEASE.
- Yeah, he likes the sound of your voice.
- It’s almost annoying how anything you say has his stomach flutter and a stupid smile curl at his lips.
- He will bring up anything he knows will make you rant, good or bad. Please tell him everything, every minuscule detail.
- He feels a little perverted when he isn’t entirely listening. He’d shift in his chair a bit, a hand twitching over his thigh as he thinks about you in an entirely different context. One where you’re there, with him, instead of being a mere connection on Discord.
- Like you, whimpering about how amazing his tongue feels. He’d eat you alive.
- “…Earth to Grayson? Helloooo?” you mutter.
- He wants to be a good friend, and he wants you to keep talking. But…what were you saying five seconds ago? He was too busy fidgeting with the ties of his sweatpants to subtly relieve the ache in between his thighs.
- He doesn’t genuinely touch himself while you two play or talk. It feels too dirty. Shameful.
- But, he definitely gets worked up. He imagines things too often. His tone gets lower, deeper; an almost-purr. Maybe you’re oblivious, or maybe he’s good at playing it off.
- He always finds himself taking a ten minute break so he can lay in bed, fisting his leaking cock. He glances at his monitor every so often, just to check if he’s muted.
- His mic is sensitive and he can’t seem to keep quiet when he scrolls through photos of you.
- You turn your camera on sometimes. It’s terrible. Absolutely terrible.
- You like to show him little things you get from a day out. And he can’t help but ask to see if you got new clothes.
- Moments of silence for you to change, out of view. He spreads his legs, hips adjusting. You’re undressing for him. Not in the way he wants, of course, however…
- You’re evil for showing him a skirt. Curse you.
- It’s not absolutely scandalous, albeit it’s still a skirt. He lost his streak—his palm absentmindedly started rubbing himself.
- “I think it’s too short.”
- “It’s cute,” he says, his eyes focused on your legs. He sounds too strained for his liking. Solution? Insult.
- “It’s not your color.”
- It is.
- As much as he loves having you over, it’s hard. Sometimes it escalates into him being hard. It’s why he keeps a blanket and extra pillows on his couch.
- Yes, you two are close, but do you have to drape your legs over his lap when you want to lay down? You’re too focused on the screen to notice him adjusting your ankles more towards his knees so you don’t feel his cock twitch.
- He’s a touchy guy, too. It’s just who he is. So, you don’t think nothing of it when he leans against you, or drapes an arm over your shoulder. He’ll poke your side and give your arm a nip with his teeth just to see you hiss and swear.
- Prayers for you if you’re ticklish. A lot of prayers. He uses it as an advantage; he’s very tactical with it. When you’re getting too mouthy, his fingers are wiggling into you. You’re just so cute as you squeal and giggle, and obviously the only way to avoid getting kicked in the nuts is to pin you.
- You’re too busy attempting to squirm away to notice his hard-on. He’s careful not to press into you. And then, in a desperate, breathy voice, you whine, “Dick, please.”
- His brain pauses. He has to get off, for his sake. Literally.
- Which is why he finds himself in the bathroom, pumping himself ferociously, needily. He can hear you playing—you’re right there, a mere door separating you two. Doesn’t stop him from bucking into his fist like it’s you.
- Acts totally sauve and normal after he’s done, like he didn’t almost moan your name as he came.
- As someone who is competitive and is in love with you, Grayson makes bets that benefit him. And given you want to wipe that cocky smirk off of his face, you accept.
- But he’s ballsy tonight. There’s enough alcohol in his system to say, “If you lose, you gotta give me a kiss.”
- You roll your eyes, as if he isn’t being dead serious.
- He wins. Of course he does. It’s not like he was tryharding, his fingers working overtime and his body tense. Not at all.
- He turns to you, grinning as if he won the lottery. He’s about to make a snarky comment and you’re a sore loser, so you don’t let him.
- You cup his jaw, lips firmly pressing against his. It would just be over just like that if you didn’t force your tongue into his mouth almost bitterly.
- It’s just for a few seconds. He stares at you, cheeks dusted. He takes slow, deep inhales.
- You’re just about to load up a new game when the controller is taken from your hands, haphazardly tossed on the coffee table. Your head is tilted towards him and he does the exact same thing to you.
- Your breath hitches in his mouth. It’s deep, slow, one that has your brain stutter. When you finally catch up, your eyelids flutter shut and you start to kiss back.
- Grayson’s petty. That was such an unfair move. Plus, he’s sick of being the one always hot and bothered. As soon as he feels you lean in, he pulls away. Your controller is back into your hands and he acts like nothing happened.
- He wants you to say something. To do something. Instead, you tear your gaze off of him and refocus. He would almost think you’re unperturbed if he didn’t feel your thighs squeeze together next to him, how you shifted in your seat.
- He’s stubborn. So are you. Clearly this is an invitation to play a different type of game. He’s going to have you bent over one way or another.
Note: Not entirely proofread. I’ll link part 2 on this post when I finish it :3
WARNINGS: gn!reader, fluff (just in case you thought there wasn’t)
- He was never really into Minecraft, but you suggested a server to decompress from competitive online games.
- He loves it.
- Would definitely break your bed and put it next to his, saying some cheesy shit like, “I get lonely.” You don’t humor him, though eventually you give up because it resets your spawn point.
- He sees it as you liking him back.
- He would have a diverse playing style, but that’s only because it’s you. Oh, you want flowers? He’s spending an unholy amount of time getting the right ones. Need a lot of iron? You won’t see him in a few hours.
- He leaves you cute little signs if you aren’t on at the same time.
- Will learn how to build cool things just to see your reaction. He’d deny any remarks about him watching a tutorial.
- He isn’t sure why, but seeing you in a Nightwing skin has him flustered. A lot of bonus points if you have no clue that it’s him.
- He definitely has a mouth on online games. It’s honestly surprising how many insults he can come up with.
- Though, if you do some dumb shit, intentional or not, he wouldn’t utter a word. It wasn’t your fault you walked into an obvious claymore.
- If you’re doing good, expect praise. Or really, really questionable things.
- “Oh my God, you’re so hot,” with an unneeded breathy tone or, “Please kiss me.”
- He’d convince you to get matching gamertags.
- If you verbalize wanting anything, like skins or even a game, he’ll get it for you. It doesn’t matter that you don’t want him to waste his money on it, you’re getting that overpriced Valorant bundle.
- Sometimes, you both just sit in Discord calls, talking or watching something.
- Or falling asleep.
- Well, you specifically. He loves it. Loves when your voice gets noticeably softer, more tired. He always talks more quietly, as if he’s trying to lull you to sleep.
- He’s a night owl—usually you aren’t. He’d just busy himself with things, keeping his headset on just in case.
- He perks up like a dog when you unexpectedly mumble something, asking him how he could let you fall asleep.
- He’d just grin.
- Obviously you come over to hang out, or vice versa.
- Who knew he’d lose a game of Mario Kart just so you can tease him?
- He likes when you both do your own thing, barely any words uttered. He’d lounge on his bed, Switch in hand, while you play on his computer.
- He’d get distracted, though, opting to just stare at you. How your hands work on his keyboard, how your brow creases in focus. You honestly forgot he was there, so yes, he’s going to observe you with little hearts in his eyes.
- They aren’t often, given his busy schedule, but sleepovers. You don’t plan on it; you keep saying you can pull an all-nighter.
- Ends up with you “resting” your eyes for a moment.
- And Grayson, being very smart, would sit close enough just in case your head fell onto his shoulder. When he knows you are absolutely knocked out, he’d press a soft, light kiss against your head, shifting carefully to get you more comfortable. It’s hard to continue playing when you’re not doing it, too.
- He’d take you to any nerd-related event.
- He isn’t sure why you keep bringing your wallet—he’ll pay. It’s all worth it to see your giddy smile.
- Though, he can’t complain if you get him the giant Lapras plush he’s been eyeing the entire time.
- No, he doesn’t think it’s your child. And he definitely doesn’t cuddle it at night. Nope.
- Super busy conventions means hand holding. It’s also an excuse to put his hand a smidge too low on your back.
- He looks confused when you point it out. Do you want to get lost?
- Expect a ton of pictures. Moreso of you. He’s just too lazy to ask someone to take one of both of you.
- He’ll stand in a long ass line for a signature from whomever you want. He’s only pissed off because VIP passes slipped his mind. Silly Grayson.
- If you happen to be a cosplayer, he’s in charge of fixing your clothing, taking pictures of you with fans. Hell, he’d even touch up your makeup, if you want.
- You didn’t ask. He’s good at his makeshift job, nonetheless.
- A touchy person holding you a little too personally? A glare. A touchy person still holding you a little too personally? He’s still going to take the photo, just after he moves their hand off of your waist.
- God forbid anyone harasses you.
Note: I lowkey want to do a NSFW version of this but idk 😭
