â âTIS THE SEASON WHEN::
.ââą batboys && mark grayson x fem!reader
JASON TODD appears at your doorstep, cheeks pink with a knitted sweater bound to his neckâ yielding a box of movies from your childhoods, and a singular box of purdyâs chocolate.
âi hope mânot derailing any plans you might have,â he blushes, fingers tightening around the box.
you grin, bottom lip getting stuck between your teeth. cold air swirls and whisks into your heated apartment, past jasonâs frameâ but you canât seem to find any resolve to care; ââcourse not,â stepping aside to let jason in, one of your hands plants itself on your hip. âespecially not when you come bearing gifts.â
emerald irises roll, and jason toes off his beat up sneakers. âiâd barely call these gifts,â
âplease,â leaning forward, you press a chaste kiss to jasonâs cheek. well, you intend toâ but jason catches your jaw, and tilts your head juuust enough to slot his lips against yours. wrapping your arms around his neck, you mumble into the kiss: âyour presence is gift enough.â
DICK GRAYSON surprises you with his kitchen table adorned in a myriad of gingerbread house decorationsâ ranging from icings of all colours, to gum drops dusted with powdered sugar.
dickâs hands fall from your face, allowing you to take in the scene. dimpled cheeks swell when he watches your reactionâ one of complete awe.
âdick!â you gasp, steadying yourself by placing your hands on one of the kitchen chairs, âthis is so sweet,â
âi know,â he feigns nonchalance, âwanted to go all out for my pretty girl.â
heat rises to your cheeks as you whirl around to face your boyfriend. âyou outdid yourself,â your lips purse incredulously, âshould i be suspicious?â
lifting a hand, his index finger darts out to flick the tip of your nose. âiâm just buttering you up, âcause iâm gonna kick your ass,â
âsince when was christmas gingerbread house decorating a competition?â you ask, one of your eyebrows arching upwards.
âsince the second you started dating me, sweets,â
TIM DRAKE grasps your palm tightly within his own, leading you to the manorâs outdoorsâ only to weigh you downwards into gothamâs pillowy snow, making shapes and images of all sorts.
the thick winter coat your boyfriend had wrapped you within only barely keeps you safe from the chilling snow beneath your feet; especially as you (gently) meet the ground, the outline of your body creating a crisp starfish.
timâs name flies from your lips in a yelp, âwhat the heck!â
the boy grins, his face already turning a pretty shade of pink from the cold. âweâre making snow angels,â he offers, as if it was obvious.
tim plops down beside you, onto his back, and begins to move his arms and legs in an effort to create a snow angel.
âcâmon baby,â he whispers, breath curling off of his lips in a wispy fog, âjusâ copy me.â
despite the ridiculousness of the entire situation, your body seems to move on its ownâ your snow angel becoming permanent right beside timâs.
BRUCE WAYNE gives up the cowl for a singular, chilling night; and surprises you in more ways than one.
you had thought your husband had outdone himself after taking you out for an unforgettable christmas dinnerâ but little had you known heâd bless you with the best gifts yet, only thereafter your meal.
âyouâre telling me,â you snicker, hand gripping onto the ice rinkâs railing tightly to steady yourself, âyou can do a million and one thingsâ except ice skate?â
bruceâs body wobblesâ much to his dismayâ as he attempts to skate towards you. the scowl on his face may have been off-putting, once upon a time, but the red in his cheeks and on the tips of his ears wash him over with a sense of gentleness. âgod forbid iâm not wonderful at everything.â
âyes!â you laugh fully, causing some bystanders to throw you and your husband looks of disapproval, âgod forbid.â
blue irises narrow in your direction, but thereâs little heat behind his gaze. with a push off of his left foot, bruce tries againâŚ
only to trip forward and onto his hands.
your laughter only hinders your ability to ask bruce if heâs okayâ and the man decides to speak before you get a chance: âyouâre lucky i love you, dear.â
MARK GRAYSON begs his mother to find his childhood sledâ wishing nothing more than to take his beloved sledding.
you both know youâre going far too fast for either of you to control the sled; but mark remains persistent, a wicked grin slapped across his face, as he grips the cherry red sled closely.
your arms tighten around markâs torso, adrenaline coursing through your veins. âmark,â you gasp, âwhen you said sledding, i thought you meant the hill by our high-school,â
your boyfriend tilts his head behind himself ever so slightly, throwing you a glance. âwhere all the six year olds go? no way, dude,â
the sled lurches sideways, snow fanning upwards messily in your wake. trees whizz past you both at a speed youâd wish you could ignoreâ though you canât help the smile beginning to form on your face.
âi didnât think mount everest was the next best option!â
âbabe!â mark cries out, steering you both narrowly out of the way from a rock. âi flew here in less than four minutesâ of course this was the next best thing,â
screwing your eyes shut, you silently resort to gripping markâs waist far too tightly.
what a way to spend christmas, you think; not regretting a singular thing.