✧.* fluff ⋆ | ˚꩜｡ series | ⚠︎ angst | ✪ g's star reads | 🔞 smut below the cut
@rynwrites4fun
✧.* only you ✪
After seeing Superman in action earlier that day, you’re still reeling, heart racing, thoughts spinning. You unload all your unhinged thoughts about Superman to your best friend, Clark Kent—how hot Superman is, the things you’d do if given the chance. You don’t hold back. What you don’t realize? You’re saying it all to the man himself. And what he doesn’t know? Your real feelings aren’t for Superman at all—they’re for Clark.
@pellucid-constellations
⚠︎ Can't Lose You
Clark always made you promise to run at the sight of danger. You listen to him—usually.
@anon-188
✧.* off the record
married life with clark kent means soft words, warm baths, and problems that mysteriously take care of themselves.
@marvelwitchergilmore
✧.* First of Many
After you reveal to Clark that you know his secret, things start to change.
@luveline
✧.* I know, I know, I know
You confess your affections to an unsuspecting Superman, but your best friend Clark can’t know about your crush, okay? You’d die of embarrassment. (Or, Clark falls in love while Superman does most of the wooing.
@skyefiles
⚠︎ mr. jealousy
you and clark are—barely—keeping your relationship quiet at the daily planet… until a new intern decides to test clark’s patience.
@bodhiscurls
⚠︎ you didn't kiss me goodbye
after an arguement with your boyfriend, clark kent does the unthinkable. he doesn't come home, doesn't kiss you goodbye and doesn't return until its midnight and you've fallen asleep on your sofa. good job, clark still has the goodnight kiss to redeem himself.
@imagines-all-day-everyday
⚠︎ my man on willpower
you're used to your co-worker doing everything and anything for you. until one day he decides to take advice from jimmy olsen and discovers willpower you didn't know he had.
@fawnindawn
✧.* he's all mine.
as a reporter of the daily planet, you haven’t been shy of your dislike for superman. clark is desperate to prove to you how superman, and by extension, him, is not as bad as you think.
@orobaxis
✧.* Superman spotted wearing…a ring?
Superman gets into another scandal when someone posted a picture of him online wearing what looked like a wedding ring. His PR team (Batman) does damage control.
@mcrdvcks
✧.* safety net
Wayne Enterprises Metropolis' branch has some numbers that aren't adding up. Your older brother Bruce wanted to send one of his accountants to clean it up, but you insisted you could handle it. Enter Clark Kent, a reporter who is investigating the very same thing you are.
@cursedheartsclub
🔞 to whom it may concern
You start getting anonymous love notes at the Daily Planet—soft, sincere, impossibly romantic. You fall for the words first, then realize they sound a lot like Clark Kent. And just when the truth begins to unravel, you start to suspect he might be more than just the writer… he might be Superman himself.
@kissmyglxck
🔞 I'm Gonna Kill Jimmy
In which, jimmys potty mouth about his first time overstimulating his recent fling intrigues Clark & gets you in trouble.
@dearwalker
🔞 Just one more
When Clark gets poisoned with sex pollen, he tries everything in his power to stay away from you. Until he ends up crashing into your living room, and you have a god on his knees, with your name in his mouth and your body at his will.
@fromsil
🔞 BUT HE DOESN'T LIKE ME, DOES HE?
there was one thing you knew for sure, absolutely certain : clark kent didn’t like you. not in an angry or rude way, he was still polite, still himself. but you could feel it. his body language and attitude gave everything away. your coworkers kept insisting you were wrong, but then why did he keep avoiding you?
@heavenlybodies333
🔞 No Sex until Friday -C.K
It starts with a bet. A stupid one.
@kryptoclark
🔞 have you ever tried this one?
standing ovulation, or whatever they say. (or, in other words, you want clark to fuck a baby into you)
@miedei
🔞 bringing you back to earth
a stressful day has you running to clark, and he knows just how to set you straight.
@sceletaflores
🔞 MAKES PAINTINGS WITH HIS TONGUE
you and clark have a conversation about superman…
@louisaskywalkerani
🔞 THE INTERVIEW NO ONE CAN EVER KNOW ABOUT | @louisaskywalkerani
(yes, that one. the countertop one.)
🔞 NOT TONIGHT, SWEETHEART | @louisaskywalkerani
In a moment charged with desire and restraint, Clark Kent shows that real control isn’t about power, it’s about patience, care, and knowing when to say no.
@anon-188
🔞 dnd (do not disturb)
clark’s too pussy drunk to care that there’s an alien invasion in the city.
@runa-falls
🔞 night routine
you have a hard time falling asleep so clark becomes your night pill.
@maiamore
🔞 CUFF IT
You tell Clark that it's impossible for him to lift you up just on his biceps — he proves you wrong.
characters written about in this piece : bruce wayne , dick grayson , jason todd , tim drake , duke thomas , damian wayne
note : dick only has two because his was quite longer 😔😔 sorry guyzz
BRUCE WAYNE.
"hi, honey. you weren't picking up, but this is quite important. i need to go away for a few days, effective tomorrow. call me back, darling, i want to hear your voice before i leave. love you."
"sorry to bother you, darling. i saw a couple watches you might like, but i wasn't sure which one to get you. so, naturally, i bought both — give me a call so we can arrange a date to see each other again, i know you're busy. see you soon. i love you."
"evening, honey. long day today. long day. just wanted to hear your voice or see if we could meet for a bit. dinner, perhaps? [sighs] i'd just love to see you tonight. love you, bye."
DICK GRAYSON.
"hey, i tried calling but you didn't answer — so i hope you're okay, obviously — but i was wondering what you would do if i accidentally used up the rest of your nice shampoo? only hypothetically, though. and also where did you buy it? you know, if that were to happen."
"i know you're at work right now, and i should actually be getting back to working on a case, but i went for a coffee break — you know, and to just let my thoughts process for a bit — and did you know they opened up a new cat café on seventh? let me know if you're free at all this weekend, there was the cutest cat in the window, and i wanna know it's name real bad. speak later... oh! and have a good day, love you. [blows kiss into phone]"
JASON TODD.
"hey, you. hope you're having a good time out in freaking budapest, sounds like it's really cool. i actually forgot you're six hours ahead, so you're probably sleeping. but then i guess you have something nice to wake up to. i mean... assuming you find this nice. anyways. i miss you. hope to hear from you soon, and see you sunday. i mean, if you wanna see me on sunday. i know that's when you get back, but you might be pretty jetlagged... anyway, i'm rambling. sleep well, love you, bye."
"[soft, self-depricating chuckle] i feel like i'm always calling you when you're asleep. just got back from patrol. i guess you could say it was pretty quiet, which is good but it makes it kinda boring. [a few beats of silence] i should go. i— i love.. you. yeah. i hope you know that."
"[a male voice, pitching it up to sound feminine] ooooh, i love you. kiss me, kiss me, i love you. my sugarplum, my pumpkin. [faint shout in background] who took my fucking phone!? [closer voice laughs] oh, fuck—"
TIM DRAKE.
"ohh, shit you're probably driving, aren't you? i– i don't usually call back so soon after a first date, but— wait, i didn't mean it like that, i just meant... [exasperated sigh] nevermind. i just quickly called because you left your sweater, and i was wondering if you wanted it back? let me know whenever you're free, no– no rush. i don't want to force you to be with me again, especially if you didn't have a good time. [slight pause] i mean, i had a good time. i had a really good time! uh– but, anyway. yeah. call me back."
"hey, i'm on my way back from patrol and was just gonna swing by. you might be asleep, you might be... i dunno. i'll knock on the window, see if you answer. see ya! maybe. bye."
"no pressure, hope you're having a good time with your friends, but wanted to let you know i'm on standby whenever you want a lift home. just playing red dead online with duke, but i can leave whenever you want. i'll stay up until two, but i doubt you'd stay out that long. see you later, lovely. stay safe."
DUKE THOMAS.
"sorry i missed you today, your coworker said you just left. wanted to give you a kiss, but i can wait, i can wait. get home safe, give me a call when you can. i'm just walking now to the bodega, gonna get a sub, and i'm super excited. small wins. eat well tonight, i'm excited to hear about what you have for dinner. love you so much. buh-bye."
"real quick warning before you come round, we don't have any spare toothbrushes, because someone got them shot up on his motorbike. [distant shout] hey! it's not my fault— [a door closes] anyways, super excited to see you. we're getting pizzaaaaa."
"just got a haircut, and i'm just gonna stop off at a convenience store to grab some snacks, some drinks, and then i'll be right at yours. i keep seeing posts about, like, when your boyfriend gets a haircut, or your crush, or something, and you lose feelings — so i hope you still love me like this. [chuckles] personally, i think it looks great! i think it'll be fine. [laughs again] see you in, like, ten. bye."
DAMIAN WAYNE.
"i am just calling you so you can save my number. this is damian... [a few seconds of silence, although there's faint voices in the background] i seem very unsocial. bye."
"i know you are at work right now, but i was just reading, and came across a passage that reminded me of you. hold on. [some rustling of paper, the phone settles down on a surface] i will love you forever; whatever happens. till i die and after i die, and when i find my way out of the land of the dead, i'll drift about forever, all my atoms, till i find you again. [a few beats of silence, before the voicemall ends]"
"hello. call me back when you can. timothy thinks he knows more about you than i do, and we must prove him wrong. he says he is... angrybaiting me? i don't know what it means, but it is imperative that i show him i know you better. we are dating, after all. who does he think he is?"
was thinking about adding the girls too but I don’t think they could ever be pathetic...
Bruce Wayne:
-Dishevelled, but still too handsome for his own good.
-You can barely tell he went overboard with alcohol, as he can still take part in discussions. The reasoning makes sense, but his words are a bit slurred; most think he is just tired.
-He is way more touchy-feely. With his romantic partner. Hand glued to their side, shamelessly groping when others don’t look.
-Because even when drunk, Bruce has the capability to scan his surroundings. Scary.
-Gap moe is strong when back home. First buttons of the shirt open, unshaven stubble, blush tinting his cheeks, while his hands never leave your body for more than a handful of seconds.
-It’s hard…to reject him. Take some photos. Not only will they last longer, but Bruce will never make you throw them away. If you keep them in a secret stash, of course…
-And he bets you’ll never share the sight with anybody. Bruce must have made a pact with the devil because it should be illegal to look this good. Half-lidded blue eyes, his white teeth catching his lower lip as he tries poorly to hide a smirk. Manly hands either pushing back his black strands or opening his shirt a bit more.
-Truly a sight. Only for your eyes.
Dick Grayson:
-He opens up. A lot.
-If Dick drinks, it means he doesn’t have to keep his guard up. A tipsy Dick is all fun and games and showing off. A Dick towards the drunk is sad and wants to talk about feelings.
-More than once, you brought him home and dried his tears. Seeing him so broken makes your heart break in a million pieces, too. Also gives points of discussion for the next day, when he will be sober and without a pounding headache.
-Dick wants to be cuddled; his head always finds its place on your chest, your hand brushing his black strands as he yaps about anything that crosses his mind.
-Even a cute video of a hippo may break the dam, ugly tears painting his cheeks.
-”I bet you showed me because he is cuter than me.” He pouts.
Not all sadness is due to serious topics.
-You’ll soon understand the great power of puppy dog eyes and a matching blush on a handsome man.
-Kisses, those are the solutions. Don’t try to argue, to explain, none of that, not now. Dick’s fogged brain won’t receive the input anyway. Kisses instead? He receives this mechanic input with open arms.
-Just…try to avoid tongue kissing. Alcohol doesn’t taste the greatest.
Jason Todd:
-The miracle was done by bringing him back from the dead, doesn’t mean all his organs work 100% fine tho.
-His liver hasn’t fully recovered and doesn’t take much to make his speech slurred and most importantly…conk out. Fully sleeping, snores included.
-Jason doesn’t have an angry phase, a sad phase, an overly excited phase…his lids simply…close.
-It’s a pretty cute sight seeing him fall asleep. His mouth wide open like a lion when he yawns, his green eyes lost, eyelashes almost kissing his blushing cheeks…
-He’s less cute to carry; 100 kilograms more or less of muscles isn’t an easy deal.
-Jason mumbles (and drool) a lot in his sleep; usually, they are words with no meaning. Other times, his eyes are slightly open, a small window to his cold green eyes, and they look at you-
“The cutest…” He’d mumble, eyes shut again, nestling on your shoulder.
-You never see him as relaxed as when he sleeps next to you.
Tim Drake:
-The amount of anger this man can nestle is insane.
-Even a voice, barely a tone too high, can annoy Tim when he is drunk. His emotions swayed left and right like a flag in the wind.
-And it’s sad because he’d be so adorable if he was just a bit more manageable. At least, a full drunk Tim happened just a few times when he was younger…
-The main issue is that men love to pick fights with him. Maybe it’s his cute face, absolutely, it is the nerdy vibe surrounding him, and the fact that he seems thin and frail when wearing his everyday clothes.
-Seem, keyword. Teeth fall on the ground, and they are never his.
-After a few similar episodes, Bruce was very…convincing, and for years, no similar events happened.
-Now he has you as a safety handle. Safety handle for them, of course. Because somewhere in his brain, there is a nook dedicated to you that never seems to deactivate, even when his mind is fogged.
-”Shh, Tim. Don’t worry, stay here with me.”
“But he called me a scrawny ass. I need to break his nose-”
“No, we both know there is no need. I prefer it if you stay here with me. My handsome and strong boyfriend at my side…”
“Hot even if I don’t fight back?” He asks, clear blue eyes wide, shocked by the revelations that his partner finds him handsome-
You nod, kissing his cheek.
“Even if I were a worm?” You mumble in agreement.
“Even if I return home all muddy, full of bruises, and with bugs all over me?”
“…Don’t push it-”
Duke Thomas:
-Does he swear a lot usually? Usually will pale in comparison to drunk Duke.
-He is a cheerful drunk; he may act a bit too stupid, but Duke doesn’t engage in risky behaviours…for others.
-He has even less caution for his own safety now that he has even less inhibition.
-But Duke is lucky because he has friends and a lover who will keep him grounded, playing party games rather than jumping bridges and buildings like some parkour fanatics when altered.
-The one with the most intense hangovers, he whines a lot in the morning, but Duke is the sweetest after helping him out.
-Next day, he will bring you flowers, sweets, and whatever you crave to excuse himself for the poor behaviour.
Damian Wayne:
-Not the kind to get drunk on beers or cheap alcohol because he isn’t some kind of “low IQ brute”.
- “My brain has too much value to burn my neurons for cheap delight.” That’s why he barely drinks anything alcoholic.
-But over those high-class alcoholic beverages that his dad usually drinks during meetings with other rich people? How many times did Damian's speech slur on those occasions…
-You can’t exactly tell when he is drunk by his posture or words, but…if you aren’t equally wasted, you’d notice that-
-He yaps about nothing. The words he uses, high and mighty as always, don’t make any sense paired together. No phrase makes sense, but surrounded by other brains fogged by alcohol, Damian looks normal, clever even.
-It’s also the time he is the funniest to tease, replying with absurd phrases to your questions.
-But Damian also makes your heartbeat go to an unhealthy speed when, in between the million words he blurts out like a living dictionary…
“My partner, dawn between mountains in spring.”
“Mh? Would you mind unraveling this haiku to my poor, simple mind?” You try to look into his green eyes, but they keep looking afar, but actually nowhere.
“New life, rebirth, solace.” He mumbles, swirling whiskey in his cold glass.
“Oh- are you saying you feel like that with me? That’s-it’s so nice, Damian.” You stutter, warmth reaching your cheeks, and you know it’s not alcohol's fault.
He finally turns his absent-minded gaze to you, green eyes unfocused, lips forming a small pout, as he seems to process your words. You wait, eyes shining, waiting for his reply.
“Titus severe constipation deeply worries me. I need to visit a gardener for Batcow renovation plans.”
-There's a time and place for everything, but not now. If you are lucky, he may tell you the truth when he isn’t hungover…
includes: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Wally West
summary: the ways in which your boyfriend makes himself feel like he’s in control again
cw: fem reader (pussy + she/her pronouns), riding, bondage, pussy eating, unprotected sex, creampie, mention of birth control, face fucking, edging, rough sex, aftercare, proofread
two posts in one day? who am i :0 these are just some silly thoughts i had today and wanted to get out of my head ^.^ goodnight!
Dick Grayson
- rough and controlling and slowly melting into you; fucking you until there’s tears in your eyes and giving you the best orgasm of your life
You know what Dick needs as soon as he opens the door. The stitched cut on his arm and torn fabric of his suit tells you all you need to know—it’s going to be a long night.
He watches you struggle to ride him, the handcuffs he’d placed on you clicking with every bounce. Your thigh muscles burn, you’re shiny with sweat and still Dick makes demands—faster, deeper, you can take more than that.
When he feels like he’s in control again, he finally allows himself to take pity on you. He’ll remove the cuffs from your aching wrists, lay you down on the bed and eat your pussy real nice.
Once he’s had enough, he’ll kiss his way back up to your lips and make love to you real nice. He doesn’t open up about what happened to him but he makes damn sure you know that he loves you.
Jason Todd
- softer moments, holding your hips and watching you while you ride him, letting himself come undone and be vulnerable with you
Those adrenaline drunk nights with Jason are never the problem. You’re used to them, you can handle them. The problem is the nights where he’s quiet, where he’s vacant.
He’s softer with you on these nights. His calloused hands treat you like you’re the most delicate thing in the world. He has you on top but he does most of the work—guiding you up and down his cock and groaning at what a good job you’re doing.
He lets an ‘I love you’ slip in the moment and you swallow it with a kiss, mumbling your own reciprocation against him.
These are the nights he forgets the condom, where he relies on the pill and sheer luck. These are the nights where he buries himself deep inside you and comes undone, filling you up.
He’ll keep going until there’s fresh air in his lungs and the words finally find their way to his tongue. And all of that breath and all of those words are to be spent on you.
Tim Drake
- rougher sex, letting himself lose his carefully kept control, edging you until he can't resist anymore
Tim is always organized, calculating. So on nights where he loses control, he really loses it.
He’s rougher, more dominating, using your body however you’ll let him. He’ll use your mouth, thrusting his cock down your throat until you feel raw.
Drool leaks down your face, making your lips all plump and shiny. If he’s feeling extra feral, he’ll give you a slap across the face with his cock and smear spit and precum across your cheeks.
He’ll fuck you after that, feral but with just enough restraint to pull out before you finish. He can only stand to edge you for so long before he’s coming back to himself, desperate for your walls to clench and gush around him.
He finishes with you and only then does he feel okay again. He strokes your head and kisses your collarbones before ordering in your favorite takeout.
Wally West
- fucking you into the mattress, his chest pressed tight against your back, holding you like he’s never letting go
Wally comes home shaking, pupils blown with adrenaline. His arms are around you before you can react, body pressed to yours.
“Need to use you,” he whines. “Please let me use you.”
It’s not long before he has you pinned against the mattress, pressing your face into the pillow while he pounds into you. His breath is heavy with adrenaline and need, his hips snapping against your ass so fast it feels like he’s using super speed.
You’ve lost track of how long he’s been fucking you, all you know is that you absolutely ache from how hard he’s fucking your pussy. He strokes the sweat away from your face but that’s about the only kindness he offers.
In an hour from now, he’ll almost feel bad. He’ll kiss your feverish skin and bring you water and cuddle you close while he talks about what made him so feral tonight.
But for now, he’s fucking you like he’s damned and his only salvation is you.
Note: this is my first time writing for him...i hope it’s as close to his character😅😭
The first time Damian sees you in full royal regalia—tiara catching every light, gown pooling like liquid moonlight—he freezes mid-sentence. His cheeks flush beneath the scowl he tries to maintain. “Tt. The crown is… ostentatious,” he mutters later, but his fingers keep drifting to trace the delicate filigree at your wrist when no one is looking.
He refuses to call you “Your Highness” in private. It’s always “beloved,” “princess”, or simply your name said like a secret he’s allowed to keep. The one time a courtier tries to correct him, Damian’s glare could curdle milk. “She is mine. Titles are irrelevant.”
Training sessions would for sure become a quiet courtship ritual. You insist on learning self-defense—“A crown is no shield,” you tell him—and he teaches you with ruthless precision… until you happen to pin him once. He stays on the mat a second longer than necessary, staring up at you with something dangerously close to awe. “Acceptable form,” he breathes. His voice is wrecked🤭
He’s hyper-aware of every eye that lingers on you too long at galas. His hand never leaves the small of your back; in a way it’s both claim and comfort. When diplomats get too familiar, he steps between you without a word, voice arctic. “Her schedule is full. Permanently.”
You catch him sketching you at 3 a.m.—not in his usual sharp, angular style, but soft. Candlelight strokes. The curve of your shoulder under silk. The way your lashes rest when you’re pretending to sleep so he’ll keep drawing. When you open your eyes and meet his, he doesn’t look away. “You are… difficult to capture,” he admits quietly. “I keep trying.”
When he paints you, he doesn’t use common, standard paint brands. He uses brands like Farrow & Ball and Mylands. Expensive brands. He sees you as exquisite, ravishing even. When it comes to you being put on a canvas, you are beyond worthy of the highest quality of materials.
The first time you wear one of his hoodies (because you stole it after a late-night flight back from a summit), he short-circuits. Black fabric swallowing your frame, sleeves rolled up, royal poise somehow made even more devastating in casual wear. He pulls the hood over your head to hide how violently fond he looks. “You’re going to keep that,” he growls. It’s not a question.
He’s memorized every diplomatic protocol for your country. Every title of your extended family. Every national holiday. When your mother’s birthday approaches, he’s already arranged for rare florets to be delivered with a handwritten card in flawless calligraphy—signed only “D.” Your mother texts you: “I approve. Keep him.”
Arguments are rare but spectacular. When you fight, he goes rigid, words clipped, retreating into formality—“As Your Highness wishes.” It’s the worst thing he can do to you. It would hurt like a deep aching kind of pain.
How he makes up? He kneels (actually kneels) in front of you later, forehead pressed to your knuckles. “I was… unworthy of your patience. Forgive me.”
He calls Titus “the royal guard” when you’re around. He adores you instantly—massive head in your lap during movie nights, tail thumping like war drums. Damian pretends to be jealous. He’s not. He just likes watching you bury your face in Titus’s fur and laugh like the crown doesn’t exist.
He never says “I love you” carelessly or “frivolously”. When he finally does, it’s after a near-miss during an attempted kidnapping or perhaps something worse.
He’s bloodied, furious, alive. He cups your face with shaking hands and rasps against your lips, his breath tickles like salt “You do not get to die before me. Understood?” Then, softer, almost broken “I love you. Beyond reason. Beyond title. Do not forget it.”
You never forget it
Feel free to check out my regency era! Dick Grayson x Reader fic!👀✨
summary: when you're reunited with your childhood best friend, you can't help but notice how nicely they've grown up.
warnings: slightly suggestive, cursing
UNEDITED!
DICK GRAYSON
it happens on the street. you're hanging out with friends, the sun blaring in your eyes. squinting against it, you scan the beautiful park, midday sun spilling over the dried grass.
your friends bicker over something feeble. you're lost in the wind, in the rare peace of gotham city. bread crumbs litter the picnic blanket you and your friends had set up, rocks weighing down the edges.
blissful sunlight kisses your cheeks. this day is to be cherished. how unheard of - the sun in gotham city? it was a dream come true. and the moment was perfect until a large shadow casted itself over you.
your eyes flutter open, irritation rising up like bile. you turn over, still half-laying down, pushing your body up on your elbows.
"can i help...you?" your attitude falters as you lay eyes on the most beautiful man you've ever seen.
not handsome. quite literally beautiful. his eyes were strikingly blue, the same blue as the cloudless sky. his dark curls contrasted the brightness of his eyes. and when he smiled, thin dimples pressed into his cheeks.
your friends stopped their bickering.
his features felt vaguely familiar. the cut of his jaw, the sharp slant of his cheekbones. but you swear...you've never crossed paths with someone so...pretty.
truly a pretty boy, if you've ever seen one.
"sorry," you manage, cheeks flushing. "you were just blocking the sun and - "
"you don't remember me?" the man chuckles and it sounds like the wind that was just kissing your skin. he breathes like winter. it sends a chill running up your spine. butterfly wings flap against your insides.
"i'm...sorry?" you correct your tone, trying to gather your composure. "i'm sorry. um. who are you? i'm so sorry, that's so rude of me - "
he laughs. you swear you're hearing colors. you're high on how attractive he is, watering at the mouth, hands gripping the fabric of your shirt.
"it's okay, i don't expect you to. it was a long time ago. it's me. dick."
"excuse me?"
his eyes go wide, long lashes brushing his cheeks. "no, me. dick grayson."
the name sends bells blaring in your mind. "oh my gosh, dick?"
it seems impossible. the kid wasn't ugly, but...he definitely grew into good genetics. beneath his blue tee, you could make out broad shoulders and toned biceps. veins ran up and down his arms.
you scramble to your feet. "i remember! i do! how..." awkwardly, you spread your arms wide. "how have you been?"
he chuckles. "i'm good."
this close, you notice the sparse beads of sweat dotting his forehead, the rosiness of his cheeks.
"listen," he says, "i'm on a run right now. trying to beat one of my records." he snickers like it's not impressive. "but i'd love to catch up with you sometime."
you try to ignore the warmth at the tips of your ears, the way your body is trying to lean into his. "i...yes, oh my gosh! it's been so long, of course i'd love to catch up!"
he pulls out his phone, smiling to himself. "let's plan something, then. here, put your number in."
so you do. and you try to ignore the fact that your hands are shaking. and how it feels like your entire body is blushing - if that's even possible. and how he seems to notice all of this happening.
"you okay?" he dares.
you swallow your beating heart into your gut. "of course! just...i was just startled. i haven't seen you in forever." a tiny grin splits your features.
he smiles at your timidity and it sends your insides rolling as you hand his phone back.
"i promise i'm nothing to be nervous about. it's just me, remember?"
yeah, your childhood best friend ten years later. gosh, he was so pretty in this light.
"we'll plan a dinner or something, that sound okay?"
you stand there, dumbfounded. dinner. that was a little...formal. but you weren't complaining.
"o-okay! should i wear something nice?" it comes out like word vomit.
dick laughs a little to himself. "it can be somewhere fancy, if you like to dress up."
"wherever you want is...fine." you make sure you tilt your voice upwards, to add every inflection of interest you can. "i'm up for anything."
"then i'll pick a place and tell you if you need to dress nicely." dick pops his earbud in and waves. "i'll see you then!"
he's already jogging down the path by the time you register his goodbye and wave in return.
your friends snicker behind you, teasing grins pinching their cheeks together.
"what?" you sputter.
"um. hello? he was fucking gorgeous. and he just asked you out on a date. if you don't take him home, i will," your friend says, giggling like a teen.
"his name is literally dick," another protests. "you better be screaming his name because of it."
you try to ignore them. he was just a long-time friend.
you watch dick run off and swallow any dirty thoughts.
TIM DRAKE
you didn't expect to see tim drake browsing for comics today, but you did. at the same bookstore you'd met at when the two of you were gap-toothed, chubby-cheeked children.
"tim?" you say. you're unsure if it's him at first. his face doesn't seem like it's really his, but he just looks so similar to your friend that you just have to ask -
"...yeah?" he replies awkwardly. then his eyes go wide. "oh my gosh." recognition flickers across his features.
you're frozen as he turns to face you fully.
heat rushes through your body. when did he get tall? when did he magically grow muscles - that scrawny boy you knew?
he has the body of an acrobat and he no longer carries himself with that strange, geeky insecurity he did all those years ago.
"tim," you repeat. "how...how are you?"
"i've been so good! i've been..." he blushes. "how...how are you?" so his personality hasn't changed entirely, then.
tim still carries of bit of his timidity. a bit of that adolescent awkwardness he never seemed to be able to grow out of.
"i'm great, too!" it all comes rushing back - those things you've forgotten about him that you used to know so well. "hey, did you ever get into that university you wanted to?"
tim shakes his head. "no...i...no." his eyes flit down, then up. he shifts his weight from foot to foot. "i found something better, though."
you smile. "really? and what could that be?"
he shrugs. "um. confidential."
"oh, sure it is." but you decide not to pry. tim was never one to hide anything from you, even back then he never did. plus, tim always wanted to do something special with his life. you wouldn't be surprised if he was doing something so important it was actually, in fact, confidential.
tim swallows. "we should...we should get together sometime!"
confident as always, you shrug and say, "why not today? i'm free!" you wonder if you're overstepping, but that's how it always had been. you taking the wheel, dragging him from place to place on stubby feet.
you take a step back, remembering tim's introverted nature. he was boisterous around people he was comfortable with, but that was so long ago.
"unless you're busy! we can definitely plan something some other time! i seriously don't mind - "
he steps forward. "n-no! no. of course not. today works. i'd love to go out today."
you're a little shocked at his insistence, but not unhappy. it was unlike the tim you knew to take a step forward like that. but years had passed, and perhaps he's changed.
eagerly, the two make it out of the bookstore and he invites you to his place.
it's a quaint little apartment. lovely and painfully clean - just how he always liked his spaces. tim had his own version of an organized mess, or organized clutter.
he's still rocking from foot to foot, so you ask him about his interests. something that always got him excited. it's what sparked your friendship in the first place.
instantly, just like he used to, tim lights up as he leads you to his bedroom.
the sheets are neatly made, a humidifier swirling mist into the air.
tim begins to explain all his interests, pointing in each direction of the room. the nerdy ones, the geeky ones, the ones you knew about as a child and the new hyperfixations that came along when the two of you had already drifted.
his cheeks are dusted over with pink as he nervously explains the mechanics of some strange gadget he's been working on. he talks like you understand all the engineer-lingo he's using.
his nimble, calloused fingers fiddle nervously with the wires, and it's only then that you realize how...cute he's gotten.
he still has that boyish charm. but there's a nervous, polite air about him now. something that tells you he's antsy because he's just a gentleman.
his face has matured - tim looks more manly now. and, you have to say, his older features suit him very well.
his eyes remain wide, but they've been evened out by the thickness of his eyebrows. his full lips add to the roman curve of his nose. you can't help but take in how mature his face has gotten.
of course, that was bound to happen over the course of...what? ten years?
but it was shocking because maybe...
you just never expected him to look this good when he got older. you find yourself chewing on your bottom lip, dying to get lost in the boy you thought you knew.
"um. is everything okay?" his words snap your thoughts in half.
"hm? yes. sorry. i just...dozed off."
his cheeks flare with embarrassment. "i'm sorry. i didn't mean to bore you."
"what? no! it's not a bore. never a bore!"
tim's brow furrows. "your lip is bleeding."
"hm?" you taste iron as you lick you bottom lip. "oh my gosh, i'm so sorry."
"it's okay," he says gently. he hands you a tissue. "here. lemme." tim tips your head back when you lean into his hand - silent consent. and he dabs at the wound, the tissue coming back crimson.
"that's a bad habit you've always had, you know." he cups your chin, angling your face to admire the wound before dabbing the tissue again.
"what?"
"biting your lip. you used to do it when you were daydreaming." he chuckles softly. "i guess that means you were daydreaming." he shakes his head. "don't worry, i'm not offended. i know i can get carried away talking about all my things."
"no, i asked. i want to know about it."
"you're probably the only person who listens to me talk."
"still?"
he smirks and leads you to the bathroom to wet a new tissue with water, tending to the wound a little more than necessary. tim has always been overly cautious, but now he was just milking it.
"mhm," he grunts. he dabs the rest of the blood away.
"care to tell me more?" you ask.
something flickers in tim's eyes. childlike-excitement. and something else.
"i promise i won't daydream this time."
he smiles. "y-yeah." this close, you can feel his heart pounding. "i would really like that."
damian - the rich brat of the wayne family, and your sworn enemy from childhood. not that your rivalry with him was actually serious. but, as tweens, the two of you had been vicious towards one another.
DAMIAN WAYNE
pt. 2 here
your parents had always tried to get you two to play nice, of course. after all, they were business partners. but you and damian had never been able to get along. your bickering and hatred for one another had gotten so bad as teens that you had begged your parents to stop attending the galas in which he was present.
you swore that damian was mean, bratty, stupid, prideful, and most of all, a short, ugly, gnome-like excuse for a human being. that had always been your view of him.
but after years of ditching galas, your family finally forced you to attend one. your mother claimed it would reflect good on the family. your father insisted that your presence was necessary to build a good image. after all, the media was beginning to wonder what the heir of gotham's second richest family looked like now.
so, begrudingly, you are forced to attend. and you make sure to look your best, because like hell you were going to let that little gremlin of a boy make fun of your outfit again.
once, you'd worn something that - to him - looked cheap. he mocked you for the entire night, and the next time you attend a gala with him, you'd begged your mother to borrow one of her brand-name bags.
tonight, you'd be adorned in gold. and you wore shoes that gave you an extra inch of height, just so you could put damian to shame once more.
when you step out of the limo, you're confident. you're glowing. and the paprazzi knows it, too. you wave to the cameras and let them catch onto your glimmering smile. inside, you hoped damian would stare at these photos and be ripped apart by how beautiful you'd become since he last laid eyes on you. the bastard.
you're greeted by bruce wayne - your family's long time business partner. you notice he's got a few gray hairs and the beginning of crows feet.
alfred, their butler, is shockingly still alive, and seems very healthy. he smiles and comments on how glad he is to have you finally make a return to wayne manor.
but everyone you pass is not the person you're looking for.
but you're not able to spot him.
damian is nowhere to be seen. was all this effort for nothing?
he should be easy to spot. some stout little gremlin, some angry little elf storming around with an attitude so bad his suit jacket reeked.
where was he? everyone here was so tall, you couldn't seem to pick him apart from the crowd.
your lips part, cheeks flushed with frustration until someone turns around - and there he is.
you straighten and blink, pretending to be unaware of his presence. but something magnetic shatters your facade and draws you in.
your shoulders slump and you find yourself taking the first step forward.
damian still has a bit of baby fat rounding out the apples of his cheeks, but he's smiling at you. no - grinning.
his hair has gotten thicker - or he's always had thick hair, you supposed.
his tan has darkened and his eyes have gotten more green - if that was even possible. they're a shade of emerald you've never seen before. the kind from an ocean so blue it seems almost mossy.
he's the first to make his way to you. "what are you doing here?" it's the kind of nonchalance you intended to approach him with. but how are you supposed to carry yourself now? you can barely contain your humiliation as he towers over you, leering like some beast.
"your family invited me," you try to bite. but it comes out more strangled. pathetic.
"i know that. why did you come?" he still hasn't grown out of his attitude - that's for sure.
"my parents asked me to."
"i haven't seen you on any tabloids or anything. thought you might've died." he sips his drink like a villain.
little shit, you think. "haven't seen you on many, either."
"i'm not interested in the public eye."
"i think you're just too irrelevant for them to notice you."
he looks you up and down. again. and again. like he's challenging you.
you swallow thickly. "i'm sure you'll see me on many to come," you sneer.
"oh, will i?"
"i'm pretty sure you fuckin' will, wayne."
"watch your mouth," he snaps.
"why?" a fake pout puffs your lips.
"because you're talking to a fucking wayne." he grows closer. "and like it or not, your family is still only the second richest in gotham." it was unlike damian to use nasty language. but, you suppose your attendance was a special occasion. one that warranted his anger.
you're trembling when he leaves. hands fisted, cheeks and ears flushed.
you suppose you could challenge him in return. you were old enough to hold your own, now. and, after all, damian was the one to strike first.
JASON TODD
you were doing good for yourself. you got out of that terrible neighborhood, ghosted your parents, and now you were healthier than ever - physically and mentally. and you'd finally gotten that gym membership you'd been wanting for ages.
your life was finally beginning to fall into place. you were gathering the pieces of yourself, slowly but surely, finding where all the parts of yourself would fit into your new life.
your friends, however, argued that you should start seeking a relationship. after all, you were only getting older.
but a relationship had never been at the front of your mind. if you met someone, you met someone. but you never did go out looking.
it was only when your friends started inviting their new partners over during your gatherings that you felt a twang of jealousy. of course, you were happy for them! it was your own personal choice not to actively seek a romantic partner.
but...were they right? was it someone you should be looking for?
you'd grown solitary over time, focusing on yourself to the point you nearly shoved everyone else out. your routine was unbreakable and you had allocated time for your friends, and most of all, yourself.
perhaps a part of youw as too scared to welcome someone into your life.
but lately, you've been seeing this guy at the gym. you never see his face - he always stick to his corner and does his thing. plus, it's a public gym. you don't want to seem like a creep. but, from what you're able to make out, you think he's quite attractive.
recently, you'd told your friends about your little gym crush. they were instantly all over it, pushing you to "go for it!"
and today, you thought, might finally be the day. you'd word a matching tracksuit and had put on some extra deodorant.
what was the worst that could happen?
he says no and then you cancel your gym membership and move across the city, then find a new gym thanks to the immense humiliation you'd feel?
no. of course not!
maybe.
you work up the courage and cross the room to where he's finishing up a set of sit-ups. he's sweating through his red hoodie - a sight that makes your stomach twist nervously.
you can hear the music from his headphones blasting, so you wait until he's done the impressively long set before grabbing his attention.
you give a tiny wave and he pulls out his earbud, evidently annoyed. he lifts his face, shadows vanishing as the flourescent lights illuminate his chiseled features.
you study his face for a moment, stunned at the familiarity of it before the name comes to you.
"jason!?" you exclaim, a little loud for the space.
he flinches, then stares blankly. "yeah?"
"it's me! remember? your neighbor? we grew up in the same neighborhood!"
he seems to thumb through the files of his memory before recognition sparks on his face. "o-oh."
"how are you?" you take in how grown up he looks. how big he's gotten compared to that skinny, hungry boy you knew him to be. "it's been so long."
"i've..." he looks around as if he's telling a secret. "i've been good." you notice how scarred he looks. how many old cuts mar his cheeks and hands. you wonder how much of him is scarred beneath his hoodie.
jason has always had it rough - rougher than you at least, despite growing up in the same neighborhood. no wonder he seems so jaded now.
"i'm sorry, i didn't mean to bother you." there's something intimidating about him. maybe it's how large he's gotten - how much of a fighter he seems to be.
jason's always had to fight through life, you suppose.
"sorry," he mutters. "i was just...did you need something?"
you're instantly flustered by the truth of what you came here for. "um. y-yeah. i just..." should you lie and say you recognized him? or be honest and say, i thought you were hot so i'm asking for your number.
did it make it better that you knew him in the past? would that make things easier?
"yeah, actually." you take a deep breath. you didn't go through all that therapy in the past for nothing. if rejection comes, you let it eat you alive for a month, then get your shit together.
"icameheretoaskforyournumber."
jason leans in. "what?"
"i...um. i was gonna...i was going to ask for you number. in case you're into that kind of thing. i mean -! i just...in case you want to grab lunch sometime?" embarrassment chokes you.
jason stares blankly. "why?"
you blink. "wha...why? what do you mean why?"
"why do you want my number?"
"to grab lunch...sometime?" you bite your lip.
"but...why."
it takes you a moment to believe he's being dead serious. poor jason, impossibly smart, handsome in a rugged sort of way. he has no clue that you're trying to ask him out.
"because...we're friends?" you lie.
"we are?"
"well...do you think so?" the awkward tension begins to spread thin.
jason's eyes search the ground. "i dunno. i didn't think we were still friends. i thought time just did that to people. to friendships."
you twiddle your thumbs. "did you...wanna be friends again?" you blame your nerves on the forced optimism. you blame it on cheap therapy and not on the fact that he looks so different.
a tiny smile tugs at his lips. "i mean...yeah sure. i guess."
"great. um...can i give you my number?"
jason holds out his phone. "mm. sure."
later that night, you return home. you wait for him to message you. maybe he won't even do that. you wouldn't blame him. one, jason wasn't the kind of person to reach out. and two, that interaction had been painfully awkward. so he had every right to ghost you.
but you wait nonetheless, tossing and turning as midnight bleeds into the early morning.
you try to find sleep, but it only comes after a notification buzzes on your phone.
the message sits dormantly for a few moments before another follows, and you giggle, relieved.
were you asking me on a date earlier? the first reads. you were, weren't you? another message follows after a minute or so. you wonder what's taking so long.
i would like to go to lunch with you if the deal still stands.
his formal punctuation while texting strikes you as a little strange, but you suppose he's always been kind of strange himself. a little rowdy, rough in all the spots that people didn't want him to be.
sound great! you type back. tomorrow at 1, does that work?
he sends back an ominous yes. then, should i wear something nice?
we won't do anything fancy, not unless you want to.
sounds good - i think something casual is great.
you squint at his response. who the hell uses em dashes while texting?
but you like the message and tell him you'll discuss the location in the morning. he wishes you goodnight in that charming, introverted way of his, and you begin to drift, humming an old lullaby you used to sing to him through the thin walls of your neighboring apartment suites.
Everyone thinks Jason wears a domino mask under his helmet for the drama of it, but the real reason is because one time he sneezed wearing the helmet and it was the worst experience of his life.
He immediately started making the most grossed out horrified noises the gang member he had tied up had ever heard, and Roy doubled over laughing, completely giving up the intimidation factor they had had going.
They ended up getting nothing out of the guy and Jason immediately went home and designed a domino so he could throw the helmet off at any given moment while still hiding his identity. Roy still laughs whenever he thinks about it
bruce wayne x fem!reader — in which everyone gets it wrong, and you absolutely love it.
masterlist
in gotham, they call you the trophy wife.
bruce wayne’s latest indulgence. his mysterious european bride.
the woman who wears diamonds to galas and doesn’t know how to spell “wayne enterprises.”
you’ve read the headlines.
you’ve seen the gossip columns, the cheap magazines at the supermarket checkout that call you “another glittering conquest.”
and you think it’s hilarious.
because bruce, sitting across from you at breakfast with a three-day-old bruise on his jaw and the financial times spread open in front of him, looks like he’d rather fight bane again than attend another charity gala.
and you?
you could buy wayne enterprises twice over before lunch.
it started with the same rumor every transatlantic marriage sparks —
who married for money?
in gotham: you.
in europe: him.
you still have the clipping from Le Monde Société:
“American billionaire Bruce Wayne marries European heiress [Your Name], heiress to the [Your Family Name] fortune, in what sources close to the family are calling a ‘philanthropic gesture.’”
philanthropic.
as in: she took pity on him.
alfred, naturally, finds this all hysterical.
he reads you both the morning headlines while pouring coffee like a man delivering fine theater.
“The Gotham Gazette wonders if Mrs. Wayne’s accent is fake,” he says one morning.
“The Daily Mail asks if Mr. Wayne speaks French yet, or merely nods and looks handsome.”
bruce pinches the bridge of his nose. you sip your espresso, amused.
“what’s today’s count, alfred?” you ask.
“four articles calling you a gold-digger, two insisting you’re secretly divorced, and one… describing mr. wayne as your latest humanitarian project.”
bruce looks up. “what?”
alfred coughs delicately. “the european press, sir.”
you grin. “ah yes. le projet gotham.”
bruce gives you a look. “don’t start.”
“too late,” you say, smirking. “i think i’ll make shirts.”
in public, you play your role perfectly.
you touch his arm when cameras flash. you smile with soft lips and colder eyes.
you call him darling in that accent that drives gossip columnists mad — is it french? is it georgian? is it italian? nobody knows.
he plays along, because he’s bruce wayne, and if there’s anything he knows how to be, it’s a scandal wrapped in a suit.
he lets you lead him through rooms full of chandeliers and lies.
he lets you whisper jokes against his ear that make him smile in front of people who would sell their souls to see him slip.
and when the photographers scream “mrs. wayne! look here!” you tilt your chin up like a queen, fingers grazing his jaw just long enough for them to notice the way his breath catches.
it’s when the flashbulbs fade that the masks drop.
he watches you take off your jewelry like armor.
each ring, each earring, each diamond bracelet — gone. you unwind your hair. you walk barefoot across marble.
he leans in the doorway, tie undone, watching you quietly.
“they think i married you for your money,” you tease, pulling a pin from your hair.
“you didn’t?”
“oh, i did,” you say, smiling softly. “but not the kind they think.”
there’s a night when one of the tabloids runs a particularly vile piece — a full-page spread calling you ‘the next Mrs. Wayne to disappear into obscurity’.
alfred leaves it on the counter, face-down.
you find it anyway.
bruce starts to apologize — that it’s part of the deal, that it’s unfair, that he’s sorry —
but you just laugh.
“in monaco they wrote that you are my charity case,” you say, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “we are even now.”
“you read that one?”
“oh, everyone read that one. my mother framed it.”
he stares. “she what?”
“framed it. hung it in the hallway.” you grin. “said it’s the first time i did anything generous.”
he can’t help it. he starts to laugh. really laugh — the kind that breaks through the bruce wayne mask, the kind that sounds like light after years underground.
and you think, not for the first time, that all his wealth, all his tragedy, all his walls — they never stood a chance against the way you love to see him laugh.
there’s a gala the next week.
wayne enterprises hosting, of course.
the ballroom is glittering, and the press is already whispering before you even step out of the car.
she’s overdressed, someone mutters.
she’s showing off.
she’s playing the role.
and maybe you are.
because you wear your family’s emeralds, the ones older than gotham itself.
you wear a smile that could slice through glass.
you walk in with your hand on bruce’s arm like you’re introducing the world to your prize.
the whispers start — but this time, they don’t bother you.
they just make you laugh.
“you’re enjoying this,” bruce murmurs under his breath.
“immensely.”
“they think i’m your accessory.”
“you are,” you say sweetly. “my favorite one.”
alfred, standing off to the side with a tray of champagne, bites back a grin.
later, when it’s quiet again, bruce comes up behind you in the manor’s study.
his hands rest at your waist.
his voice low.
“you really don’t care what they say, do you?”
you tilt your head, thoughtful.
“in gotham they think i’m a trophy. in europe they think you are.”
you smile over your shoulder.
“but we know the truth, no?”
he presses a kiss to your shoulder. “which is?”
you turn to face him, eyes glinting.
“that we both won.”
the next morning, alfred leaves two clippings side by side on the breakfast table.
Gotham Gazette: “Mrs. Wayne spends lavishly while her husband rebuilds the city — how long until the bubble bursts?”
Le Figaro: “Heiress [Your Name] Wayne continues her philanthropic outreach in America — husband Bruce reportedly adapting well to foreign culture.”
bruce sighs.
you sip your coffee, serene.
“you’re taking this far too well,” he mutters.
“i’m simply a kind woman,” you say. “doing charity work.”
alfred snorts into his teapot.
in the end, no one in gotham ever learns the truth.
and no one in europe ever believes the lie.
but it doesn’t matter.
because in the privacy of your home — barefoot, hair down, coffee in hand — bruce looks at you the way men only do once in a lifetime.
and you?
you look at him like the most valuable thing you ever owned was never money, never status, never your name.
