You attack Jason with love because you're overwhelmed with how much you adore him.
warnings: pure fluff, Jason gets a little emotional about being loved
an: how I wish I could treat him frfr
Jason knows you're watching him, even if he can't see you out of his peripheral vision.
It's a little unnerving, to know someone is watching you silently without knowing why they're doing it. But alas, he reckons it's okay.
It's you after all, you wouldn't harm him. You're the safest person he's ever been around.
He can pinpoint the exact moment you begin to walk—no, stalk—towards where he's seated on the corner of the couch.
You round the sofa, carefully avoiding the edge of the coffee table and before he can look up from his book to greet you, you're plucking it gently out of his hands and lay it to the side.
The next sequence of events is a blur in his mind, because one moment he's holding a book and next thing he knows? He's holding your waist like a life line while you're straddling his lap, peppering kisses across his entire face and neck.
His chest heaves with the effort it takes to not pass out right there and then, and really, he should get a medal for not collapsing under the strain you're putting on his poor, thundering heart.
Without being able to get a single word in, he's subjected to having you cradle his face and lift it whichever way you please. First you're kissing his forehead, trailing feather light touches across his brow down to the bridge of his nose while muttering to yourself.
"God you're so lovely," smooch.
"And so goddamn kind to a fault," smooch.
"I can't believe you're real," smooch, "so so pretty and sweet," smooch.
It is in that very moment that Jason realises something grave.
You're not giving him a casual dose of affection, oh no. You are drowning him in so much love and appreciation he fears his brain might actually give up trying to process.
It overwhelms him—to absolutely no one's surprise—enough for him to feel his traitorous brain turn off and become one big pile of useless mush.
He knows this feeling very well, it's a fairly regular occurrence with you. Sometimes, you just overwhelm him with comfort, love and safety his brain can't handle it, so it just turns off.
His blinking becomes slower, his breathing heavier and his entire body moves more sluggishly. Instead of words, he can only let out embarrassing whines while he writhes in an attempt to counter the affection overdrive.
You just make it worse by running your hand through his hair and shushing him lovingly. "It's okay my sweet boy, just let me love you, 'kay?"
Does he have a choice? No, not really.
So, Jason Todd—all 6'4 and pure muscle—tries to be very still like an obedient puppy while you shower him in praise.
Your tone is so sugary sweet, he can't really believe you could think someone like him deserving of these honeyed words. And the way you start simplifying your speech because he knows he can't really think? Very offensive to his poor heart, your honour.
You deliver your final hit by guiding his head into the crook of your neck, patting his back while you keep sneaking kisses to the side of his face. "You deserve so many good things, Jay," you sigh dreamily, "and above all, you deserve being loved for who you are, broken shards and scars too."
That is what does it for him—that's what breaks him.
His eyes fill with tears while his hands fist the material of your shirt tighter. He can't put it into words, but somehow he believes you.
In this moment, he fully and wholly believes that he deserves you. And that is a miracle in and out of itself, only possible because you didn't leave when he pushed you away.
He will forever be grateful you saw something worth loving in him, and even more so for teaching him to see it too.
pairings: bruce wayne x reader; dick grayson x reader; jason todd x reader; tim drake x reader; clark kent x reader; conner kent x reader
warnings: conner and dick's parts are suggestive
a/n: just a little reminder that my requests are open :) it may take me a little while to get to them (if they're full-length fic reqs) due to work and starting college again. also thank you guys so much for 100 followers!!
"There you are." A strong arm hooks around your waist and yanks you into a solid chest. Bruce tilts his head down just enough for his voice to filter right into your ear. "I thought I told you to stick by my side."
Bruce had finally agreed to let you join a patrol with him. He'd been hesitating for a while because he hadn't wanted to force you into this part of his life just because you're dating him. Sure, you were a vigilante before the two of you got together, but you had given it up for a bit. He hadn't wanted to pressure you. Turns out he didn't need to worry at all! You're excited to be back in action, and you've been giving him the runaround all night, much to his chagrin.
"Maybe you did, but a girl needs to stretch her legs every now and then," you murmur. It's been so long since you've seen Gotham from the rooftops. You'd forgotten what it's like to look down and see across the city. It's a rush of power and adrenaline that sets your blood buzzing in your veins. "I'm sure you understand. Don't you, Br—Batsy?"
Bruce huffs under his cowl and loosens his grip on your waist. "I do, but that doesn't—"
"Then you'll forgive me for this," you cut him off. In the blink of an eye, you slip out of his grip and disappear into the night. Bruce watches in stunned silence for half a second before his gaze narrows on your form, now three buildings away.
Oh, it's on.
As he grapples across the city, he finds that he's not as angry as he should be. Batman should be angry that his new partner is treating patrol as a joke.
But Bruce Wayne loves you too much to want to damper your fun.
He's content to spend his night chasing after you, if only to have you back in his arms by sunrise. His boots hit the roof of the next building with a thud, and he realizes something phenomenal. He's exactly where he wants to be.
"I'm not crazy for thinking he could break out of that, right?"
Roy tilts his head to the side, surveying the scene in front of him. You and Dick had been sparring for a while. It was an entertaining fight; you two keep each other on your toes. That being said, you've got Dick in a leglock now, thighs tight around his head. He's not exactly fighting back, but he's not yielding either.
"Nah, you're probably right, actually, Walls." Roy scoffs and shakes his head. "He's not subtle."
"Do you yield?" you ask Dick.
Dick doesn't answer right away, instead opting to trail a hand up the outside of your thigh and nuzzle into the fabric of your suit. "Mm…in a minute, maybe."
"You haven't moved in thirty seconds," you point out.
"Didn't realize you were counting." Dick plants a kiss to your knee that makes both Wally and Roy groan. "Don't worry, baby, I'm right where I want to be."
"I'm just saying, I think you missed a major theme of the book. I mean, it's clearly about hope. How you got your whole gloom and doom ending, I don't know. Do you read with your eyes closed?"
Jason's staring at you incredulously, but he's fighting back a delighted laugh. You've recently discovered a shared love for literature, and you've decided to hold informal bookclubs together. The two of you had wildly different interpretations of this weeks novel, and you're not shy about telling him just how wrong he is.
"The heroes lost, princess, that seems a bit depressing to me."
"It's not about the heroes, it's about the movement, the hope, the spark! That while they died, their dreams will live on in the people that come after them." You're talking with your hands now, your eyes alight with passion, and Jason knows he must look like a complete idiot. A lovestruck idiot, that is.
"I hadn't thought about it like that," he admits quietly. There's a pause, then his blue eyes are back on yours. "Tell me more."
And he means it. This is Jason's personal peace: sitting on the couch with you while you talk animatedly about your thoughts and opinions on a book you read together. Even if it means you get a little fiery. Especially then. He's right where he wants to be.
"I never thought Tim would be so clingy."
Damian barely glances up when Dick speaks, but he's acutely aware of the scene in front of him. The Batcave is quiet tonight. Bruce is out, but crime rates are down enough to give everyone else a night of recuperation. While most members of the Batfamily would complain about the lack of action, everyone's been running on fumes recently. The night off was necessary.
Especially necessary for the current topic of conversation, Tim Drake. He's been pulling all-nighters more nights than not recently. His eye bags have grown tenfold, and the family had started a betting pool on who could find him passed out in the oddest location. (Dick won, having found Tim curled up in an empty towel cabinet.)
Tim's currently passed out in your lap, his head nestled against your chest as he snoozes away. While you don't seem to mind the added weight, it's a completely foreign sight for the two brothers across the cave. They knew that Tim loves you, of course; that's never been a secret. But seeing him curled up sleeping like a baby against your chest is something else. It's a rare state of vulnerability from Tim, and, while they'd love to tease him, neither of them can bring themselves to disrupt his peace. The prospective guilt at disturbing him his an odd and new feeling for Damian.
"I think he's right where he wants to be," Damian declares.
When most people look at Clark Kent, they see a mountain of a man. He can try to hide under sweaters and loose suits, but nothing about his form screams sleeper build. He's just built.
And when you start coming around the office more, everyone's delighted to see that Clark has a girlfriend! You balance Clark's never-ending optimism out with a healthy dose of reality. The two of you work well together, and it's plain for anyone to see.
Somedays, like today, you bring lunch to the Daily Planet to share with your boyfriend. Your lunch hours occasionally line up enough to be able to share a meal together, and you both view it as a little treat.
When you get to the office today, you find Clark completely locked in on whatever article he's working on. Usually, you'd respect his focus and leave him alone, but it's a special day! And you went to the good Chinese place to get lunch! You're just going to have to pry him away from his computer monitor.
With a huff and the fraying patience of a loving girlfriend, you march right over to Clark's desk and grab him by the collar.
"Clarky, I brought lunch. Come eat."
Clark startles at the interruption, but a goofy smile spreads across his face at the sight of you. He's on his feet before you can say anything else, and he's all too happy to let you grab him by the forearm and drag him down to the breakroom.
The two of you share a peaceful meal together while everyone else in the office are trading disbelieving looks.
"Lois, did you see that?!" Jimmy asks.
"Mhm."
"She grabbed him! And drug him away like a dog!"
Lois shrugs and takes a sip of her coffee. "I think he's right where he wants to be, Jimmy."
"Soooo, what's going on over there?" Bart asks Cassie in between bites of his sandwich.
"Conner's being scolded again."
"Ah."
Across the room, you've got one hand fisted in the collar of Conner's leather jacket and the other wagging in his face while you tell him off. He pulled one too many reckless stunts tonight, and you've had enough.
"So when I tell you to be more careful, what do you say?" you snap.
"Yes, ma'am."
"And when I say that you need to prioritize your well-being more, what do you say?"
"Yes ma'am."
Despite his usual aversion to authority, Conner's all too happy to stand there and let you tell him off. In fact, he's grinning like an idiot. He's so fucking gone for how passionate you are over him.
"Why're you smiling like that?" you huff.
"'Cuz you love me," Conner grins, wrapping his arms around your waist and hoisting you up off the floor.
"Conner! Put me down! We're not done with this conversation!"
"Oh, I'm counting on that."
Your voice is heard fading down the hallway, continuing your little tirade even as Conner carts you off to his bedroom. Cassie and Bart share a disturbed look.
"At least he's right where he wants to be."
all written work and dividers belong to @ackpplepie!! do not plagiarize, feed my work into ai, or translate it. i do not own the characters used above.
It started with you in the kitchen at 7 AM, hair a mess, oversized hoodie, and your ultimate enemy in front of you: the pancake mix box.
“Okay… how hard can this be?” you muttered, pouring what you thought was flour into the bowl.
Enter Damian.
“You’re contaminating the kitchen,” he said flatly, standing in the doorway like he was about to arrest you.
“It’s called cooking, Demon Spawn. Ever heard of it?” you shot back.
He narrowed his eyes. “I’ll have Alfred prepare something edible before you poison us all.”
Before you could argue, Jason walked in, shirtless, half-asleep, holding a mug. He looked into the bowl.
“…That’s not flour. That’s—”
BOOM.
The blender you had hooked up exploded flour-substitute-everything across the entire kitchen.
Jason stood there, covered head to toe in white powder, blinking slowly. “I take it back. This is the best morning I’ve ever had.”
ᴗᴗᴗ
By the time Dick showed up, you were on the counter, brandishing a spatula like a weapon against Damian, who had a broom and was threatening to “put you down like a rabid animal.” Jason was still laughing and filming everything.
“Good morning, Sunshine Squad!” Dick beamed. Then he slipped on the spilled pancake batter and went straight down like a Looney Tunes character.
Tim appeared next, with dark circles and a laptop. He didn’t even react—just grabbed a bottle of maple syrup off the counter and poured it directly into his coffee before walking back out.
“Did he just—” you began.
“Don’t question it,” Jason said.
ᴗᴗᴗ
The chaos reached peak level when Bruce walked in.
He froze at the doorway. The kitchen was destroyed: flour in the air like a snowstorm, Damian yelling, Dick on the floor, Jason filming, Tim chugging syrup-coffee somewhere in the distance.
And you… proudly holding up a single, burnt pancake.
“Look, Dad!” Jason yelled. “She made the Bat-Signal—”
“THAT’S A PANCAKE,” you protested.
Bruce sighed so heavily you were sure Gotham’s crime rate went up by 2% just from the sound.
“Alfred will handle breakfast from now on.”
“Does this mean I’m banned from the kitchen?” you asked, pouting.
OML I JUST READ THE ONESHOT WHERE Y/N HAD MERCH OF JASON AND NOT THE OTHERS😭😭😭 I SAW AT THE END ABOUT THE JOKER PLUSHIE AND I WANNA KNOW WHAT THEYD DO IF WE HAD AN EMOTIONAL ATTACHMENT TO A JOKER PLUSH (the reason being we love his design and had it since we were young) SMSNSLSPABWWK
Thank you twin❤️
a/n: i'm so visceral, i need someone to actually bring this image to life. like the chaos? jason standing in the corner in disbelief? you, just sleeping there with your plushie like nothing's wrong? sign me tf up.
— masterlist ! ; related post !
yeah, so! guess what? a joker plushie as your emotional support item? that's quite literally the living proof that bruce and all the others have failed you so miserably that you resorted to finding comfort in a toy built with the face of a villain who's tormented each and every one of them so bad that if the joker actually finds out about this sole news, you know damn well the clown would use this special occasion to drag all the others down through another bout of mental turmoil.
when jason first sees you curled up in your apartment, he'd have to do a double take because he just couldn't believe it—?!right over where his eyes could see, the silver moonlight draped over your peacefully sleeping body couldn't hide the horrid green tufts of hair, that undeniable white skin, and insidious purple clothes.
jason's jaw would drop, and if not for the metal helmet resting over his head, he's sure it'd simply reach the floor.
because there you are: bed head, limbs tangled with your blankets, normally tired eyes now closed shut and satisfied— he couldn't believe the small smile plastered over your resting face as your nose nuzzles deeper into the plush you oh-so protectively cuddled right in your arms; latched on to the thing so tightly like you'd just bite at anyone who dares rip the thing away from you.
when you flip over to the colder side of the mattress, the toy still in your arms, the plushie gleams once jason catches a full sight of it under the beams of moonlight, its wickedly huge smile reaching the blush of its clownish face gleams at him, almost animated and alive, like the stuffed little thing is a conscious mockery of him and jason can't simply do anything but gawk at the small figure you lovingly held.
the call with the family goes even more awkward-er.
"... what?" batman's typically monotone voice just slightly becomes more stilted, like the mechanical churns of his ever-so working brain is stuck at a malfunctioning turn. probably because he couldn't believe jason's admission.
"bruce... i'm not," jason releases a small cough, turning away from the toy's knowing wide-eyed stare, facing the window instead, like the thing could become alive at any second and start talking to him.
he continues, albeit more hesitant, though louder for everyone else to hear, "'m not kidding. this kid has a... a fucking joker plushie."
jason could deduce that the sound of crashing imminent from the crackles of his comms most probably came from dick falling from the high bars he's in, as a loud spritz of energy drink being choked out by tim follows the commotion.
"WHAT—?!" a collective noise resounds through the momentary silence.
it doesn't take long before steph speaks out amidst the chaos, her mouth evidently placed near the mic, "send proof in chat or it's fake." she demands, but despite the grit of her teeth, jason could still hear between the lines of her words that familiar chatter of disbelief, even a twinge of fear.
jason turns to face over you, still sleeping despite the large towering shadow over you. he gets reminded that it's probably because all the comfort you need is in the hands of that plushie still resting in your side. he shudders, eyes glazed over the ironic sight, and snaps a pic; sending the disturbing image just as quickly as he turns away again.
once the message was delivered, an even louder noise commenced. steph gasps, backing away from the mic, barbara screams at tim who spilled a can of zesti soda all over the batpanels, duke's swears were echoing all throughout the cave as he had to pull the little gremlin, damian, away from the elevators— the young assassin hissing when a quick flash of light blinds him temporarily, paired with cassandra easily holding him down under her arms. bruce sounded no better, his heavy breathing and the sound of a crunch the only thing he could hear on the left side of his earpiece.
dick breaks through the noise, sounding downright hysterical.
"you're kidding me... that's not real, jay— how? how could they—?" he questions, as if he couldn't believe his own words.
jason clips back at him, "— gee, i don't know, dick?! maybe 'cause we fuckin' put them enough torment to traumatize them into finding comfort in— in the damn joker?!"
a whine came from behind him, goosebumps prickled his skin, turning around to check if you were awake because of the volume of his voice. thankfully, you weren't, but now he sees you, back flat against the bed as the sight of the miniature joker alone chokes him to silence.
when the others hear Jason's yelp and your clear, sleepy whines, their mouths collectively shut.
not until jason spoke once more, only to tell them the most damning news of all:
"— fucking hell... they put a bib around his neck and decorated ribbons all over him...
synopsis | The world has never been kind to women, and it certainly wasn't going to start changing its ways for Bruce Wayne's girlfriend. When Gotham's elite attempt to pressure you into what they believe a woman should be, Bruce is there to reassure you that you'll never have to change for him.
pairing | bruce wayne x reader
You had been officially dating Bruce Wayne for three months, but this would be the first time you'd be accompanying him to a gala.
You did your makeup in front of the mirror in his bathroom, preparing yourself for a night of false pleasantries with people you know have been judging you the moment your relationship went public.
You took a deep breath and glanced into the bedroom where Bruce was fixing his collar and spritzing cologne.
He met your eyes and held out an arm. "Ready?"
No.
"Of course." You smiled.
As soon as the two of you stepped into the room, you felt the judgment begin to seep through you.
You stuck by Bruce, listening as he charmed his way through business partners and socialites.
Unfortunately, all it took was a minute away for those same partners and socialites to crowd around and make their displeasure clear.
"You should really come to more events, darling. That's what you're supposed to."
"I can't understand why Bruce would ever date someone so unlike us."
"You need to dress up more sweetheart, no man wants a girl who can't look pretty."
"Or a girl who only looks pretty for events."
"And you really should just quit that little flower shop of yours. It's unbefitting of a socialite."
"And I see there's still no ring?"
"Why would he ever propose to someone who can't even be half as charming as him?"
"You need to be a better girlfriend, that's the only way."
"A proper lady does not frown like that."
"That color is most unflattering. I'll give you some tips."
The woman gasped when you shoved her hand away from your dress, watching in shock as you glared and turned to walk away.
"Ugh, what a bitch."
"She and Bruce won't last, don't worry."
"Can you believe her attitude?"
You found Bruce with some unfamiliar people, and you could see the concern in his eyes as he looked at you.
"What happened?"
"I'm leaving."
He didn't ask why but you could tell he wanted to. "I'll come with you."
You shook your head. "I need to be alone right now. I'll text you, okay?"
His brows furrowed as he watched you walk away.
You knew he followed you from a distance, keeping you safe while giving you the space you asked for.
You did text him that night, just to apologize for leaving the way you did.
But that was the last time you had been in contact with him.
Bruce Wayne was not a man of deep emotion, not visibly anyway.
The internet loved to portray him as the careless, spoiled, and detached billionaire with easy charm.
Very few knew him for who he really was.
Only those closest to him knew how much he really loved, and how deep that love ran.
Which is why when you had gone quiet, the manor fell silent with you.
The dining room sat empty, no longer filled with your endless chatter and laughter as the two of you ate together.
His bedroom felt bigger and emptier, your skincare untouched in his bathroom and your pajamas cold on his bed.
Bruce didn't even bother pretending, not when everyone could see right through him.
He sat in the cave after patrol, case files pulled up on the screen that he couldn't care less about.
The last message you sent was one week ago.
An apology for leaving the way you did.
His endless responses sat unanswered.
No calls.
No messages.
Nothing.
Every night, he stopped by your apartment.
He could see the lights on and your figure moving behind the curtains.
You were safe, so why did he still feel so wrong?
You never hated newspapers as much as you did this past week.
Ever since the night of the gala, you had received endless papers on your doorstep with your face on the front page and speculations as headlines.
"BRUCE WAYNE'S GIRLFRIEND LEAVES GALA IN TEARS"
"BRUCE WAYNE'S 3 MONTH RELATIONSHIP OVER?"
"NOT GOOD ENOUGH? BRUCE WAYNE DITCHES THE WORKING GIRL"
"MONEY DOESN'T BUY CLASS! BRUCE WAYNE BREAKS UP WITH GIRLFRIEND"
You hated that you cared.
You hated that you kept the papers even more.
Your flower shop remained closed all week, and you stayed curled under your blankets with your phone on silent.
Gotham kept moving without you.
Their words echoed in your head, and you resented yourself for listening.
Smile prettier.
Talk softer.
Dress nicer.
Be sweeter.
You weren't surprised.
After all, you had been told your entire life what a woman should be.
You never used to care when they would tell you that you weren't enough.
Not sweet enough.
Not quiet enough.
Not pretty enough.
Too emotional.
Too difficult.
Too much.
You told yourself you didn't understand why you suddenly cared.
But deep down?
You knew it was because you wanted to be good enough for him.
You wanted to be worth all the backlash he got every time you did something the internet didn't like.
You wanted to be worth the love he gave.
He never did give you a reason to doubt him.
He never gave the impression any of it bothered him.
But all it took was one gala.
One horrible moment at a terrible gala, surrounded by women with diamonds on every piece of jewelry and men with condescension dripping off every word.
That was all it took to make the long-buried seed grow.
Maybe he deserved someone softer.
Someone more polished.
Someone who could be what Gotham's elite wanted.
You probably would've spent the rest of the day in bed if it weren't for the knock on the door.
You stayed quiet and waited for the person to leave.
It was probably just another paper.
But the knock comes again.
And then again.
Now you're worried because you did not know anyone in Gotham who would be that persistent to see you.
You reached for your phone to check the cameras Bruce installed, tensing more when you saw it was him.
But he didn't quite look like himself.
Disheveled, rough, and gloomy.
Not at all how the papers portrayed him to look.
When you opened the door, he just stared for a moment before holding out a bag.
"Alfred made soup. Can we talk over dinner?"
You feared the worst was coming.
He was breaking up with you.
You led him in and placed two bowls on the kitchen table anyway, waiting for him to speak first.
"You disappeared on me."
" . . . I know"
" . . . You scared me."
Your stomach twisted in guilt. "I'm sorry."
"I don't want you to be sorry." You didn't expect that and your face clearly showed it. "I don't want you to apologize for reacting that way when you were hurt."
"I didn't mean to, not for that long. I just - I needed space."
"I know. I understand."
"I didn't know how to face you."
That made him pause. "Face me? Why wouldn't you be able to face me?"
Your laugh came out shaky. "Bruce, come on."
You stared at him for a second, wondering if he really doesn't know.
"They were right." You finally said. "They were all right. I don't belong there. I don't belong with you."
His jaw tightened and his eyes grew sharper. "You don't mean that."
"How would you know?"
"Because nothing anyone else says about you or our relationship is true."
Your laugh came out bitterly then. "You didn't even hear what they said."
"I don't need to."
"They think I'm not going to last. That I'm too loud and too emotional and not elegant or poised the way a socialite should be. That the diamonds you put around me will never make any less of who I was before you."
"Since when did you start caring what they thought?" He asked, softer than most people knew he could, and waited for your response before continuing at your silence. "I didn't choose a socialite, and you didn't choose a man who wanted everyone else's opinions on his personal life. I don't give you things because I want you to look like or act like everyone else."
You blinked back the tears in your eyes, taking in a shaky breath before admitting the truth. "I'm tired, Bruce. I'm tired of being told I'm never enough."
"You're more than enough. You always have been."
"You don't understand."
"No." He agreed. "Probably not. But I know how cruel people can be, especially to a woman who doesn't make herself smaller. I know they want you quiet because your voice threatens them. They want you polished because authenticity makes them uncomfortable. And that's exactly who you are. Our relationship doesn't change who you are as a person, and that's who I fell in love with. I don't need quiet, or elegance, or stoicism in big rooms. I want you. Exactly as you are."
Bruce pulled you against him before you could stop yourself, wrapping his arms around you tight enough to feel like he was the only person in the world.
“You don't exist to make other people comfortable.” He said quietly. "And you don’t have to be some perfect all - American sweetheart for me to love you.”
Something inside you finally broke open.
Because maybe that had always been the problem.
The world wanted women digestible.
Bruce Wayne loved you uncontained.
Loved your sharp edges, your anger, the way you laughed too loudly and argued too passionately, and the way you refused to shrink yourself for anyone.
Even the socialites.
Bruce pulled back just enough to look at you. “You know what I think?”
“What?”
“I think they saw someone real standing with me.” He smiled a little. “And it scared them, because their world can crumble if everyone doesn't play their part."
Your eyes watered all over again, and that time you let them fall.
Bruce wiped them away gently. “Come back to the manor.”
You huffed weakly. “Are you asking me or kidnapping me?”
“ . . . Yes.”
You laughed genuinely despite yourself.
And for the first time in a week, Bruce finally smiled too.
tag list: @looha @kittykats444 @niccocia @adri-atics @timmydrakeswifey @zinajo
a/n: comment and lmk if you want to be added to the tag list! it's almost finals week guys 😭 i can't wait to be done
sooo AO3 had me acting up with some spicy fics..and now i keep thinking about how the batboys would do their partner. soo smut warning.
bruce wayne: uses his body. this man has skill in not just the streets but also the sheets. years of training his body and people think he won't use it on you?
i personally picture bruce either A, trapping you under him. his chest against your back as he pushes you into the sheets. or B, caging you against the bed and whispering sweet nothings into your ears.
and this man is emotional during sex. kisses, whispers, starting slow(unless he's drunk on you) then going fast. the whole nine yards.
dick grayson: a sweetheart who is emotional during sex but also very playful and adventurous. sex toys? hell yeah. you wanna try top? go right ahead.
because he loves you babe, and would trust you. so dick is going to be a lover boy when it comes to that. i personally see dicky as a switch. his ass was defo being pegged by kori(starfire). like your telling me dick was dating that tall, sexy ass alien and didn't let her do it? really?
and drunk dick is even more playful. i can see maybe a power bottom for drunk dicky.
jason todd: depends a lot on how much he trusts you, and his mood. on one hand jason will use his fridge built body on you, on the other hand i can see him liking to be spooned.
reason being that if he's vulnerable enough with you, he'll be little spoon. reminds him of when he was a younger, when jay was more innocent. and bruce would carry his little boy place to place.
another thing i see jason doing is gunplay. empty guns of course. but if your willing and he has some clean guns that aren't shooting a man down, he'll use them on you instead.
tim drake: tongue. deep kisses, deep tonguing, call him tongue tim by the end of it. mostly because tim isn't as big as his brothers and thinks he can't please you.
so hands and tongue are this man's main weapons against you.
after sex he is needy. picturing him bringing his laptop and typing away while cuddling against you. stopping every few minutes to ask how your feeling and if he can get you anything.
ADULT damian wayne: soo this one is tricky. depends on his partner and what they are like in bed. damian could be a switch leaning more towards dominant depending on you.
also uses everything he can to make you feel good. hands, body, tongue, its a free for all with him.
extra: all of them do perform aftercare. ALL of them. some would go about it differently. dick may be a lot more blunt about what he's doing being aftercare compared to bruce. so they all do it. just in different ways.
((scared of touching duke in case i miss characterise him and get flamed. i do not know a lot about him. sorry. also my schedule is very packed so i can't really push out fics as fast as normal.
but we ball. ATLas OUT.))
taggies : ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ @aturzz @bloomfaery @nyx-of-night ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ (just ask to join, you can even look over my other work to get a sense of me)
Your boyfriend's not fond of you pumping your own gas at night, so he insists you don't do it alone.
🩹 G/AUs: fluff, est. relt.
🩹 TW: reader (f) is called beautiful, pretty, princess, baby, doll (i love nicknames okay leave me alone 😭), mentions of blood and fighting
🩹 WC: 1.5k
🩹 A/N: Inspired by this reel (sfw). Just a little fun and easy read 💗 enjoy!
this blog is 18+. minors do not interact. plz & ty! (ageless/minors/blanks blogs will be blocked)
masterlist
Ever since Jason caught a group of people trying to rob someone at the gas station a week ago, he’s insisted you not get gas alone—especially at night.
Your arguments fall on deaf ears. He’s put his foot down and covered it in cement. There’s nothing you can say to make Jason change his mind.
“Hey, beau”—grunts—”tiful. Need somethin’?” Jason asks after the fourth ring.
You can faintly hear the sound of fists hitting skin in the background.
“You busy, handsome?” you wonder, eyes glancing at the low fuel light glaring at you. You already know his answer and the real answer before he speaks.
“Nope,” he answers followed by more grunting. “You home from your ladies' night?”
Upon seeing a gas station in the distance, you signal to take the highway's exit ramp.
“Not yet. I called because I’m low on gas and need to get some to make it home. I figured calling you while I pumped—”
“Where are you?” he asks instead, voice slightly strained.
“Near upper west side.”
“Come to the diamond district, and I’ll meet you there.”
You pull into an empty pump station.
“I’m already at a gas station, Jay. Just—”
“It’s not safe.”
“You’re tracking my location and you can hear—”
“It’s not safe to use your phone while getting gas too,” he continues to interrupt.
You heave a sigh and lean back into your seat, unable to stop your eyes from checking your locks. Although you’ve always been weary of pumping gas at night, you try not to be too paranoid. You hate being on edge all the time.
“Please, doll?” he pleads, breathing heavier.
There are curses in the background that don’t sound like Jason. His attackers must not like him much.
“Alright, but hurry. My light’s on,” you say. You sit straighter and shift gears to leave.
“I’m on my way now. Hey, Red Ro—”
The line cuts off, but you figure Jason’s recruiting Tim to take care of his loose ends. You feel bad for taking Jason away from his work, but you don’t want him to be upset with you for getting gas by yourself. He’s not fun when he’s grumpy.
Jason’s sitting comfortably on his motorcycle when you turn into the station.
When he sees your car, he stands and waves. You know there’s a grin behind his helmet.
The gas station is empty except for the convenience store worker. He looks at the vigilante suspiciously from inside.
You park at the station he’s at, turn off the car, and pull the lever that opens the gas tank. You climb out and smile at him, holding your card in one hand.
“Hi there, cutie. You come here often?” you tease.
He chuckles and swiftly pays for the gas before you can. You give him a disapproving look that he ignores.
“Only for you, princess,” he replies.
You put your card away as he takes the pump and untwists the tank’s cap.
“You don’t have to do that,” you say, feeling guilty again. You figured he’d come and watch the area, not actually pump your gas for you.
“I don’t mind,” he says. “You can sit back down and jus’ look pretty for me, baby.”
“That makes me sound like a spoiled brat,” you huff but do as you’re told, keeping the door open so you can converse.
Jason leans against your car as he fills your tank.
“Well, you’re only half right. You are spoiled, but that’s the way I like it.”
You shake your head at his reply, but there’s a smile on your face. Truthfully, it’s a little nice to not have to worry about anything—to just let Jason care for you.
Your eyes scan his tall form, taking in his armored-covered body and shiny helmet. You notice a few dark spots on his gloves and clothes that you figure are blood.
“It’s a little funny seeing the Red Hood pump my gas,” you quip as you grin at him.
“What can I say? I’m here to help the citizens of Gotham in any way,” he jokes.
“You have a busy night?” you ask, recalling the phone call from earlier.
“Nothin’ too extreme,” he replies.
When your tank is full, he returns the pump and twists the cap back on.
He moves in front of you, resting one hand on the car’s top while he leans down.
“If it weren’t for that goober watching us like a hawk, I’d give you a kiss,” he says.
“Only a kiss? I’d pull you in the back seat and have some fun,” you say with a flirty smile.
He laughs and lowers his head more. You’re so tempted to kiss him.
“We’ll have fun at home,” he says.
“You’re coming back with me?” you ask, eyes opening wider with hope.
He shakes his head. “Sorry, princess. I still need to go help Tim. I’ll be back soon though.”
“Define soon,” you reply with a slight pout.
Jason drops in a squat so he can take your hands; the act is hidden by your door.
“An hour or two?” he says. “But don’t wait up. It could be longer.”
You nod solemnly.
Jason squeezes your hands, thumbs rubbing your skin tenderly.
“Text me when you get home, ‘kay?” he asks.
“Okay,” you say.
Jason releases your hands to rub your thighs.
“Thank you for calling me,” he adds.
“Yeah, well, I didn’t want my boyfriend upset with me,” you huff halfheartedly.
Jason squeezes your legs.
“Just want ya safe, doll.”
“I know,” you sigh and place your hands over his.
“I better get going,” he says and reluctantly begins to pull away.
You grab his hands to hold him close.
“Ya know, you might as well just kiss me. I think the worker knows you’re not just here to pump a random Gothamite’s gas.”
Jason chuckles and takes a peek at the window. The worker still looks on, but now with a confused face. When he notices Jason staring, he averts his gaze. Though, Jason knows it won’t last long.
“Fine,” he relents and leans down.
You grin, reaching out to cup his helmet as you kiss the cool material. Of course, it’s not the same as feeling his lips on yours, but the sentiment is felt.
“Love you,” you murmur as you pull away and drop your hands.
Jason sighs longingly. “Love you too, beautiful. See you at home.”
“See you,” you reply.
Jason ends up following you for a while for extra precaution before heading back to his patrol shift. He doesn’t come home for another three hours.
When he does, you’re on the brink of sleep. Still, you turn in his arms so you can snuggle your face against his chest.
“Missed you,” you mumble.
His chest vibrates as he laughs. “You saw me a few hours ago.”
“And what ‘bout it, Todd?” you huff.
He pulls you even closer and rests his head against yours. His body feels so nice. You wish you could stay in his arms for days.
“Nothin’, doll. I missed ya too,” he says in a deep, tired voice.
“Hmph! Thought so,” you reply and carefully lift your head to give him a triumphant smile.
Jason releases an amused puff of air.
“Get some sleep, silly,” he says.
“Kiss first,” you demand, puckering your lips dramatically.
Jason grins and angles his face to give you a tender smooch.
Your lips spread in a grin upon feeling him directly.
When he goes to pull away, you whine in protest and chase after him. You capture his mouth again before he can get too far.
Jason laughs into the kiss, pulling you on top of him. His hands trail up your sides to cup your face. His warmth spreads from your cheeks to your heart.
There’s a dopey, sleepy smile on your face when you pull away.
“God, I love you,” Jason says with the utmost sincerity that squeezes your heart.
“Not as much as I love you,” you sing-song, leaning down to peck his lips.
“Yeah, right,” he chuckles and moves his hands back to your sides. He slides them under your shirt to feel you directly.
Instead of arguing, you lean down to kiss him once more.
“You’re comfy,” you mumble.
He can’t stop the happiness that shows on his face at your words. He gently eases you down by pressing lightly on your upper back and says, “Good. I like you like this.”
He adjusts his head against his pillow and closes his eyes, arms holding your body to his like a teddy bear.
“I like being here,” you reply and lay your head on his chest. You love hearing the rhythm of his heart.
You feel him give your head a kiss before he gets settled. It’s not long before his breathing gets steadier, and his arms lax slightly around your body. As you join him in dreamland, you realize you’ll never feel safer than in his arms.
A/N: I have this for my other blog, so I wanted to share it here too: For my “shy/silent” readers, I’ve created a feedback form where you can share your thoughts on my fics in a more anonymous and private way. ^-^
TW - Some cursing, mentions of injuries, no real romance yet so varied ages, Jason’s pet dog named Dog, and Jason is a GREEK NERD BC I AM
RICHARD GRAYSON
You meet Dick at a Wayne gala. He’s still getting used to being a ‘Wayne’. He’s more at home at a circus than he is in a suit. Then you come along, another poor victim around his age. Equally annoyed at the stuffy event and wanting to leave. When Bruce and your CAPTOR parent start talking, you’re introduced to Dick.
“It’s nice to meet you,” he chimed, finally perking up. Bruce absently patted his shoulder as a way to tell him to entertain himself while they spoke. Perfect.
He barely waited before dragging you away, looking around if anyone was listening. And let’s be honest, they were too focused on smoozing with other CEOs. He turned to you with bright eyes, “Do you wanna climb a tree?”
You blinked, “What?”
“A tree. You know, tall,” he raised his hand, gesturing wildly, “leafy, brown and green.”
You softly laughed, “Yes, I know trees. But we can’t climb them.”
“Why not?”
That made you pause, “Well… I don’t know how.”
He grabbed your hand again, dragging you to the garden outside, “I’ll teach you.”
JASON TODD
You met Jason through Dog. Yes, he named his dog Dog. Are we surprised? Anyways, he knew Dog needed socialization. At least one of them got it. Except, Dog seemed infatuated with your own dog. Any time you were at the dog park, a hidden gem that was protected by a rather kind (or kind enough) gang, Dog would run up and stick to your dog’s side. You, of course, decided to talk to Jason, the father of your dog’s best friend.
“She’s beautiful.”
He blinked, a bit confused, “What?”
“Your dog,” you added, “But what’s her name? I can’t keep calling her dog.”
He hesitated, “Oh, um. That’s… her name.”
There was a long pause, then you mumbled, “You’re serious.”
He awkwardly nodded.
You hummed, “That’s like Odysseus and the Odyssey.”
That caught his attention. And the almost hour long ramble about greek mythology caught yours.
TIM DRAKE
You met Tim in Home Economics in his school. He was a prodigy. Intelligent, proficient, straight A student. Except in anything cooking. He couldn’t understand it. It was science. He shouldn’t even have to think twice! Yet everything he made was… off. Probably because he only knows how to make coffee, and even that is black.
“You need to add more garlic,” you chimed.
He scoffed, already feeling flustered with the session, “I added two pinches already. That’s what the recipe says.”
You rolled your eyes, “You don’t listen to the recipe when it comes to garlic. Or vanilla extract.”
“Why not?” He reread the instructions, “It doesn’t say that.”
You pushed the paper down, “No duh. You gotta read the food, too. Do you think it’s good?” He hummed, trying a bit of the sauce, then grumbling something under his breath. You grinned, “What was that?”
“It does need more. Still doesn’t make sense,” he still added more garlic.
DAMIAN WAYNE
Damian is an odd ball. More focused on his studies and vigilantism than romance. I think he wouldn’t look for anything until later in life. Then he meets you, his new vet. His usual one retired, but his child was said to be just as good. He reluctantly switched, not sure how his many pets would react to the new person. Except, they loved you. A lot. He was a bit confused as to why until you explained that you’d play with the animals while they were waiting to be treated and that you even stayed with Titus until the anesthesia set in.
He hummed, giving you a scrutinizing look, “How long have you been a veterinarian?”
“Officially? Three years. I’ve worked here for about ten.”
He huffed, “Where did you go to school?”
“Same as my father,” you hummed as you looked over Titus’ teeth.
“He’s very calm.”
You smiled, “He’s well trained.”
“Of course he is. But he’s…” he glanced at Titus’ wagging tail.
“Oh, yeah, he knows me,” you shrugged, “He likes scratches behind his left ear when he’s falling asleep. Helps the anesthesia set in faster.”
He blinked, “Ah.”
Daisy - I love them so much bro. I’m gonna make this a loose series of Relationship Drabbles for these weirdos. But writing Dog so many times made me sob. Dog, the dog, did dog things. It’s not a word for me anymore. I feel insane. I'm also exhausted but too lazy to check the spelling so we're raw dogging this shit.
