black-cat-luck

[black-cat-luck]

Can you do headcanons about Bruce and Jason’s father and son activities??? 🫶🏾

Father and son Jason and Bruce is my weak point of course.

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𖥔 There’s few activities you can do as Batman and Robin. As Bruce Wayne and his son, they can do anything, as long as you don’t mind the media that follows you.

𖥔 Bruce doesn’t like Jason being in the media eye much when he’s first adopted. The boy is already training to be Robin, already exclaimed he doesn’t mind, but once news breaks out of Bruce Wayne’s newest adoption, they’re getting papped, followed, and as ready as Jason thought he was, those lights in his little eyes really are too bright. Bruce doesn’t have his cape to wrap him up in and hide him like he’s so used to doing, so he takes off his own sunglasses, they’re loose and hardly hold on Jason’s face, but it’s better than nothing, and they can continue with their little trip to the mall.

𖥔 Jason loves animals. Bruce notices in the way he brings extra snacks to give to stray cats while they’re patrolling, or the way he stops to pet every dog that approaches him. Bruce watches fondly every time, especially when Jason looks at him with bright sparkling eyes and a dog getting comfortable in his arms.

𖥔 Bruce takes him to the zoo after learning of his love for animals. Jason is bouncing with every step as they walk to each exhibit, even giving Bruce random little animal facts for each one they see. When they’re readying to leave Jason’s eyes get caught by the gift shop, and Bruce is happy to lead him inside. He overlooks each stuffed toy and pen topper, though he doesn’t touch any. When he tells Bruce he’s ready to go, and starts heading to the door Bruce frowns. “Don’t you want something?” He asks, Jason looks between him and the stand he was next to, plush giraffes staring back at him. Bruce watches him for a long moment before nodding toward them. “Pick whatever you want.” He says, Jason nervously smiles, and grabs the snow leopard he’d been thinking about since they walked in. He doesn’t have to say that he didn’t think he could get anything because he’s used to only being able to look, not buy. And Bruce didn’t need to ask, letting the boy grab what he wants, and even when he assures Jason he can pick more than one, Jason holds the plushie closer to his chest and insists she’s all he wants. Bruce ruffles his hair as they walk outside again.

𖥔 Jason gets into art the older he gets. He’d always been a smart boy, he always loved different forms of art, but the older he is, the more meaning it has to him, the more he loves it. Bruce takes him to museums, watching from a few steps behind as Jason admires each work, reading each description, studying every line.

𖥔 When Jason starts asking to go to the library more Bruce has him make a list of all the books he wants to read, and has the library in the manor updated. He tells Jason the library is his welcome home gift, and that he can read every book he’d like; and if there’s any they don’t have, Bruce will get them. Jason spends a lot of his time in there, and Bruce sits with him. They don’t talk much or do anything except read or doing their own respective business, but they sit together, accepting tea and snacks Alfred brings them, and when Jason falls asleep Bruce makes sure to put a bookmark in between his pages to assure he doesn’t lose his spot, and covers him with a blanket.

𖥔 Jason likes baking, so Bruce always makes sure there’s plenty of ingredients in the pantry’s, and sits at the island, keeping his promise to Alfred that he won’t touch any appliances unsupervised, but keeping Jason company, making this a bonding moment, they’re doing it together, even if Bruce is just sitting there and licking one of the spoons while they wait for it to bake.

𖥔 They end up watching tv shows together. It’s unspoken, it’s accidental, but when they’re both benched from patrol after a nasty accident, Bruce brings himself to Jason’s room to ask a question, and does that awkward stand half in the doorway watching the tv show playing on the TV (it’s Friends) and when they’ve gone through almost two episodes Jason waves him in, and Bruce sits in his beanbag chair and watches it with him, which becomes an accidental activity where they watch shows together.

𖥔 Jason and Bruce still watch friends, years later, when they’re not speaking and Jason hasn’t found it in himself to forgive or move on yet. They’re miles apart, haven’t spoken in weeks, but when they’re stressed, or tired, or need anything to create noise to silence what’s in their heads, their tvs flicker the familiar scenes, and even when it makes his heart heavy, Jason holds his ratty stuffed leopard close, and watches through tired eyes, remembering the feeling of lying in Bruce’s lap when he was fighting how tired he truly was, now having to pull the blanket over himself, cause nobody else is here to do it for him. It’s small moments like these that remind Jason he was more than just a solider, and miles away Bruce is petting Damian’s cat, making up for the way he misses carding his fingers through Jason’s hair, watching the same scene, the same moment, they’re still father and son, and both know deep down they always will be. And maybe Jason will come home trudging through the snow around the same time Chandler does.

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This felt so sweet and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did, thank you for the request. ᡣ𐭩

[black-cat-luck]

hmm can I have dick Grayson head cannons when he plans a party

YEA!!!⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ༺♡♱⋆🦇⋆♱♡༻

𖥔 Dicks party planning is VERY serious and he will not hear otherwise on the matter. There are multiple steps, charts, lists, and a few clipboards. He will make sure everything is perfect.

𖥔 The first party of the year is usually New Years, Which technically is carrying over from the last year, (but don’t let him hear you say that). Dick loves New Years, he loves watching the ball drop, and has a drafted up speech about how much the people in the room mean to him, and how happy he is to start another new year all together.

𖥔 He doesn’t throw a party for the smaller holidays, Valentines is spent with his partner, or if he’s single, Wally. Easter is more of just a family dinner and some chocolate.

𖥔 Halloween parties are scarce because they’re usually all busy on the night because goons decide everyone wearing masks is a free pass to commit crimes.

𖥔 If he does throw a Halloween party it’s on a different day than the actual holiday and he does make everyone go to a corn maze and pumpkin patch all together.

𖥔 He goes big on Christmas, he loves the holiday and loves having everyone together. It’s less of a party, and more of a week long of just, family time.

𖥔 They go on drives through light shows, and to look at people’s lights on their houses. They go sledding, and make a snowman in the front yard of the manor, then mourn the snowman when he becomes victim of their snowball fight. He makes hot chocolate and cookies and everyone bundles together to watch the polar express.

𖥔 On Christmas morning he’s the first awake, like a little kid he goes to each persons door waking them up and dragging them downstairs, always priding himself on getting the best gifts.

𖥔 Dick absolutely loves the holidays, and throwing parties on them.

𖥔 But birthdays? Those are a whole other level of serious. Everyone gets a surprise party, everyone knows it’s happening but still has to act surprised, everyone knows exactly what time to be at the manor to be “surprised”.

𖥔 Dick usually doesn’t accept help with party planning, he wants it to be a him thing, and mostly because he’s worried someone else will mess it up, and it has to be perfect, because it’s a party for someone he loves and they deserve it being perfect.

𖥔 Eventually he accepts help when it comes to hanging banners or blowing up balloons. He has everything planned out to a T, who’s keeping the birthday person busy and away, who’s putting the candles on the cake, who’s helping Alfred set the table as he makes their favorite dinner.

𖥔 It always ends up being perfect, even the year when Dick fell from a ladder and broke a wrist. Even the year when Steph and Tim bumped into one another and sent the birthday cake straight to the floor. Even the year when no one realized Jason hadn’t been informed of their tradition and he pulled a gun on them when they all jumped out and yelled “surprise!”

𖥔 No matter what happens the party is perfect, even if Dick doesn’t think so, because even if there’s mishaps or slip ups, it was done with so much love that everyone is grateful and happy, even if they complained about not needing a party.

𖥔 At the end of the year Dick gets to wrap it all up again with his new year party, his cheesy “I love you guys” speech, and truly just being happy that everyone is together, and he gets to spend another year with his family. And when the clock strikes midnight, he holds his tradition and kisses his partner, or if single, Wally. And he’s just as excited to enjoy the first party of the year.

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This was a fun one thank you for requesting!! I hope you enjoyed! ᡣ𐭩

[black-cat-luck]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ݁˖ ݁𖥔 . welcome to my bat cave .𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ݁˖ ݁𖥔 .

Introduction:

You can call me Venus!

I’m not new to writing or posting on tumblr but I’m new to the bat side of it so pls be gentle. （／．＼）

I will be writing for the Batfamily, and maybe even more DC characters, we’ll see what the future holds!

My writings will only be centered around Bruce, Dick, and Jason. I won’t be writing any for any other Batboys or Batgirls! They will be mentioned and written throughout my fics, but never the main love interest!

This is a minor free zone! I am an adult, I am writing for adults, children please skedaddle! (´∩｡• ᵕ •｡∩`) ♡

I am simply writing for fun, if you don’t enjoy my writing you don’t have to read it! If you want to file a complaint dm me and I’ll give you my Venmo and you can pay the $20 complaint fee. ( ˘ ³˘)

Account directions:

Published works:

Bruce:

Dick:

Jason:

Requests:

Open! Feel free to send them in, I’ll try and write it, but no promises unfortunately ❦

[black-cat-luck]

a little comic for jasons birthday. on being robin & batman and being brave & scared

[black-cat-luck]

The funniest aspect of a child crime fighter is that sometimes they’re going to run into something that makes no sense because they don’t have the life experience. Because they’re nine.

Like Robin runs into a guy who works for The Penguin and the guy just throws his hands up like, “Don’t hit! I’m not an enforcer. I’m an accountant.”

Robin:

Robin, squaring up: I don’t know what that is.

[black-cat-luck]

Leaving the Suit Behind? You Are Invited to Fill Out the Robin Exit Interview

OPEN

[black-cat-luck]

Jason Todd x Reader | His World

warnings: a child, reader isn't as big of a character | rating: E

summary: jasons wife just gave birth.

soft, untouched grubby hands gently feel along jason's bare chest. a small face burying against the warm skin. the nurse said skin to skin was beneficial, but jason honestly couldn't tell for whom.

evangeline, his beautiful evangeline. a baby girl who's heart is unbroken, eyes unseeing of all the horrors the world offers. and he'll be damned if that ever changes.

she let out a soft coo that had jasons heart constricting, his big hand moving to cup the back of her head and gently tilting her so she was able to look at him, dwarfing the little girl who stares up at him with his blue eyes.

he never thought he deserved this, his beautiful wife, their house, their cat, and definitely not their daughter. he was a monster, with the blood of countless people on his hands. but holding that baby girl, he feels clean.

he looked up to his wife, gaze transfixed on her. he'd always known she was the most beautiful creature on all worlds, but laying there, in the sterile room, covered in a paper hospital gown, eyes sunken and lips dry, she'd looked more beautiful than ever.

he smiled down at her, then their daughter, before opening his mouth and softly saying. "if she's anything like you, my love. nearly as stubborn and smart, the world would be a better place."

she smiled, tired gaze looking from jason to evangeline, her hand gently extending to touch her soft hair, her messy brown curls just like her father. "Jay?" she asked.

"yes, dear?" he slowly said, still transfixed by the little life in his arms. who gurgled softly at him.

"do you see the little bit of white in her hair too?" she said, bringing a hand to evangelines hairline, gently twirling the small white lock of hair. jasons already soft smile softening, his beautiful girls.

his world.

a/n: tried my hand in dad jay. what do we think?

[black-cat-luck]

a little comic for jasons birthday. on being robin & batman and being brave & scared

[black-cat-luck]

So my Batfamily brain rot is back (not that it ever really left) and I just had a thought like…

If you’re a henchman/criminal in Gotham, seeing your life flash past your eyes is gonna be a somewhat regular occurance but… what if like… the thing that truly made a henchman’s heart fall to his ass was when they hit Robin just a little too hard and this 10 year old kid just starts crying and goes ‘Daaaaaadddd!’

That’s the moment when they truly think they’re going to die because said dad, the kid is calling for is a 6’6 demon from hell who’s all muscle and shadows and vengance and a lot of Gotham still thinks he’s a cryptid

The henchmen all drop their guns and try to calm the kid down but it’s over in 5 seconds flat. Batman breaks several bones before speaking to Robin in the softest voice they’ve ever heard him use and the criminal world, who was already a bit hesitant to fight a kid have even more reason to take it just a little easy on Robin.

And like, I can picture different reactions with every Robin.

Like, for Dick, he’s ten and we all know he was the most violent Robin second only to Damian so maybe when he’s ten or eleven and has calmed down a little, a henchback who still remembers what a little shit he used to be decides to get back at Robin, slips on a pair of brass knuckles and BAM

And then, little Dick just stares for a moment in shock, cheek already starting to bruise, the criminals he’d been fighting all stay still because it was a nasty punch and then…

“Daaaaad!!!” He cries out in a whiny voice that reminds them that Robin really is just a kid and it all clicks into place.

Even Bruce wasn’t expecting that, Dick has just started calling him dad and he still isn’t used to being called that so to hear his kid calling for him in the moment where he is startled and hurt and a little scared… the henchmen don’t even have time to react and they wake up in the hospital with concussions and maybe a few broken bones.

It doesn’t take Dick long to calm down, it was mostly that the hit from a random henchmen really startled him and got him right in the cheekbone. But Bruce still finishes patrol early and Dick still hides under Bruce’s cape all the way to the Batmobile.

Then comes Jason and Jason was such a sweet kid, I headcannon he was the one that called Bruce dad the most often while being Robin. So one night during patrol maybe he finds himself fighting Penguin or Two-Face and it’s been a long night and he has an exam the following day and Bruce is fighting another villain at the other side of the warehouse

The point is, the henchmen and Two-Face start landing hits on eleven year old Jason in his gut and at some point he loses sight of Batman fighting on the other side of the room. Jason gets scared because he’s never really fought without Batman and while he knows that Bruce is still in the warehouse, he can’t see him and the handle of a gun hits the back of his ankle and he falls and he sees Two-Face or Penguin or one of the henchmen getting ready to grab the front of his uniform and beat him up and…

“Daaaaddd!”

The criminals freeze for a moment. They’ve heard the stories of what happened the last time a Robin called scared for dad.

They’re fucked.

They all drop their guns and try to get Jason to calm down, but he’s crying just a little bit and calls again, his voice breaking and despite having been at the other side of the warehouse just a second ago, Bruce somehow drops from the ceiling and it’s over before the criminals can keep pleading with Robin to calm down.

Jason tries to apologize for ‘acting like a baby’ but Bruce is having none of it and carries him back to the Batmobile and Jason is happy to just hide his face in Bruce’s cape because he knows his dad will always be there to save him.

Then comes Tim.

And Tim gets found out while doing reconnisance and somehow he finds himself face to face with Bane who manages to wrench away his bo staff and Tim is just eleven and he is scared because Bane doesn’t look like he’s going to hold back

All Tim knows is that the crack he hears must surely be his ribs either cracking or breaking and he can’t breath and he can only muster enough air for a single word… and he calls for his dad through tears and fear

And at this point… at this point Batman has already lost a Robin, Tim may not be his legally but he is his son just as much as Jason was

Bane spends a month in the ICU

Tim is embarrased that he reacted like that. He thinks it makes him less of a Robin to called scared for Batman… for dad.

So Bruce tells him of the other two times it happened. It’s one of the first times he’s spoken about Jason to Tim so bluntly.

Then comes Stephanie.

Stephanie never calls Bruce dad when she’s Robin. She’s not his daughter and he’s not her dad. They’re not sure what exactly they are to one another.

As far as Bruce knows, Stephanie’s version of Robin never called out to him when she was scared.

What he doesn’t know is that it did happen. Just once

It was the last time she was Robin. When Black Mask had her and she thought she was going to die

At some point while bleeding and feeling nauseous and so scared she could barely hear anything that wasn’t her own heart beating wildly against her chest… she called for dad. Not for Arthur Brown, but for Bruce

Black Mask laughed at her

Stephanie never tells Bruce

And finally… Damian

Now, we know Damian would probably never be startled enough to call for Bruce out of instinct, so I can see 2 scenarios in which this could happen.

First, he sees another kid do it. He sees a kid close to his own age laughing and playing, then tripping and staying quiet for a split second before crying out for mom and dad and he just… assumes that’s something kids do when scared and hurt and startled and does it mostly in an attempt to be a little more ‘normal’

Or, my favorite scenario… he hears of the other times it has happened. He overhears maybe Dick remind Jason of what Bruce did when Jason called out to dad as Robin. Tim maybe jokes that a Robin calling for dad is still the villains’ greatest fear

So Damian stores that knowledge away as a battle strategy just in case he ever needs it… and maybe a small part of him wants to put it to the test, to see if his father would protect him as brutally as he’s protected the Robins before him

So some random night during patrol, he’s up against several henchmen, a few of them grab him from behind, trying to hold him down. Damian is fighting against them when one of them swings a cylinder of metal that Damian thinks might’ve been meant for the plumbing and…

The henchman breaks Damian’s nose, there’s blood dripping down his chin and staining his uniform

Now… it is most certainly not the first time he’s broken something, he’s more than used to the pain, in fact, he barely feels it. However, it gives him a chance to put his little theory to the test

And so Damian allows himself to sound like the ten year old that he is and in a whiny, teary voice, goes… “Babaaaaa!” (Bonus points if it’s the first or second time he’s called Bruce baba instead of father)

What Damian didn’t take into account though, is that Batman and Robin aren’t the only ones on patrol that night. They made a big bust. The biggest part of the operation was over but they were still fighting a few stragglers. The whole fucking family is here.

And they all hear his cry.

Damian doesn’t think he’s ever seen a fight end so quickly. The henchmen only have a split-second of surprise before vanishing, being tackled or shot or having knives buried on their shoulders by his siblings.

The one that actually broke Damian’s nose is being beaten up by Nightwing, Damian doesn’t think he’s ever seen Grayson so angry.

A shadow kneels in front of him, father. Baba. He’s checking Damian and Todd is right at his side, both speaking in hushed tones, checking his injuries and wiping the tears that usually came with a broken nose.

And now… Damian is used to his father and Grayson treating him like a child, trying to be as soft as they can with him. Even Cain does it to some extent.

But… having Drake wrap an arm around him, calling him baby when knocking out one of the criminals that had hurt him ‘that’s my fucking baby brother!’ and continue to hold him later into the night on the couch, having Brown willingly give up all the snacks she keeps in her utility belt and promise to take him to Batburger the following day for milkshakes because he was ‘a champ’. And Thomas wraps his favorite blanket around Damian while they’re fixing him up.

Todd decides to stay the night at the manor. Which he never does. They all decide to spend the night at the manor when Damian still sniffles on the Batmobile and they have breakfast all of them together. Which Damian isn’t sure has ever happened before and Cain gets Alfred to make pancakes with chocolate chips instead of blueberries.

They call him baby in hushed whispers but for once, it doesn’t bother him even though it really should

But most of all, Bruce refuses to let him go for a good five minutes after he first cries for him. Smoothing down his hair and whispering that it’ll be okay and just being soft in a way Damian has never seen before.

He sleeps between his Baba and Grayson and he knows that Todd and Drake and Cain check in on them at least twice in the night for some reason.

And he realizes it’s… it’s nice. Maybe this really could be an effective battle strategy to be employed again someday.

[black-cat-luck]

Enmity

CW: Sex Pollen, hate sex, swearing, light choking. Written with AK!Red Hood and AFAB reader. 18+ MDNI ~3.2k words

The mission was supposed to be easy. A quick in and out of the greenhouse Ivy left behind. It was recon, more than anything. Just a way to get intel on the strange drug being pushed on the streets with her name attached.

It was supposed to be routine, simple. But Gotham never seems to care about your thoughts or feelings, because just as you picked your way through the locked door, Red Hood makes his presence behind you known with a gruff, "Took you long enough. You're getting slow."

You whirl around to face him, you imagine he can picture the harsh glare emanating from under your domino mask, the clear annoyance that his presence brings.

Red Hood is a nuisance. It doesn't matter that he's filling a void that Batman's death left behind, or that sometimes he actually helps people. It doesn't matter that the person under the helmet is Jason Todd.

None of that matters because he's not really Jason Todd anymore. You refuse to believe he ever can be again. After all, it's the Arkham Knight's fault that Gotham has been left in chaos, that Bruce and Alfred are presumed dead.

It's his fault that everyone you've ever cared about is scattered to the wind. So whatever 'good' Red Hood is doing, well, he's only cleaning up a mess he created. You hate him for it. Hate him for coming back as someone you don't recognize. Hate him for not coming back for you.

He doesn't seem to react to your blatant displeasure, brushing past you into the overgrown greenhouse, "This Ivy thing has been nothin' but trouble for weeks. Thought you'd have it dealt with by now," he drawls.

"She's dead because of you," You snap, practically on his heels. You know he's right, in a way, but you're stretched thin, tired, and still dealing with the fallout from the evacuation he caused.

If your comment bothers him, he doesn't show it, lazily looking around the space for any disturbances, signs someone else has been here besides the two of you, "Do you have anything on this?"

Admittedly, you don't have much. Oracle’s been trying her best, but with most of the system wiped, it's been harder. The last thing you want to do is tell him that, so you grumble, picking over some discarded lab supplies strewn throughout the room, "Just the police reports."

He snorts. It makes your chest tighten, and you drill him for what he knows in return, "You have something better?"

He shrugs, almost mocking, "You asking for my help, Doll? Thought you could handle all this on your own?"

"I don't need or want anything from you," You say lowly. He turns to face you, and for some reason, it makes you feel picked apart. You suck in a breath, "But people are getting hurt."

He stays quiet for a minute, and the air seems to go heavy with things unsaid, arguments never mended. Finally, he talks again, voice even through the modulator, "It's some kind of aphrodisiac. Just amped up."

You make a face, going back to exploring the greenhouse, "Amped up?"

"What, you interested? Need some help with your sex life, sweetheart?"

It takes most of your training not to whirl around and throw some kind of projectile. But you know he's trying to rile you up. He's been like this since he's come back. Always testing boundaries.

"Don't make it weird," You mumble instead, fingers twitching for your utility belt despite your better judgment.

You think he's grinning behind the helmet over your reaction, but you doubt he looks kind about it, "It's just potent. Supposed to knock people out for days after. Sounds like the kind of stress relief you need, don't you think?"

"I don't need a drug to have–" You curse and shut yourself up, heading over for some knocked over canisters.

He follows, practically breathing down your neck in a taunt, "I dunno, doll. You seem pretty pent. I doubt any loverboy you have dicking you down is doing a good job of it."

"You're an ass, you know that," You snap, trying to focus on the scene in front of you.

"I remember that being your type," he sneers, and you really wish he would just focus.

You reach for one the canisters, one that doesn't look broken, half-hoping to get a residue sample.

"Wait–" Red Hood barks, a warning, but it's too late. The canister seems to explode, sending a bright colored pollen into the air. It's a thick cloud, and it seems to melt into every line and crease of your suit.

It's awful, you immediately feel hot, dizzy, and you can't stop coughing. Even as Red Hood grabs your arm, hauling you away from the pollen and out of the greenhouse, it just seems to get worse.

You both stumble when you make it out into the fresh air, and he sounds like he's going to hack up a lung, even through his helmet.

The cold air helps a little, but it doesn't stop the itch that starts to spread across your skin, a need. You think he feels it too, as you catch sight of his hands digging into knees from the corner of your eye.

You let out a string of curses, staggering to your feet, "I need to go."

You don't get very far until he's grabbed your wrist. It's embarrassing the noise that curls up from the back of your throat.

"It's too dangerous," he protests, and you're almost surprised at how coherent he sounds when your brain feels foggy and dazed, "You won't make it."

"I can't stay here," You retort, but you can't find the strength to pull away. Every cell in your body is screaming at you to collapse into him, to finally, finally get what you need from him.

You know it's just the pollen. But that doesn't mean your feelings aren't real.

"I have a safehouse–" he starts, fingers never leaving your wrist.

You laugh, but it's getting harder and harder to ignore how hot your skin is. How much you need to get your armor off, "I'm not going anywhere with you."

He tugs you closer, and you hate that you don't even attempt to pull away, "You are so fucking stubborn. Use your brain for one minute, you hear me? You're going to get yourself hurt."

The anger in his voice catches you off guard, but honestly, you could care less. All that matters is that he closer, that's he's–

You cut off that line of thinking immediately, "I– fine. Just let go."

If he's reluctant as you are about it, he doesn't show it. He only drops your wrist. The walk to his safe house is a blur. Your head feels heavy, your vision swims, and the overwhelming need keeps burning in your gut.

All you can focus on is his back, that each step he takes is measured, and that he keeps looking back at you.

You nearly stumble every time he does, and not even a high dosage of the pollen seems to stop him from insulting you, murmuring something along the lines that you can't even keep yourself upright.

You half expect him to ditch you the next time your steps falter, but he waits every time. If your mind was any more clear you'd linger on why. He hates you. Should hate you. You're part of the reason he was stuck in the at cell, after all.

"It's here," he grumbles, voice clearly tight as he jumps down the fire escape, shoving a window open.

You follow him closely, voice equally as ragged, "Maybe a shower will help."

"It won't. There's only one way through it," he supplies, almost bored.

You tense, but your mind is already spiraling with all the things you'd like to do with him. Your mind can't seem to settle on one. Flashes of his mouth between your legs, fantasies of sinking yourself down over his lap, dreams of him pinning you down and making you cry his name.

You shake your head, it's just the pollen. You definitely don't want him that way. You don't imagine what could have been if he was never taken.

"No, no," You stumble out, fingers twisting into your clothes, trying to ignore the urge to just tug them off, "We aren't doing anything."

"I'm not happy about it either," he snaps, "But your little boytoy isn't here to help."

"I don't have a–" You start to hiss, but a surge of want builds in your gut, and your voice trails into a groan.

He visibly stiffens, "You don't?"

You scowl at him, "It's not your business if I did."

He laughs, and your heart seems to stutter when he pulls his helmet off. He looks a wreck. Hair matted to his face, pupils blown wide, and so visibly desperate, "It's– fine. Say it's not. Then it won't change anything if you let me fuck you."

You freeze, and you really, really want to agree. You can't blame him for being desperate, if pollen is affecting him the same as it is you, you think he'd say that no matter who you were, "You're the worst," You grit out instead, "Why would I ever–"

"Pretend it's not me," he breathes out and steps forward. You know you should move away, should even try to hit him, but when his gloved hand cups your face, you lean into it, "Or don't. And you can tell me you hate me until your throat is raw."

His fingers catch the edge of your domino mask as he says your name, voice low, nearly a croon, "Cmon, doll, ya know ya want to. I'll take care of ya."

The string of curses that leave your mouth are needy, the rough leather of his gloves leaving your skin tingling and your legs pressing together, "Fine. Yes. But when it wears off–"

He doesn't seem to care enough to let you finish, ripping the mask from your face and crashing his lips to yours. It's all teeth and groans and a desire to do anything to get rid of the ache setted in the pit of your stomach.

You're not sure if he tears off your armor or if you do, but you are sure that he's being greedy for someone who acts like you're a bane on his existence.

He sucks at the pulse of your throat, squeezes every inch of your skin he can reach, shoves his leg between yours to grind his thigh against your clit.

It's dizzying, and you're the pollen makes you just as eager to have his skin against yours.

You don't mean to still at the sight of his scars. But you've finally managed to tug off his shirt, they remind exactly who has their fingers fisted into your hair.

"Don't," he hisses, feverish in his attempt to bite as many hickeys into your shoulder and neck as he can.

You don't know what he's telling you not to do, but you think it might have something to do with the way your face fell, the guilt that flashed in your eyes.

So, you don't. You tug him by the back of his neck into another bruising kiss that leaves you both panting, "Are you gonna take care of me now? Or were you all just talk?"

Jason Todd isn't just talk. He wasn't as the Arkham Knight, isn't as Red Hood, and certainly isn't now. He makes that clear when he digs his fingers into your waist, helping you drop the last of your clothes to the ground as he guides you back towards the counter, "If you need something, doll, you should use your words."

The fever building in your body seems to spike at how his eyes glint, the ravenous need that never leaves, even as he palms the curve of your ass and licks the line of your jaw.

"Just hurry up," You half snarl, the itch underneath your skin, making you feel frantic.

"Fucking impatient," he huffs, but the twitch of his cock against your bare skin gives away his equal desperation. He grabs you by the hips, spinning you around to face the counter.

"Jason-" you gasp, and he sucks in a sharp breath, forcing you forward, a hand spread over your back until your hands are flat on the counter.

“That’s it, sweet thing. Be good and hold yourself up,” he murmurs, and you almost keen at how the cold granite distracts from how his skin seems to burn against yours.

He nearly laughs, voice ragged, at your reaction, his hands running down your sides until he reaches your thighs. He nudges them apart, forcing you to stand with your legs spread, “Keep them like that," he orders, and in the moment, you think you'd listen to anything he says.

He rewards you for listening, or maybe he's just as driven by the pollen in his system, but he doesn't waste another second.

His hand keeps you bent over the counter, as he presses the head of his cock to your entrance, "C'mon," he half babbles, "open up for me, baby."

It's all-consuming, head spinning when he finally pushes between your folds, carving his way steadily into your aching pussy. It soothes the heat in your skin for a moment, before it comes back hotter, more desperate.

You choke back a needy sob, not wanting to give away how much you want this, but the way your walls clamp around his dick makes it clear how much you do.

He does laugh this time, and his hand leaves your back, sliding up your body to wrap his arm around your neck.

Your eyes snap wide, and he presses his chest into your back, forcing you to feel every inch of him as he works his cock deeper into you. His arm flexes, not enough to cut off your air, but enough to be a threat.

"Gone quiet," he taunts, "Where'd all your spunk go?"

"Go to hell," You start, and if your weight wasn't braced on your palms, you'd reach up to claw his arm in protest, "you aren't even helping with–"

He snaps his hips forward, and pushing all the air from your lungs as a shrill cry leaves your throat.

Jason lets out a guttural moan at your reaction, “There it is. No hiding how good I make you feel, pretty thing."

"It's not you," You choke out, dizzy with pleasure as his hips find a steady rhythm that drags his cock back and forth against your walls. If it wasn't for his arm securely wrapped around your throat, you think you would have collapsed to the granite below, "s'just the pollen."

He bites at your shoulder, hard and purposeful, "Bullshit. Bet you'd be this tight without it. Bet you'd beg me to fuck you full." He delivers his words harshly, nipping at the shell of your ear as he chases his release, driving his dick harder into your cunt.

The noises ringing through the room are sinful, flesh on flesh, the squelch of your pussy as wetness slicks his cock, "Bet you'd like it too," he groans, "shit– you'd love it."

You mewl, half-delirious with bliss, a part of you wants to be angry that this is the most he's said to you in months, but his cock is twitching against the spot that makes your vision blur, and all you can do to just take it, rambling out some barely thought out comeback, "Wouldn't– I'd– anyone but you."

He growls, tightening his arm around your neck and pressing his entire weight into you. Your arms buckle, and he follows you down into the counter, making the hard granite dig into your chest, waist, and thighs.

"It's not anyone else, though, is it," he mocks, punctuating his words with a harsh thrust of his hips, "It's me inside you. Or are you fucked so dumb you forgot my name?"

You choke, eyes rolling back as you clench down on his cock, strings of curse words falling from your lips before you finally manage to whine out his name.

"Again," he demands, intent and focused, even through the feral haze of pollen as he drives his dick harder into you, "Say who's fucking you again."

"Jason," You half sob, every complicated feeling fleeing from mind. All that matters is the way the tip of his cock brushes against your cervix, the feeling of his free hand working its way between your thighs to rub your clit.

He sucks a dark bruise under ear, and when he pulls your head further back into his shoulder with the muscles of his arm, it sends you spiraling over the edge.

He's not far behind, relentlessly fucking you through it until he's painting your insides with his cum. He doesn't stop until a mix of his and your releases are leaking down your thighs, a sticky mess of evidence of what you've both done.

He pulls out without a warning and finally releases his chokehold on your throat, making you whimper and whine at the loss of him, your cunt clenching around nothing.

You shiver, panting and dazed. It helped. Really helped, if you were being honest. But it wasn't enough. Your skin starts to itch again without him inside you, your gut starts to burn with a heavy ache.

You push yourself off the counter instead of showing it, avoiding his gaze as you turn, looking for your suit with hazy eyes. As if you'd give him any more hints of weakness, "I should go."

He snorts, catching your jaw between his thumb and forefinger to angle your face up, "Apparently I still haven't screwed the stupid out of you. Pollen's still in our system."

"I'm fine," You protest, but he cuts that line of thinking off immediately when his hands grab at the back of your thighs, lifting you to sit on the edge of the counter.

"You," he drawls, already grinding his hips into yours, "are a mess. And I said I'd take care of you. You feel taken care of?"

You meet his gaze. It's dark, hungry. A perfect mirror of your own. You stomp down the complicated, longing feeling in your chest at the color of his eyes and set your jaw, "No."

He grins wolfishly at your denial, and nudges his hardening length against your cunt, "No" he prompts, a clear desire to hear more of your voice.

"No," You breathe out, unable to find your usual malice in your tone, "It was disappointing."

"Poor baby," he coos, and your head falls back in ecstasy when he finally slips his cock back into your pussy, "Let me make it up to you."

He does. Again. And again. Until you're not sure where you end and he begins. Then he does again. And again. Until the pollen wears off and neither of you have any more excuses to find release in each other.

And then he does it again.

You devour every moment with a reckless, torturous abandon. Until the line you set so passionately as hate, gets too blurred to remember. Until neither of you are convinced it was ever hate at all.

And then he does it again.

[black-cat-luck]

The real barbie is Y/n.

Y/n’s a doctor, a cop, a scientist, an agent, vet, hero, villain, astronaut, lawyer, spy, criminal, artist, chef, engineer, psychologist, architect, journalist, firefighter, event planner, mechanic, photographer, musician, actor, interior designer, bartender, fashion designer, barista, florist, forensic scientist, flight attendant, profiler, tour guide, translator, etc.

[black-cat-luck]

The Call

Summary: One little call to each of them. One big consequence. (Batfamily x sibling!reader)

Word Count: 2.9K

Notes: IM LATE AGAIN. I hope you all know that I do stay up wildly late when this happens cause I want to edit before I submit, even if some of these were pre-written (its 1:30AM RAHH). ANWAYS. Batfamily, I tried to get as many as I could but I haven't collected runs for about half the family cause I am biased towards my boys, but I am trying to be as accurate as possible when I can be and that includes those dynamics! So rest assured I am doing my research and hopefully that'll reflect soon. As usual, enjoy your daily feed and I'll enjoy my nap. Warnings just for general description of violence.

Much Love~! xx

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When Dick got the call, he was in his civilian clothes.

Dick Grayson was suit shopping, needing something for an upcoming gala. He had put it off for so long, since he wore the Nightwing suit more than any other in his closet. He had let it ring out once while he got his measurements taken, but when they called back a second time, his lips dipped into a frown. Excusing himself, he clicked the answer call button, stating his name. He hears the voice of Bruce, but in the stern tone of Batman. He doesn’t think that he's ever left a store as fast as he had that day, feet thudding on the pavement and breath cold in his chest as he hurries to his car. He unlocks it and all but throws himself into the passenger seat, lines on his face hardening. Throwing it quickly into drive he pulls out and heads in the direction of the manor.

He tries to keep himself composed, his emotional training kicking in. His fingers are tense on the steering wheel, passing over the bridge at a speed a cop would most certainly pull him over for. Even though he tries to take a deep breath, there's a burning in his sternum. It builds until it creeps into his neck, making him click his tongue uncomfortably.

The sensation is a rage he hadn't felt in a while, a fire that hadn’t burnt that intensely since he was just a boy grieving his parents’ death. It had flickered when he had heard Bruce had adopted a boy called Jason after him, sputtering to life upon hearing about his death. Yet he had grown, he had risen above it and had become a shelter for his younger, extended family. He was dependable, uncrackable, and upbeat, that was Nightwing. Yet as he drives back with that painful fire in his chest, he felt nothing more than Dick Grayson, the boy stricken with fear at the idea of losing his family.

When Jason got the call, he had been on patrol.

Helm securely on his face, it kept the drizzly night rain of Gotham out of his eyes. It had been a rather quiet night, stopping a few minor robberies and assaults that were common down by Dixon Docks. He was eager to return home, wanting to swing by the manor quickly to take full advantage of the hot water system before heading back to his apartment in Old Gotham for a well-deserved rest. He had just finished interrogating some of Penguins' men, about to call the cave to let whoever was on tonight know that they finally had the location of the new drug den they had been chasing the past month. However, the communication device he had set on his bike was lit, screen full of notifications.

Calls, one after another filled the small holographic display and he pressed the button to call back, leg swinging over the side of the bike as he did so. He had only started the bike but already he screeched to a stop, making sure he heard the words properly. A curse and gruffly shouted questions were his only response and when he got the information he wanted, he cut the call and the bike roared to life. He leant forward as if that was going to help him get to his destination quicker, blood boiling underneath his skin. His chest ached with the urge to sputter out pants, desperate to start the sign of panic racing through his veins. Yet he was stronger than that, keeping his cool like a tightly wound coil, muscles tensed beneath the suit.

His mind buzzes with worry, anxiety gnawing at his ribcage like a feral rat.

Jason doesn't often allow himself to be emotional on the job, despite his tendency for rage.

But rage was different. Rage burned and warmed him up from the inside, was the force that he put behind every punch or kick. It was his kindling, and it served to guide him as well as any star. Of course, Bruce had tempered it somewhat, but he had just guided Jason into turning it into something else, not getting rid of entirely. He used rage to protect the people of the city, the outrage he felt when he saw them get treated badly. He used rage when coming to his family's defence, the sight of hands being laid on people he had come to care for sparking it too. Those were the rages he was used to using, although there was always a third.

The pit.

The rage that bubbled away in the back of his mind, hidden behind a tall wall and shoved into the deepest part of him. That was the rage that crept forth, green and poisonous in his veins and clouding his judgement in a fog of pain and despair and anger. When it would appear, he would often take a moment to himself to pack it back away, contain it once more in the bulletproof casing of his heart. Yet right now, he didn't want to put it back. It made him rev the bike harder, made him feel like he was getting there quicker. The bike kicked up water as he zig zagged through the back streets, his mental map of Gotham rerouting anytime the traffic was longer than five cars deep. He couldn't afford to lost time, to not be fast enough. Not now, not this time, and if he had to use the rage the pit cursed him with, he would.

Tim was at the manor, holed up in his room when he got the call.

It had been a long night the night before, tossing restlessly. Not that he would have told anyone, but the last fight with Bane had left him with a few more bruises than he had let on, cleverly hidden from the keen eyes of Alfred. He wanted to nurse them himself, carry his own weight. In fact, he had been sulking in his room going over the things that had been troubling him, knees pulled to his chest.

Dick was capable and dependable, and the first Robin, the biggest shoes to fill. Jason was tenacious but loved deeply, and he fought for what was right. His methods might be unconventional to the Bat sometimes, but he knew what he wanted to fight for. Steph had flown the nest to become Spoiler, Cass already had such a firm grasp of who she wanted to become now that she was Orphan. Barbara had even been able to turn her life around after being put into her wheelchair, her desire to help leading her to become Oracle when she had to hang up Batgirl. Even Damian, the true son of Bruce Wayne, was so confident, growing at a rate he knew Bruce was quietly proud of.

But then there was Tim, who stayed up on weekends trying to redesign his suit, to carve his own vigilante life, only to look on it and see the traces of his time as Robin printed clearly on it. The role of Robin had outgrown him, but there was the shred of doubt that whispered in his ear that just maybe, he hadn't outgrown it. The ringing of his phone snapped him out of his daze, and he let it go to voicemail. When it came again, he grabbed his phone with the desire to turn it off, but seeing the emergency signal had him picking up right away.

"Hello?" he called, sitting right up in bed. His eyes widened and he shelved his pity party, running out of his room.

He winds through the halls of the manor until he finds the door he's looking for. Tim's knuckles rap against the wood loudly, repeating until a disgruntled Damian comes to the door, swinging it open violently. "This better be good, Drake." he deadpans, scanning the flustered state of the older boy. Tim just turns his phone screen, showing the emergency call signal before gesturing to the direction of the grandfather clock with his head. "We've got to go." he says curtly, the young boy hot on his heels after he recovers from his shock.

Both of them head to the cave and prepare to depart immediately. Tim slips the suit over his skin like an outgrown shedding, domino mask sliding onto his face. He couldn’t recognise his own face when he caught sight of it in the glass reflection, but a mask and suit would never be enough to hide the panic that clung to him tighter than the Red Robin suit.

When Bruce got the call, he was at Wayne Enterprises.

He was making a rare appearance at the office, knowing that Lucius had something that he wanted to talk to him about. His office felt foreign and sterile, empty and unreal. The glass surfaces everywhere let him glimpse the face of Bruce Wayne, a face that he was beginning to see less and less. It felt uncanny seeing himself without the cowl, and sometimes when he was working, he could swear he saw a reflection of the bat ears in the window beside him. The night had dragged on, and he was only an hour into the meeting with Lucius when the phone in his suit pocket rang.

He and Lucius shared a sceptical look as he turned the phone screen. The call location wasn't displaying as the Batcave, the only place that could contact this phone directly outside of his children, Lucius and Alfred's personal mobile. Yet he knew Red Hood was taking the brunt of patrol tonight, and Bruce was intended to join him after the meeting. Dick was carrying out some errands downtown and everyone else had either stayed home or didn't contact him like this often. The girls preferred to call his phone as Bruce Wayne or spoke through Alfred, so who could it be?

Lucius gives a nod, silent as he sits down. Bruce's face hardens as he presses the speaker button, accepting the call.

"Who is this?" he says, lowering his voice to the gravelly timbre of Batman.

"Da...B-Batman?" comes a broken, shaky voice on the other end. Lucius's eyes widen and flick to Bruce's immediately, mouth parting. Bruce's jaw ticks, eyes widening as well when he hears your voice.

"This is the Batman. How did you get this number?" He asks, having to focus on keeping his voice low, even though the tone of Bruce threatens to creep back in.

"He-he just had it. I don't know. He just told me to speak, I-I'm not even holding the phone I can't see anything; I’m tied, my eyes are-" you begin to ramble, struggling to get through your words before you're cut off.

"Hello, Batsy." calls a voice close to the receiver, and Bruce swore that his heart fell through the floor in that moment. His fingers tighten around the phone the same way that his lungs are constricting in his chest.

"Joker."

The man on the other end cackles, if Bruce could even call him that. "Miss me?" he snickers, Bruce's mind filling with the image of a red stretched grin. "You see, this is more of a... courtesy call. You know Bruce Wayne, billionaire extraordinaire?"

Bruce's head snaps up to Lucius, who's rubbing at his face nervously.

He didn't know, did he?

"You see, I didn't make a lot of impact going after the commissioner last time, so I had to think to myself, If I wanted to really shake things up in Gotham, who else is there? Then I thought of it, who better than the playboy of the century?" he laughs, punctuated with a sharp snap of his fingers.

"Get to the point." Bruce all but growls.

"Yeah yeah, you always love to rush me, don't you?" The Joker snarks back with fake hurt, before continuing. "Regardless, I have one of his little orphan projects, thinking I might have a bit more success with this one."

He hears a thwack over the phone and a scream, making his nails dig into his palm. He steadies his breathing.

"What have you done?" he asks, low and dangerous.

Another thwack.

"Exactly what I said. But there was a rumour going around that you know Mr. Money, so I thought I'd give you a call, you know, a little gift. If you do know the richest orphan in Gotham, then I want to give you the honour of telling him I've got one of his. Better yet, I want to give you the honour of delivering their body to his doorstep. Maybe that way, you might be able to bond over losing your fake kids."

Bruce feels sick, closing his eyes to try and stop himself from making a mistake right now.

Your life was on the line. He had to play smart.

"Where are you?"

The joker tuts on the other end. "This was a courtesy call, nothing more. I don't want anyone interrupting my playtime. Tata for now~"

"Joker-" he starts but then he's cut off, line going dead. Lucius doesn't say anything, his own personal phone pulled out as he calls Alfred, studying the frozen figure of Bruce. It's almost like there's dark tendrils to the shadows on his broad body, deepening the lines on his face.

Bruce doesn't remember too much, but Batman did.

Immediately he had left the room, suit en route to him and arriving within the minute. As soon as the comfort of his cowl touched his skin, Bruce was gone, and it was Batman calling everyone at the same time. It was Dick who picked up first, a couple of rings earlier than Jason before Tim joined, the sound of Damian in the background. Oracle and Spoiler joined together, while the others were still pending. He didn’t have the time to temper his voice as he relayed the situation, immediately getting as many people on recon as possible.

There were shouts and yelling and cursing before all of their lines became inactive, replaced with trackers signalling that their suits were live. When he enters the batmobile he grips the wheel tensely. The lump in his throat doesn't seem to disappear, only growing larger with each second. His mind is filled with pictures of Jason. Pictures of Barbara. The smiling photos of you.

He might never admit it, but he had your photos front and centre in his wallet (something you did in fact know and used to your advantage frequently in 'dad loves me more' battles). He remembers the first day he ever saw you, cold and scared apart from the other kids in the orphanage. He had been investigating a potential human trafficking ring operating out of the centre, but when he saw you, the fatherly pang hit him. The way your eyes stared forward dully as he greeted children as Bruce Wayne, cameras flashing around him. He had enough wealth to buy the children anything they asked for, the other kids excitedly asking for new toys or clothes or art supplies. However, when he kneeled down in front of you and asked you want you wanted, you said only a few words, 'a family'.

And god be damned if Bruce didn't have money enough for that too.

So, he took you in, hid batman from you like he had tried to with everyone else as well. Yet he failed again, but unlike his children in the past, you never asked to join. Never asked for a suit or to stay up or to train in the cave. Never showed any interest in joining your siblings or throwing yourself in front of danger for the sake of the city. When he asked you why you had simply shrugged, giving him a soft smile.

"All I've ever wanted was to be part of a family. I don't need to be a superhero to be loved."

And then you beamed at him with a smile that could have lit up his world and chased the clouds away from Gotham, so pure and genuinely content. That made Bruce feel like he had finally succeeded as a father, and for once Bruce felt like a father. No Batman, no mask and cape. He didn't train with you; he went out with you to the theatre on weekends. You didn't jump from rooftop to rooftop, you liked to come study with him in his office when he had to take care of Wayne affairs. Batman may have been created to save Gotham city, but he was convinced that you were sent to save Bruce Wayne.

Now, he felt that he had failed you as both Bruce and Batman.

"Hold on sweetheart," he whispers to himself, letting his eyes close for a brief moment during his exhale. "I'll get you home. I promise."

He pressed the accelerator further, Batmobile display signaling that everyone else was suited up and across the city waiting further instruction. He just hoped, he prayed that when he brought you back, it wouldn't be in a body bag.

[black-cat-luck]

Sugar on the Rim vol. II

bruce wayne x afab!reader

aka the billionaires new friend

part one

warnings: heavily implied that reader is a virgin, age gap (bruce is older than reader), smut, oral fem!receiving, nervous but enthusiastically consenting reader

You’d tried to calm your nerves but they couldn’t be helped.

You’re anxious about everything, all of it. What he wants you to do, what he’s expecting you do, whether it’ll hurt, whether you’re ready.

You think you trust Bruce, but you also know that these things are different for men and women. You don’t necessarily expect that he’ll have a mind for what you’ll need, but honestly, neither do you. You don’t know what to do to make this easier for yourself—you don’t know what to do at all. 

You bought the lingerie, you’ve got it on under your clothes and it feels like a costume. You can’t tell if that aids or worsens the anxiety. 

You’re fidgeting with the hem of your skirt and you wish you could quit it, you’re radiating enough nervous energy as it is, you don’t need to be sending him visual cues on top of it. 

Bruce holds your free hand in his as he guides you through the manor, you think it’s a different section than you’ve seen before. His hand engulfs yours unfairly as he leads, but the touch of his skin is so warm and inviting that you can’t tell if your hand is still shaking under it. If it is, he pretends not to notice.

He guides you up the stairs and into a corridor and then another before you arrive at a set of double doors. You’ve never seen double doors on the inside of a house before.

He lets you in ahead of him, and you have a distinct thought that you’re glad he can’t see the look of awe on your face as you walk in. His bedroom has an entire living room inside of it, and altogether it’s bigger than your whole apartment. A maroon couch and matching chairs surround a grand fireplace at the front of the room and the resulting glow from the active embers has the area shrouded in a warm light ahead of the shadows filling the rest.

You glance past the seating at his bed; large and proud. It’s definitely bigger than a king sized, with an overhead canopy and streams of dark burgundy curtains draping down from the corners. There’s another set of closed double doors past the bed, you imagine leading to the bathroom.

The end of the room displays a large window seat that looks like it’s never been used, and vast tinted windows. You look up to find the ceiling higher than you’ve ever seen in a bedroom with a very expensive chandelier hanging over it all.

He takes your arm, steering you out of your wonderment and leads you towards the couch rather than the bed, gesturing for you to sit down with him. You do, quietly glad when he positions himself so that you’re close to each other but not pressed right up against you. He’s able to relax his body more than you’re able to fake it on yourself, and you think your thoughts must be vibrating out of you by now.    

One hand comes to rest on your thigh as his other nudges your cheek towards him. “Hey, nothing’s happening right now. No need to be nervous.”

You nod blankly, but your thoughts are running wild with everything that you very much are nervous about.

He takes your hand in his, rubbing circles with his thumb. 

“You’ve got to relax,” he coos, “Remember what I said?”

You take a breath, “You’re not going to throw me in the deep end.”

“Exactly,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead. “Just wanna make you feel good, right?”

You nod, easing your posture.

He looks you in the eye, “You gonna let me?”

You hum, nodding again.

“Good girl,” he purrs, pulling away.

You quickly find that the distance is not at all what you want, and you decide to push forward—as forward as you can—sitting up again to peel your jacket off. He watches you move with a look in his eyes, you take it for intrigue but it may just as well be something akin to pride. Pride in you? He’s openly flirted, kissed you, and straight up propositioned you for sex—but sure, he’s proud of you for taking your jacket off.

Your nerves transition into insecurity before you can catch them, and you’re starting to feel a little stupid, like a child playing pretend.

You watch tentatively as he tilts his head at you, running his own assessments of your actions. 

“Will you come sit on my lap?” he asks you after a moment. 

You suddenly become acutely aware of the amount of air in your lungs. This feels like a big request and you’re not even sure how to take his meaning. Does he want you to sit sideways? Your back to his front? Or fully straddle him? 

He wants whatever you want, he’d said. What do you want?

You glance down at his thighs, covered by fabric more expensive than you can imagine. Positive confirmation rings through your head immediately, willing you to push yourself forward a little more. 

You reposition yourself over him, straddling his lap in spite of your nerves.

Again, he looks pleased. Happy even. One of his hands comes to stroke soothing patterns across your lower back, the other resting on your waist. 

He makes sure to catch your gaze, “You’ll tell me if you want to stop.” 

He follows when your eyes stray, “Yes?”

“Yes.”

He places a tender kiss on your cheekbone, “How did shopping go?”

“Um, good. It was good. One of the sales girls helped me,” your breath is shaky as he kisses your jawline.

“Yeah? Tell me about it.”

“I, uh, I just went to this little boutique up on third street,” he places another kiss on the column of your throat as you talk. “Um, it took longer than I thought it would. There were so many choices.”

His hands come up to soothe over your ribs, pulling you a little closer as they do. He hums for you to keep talking, his kisses continuing to lower until they’re down to your collarbone, though they remain relatively chaste.

“I—I didn’t really know what to look for,” you admit, breath shaky as you exhale. 

“But you like it?”

“Yeah, I—I do.”

He hums, smiling against your skin. His fingers inch under the seam of your shirt, caressing your waist. “Can I take this off?”

You nod timidly, trying not to seem so on edge with anticipation. You’re not confident that he can’t see right through you.  

He presses another chaste kiss to your neck upon receival of the permission, and your shirt begins to come off slowly, his hands skimming every new bit of skin revealed. As he pulls it over your head, he glances down at the baby pink bralette you’d picked out for yourself.

He groans quietly as he takes in the sight, “Oh, pretty girl. Beautiful girl,” He noses at your chest, leaving little kisses where his lips make contact with your skin, “Look at you. Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Your stomach flutters as his hair tickles your cheek. His hands roam up your sides, stopping to stroke placid circles along the sides of your breasts.

His touch makes its way around your back, expertly undoing your bra clasp without a second thought. Your bra hangs forward a bit off your shoulders, but he leaves the work of entirely removing it to you. And you do, with more confidence than you’d imagined yourself mustering.

He immediately shows his appreciation, kissing and caressing your chest with lover-like admiration. Your head falls back involuntarily as he noses at your soft skin.

He’s breathing heavy when he pulls back, humming low and deep before lifting you up off his lap to stand. The sudden shift has you a bit thrown off, working to catch up as he kneels down in front of you and repeats his earlier process with your skirt—kissing your thighs and tugging the fabric down bit by bit.

When it’s discarded on the floor you stand only left in your underwear, the lace practically illuminated against your skin.

He looks up at you from his place on the floor and smiles as he takes in the sight of your body. His hands find your hips as he asks you, “Has anyone ever seen you like this before?”

You hesitate for half a second before answering truthfully.

His smile grows, “No, you’re a good girl, aren’t you?” 

He doesn’t wait for an answer before he’s nodding, “Yeah, I know.”

As he rises to stand he scoops you up by the back of your thighs and lifts you in the air with no discernable effort. Now at face level with him, you get a bit bolder and lean in to kiss him. He kisses you back, pleased, beginning to walk the two of you over towards the bed.

He sets you down gently atop the soft mattress, kisses pushing you backwards to lie back on the bed. He scoops your wrists up and leisurely moves your arms up above your head. His grip is benign as he releases one hand in favor of holding your jaw. Your kiss is deep and controlled on his part, but in a way that makes you feel light in the head. You like the cloudy-sensation very much.

After a while, he pulls back to look at you with clouded eyes. 

He practically purrs, “You’re such a kind girl. So sweet to everyone, all the time. Will you let me be sweet to you?”

Your breath is shaky as you nod, attempts at hiding your anticipation failing.

He nods back at you with a faux-sympathy across his face. “Let me hear you say it.”

You force air into your lungs, giving you the willpower to speak the words. “Will you touch me? Please?”

The corners of his lips turn up, “Of course, sweet girl.”

He nips at your jaw as his hands travel down, petting the inside of your thighs with a touch so feather light it almost tickles.

Your knee jerks inward towards his hand, your body desperately seeking out more of this new sensation. He obliges, tracing his touch back up, up, up until his hand dips under the lace trim of your panties, skimming over your clit. Your hips flinch back away from him momentarily in surprise, only to press back forward a second later.

He actually laughs at the action, like it’s endearing. You feel a little silly for it, but you’re not given much time to dwell as he persists, brushing against you with a bit more pressure.

He tilts his head, watching your expression carefully with a remarkably pleased look on his own face. “How’s that, sweet girl?”

You nod, beside yourself. “Feels good,” you whimper. “Feels really good..”

You don’t necessarily mean to, but your hips grind up against his touch, your body too mesmerized with the sensation to remember to be embarrassed.

He’s certainly not complaining about it though, his quiet coos encouraging you to chase the feeling. 

He lets you grind up against his hand, taking in the needy look on your face with contentment.

“Poor girl,” he tuts. “Just need somebody to take care of you, huh?”

That makes your cheeks burn, but your attention finds itself more concerned with the urge to squeeze your thighs together.

You whine when he pulls his hand back out of your underwear, only for him to stand resolute in his actions. 

“Not yet, sweet thing,” he hums, pressing you back down to the bed with a light but firm touch when you try to sit up. 

He hushes you gently, murmuring for you to be patient as he shifts his position over you. 

He starts to move down your body, leaving kisses in his wake. The sensation of his lips tracing down your stomach has you feeling butterflies.

By the time he reaches your waistline you’re borderline dizzy from the anticipation, squeezing your legs together in an attempt to alleviate the ache.

He pauses there for a moment, torturously, and noses at the seam of your panties. A whine from you has him chuckling and finally moving to where you need him.

He kisses your clit over your underwear and you’re fighting thoughts of embarrassment over how sure you are he can taste how wet you are over the fabric.

It doesn’t seem to be enough for him though, as he tugs your panties down slowly, kissing your thighs as he goes.

Bruce’s hands hold onto your waist as he eats you out, holding you in place with an easy grip. 

You squirm against the feel of his tongue and you can’t quite figure out what to do with your hands. You almost wish he’d made you keep them above your head but really you’re not sure you’d be able to keep it together if he had. You’re not sure you’re keeping it together now.

He groans against your pussy, and one of your hands flies to grip his hair without permission from your brain. If you’re being honest with yourself though, your brain isn’t really the one calling the shots anymore.

You gasp when he licks a bold stripe, “Bruce—”

He groans again, briefly breaking away from you. “Oh, say that again.”

You sigh out, “Bruce, please.” 

He makes a pleased hum. “Good girl,” he murmurs before diving back in. 

He complies with your pleas generously, giving you more. He’s gradual but resolute as he inserts two fingers into you, giving you the time to adjust. But he’d evidently done a very thorough job prepping you for it, you’re so wet that the initial entry doesn’t sting like you’d expected. No, rather the first thing you register is closer to pleasure. A lot closer.

He begins to pump in and out of you at he continues to suck at your clit, and somewhere during you have a distinct thought of “oh this is it.”

You let out a little gasp and for once, you break out of your own head and just relish in the way his fingers curl inside you.

The way your thighs squeeze around him as you come, doesn’t hinder him one bit, only has him applying his ministrations with more intent. It doesn’t take long for the trembling of your body to give way to full on shaking, your body stuttering beneath him.

He continues working at you the entire way through your orgasm, until you’re flinching from overstimulation. 

He gives you one more lick before looking up at you with hooded eyes. “Y’taste sweet too, you know that?”

You can feel the blood rush to your cheeks as he starts to move back up to face-level, kissing the high point of your cheekbone.  

He pulls down on your bottom lip, your slick wet against your mouth.

You open without question, a clouding urge to please him the only thing running through your mind. 

He grumbles a low, pleased sound as you do, moving his hand only to provide room for him to kiss you again.

He sits back up over you and starts unbuttoning his shirt and you realize only now that he’s still fully dressed. 

He glances down to his belt as he undoes the buttons. 

“Will you help me out, sweet girl?”

You blink a couple times before registering the request, still overwhelmed by how quickly and skillfully he’d made you come. 

You struggle a bit to push yourself up into a sitting position, but he supports you by your waist, nipping along your jaw as encouragement.

Your hands shake as you undo the clasp, and while you’re still very much eager, if not moreso, you’re suddenly confronted with the very real possibility that you’re about to have your limits pushed. He ate you out and did a damn good job, stands to reason that he’d want you to return the favor.

So it takes you by surprise when he’s nudging you back against the pillows, removing his pants himself.

He keeps you occupied with an intense kiss as he does, and the distraction so smooth it’s almost like it’s rehearsed. 

You follow his lead easily, though surprised by his lack of desire to get his fill too.

He drapes himself over you nicely, his size easily dwarfing you out. He’s quick to block your chin from tilting down, gently bringing your face back up to meet his. 

He shakes his head lightly, murmuring, “Don’t worry about that. I got you.”

You are worried about it, but you trust Bruce, you know you do now.

You feel the weight of his cock against your stomach, at this exact moment, feeling like not much more than a daunting task.

“S’alright, sweet girl,” he lulls, brushing your hair back. “Okay?”

As heavy as the simple question is, you don’t need to think about it before you’re nodding and moving your hand to hold onto his bicep.

He peppers kisses all over your face as he starts to push in, effectively starting to distract you from the pain of the stretch. He hushes your whines soothingly and kneads at your waist with confident hands.

Your arms lock around his shoulders on instinct, your eyes squeezing shut as you try to convince yourself he’s almost all the way in, but you know you’ve got aways to go.

He pauses halfway, imploring you to open your eyes so he can check up on you properly.

“Talk to me, sweetheart,” he softly urges.

You will yourself to blink up at him and try to take on the challenge of both him and his gaze. Surely, an impossible task.

But you manage shaky eye contact that occasionally gives way to glancing down at his lips. 

It doesn’t feel good yet, but it only makes you more eager to keep going.

“I’m okay,” you nod, taking a breath. “You can keep going.”

He waits to find that reassurance in your eyes before he continues to push in, bestowing you a deep kiss in reward for your bravery.

Once he’s nearly bottomed out he waits a moment, then begins to rock in and out slowly, letting you get used to a starter of the sensation.

He brushes your hair back, weaving through the strands. “There we go,” he coos as you look down between you. “Doing so good.”

Your gasp is louder than they had been before, and closer to a sigh now. 

He’s fucking you gently, with a decorum that exceeds what you’d earlier told yourself you were stupid for hoping for.

It doesn’t take long at all for his movement to start to feel really good and your grip around his shoulders comes around to a different kind of intensity.

He noses against your jaw, applying kisses whenever  convenient. “‘S that feel good, sweet girl? Hm?”

He hits a particularly deep spot in you immediately after and it makes you borderline squeak. He huffs out a laugh that’s nothing short of affectionate. 

“Yeah?”

He then attacks that spot with extra intention, hitting it absolutely expertly every time. He speeds up a little, lips latched onto your neck as he fucks you nice and deep.

He drops a hand down between you and starts rubbing circles onto your clit with a pace that makes you want to scream.

You can’t help the moan you release when he teeths at your neck, clearly aiming to drive you crazy. But damn if he isn’t going about it the right way.

His circles pick up pace and you can be sure you’re leaving nail marks on his back. He seems to only get more encouraged by your sounds, working you closer and closer to the edge with every whimper.

He finally lets you over after a minute of shamelessly relishing in your moans, himself following close after.

He continues moving in and out of you until you’ve both completely finished, slowly coming to a stop. 

You get a moment to catch your breath before he pulls out delicately. You don’t even realize he’s moved before he’s got his boxers back on and is halfway to the bathroom.

You’re a little alarmed by the sudden shift in proximity, though you guess that’s the playboy experience, isn’t it? After a second you hear water running and assume he’s taking a shower.

You push yourself to sit up fully, minding your achy thighs, and swing your legs over the side of the bed. You glance at the foot of the bed where your underwear lies, then back over by the couch where the rest of your clothes lay discarded. You briefly contemplate how quickly you can get your clothes back on when the bathroom doors open again.

You glance up at Bruce, dazed, who looks surprised himself to see you sitting up. As he makes his way back to the bed you notice the supplies he has in tow and your brain begins to slowly start turning its gears again.

You don’t realize the glass of water in his hand is for you until he’s pushed it into your palm. 

His other hand carries a wet wash cloth that you, again, aren’t able to register the purpose for until it’s in action. 

“Drink,” he tells you as he spreads your knees apart gently, wiping away the mess between your legs with a notable amount of compassion for your sensitivity.

You do, gulping a few as he finishes, tossing the rag in a hamper before setting your glass down on the side table.

Your eyes return to the end of the bed and you nearly decide to get up, but he’s still standing so close to you, you’re not sure this is the right time.

You seem caught halfway between decisions now, you know you do. You’d honestly preferred when you thought he’d just ditched you for a shower because at least then this part wouldn’t be so awkward.

He watches you closely as you deliberate and seems to draw a conclusion about your hesitation rather quickly. His brow pinches as he processes, tilting his head at you. 

“You’ve got to be joking,” he says, bewildered. “Right?”

“I—” you falter, looking to the couch and back to him again. “No?”

He stares at you for a moment with an expression you can’t define.

“Lay down.”

You don’t have a second to process before he’s climbing back in bed too, pulling you down to lay your head on the pillow.

He pulls the covers over you and splays an arm over your waist, clearly firm in his decision for you to stay.

Your eyes are heavy and his bed is so comfortable, it’s difficult for you to even consider either of you wanting you to leave now.

Maybe you’ll just sleep for a little while, get some of your energy back. 

The way he traces soft patterns across your stomach certainly encourages the idea and doesn’t give you much power to resist.

You let your eyes flutter shut to the feather-light touch and listen to the steady deepness of his breaths.

Well, this isn’t so bad either.

🐲 reblogging is an ancient art form, only the strong may master it 🐲

[black-cat-luck]

Here’s the thing with the new Jason and Dick movie coming out.

I really hope that they don’t bring up Jason’s death.

From what I know, it’s going to be Dick and Jason in the early days. When Dick is Nightwing and Jason is Robin. I don’t think that Jason will die because that’s a lot more emphasis on Bruce and Jason than Dick and Jason. But like… I want one piece of media with Jason that is not focused on his death or resurrection.

Also, I want good dad Bruce. I want Dick and Jason to be absolute gremlins, tormenting Bruce with their little jabs and shit. I want them to have the vibe of Dick being like “Fuck you Bruce! I don’t need you anymore! I’m going on this super cool mission SOLO!!” And Bruce is like “okay son, but you have to bring your little brother with you.” And Dick is like “OMG BRUCE YOUR THE WORST!!” And Jason takes offence to that and kicks his shins.

Also also, you should really check out the studio that’s animating the movie. They have these beautiful animatronic puppets that really remind me of Laika characters. Yeah, it’s going to be puppets and stop motion. Sign me the fuck up. I can’t wait to see their designs and how it will look!! They’re called Swaybox!

What are your guys thoughts?

[black-cat-luck]

Adopted Damian AU Index

Brief overview of the AU

Arc 1: Who's your Daddy?

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Arc 2: Welcome to the family

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Interlude

Part 8

Arc 3: A Breaking Point

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Interlude

Part 13

Arc 4: What could have been

Part 14

Part 15

Part 16

Part 17

Arc 5: Who’s Really Your Daddy

Part 18

Part 19

Part 20

Part 21

Part 22

Part 23

Interlude

Part 24

Part 25

Arc 6: 4th of July

Part 26

Part 27

Part 28

Part 29

Part 30

Part 31

Part 32

Part 33

Part 34

Part 35

Part 36

Part 37

Part 38

Part 39

Interlude

Part 40

Arc 7: Mother Dearest

Part 41

Part 42

Part 43

Part 44

Part 45

Part 46

[black-cat-luck]

Hes not in it guys…

(based on this)

[black-cat-luck]