#batboys fanfiction

[angelfic]

jason todd x reader

warnings — mentions of size/body image, jason being insecure… and also sexy. also this is unedited as per usual. other than that, nothing!

a/n; im gonna bite his bicep like that’s all i have to say. enjoy <3

JASON TODD is huge.

the man is over 6 feet of pure muscle so it doesn’t matter how tall you are, he’s bigger than you and he’s very aware of it.

when he’s red hood, being so large is a tactical advantage. he feels strong and in charge and practically unbeatable.

when he’s jason, he feels uncomfortable and noticeable and that’s the last thing he wants or needs. he doesn’t stop working out, because not only does he need something physical to relieve his stress, but he also can’t afford not being jacked as fuck. how the hell else is he supposed to be as scary as he is as red hood.

instead, he overcompensates by wearing darker colours, slightly oversized hoodies, not always standing up at his full height. it doesn’t do that much, the sheer size of him is a little hard to fully hide, but it makes him feel a little better.

when you come into the picture, things slowly start to change.

every time he hugs you, it’s instantly a mood booster for you because of how safe it feels with his arms wrapped around you, shielding you from the world for a few minutes. the way you sigh and melt into the hug has him smiling, a little shyly, as he holds you closer.

whenever you need him to get you something off a high shelf, he happily obliges and loves feeling useful. more than that, he loves how you always thank him by gently running a hand down his chest. “what would i do without you?” you say, sincerely, because you know he needs to hear it sometimes. and when you drop a kiss to his forearm as he sets the object down, he’s suddenly glad that he’s taller than you and he starts standing a little straighter.

the first time you hold up his hand against yours to compare sizes, you find yourself grinning at the difference. jason finds himself thinking about how small your hand is instead of how large his own is. and when you interlock your fingers with his, that’s all he’s focusing on.

sometimes, when your eyes are locked on your phone as you’re walking the busy streets of gotham and letting jason guide you around with your hand in his, he’s having to grab your waist to stop you bumping into someone or something. “careful,” he mutters, but his mind has gone blank and all he’s thinking about is his large hands around your waist and his pulse is racing. he feels like a creep until you turn around to give him a sheepish smile and thank him, placing your hands on his to keep them around your waist. he doesn’t miss the way you’re glancing down and biting your lip.

with jason around, you never have to do any heavy lifting, but of course you’re going to try sometimes. when you buy a cute new coffee table and it arrives when he’s out on patrol, you physically can’t wait to open and buid it. that bit is easy enough, but you find yourself cursing when you realise you stupidly built it on the other side of the room. “uhm, what do you think you’re doing?” jason asks, leaning in the doorway, red hood helmet in between his arm. you’re breathing heavily, arms pinned awkwardly at your sides as you were trying a new approach of throwing your body weight against the table to shift it. you slump, looking up at him with a pout.

“it’s heavier than i thought,” you admit. jason crosses the living room in two giant strides.

“you’re gonna hurt yourself,” he says, lifting the entire thing with both hands on either side and effortlessly placing it in front of the couch. he looks at you for approval in case you want it elsewhere and finds that you’re staring at him, slack jawed. he frowns, crossing his arms over, vigilante suit still on. “what…?”

“that was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” you say, shamelessly. he grins, shaking his head at the way you’re completely serious, but the blush on his cheeks gives him away. “no, seriously, you need to run before i pounce on you.”

his favourite thing is your habit of falling asleep on him when you’re watching tv and he often needs to pick you up to take you to bed. sometimes, you start to stir, halfway to the bedroom and you sleepily blink up at him before wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing a kiss to his jaw. “you’re so strong,” you mumble against his shoulder, your voice soft with drowsiness. jason’s heart clenches.

jason starts standing at his full height just so he can see you craning your neck to look at him, giving him the excuse to lift you up onto the counter which often results in you wrapping your legs around his waist and engaging a make out session.

he starts to wear t-shirts instead of large hoodies when he goes to the gym, just so he can hear you wolf whistle as he walks to the door, running over to kiss him goodbye and giving his biceps a squeeze.

day by day, jason finds himself more comfortable with just being him. and he’s even happier than he gets to be himself with you.

a/n cont.; the red hood mask stays ON during sex

[olailamajnoon]

Headcanon: Jason, after coming back from the dead, decides to fuck with Bruce for revenge and also because it slaps, but mostly for revenge ykwim

Bruce blames coffee and lack of sleep for the fact that the pizza delivery boy looks like Jason, the club bouncer looks like Jason, the clerk in Damian's school looks like Jason

Jason: here's your pizza, mister *shoves it into Bruce's face*

Bruce: 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 can I ask your name

Jason: Percy, but everyone just calls me Purse. Like in "cut purse"

Bruce: *under his breath* jesus, you even SOUND like him

Jason, wide innocent eyes popping out of his chiseled man face: you okay dude?

Bruce, convinced he's finally lost his mind, but still holding on to the "illusion": Do you want to come inside?

Jason, deadpan: dude you're rich white and famous, you really think imma let you take me inside your gargantuan Gothic mansion? Being killed one time's enough

Bruce, turning around: *wHaT dId YoU sAy*

[yandere-writer-momo]

My take on the neglected spouse trope, but with a little spice. Short and to the point

Yandere Batman Shorts: Adorned In Pearls

Yandere Bruce Wayne x Neglected Wife Fem Reader x Yandere Batboys (platonic)

Tw: obsession, unhealthy relationship dynamic, power imbalance, time rewind, imprisonment (implied), death (beginning), and themes that should not be romanticized

“Put the jewels in the bag!” (Your name) didn’t even flinch when the intruder crudely held up his gun to her while she was in the kitchen. It seems her end was finally near at last. “Did you hear me?! Put your jewels in the bag!”

(Your name) calmly turned off the stove top while the intruder kept his voice raised. She had been working on breakfast for her ungrateful husband and her adopted children since they’d be back from patrol in a few hours. Alfred was in the Batcave which left her up here and vulnerable… not that they’d care.

“Let me turn off the stove so you don’t blow the place up if you shoot.” (Your name) calmly told him. She knew this would be a tragic end… and she looked forward to her suffering to end at last.

(Your name) unclasped the pearls from her neck and placed them in the burlap sack the burglar thrusted toward her with one hand. She then made her way to take off each piece of jewelry that was an empty gift from her husband. Even his mother’s ring he gave her for their opulent wedding.

“Code. Safe. Now.” The burglar demanded as he thrusted the gun in her chest.

“0219.” (Your name) calmly stated despite how terrifying the situation was. “It’s in the third room to the right.”

She could not get another word in before a searing pain filled her chest as a loud gunshot rung throughout the house. She glanced down at her chest at the bullet hole that was now through her chest cavity.

The burglar walked off while she sank to the floor in a heap. Her hands went to her phone to make a final call but… she knew no one from this house would answer. (Your name) was always an afterthought, and she believed she would be even in death.

So she dialed 911 and waited for the operator to answer. Her right hand was stained crimson as the viscous blood pooled around her like a grotesque blanket.

Once she heard the operated answer, (your name) cut them off, “There’s been a robber and murder at the Wayne manor.”

(Your name) then hung up and turned her gaze to the ceiling. If there was another life, she would be selfish and live for herself. She wouldn’t rot away like lettuce in the back of a fridge in this manor. No… she would have more respect for herself.

Breathe in… breathe out. She smiled in peace for the first time in years. She was finally free from this lonely nightmare she had been trapped in for nearly two decades. Maybe, she would finally deserve her chance to be loved as much as she loved back.

How was she to know the nightmare only just began?

.

.

.

(Your name) jolted awake, her wine glass nearly slipped from her hand from the sudden movement. A myriad of voices chattered in the opulent restaurant has her eyes glanced around the almost surreal scene.

This was the restaurant she had begged Bruce and the boys to come to for her birthday with her six years ago…

“ Mrs. Wayne, would you like another glass of water?” The familiar waiter came over with a pitiful expression that she had seared into her memory from all those years ago. The look almost every waiter gave her at any venue she went to.

“Actually, I’d like to order.” (Your name) smiled. “It’s my birthday… and I want to celebrate it for once.”

The waiter seemed surprised but happily took her order. This was the first time she had ordered rather than wait for hours for a family that wouldn’t come.

(Your name) smiled to herself, her gaze focused on the complementary wine glass that was brought to her by the wait staff. How sad was it that the stranger showed her more love than her own family?

She had a second chance… and she’d be damned if she wasted it.

.

.

.

After she had long left and enjoyed her meal, a dashing family of five hurriedly arrived to the restaurant.

Bruce Wayne looked slightly disheveled, but that didn’t take away from his charming good looks. The billionaire and his adopted sons hurriedly glanced around the restaurant for any sign of his wife and their mother. He knew she would be here… just like she always was that she waited for them.

They had all been given a second chance when they came home and found her small, lifeless body on the kitchen floor after patrol.

Never had they all cried so much as they cradled her cold, bloody form as they desperately tried to revive her. Each of them begged for another chance to love her properly.

Each of them had spent so much time finding the perfect gift to make up all the lost time up to her and to finally celebrate her birthday like a family… just like she always dreamed.

They had always kept their distance to keep her safe from their enemies. Yet they had instead created a giant misunderstanding. One that they all desperately needed to make up for.

“Do you think mother is still here? I hope she didn’t wait too long…” Damian muttered, his green eyes nervously searched for (your name)’s delicate form.

“She always waits for us. She loves us.” Dick reassured the others, yet they all knew it was more of a self reassurance. “She will be so happy…”

The wait staff seemed surprised but they did give the boys some glares.

“Jeez, what’s their problem?” Jason huffed as he put his hands in his pockets. He didn’t see her anywhere… he had gotten her a wonderful gift for once.

“I can look up her location.” Tim chimed in as he pulled out his phone. “She’s around, I’m sure.

It was Bruce who seemed to search the hardest for her. A bouquet of roses were clenched so hard in his fists that his knuckles turned white. He would make this all right again.

(Your name) was alive once more… and he would make sure she would never die or be hurt by anyone again. She’d be protected and cherished like she deserved.

“I’m sorry, but Mrs. Wayne left hours ago.”

The men all instantly deflated. She left? But she would always be here for hours for them… was there a possibility she returned in time too?

They all went back to the manor in haste. They wanted to celebrate her birthday with her… they wanted to celebrate so much with her. They wouldn’t let her be alone ever again.

.

.

.

(Your name) dipped her feet in the hot tub at the manor with a content sigh. Her lungs deeply inhaled the crisp night air with a dreamy sigh. This felt so peaceful. Why had she never celebrated her birthday like this before?

(Your name) didn’t even flinch when she heard the boys come home. Perhaps patrol ended early? It’s been so many years of being ignored that she hardly knew what went on in their lives.

She slipped the robe off and slid her swimsuit clad body into the comfortably hot water. Another sigh spilled through her lips, her muscles relaxed. This felt like heaven.

(Your name) jumped when Bruce suddenly slid the sliding door open with a loud whack. She was quick to cover her cleavage with her hands despite how this man was her legal husband.

“ Mr. Wayne? What are you doing here-“ Bruce was quick to close the distance and pull her into a hug. The muscular man shook like a leaf as he held her to him. His heart beats so fast, she swore it was about to burst.

“You’re alive… you’re okay…” (Your name) did a double take at his words. When did he ever care about her well-being?

“Yes? Why wouldn’t I be?” There was no way he came back to the past too, right? Her original, neglectful husband would never hold her and bury his nose in her hair like this…

Yet here Bruce Wayne, her infamous billionaire, Playboy husband, was with his face borrowed into her skin. His nose deeply inhaled her scent like she was his favorite flower. He held her as if she was something precious, something he has never done in their two decades of marriage.

“What are you doing?” She asked, but he only held her tighter.

Bruce pulled back to study her face, is blue eyes were dark like a sea storm. His brows were furrowed in worry.

“Hugging my wife.”

A humorless chuckle bubbled from her chest. So now she was his wife? Since when has he treated her as such.

“Is this a joke?” She asked him despite how serious he looked. “I’m just a decorated house pet-“

Her eyes almost popped out of her head when he planted a searing kiss on her lips. A gasp escaped her as his tongue thrust its way into the cavern of her mouth and tasted every inch of it. His hands greedily grasped at her body.

“Wife… my wife.” Bruce whispered against her lips. “My beautiful wife.”

“Mister Wayne-“

“It’s Bruce.” His voice was authoritative as he cut her formalities off.

“…Bruce.” She sighed. “I’m not sure what you want from me.”

“I want you. I want my wife.” (Your name) squealed when h got into the hot tub with her to hair with her. “It’s your birthday today…”

He… he knew her birthday?

“I didn’t think you ever noticed...” She muttered, but he pressed his forehead to hers.

“All these years, we thought we were keeping you safe by keeping a distance. How foolish I was.” Bruce sighed. “You’re safer in our arms, in my arms.”

(Your name) was speechless when he pulled a gift box from his breast pocket and opened it to reveal an exquisite pearl necklace.

“You deserve to be adorned in pearls and jewels. To be pampered by me.” Bruce didn’t give her the chance to move away as he clasped the necklace around her.

Despite its elegance, (your name) couldn’t help the dread that pulled in her stomach. She could not stop the feeling that this pearl necklace was nothing more than a magnificent collar.

“You look so beautiful in those pearls… they were my mother’s, you know.” Bruce hummed as he picked her up and placed her on the edge of the hot tub.

Bruce placed her robe back over her form.

“Let’s get changed and go celebrate your birthday properly with the boys. They really want to see their mother.” He pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek. “and after that, I think you and I can finally make up for all the lost time.”

(Your name) felt a tear roll down her face that Bruce took as a tear of joy. Yet only she knew the truth.

She had believed she would escape and find her own happiness, now she realize she would never escape this gilded cage.

[eyeheartboobiez]

nicknames that bruce + the batboys would call you

warnings: sexual themes in jason’s part, fem!reader a/n: just sumn slight. enjoy😁

⁎⁺˳ 𝒷𝓇𝓊𝒸𝑒 ミ

❀ bruce grew up wealthy so he would definitely call you something more on the classy side

❀ things like darling, angel, dear, my love, etc.

❀ he also has a habit of referring to you as “my wife” (because he’s possessive asf)

❀ “sorry guys, i really can’t stay for another drink. i’ve got to get back to my wife.”

❀ “you said these shoes were dior? oh, im sure my wife would love these.”

❀ on the flip side, he also really likes referring to himself as your husband (one might say he does it for the ego boost)

❀ like whenever you too are meeting someone for the first time, he'll introduce you first and then only introduce himself as "your husband"

❀ because why should someone care about him, a mega rich billionaire, when his lovely and radiant wife is standing right next to him?

⁎⁺˳ 𝒹𝒾𝒸𝓀 ミ

❀ dick would definitely be the type to call you something super lovey-dovey and over the top

❀ sugarplum, honey bunches, buttercup, (and if he really wants to get on your nerves,) shnookums

❀ he knows it’s lame, but he genuinely doesn’t care

❀ since his love language is acts of service, you tend to hear a lot of "let me get that for ya, honeybun"

❀ or something like “hey sugarplum! im on my way home from work, you want me to pick up anything?”

❀ or even "don't worry about dinner honeylove, lemme take care of things tonight."

❀ regardless of how annoying it is, you can't help but love his teasing nicknames for you

❀ like you two are that annoying couple that everyone loves can't stand seeing at the function (i know valentine's day hatesss to see yall coming)

❀ off topic but if the two of you had a kid together, i imagine him nicknaming your daughter ‘love bug’ (AWWW)

⁎⁺˳ 𝒿𝒶𝓈𝑜𝓃 ミ

❀ despite his thick exterior, jason’s a lover boy at heart

❀ he’d call you stuff like babe, doll, sweetheart, hon, y’know all that cheesy stuff

❀ most importantly though, this boy lovesss to call you mama

❀ like for example, he usually likes to greet you with a casual "hey mama, you doin okay?" followed by a quick peck on the check

❀ or if you're being goofy trying to get him to feel better, he'll probably say something like "c'mon mama, cut it out" as a smile inevitably blossoms on his face

❀ alongside this, he also has a weird kink thing for calling himself papa

❀ either “thatsss it sweetheart, come to papa” or “let papa bear handle it, ‘kay? you just sit down there and look pretty f’me.”

❀ you have absolutely no idea where he got it from because jason swears up and down that he's never done it until he got in a relationship with you

⁎⁺˳ 𝓉𝒾𝓂 ミ

❀ while tim is such a sweetheart, so his pet names for you would most definitely reflect that

❀ sweets, pretty, baby love, cutie; simple stuff like that

❀ also, let’s not forget that this boy is a certified LEWSER, so that also shows within you guys’ relationship

❀ he sometimes calls you pookie (he’s chronically online…)

❀ he'd probably be up texting you at 2am (because why wouldn’t be be up at that time) and is like “hey pooks u wanna check out this new italian place i found? i saw that they serve a few of ur faves”

❀ he also has a nasty habit of referring to you as dude or bro

❀ you'll often get random tiktoks from him throughout the day like "bro look this is totally us" or "me & u fr🥹"

❀ sure it's corny but the sentiment is sweet so you don't really mind

❀ a lot of people think the relationship you both have may be a bit odd, but neither of you care (and that's all that matters <3)

[delusionsofgrandeur13]

“jay—” 

the sentence you somehow thought you could form dies in your throat as your breath shudders in your lungs. 

“yes, my love?” your roommate, jason todd, looks up from where he’s happily situated: between your thighs. his attention now divided, you’re mercifully granted a break. you gulp for air, your hands over your face. 

“i just need—” 

“what? what do you need?” he cuts you off, impatient that you’re pulling him away from what he’s been so dutifully working on for probably an hour..if not more. “you want me to stop?” jason teases, rubbing a warm, calloused hand over the meat of your thigh. “does it feel too good?”

“w-what?” confused, you shake your head. “i don’t—”

“i think you need someone to worry about you for once, huh?” he raises an eyebrow at you, causing your cheeks to heat as your hands fly back up to your face. “what, you don’t agree?” 

you open your mouth to argue, then close it. then open it again, thinking. 

“mm. that’s what i thought.” your roommate smirks at you, turning his gaze back onto the part of you that’s still pulsing with heat from his ministrations. his chin’s slick from how much time he’s spent tongue deep in your pussy. 

but he wants more. 

wants to feel your hands in his hair again, gripping as he draws orgasm after orgasm out of you. wants to feel your thighs tight around his head, your self-control wavering as your back arches off the mattress, again and again. 

wants nothing but to breathe you in as he presses feathery light kisses to your puffy clit, watching you squirm from the barely-there pressure of his lips. 

wants you, all of you, the happy, sad, messy, angry, loving, caring, beautiful you,

—but jason: dead and revived, beaten and bruised, silent and steadfast, your jason, can’t always put that into words, can he?

so he wants you to feel it, really feel it:

in the way he pats your thigh lovingly as he runs his tongue through your folds, over and over. 

in the way he carries you to bed when you fall asleep on him in the living room. kisses your forehead as he tucks you in.

in the way he brushes your hair out of your face before he grabs you by the cheeks and your lips meet. 

in the way he knows your favorite, well, everything. 

in the way he’s always holding your hand when the two of you walk anywhere.

in the way his pupils always widen, huge and blown out, when he looks at you, making your heart pound in time with his as he holds your gaze. 

in the way he washes your hair in the shower, 

makes your coffee in the mornings, 

buys and arranges flowers for you,

wears that cologne you like,

knows the sidewalk rule, 

kisses your forehead,

laughs with you,

smirks at you,

loves you.

and yet you two are.. 

you two, and you both worry. 

of course, you both worry. 

he worries he’s not enough for you—

his lifestyle, his history..how could he ever be what you need? how could he give you the life you deserve?

—and you worry you’re a little too much sometimes. 

a man like that? with his past, his present? and yet he takes care of you like it’s the easiest thing in the world. like he could do it in his sleep. 

all you know is that he doesn’t have to worry, shouldn’t have to, because whatever, or however much he thinks he wants something, you want it just as much..if not more. 

and what you want next? to make it official? to really, truly, make him your jason?

well. 

how could he refuse you?

[ahqkas]

“MILLION DOLLAR MAN — bruce wayne.

PAIRING! bruce wayne 𝒙 fem!reader SYNOPSIS! bruce met you through a dating app (his sons’ doing, really) and the temptation to invite you over for christmas is getting harder to resist WORD COUNT! 3.6k WARNINGS / TAGS! fluff, bruce is literally down bad for reader in this one, unedited + lmk if found! NOTES! for nat & based on this req. , header bellow belongs to @/v6que © ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

BRUCE WAYNE AVOIDED RELATIONSHIPS LIKE A SOLDIER DODGING BULLETS, each attempt adding yet another layer to the armor he wore daily. He didn’t need them, the women, or so he told himself. They entered his life easily — at his own charity galas, where one pretty bird thought she could get a kiss from him by the end of the night. Female admirers who ate up his charming smiles and sharp eyes seemed to flock around him at all times. And those countless girls who were lured in by the Wayne name, the status, the wealth.

And Bruce gave them the attention they craved from him.

The women served their purpose as brief districtions, companions who helped him maintain his public image, but none of them really mattered to him.

They kept the colder side of his bed warm, but never his heart.

It wasn’t that Bruce didn’t want love — some part of him did, but that part was buried under the weight of Batman. Allowing himself to lose the walls around him and find an attachment in a woman wasn't something his alter ego was okay with, not with the way he’d been living. And another part convinced him that his duties as Gotham’s protector, with all his scars and wounds, didn’t make him a possible object for such things. Love and vigilantism didn’t mingle together well.

Maybe that’s why his own sons and personal butler teamed up on him. Batman was a hero to many, but with how much it damaged Bruce’s internal beliefs, it would ruin him soon enough.

It started as something innocent (but it seemed the wolf was clothed in sheep’s wool): Dick, his oldest, had teased him about his non-existent love life during a training session in the Batcave.

The large space was full with flickering lights coming from the monitors and grunts from the fighting men. Sweat filled the air, masculine and strong, but that only indicated to the hard work they were doing. Training wasn’t easy, they liked to train with the maximum intensity ( it was kinda needed, too ) and it showed. From their damp hair and glistening skin to the rippling muscles underneath their clothes.

“You know, Bruce,” his son started when he blocked yet another strike coming from the man in question. A puff of air left his mouth upon the attack. Not fair. “for someone who spends his nights saving people, you sure are terrible at saving yourself from eternal loneliness.”

Bruce delivered another jab, this one directed straight at Dick’s weak point. “Not now, Dick.”

But his son was nothing if not persistent and he always got what he wanted, whether it was with or without serious consequences. “I’m serious. When was the last time you went on a date? And don’t try to tell me you had one on your arm during the last charity event. That doesn’t count.”

Both of them fully knew Bruce’s arm candies were way more interested in his name and money than in his heart and soul. The truth made his jaw muscles tighten at the realization.

“My personal life is irrelevant to my work.”

Dick took the opportunity and circled the older man like a predator catching the prey’s scent of blood. A sweet weakness, that one. He’d be stupid if he didn’t take the chance. “Is it though? I mean, sure, you’re great at taking down supervillains and brooding on top of high rooftops, but even Batman needs a little action sometimes. The different kind of action, of course. Or are you planning to spend the rest of your life married to the job?”

Bruce swiped his right leg toward Dick’s shins, trying to take him down like he was the said supervillain but the acrobat jumped right on time, avoiding Bruce’s attempt with a grin on his face.

He landed on his feet and crossed his arms at his chest, leaning the weight of his body against one leg. The playfulness disappeared from both his voice and expression and instead, seriousness graced him whole. “Seriously, Bruce, even Alfred’s worried. He brought it up the other day while we were decorating the tree. Something about how the manor feels colder than usual this year.”

“The heating system is fine.”

With Jason gone, it was the truth. His second son had this strange relationship with all the members of the family. Off and on. Off and on. No one truly knew where they stood in Jason’s eyes but he made the effort and showed up on Christmas Eve the other year upon receiving Alfred’s invitation.

Bruce doubted he would show up two years in a row.

“That’s not what he meant, and you know it,” Dick pressed, and effectively added more salt into Bruce’s wounds. It stung and it fucking hurt. As much as Batman was ruthless, it didn’t mean the man under the mask was resistant against the pain his life brought. “You’re not getting any younger, B. It wouldn’t kill you to let someone in. And I don’t mean us. Try to meet someone who isn’t friendly with a criminal record.”

The older man could only stare helplessly at the other. Those words his son, partner, spoke were loud, crawling their way into his mind and much to his dismay, his heart as well.

Before he could voice his dismissal, a younger voice called out. It was familiar in a way family tended to be.

“You are wasting your breath, Grayson. Father has neither the time nor the inclination to entertain your nonsense,” his youngest son declared into the space of Batcave, his voice ringing out and echoing every single word. The blood son, Damian Wayne.

The father didn’t even flinch, just let out a deep sigh through his nose. It was as usual between those two, always bickering from Damian’s side and teasing remarks from Dick’s. You could mistake the blood running through their system as one, if not for the physical differences. They were brothers in all but red.

“Damian,” Dick started in that lecturing tone he’d always seemed to use with the younger boy, “when was the last time you saw Bruce here even try to have a social life?”

Damian rolled his eyes, the green disappearing behind his eyelids before they reappeared, rougher than they were. “The so called ‘social life’ you’re referring to consists of women who barely last through dinner. Why would he waste his energy on distractions when Gotham requires his full attention?”

“Because even Batman needs a break. You know, normal human things? Like dating, smiling, not dying alone in this cave surrounded by bats?”

“If Father is content with his choices, who are you to meddle? Unlike you, he does not require constant companionship to validate his existence.”

“Ouch,” Dick put his palm against his heart in a mocking manner, feigning hurt as his lips formed a pout. “You’ve got a real gift for the Christmas spirit, don’t you?”

The younger son narrowed his eyes at his supposed brother. The constant bickering was almost normal in their lives so far, and nothing seemed to be changing any time soon. He had to learn how to live with the excuse of a brother, although he started to form a light liking towards him. He wasn’t so bad. “I only speak the truth,” his green irises flicked to Bruce. “Though it is peculiar he tolerates your interference. Perhaps even Father has realized how pathetic his current romantic life—or lack thereof—appears.”

The object of the conversation let out another sigh, this one loud enough for the boys to hear. Their gazes snapped toward Bruce with accusingly great speed.

“If you two are done debating my personal life, there’s actual work to be done.”

He missed the glance his oldest threw at the youngest. He missed the look filled with amusement and a plan that was already brewing. He missed the nod they gave each other, although Dick’s was more pronounced and determined.

The next few hours were spent creating Bruce’s dating app profile.

The final result was the definition of real sugar daddy vibes. Every detail had been debated (mostly argued over though) and thought through, so to say the boys were satisfied with it was an understatement. The oldest prided in the work, saying how it would get so many women to reply which would eventually lead to the right one. The middle one Dick and Damian (only Dick) dragged into the activity beamed up once the profile was set while the youngest scoffed and scowled during the entire process.

During the next evening, the boys showed the main man his new account.

Bruce was left speechless upon seeing the bright screen flash before his eyes. Not a single word was muttered as he watched his boys showing him the app and explaining how exactly it worked (he’d never used a dating app before all this so bear with him). The main photo on the profile was a candid one of him, the one Cass had taken on a sunny day in the Wayne Manor gardern. He was dressed in a crisp white shirt, the long sleeves rolled up past his elbows as the muscles of his forearms bulged up. The faintest smile tugged at the corner of his lips, the sunlight casting shadows across his sharp features and Bruce had to admit they chose a good photo.

It wasn’t intimidating, but it wasn’t exactly friendly as well. The good old middle.

The boys knew he was convinced to give it a try when he waved them off with a deep sigh slipping past his lips.

The game was on.

It was past the midnight when he lied in his bed, propped against one too many pillows and wondered why he was still scrolling through the damned dating app. It was late—far past the time he should have been out on patrol, but Red Hood and Red Robin got it covered for him.

Bruce wasn’t looking for anything specific, really. If he were honest, this whole situation felt out of place for him. Swiping through the profiles was more like an exercise for his thumb.

First was Madison K. Her profile opened with flashy colors that immediately put Bruce into a doubtful situation. Were all these women going to be like this? Madison was beautiful and her looks screamed professionalism: her makeup was done flawlessly, adorning her bright eyes and full lips. She looked like she belonged on a cover for a fashion magazine, not a dating app. Her bio made his thumb swipe left.

‘Manifesting my best life. CEO of my own happiness. Looking for someone who’s successful, ambitious, and knows how to treat me like a queen.’

The next account’s bio made him grimace and swipe left once again.

‘Looking for someone who can keep me living the dream. If you’re successful, generous, and ready to spoil me, let’s talk.”

At this point, Bruce was ready to delete the dating app his boys set up and enjoy the rest of his night. Most of the profiles he swiped through were simply bland to him. Nothing felt genuine. Right. It was safe to say he was losing the hope Dick had set in him earlier in the evening. Until he stumbled upon your profile.

The account stood out among the others—simple, elegant, but with a certain amount of warmth that seemed genuine. Bruce’s heart skipped a beat once he scrolled further and came across your photo. The picture showed you in a cozy cafe, the one Steph adored so much for their cinnamon roll buns. A soft smile danced on your pretty face, highlighting the curve of your cheeks as you looked off to the side. You captured Bruce in a way the others didn’t.

You looked like a fawn surrounded by hungry wolves. You were admirable while they were craving wealth and status. Two different sides of a coin, but Bruce had already known his pick.

Your bio was sincere, a sight the man liked to see.

‘I enjoy the little moments — finding beauty in the simple things. I believe in kindness, and I’m looking for someone who values honesty and a deep conversation.’

His mind flicked briefly toward the countless hours he spends in the cave, surrounded by work and worries. You seemed like the one who could understand the balance between the quiet and the loud, someone who could exist in both of his worlds without losing that spark you held in your gaze.

Before he could overthink it, Bruce clicked on the “message” button.

Once the screen of your non-existent chat appeared, his mind went blank and all he was capable of was to stare mindlessly at the phone. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, but no words came to him. What did one say to someone like you? He wasn’t used to thinking ahead when it came to women. This was a new field. And he couldn’t screw up.

Finally, his fingers moved before his mind could think of whatever embarrassing thing it was capable of.

> Hey, I noticed your profile and wanted to reach out. There’s something about your words that struck a chord with me. I’d like to know more about you.

And that’s how the two of you started your relationship, or whatever you could call it. Neither of you voiced it as official, but that was okay. He hadn’t expected to feel this way, not so soon. And yet it came at him, crashing like a large wave of emotions every time you were around. You changed everything for him.

Your conversations became the highlight of his days.

His ears perked up every single time without a fail when he heard the soft ‘ping!’ of the notification, already convinced it was from you (and it 98 percent was). Whether it was early in the morning before he started working in the chaotic Wayne Enterprises or late at night when the Batcave was quiet and felt at peace. You were always there with him.

You were thoughtful, generous, and refreshingly kind. You asked him questions that no one else dared to: what he wanted from life, what made him happy, what kept him awake at night. You didn’t flinch at his silence. You didn’t push him to give answers he wasn’t ready to share. You understood him in a way only a few people did.

Piece by piece, he let you into his world — not that part filled with constant danger and threats, but that part that longed for something real.

By the time Christmas approached, Bruce was sure of one thing: he wanted you in his life.

The holiday was just around the corner, filling the air with joy and gratitude as it always did. The snow was blanketing the streets with white powder, and although many people were complaining about the cold, it had its charm.

Christmas had always been about family for Bruce, about gathering around the tree and full table with the people who mattered most. It was lonely at first, after the death of his parents, but over the years, Alfred had made it work. The table was always full of tasty food the kids adored and presents Bruce knew would make them more than happy were neatly waiting for them every morning after Christmas Eve.

This year though, Bruce wanted it to be a little different. He wanted you to be part of it.

You might actually fit into the chaos of the Wayne family — the teasing and playful banters between you, Dick, and Tim would be absolute gold to hear. You probably even could handle Damian’s wit which was something his father would like to see. He could picture you smiling, holding back your own remarks. The idea of you sitting beside him at the long dining table, sharing their traditions, made his chest feel warm in a way he wasn’t used to.

That night, he sent you a message.

> Are you free on Christmas Eve?

Your response came in quickly, as it always did. Bruce’s heart thumped against the bones of his ribs.

> I am. Why?

He hesitated for a bit, overthinking his decision.

> I’d like you to join me for dinner. It’s a family thing but I’d really like for you to be there.

> Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude.

> You wouldn’t be intruding.

Bruce could picture the light frown between your brows and a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. You often did it unconsciously, never knowing how pretty you looked this way. But even as he pictured your face, a part of him was growing more nervous about the situation. Would you agree to an event this serious? Spend Christmas with him. And his family. Or were you coming up with excuses right now? He wouldn’t blame you.

> Then I’d love to come.

His heart skipped a beat and that night, Bruce went to bed feeling a little lighter than he usually did.

Snow blanketed the long driveway leading up to Wayne Manor and for once, Bruce wasn’t thinking about the pressure of Batman or the chaos the boys would definitely stir up tonight. His attention was entirely focused on the one making your way towards him. He stood just outside the grand entrance, dressed in a dark, perfectly tailored suit that fit him like a glove. The soft crunch of tires on the white powder alerted him to your arrival, and as your car pulled up, Bruce started to feel the nervousness. He adjusted his tie with a single hand.

When you stepped out, his breath caught.

You were breathtakingly beautiful. Dressed in an inky black that hugged your figure in all the right places, the fabric shimmered under the outdoor lights of the mansion. The smile you gave him when your eyes met melted all the nerves that had been harboring in his system. He was finally calm and composed, for what seemed like the first time in the evening.

“You’re early,” Bruce pointed out softly when you walked up the stairs to meet him in front of the door, and his eyes sparkled with little stars at the sight of you. How did he get so lucky? “You look stunning, by the way.”

“I didn’t want to keep you waiting. And thank you. You clean up well, too, Bruce.”

Your gaze held a playful edge in it as you accepted his hand, locking your palm around his bulging biceps and squeezing warmly. The touch added the missing piece of the puzzle Bruce was trying to solve while his cheeks warmed a rosy pink under your influence without any hesitation. The gesture felt natural, like it always belonged there.

The two of you approached the doors of the manor in a shared silence, although it didn’t feel a bit awkward. You took a moment to take in the place. It was like something out of your childhood dreams — tall, arched windows glowing with the soft light of a dozen garlands lining the entryway. The faint hum of holiday music and the occasional sound of laughter echoed through the manor.

It was Bruce’s home.

“Do you always go this big for Christmas?” you voiced a question that's been sitting on your mind since the moment you saw the large Christmas tree from the entryway to Bruce’s living room. Decorated with lots of ornaments, it looked lovely, accompanied by a heap of presents.

“Alfred insists,” admitting with a soft chuckle, Bruce rubbed the nape of his neck as he led you deeper into his home. “And the boys like the holidays. I want them to have the best.”

The scent of pine and cinnamon enveloped your senses the further you moved. The sounds grew louder, too. You awe made him feel lighter somehow. The dining room at Wayne Manor was nothing short of spectacular this night, with the long mahogany table adorned with a dozen of flickering candles and plates of food that looked like it belonged in a holiday spread for a cookbook.

You were sitting beside Bruce (he kind of insisted anyway), your hand occasionally brushing against his. He helped you settle into the chair which earned a teasing glance from Dick. Speaking of his oldest son, he was sitting across from you with an easy grin that told you some questions would come your way sooner or later. Tim was at Dick’s right, while Damian occupied the chair from the other side of his father.

The evening was more than successful in your opinion. Steph asked you about your favorite literature, while Tim quizzed you on trivia about Gotham (which you surprisingly got all right). Damian, after much persistence from Dick, shared a story about his latest art project, though he kept glancing at you as if trying to gauge your reaction.

Through it all, Bruce remained by your side.

When the night finally came to an end, and everyone drifted to their own space of the manor, Bruce walked you to the entrance with a gentle hand against the small of your back.

“Thank you,” his gaze met yours as he handed you your coat, effortlessly helping you slip your arms into the sleeves. “For coming tonight. For putting up with them.”

You gifted him with the most precious kind of a present; your smile, smaller hands reaching up to adjust the collar of his dark suit. “Of course. They’re wonderful, Bruce. I enjoyed myself tonight.”

For a man who othen found himself at loss for words when it came to talking in emotions, Bruce found himself smiling softly with his heart feeling lighter than it had in years. Because for the first time, Christmas didn’t feel like an obligation. It felt like a new beginning.

[nikovraskol]

crack baby ; four

wc ; 2114 masterlist after dying, you expected to be greeted with the open arms of the void swallowing your body, mind and soul. what you didn't anticipate is waking up sixteen once more with a chance to change your fate -- but something strange is happening, why are the locks changing and why are all eyes suddenly on you ?

tw ; brief mention of death, cursing, neglect, panic attacks

prologue, one, two, three, four, tbc..

The rain outside casted a shadow of gloom over the morose city, the rhythmic pat-pat-pat on the windows creating an uncomfortable backdrop to your inner thoughts. Your head was resting in your hands, fingers scrunching at the edge of your scalp, tangling your hair with such force it felt like your mind was being split in two.

The pain was nothing compared to the pounding of your heart, ricocheting so loud that you felt it in your shoulders, in your fingertips – in each cell of your body.

What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck? Those three words echoed in your mind like a beat rebounding off a drum, what is going on? This is–..

When you miraculously turned back in time, you naively believed it would be easy – you’d silently leave without fuss, everything would progress as it should and you’d live life away from the looming Manor they called home. 

So why, why does it feel like every time you try to leave, someone’s there holding their hand on your neck. Why? Why can’t you just leave? It was so easy before, you could leave the Manor, disappear for days on end and nobody would notice, now it feels like someone is always hovering around.

Every time you leave your room, every time you try – they’re there! Why? What caused this sudden shift? You didn’t do anything drastic. So why? What changed? You’d spent years of your pathetic life scrambling for any sort of attention. For them. What secret trick have you pulled to put yourself in their spotlight? And why now?!

“Fuck.” You grumble, crumpling into yourself pitifully. There is absolutely no light at the end of this stupid tunnel. One of those stupid circus clowns is always there to stand before the small glimmers of hopes that shine through, much like the sun through a window. They curtain the light, under the pretense of protecting you from the sun’s burns, but how can you live without the sun’s warmth?

The rain outside grew more intense as you spiral, a testimony to the raging shit-show inside you. There is– one option. An option you loathe to think about. Bothering her would be.. It’s not something you’d like. You’d promised yourself – all that time ago, that you would never look her in the eyes, that you’d never speak a word to her. For her sake, not your own.

It’d be selfish, you really, really shouldn’t. But still, as a precaution, you open up your night stand, reaching to the very, very bottom to pick out a letter. A letter with an address and a phone number. Just in case.

The rain doesn’t seem to be stopping, which is a shame – you’ve always hated the rain.

“What is wrong with you?” A voice calls out, and you just narrowly avoid screaming. You tilt your head with much effort, your eyes zeroing in on Damian. Of course, it’s like a fucking roster. You’re not even safe in your own room.

“I don’t know what you mean.” You respond curtly, resting your head in your hands once more. You can’t stand looking at him. You can’t stand him. You can’t stand his stupid expression, always so prideful. Always so above you. You hate him.

“Why are you acting like this? You’re a Wayne, stop being so… pathetic.” You let out a sharp laugh at his words. Again, a few years ago, those words would’ve filled you with immense joy – enough to power yourself through the loneliness that plagued your whole being. But you’re not that pathetic waste of space, ghosting through the Manor. You’re just [Name],

“I don’t know what you mean.” You repeat, not picking up your head as you sigh. The rain is heavy, you really hate rain. “I’ve always been pathetic, right?”

You can’t see Damian, but you feel the air in the room shift. It’s strange, everything feels surreal. You almost have half a nerve to–

“Why are you trying to leave?”

His voice sounds weird, he sounds concerned. That’s impossible, you’re speaking to Damian. The boy who’s refused to acknowledge you as his sibling, the one who made it very clear what he thought of you. You raise your head once more to meet his eyes. 

He looks young. Younger than you’ve ever seen him look. 

“Why does it matter to you, this is what you’ve always wanted right?” Your hands begin to tremble, why are you trembling? You’re not scared. You’re– You’re angry. The fearful knot in your stomach frays, anger burning the rope until it tightens around your organs like a springtrap. “You’ve made it very clear what you think of me, don’t try to take the high road now.” “[Name]--”

“I’ve spent my whole life, chasing like a fucking stray for something – anything. Now you wanna act concerned? I’m fucking sick of this. I’m sick of you– I’m sick of everything!” Words were spilling out before you could catch them, the raindrops on the window fueling your anger. The patting making your head fucking pound, you wanted to rip your filthy mind out – everything was loud, too loud.

“Calm down, you’re acting–” 

“Out of everyone in this house, I hate you the most.”

“Huh?” Damian’s voice was soft, quiet – barely audible over the relentless pounding of the rain.

“However much you might hate me, I hate you a hundred, no, a thousand times more.” 

You pushed past him, your anger exploding inside your very core. Your blood was rushing through your veins, squeezing until it threatened to blow. If you had half the mind to look back, you’d see the expression on his face.

The walls in the Manor had never felt so looming, so large. It felt like each painting was looking at you, mocking you. The eyes of the soulless characters locked on your form as you marched down the halls.

You had no destination, no goal, but you needed to get out. Each wall was closing in, the roof threatening to collapse – to swallow you whole, to crush you under it’s unforgiving weight. Would that be better? Would you be happier under the sweet mercy of death?

Well, you’re not willing to find out. You’re not that gone, yet.

You could barely register anything as you stormed out the Manor, you heard nothing but the ringing in your ears as you walked. 

The moment the cold rain hit your skin, you ran. Your legs moving before your brain could process it. The downpour soaked you. Your hair and clothes sticking to your body. You weren’t wearing a coat, you had some shitty shoes that you had on from earlier, your whole body felt like it was aflame.

And then you stopped. Your frustration wore off leaving only the ache in your body behind. Your lungs were being squeezed against your ribs, air clawing against the sensitive flesh leaving you breathless. Your legs were shaking, your bones too weak to hold you as you slump against a tree.

Your body hit the cold, wet ground below you. Your head falls on your knees as you cradle yourself. Curse Bruce for living in some fancy ass Manor, away from the rest of Gotham like some fancy jackass. Curse him for being a billionaire. From behind the tree you had slumped yourself on, you could hear some lingering paparazzi – eager for some sort of scoop.

It’d be funny if you jumped out and gave them a real scoop. But you’re too caught up in your own shit for any scandals.

“I really hate the rain.” You mumble, a warm raindrop falling from your eyes. Strange, isn’t rain supposed to be wet? Whatever. 

You felt pathetic. So, truly pathetic. You’d ran away like some brat having a tantrum. Whatever, it’s not like anyone would notice. Nobody ever noticed, that was how life was, how it’d always be. You were destined to be sidelined forever, and you’d finally grown fine with that. So why? 

Your ass was muddy, you were wet, cold, sad – this scenario felt oddly reminiscent, reminiscent of a time before all the neglect, before loneliness was your only companion.

“Your name is [Name]?” A deep voice asked, his tone kind, patient as he looked at you.

Rain stuck to your small form as you looked up at him, your supposed father. The man you’d seen on TV everyday, he was looking at you – his eyes full of kindness that felt unfamiliar. But–

“Where is my mom?” Your voice was hoarse, quiet – afraid. The blooming pain in your head seemed to dull under the rain’s touch, blood seeping down your forehead, dripping down your nose – mingling with the heavy precipitation. The lights from the blaring sirens were shadowed by the man before you, the man who was looking down at you with something akin to pity. 

The teddy bear in your hands was unsalvageable. Between the missing eye, limbs, and now the rain that had drenched it. It was a hard thrust away from falling apart, but it rested in your palms nonetheless. Your fingers curling into the flat, synthetic fur as though it were your only tether to reality.

He slowly kneeled down before you, reaching eye-to-eye before extending his hand. “My name is Bruce, I’ll take care of you and your mother, I promise.” He smiled, he looked so much more human now, he was no longer an untouchable figure, no longer would you have to touch the warm screen of your TV, quietly pleading for him to save you. He was looking at you now, and he’d never look away.

You took his hand.

“Fuck this.” You huff, standing up with way too much effort, your joints still aching because of your little escapade. You weren’t going to sit around and wait for him to hold your hand again, you weren’t going to have him sign anything or give you anything – why should you rely on him? He’s given you nothing. You owe him nothing.

Your wet hand instinctively goes to your pocket, taking out the card with the address. The heavy downpour immediately enveloped the laminated card. Your throat felt heavy immediately as you reread the words on it, soaking in each letter. Swallowing back your nausea, you begin running again – this time, with a purpose.

It was rare for Bruce to lose his composure, but as he stared into your empty room – he felt his control fraying. 

“You’re sure they’re not hiding somewhere else?” He managed to keep his voice calm, despite the pounding of his heart. His eyes scanned your room. So small, he really needs to upgrade it.

“No, Master Bruce, they.. can’t be found anywhere else.” Alfred said, his expression uncharacteristically tense as he stared at the black curls at the back of Bruce’s head. 

Bruce was beginning to feel a sense of dread come upon him.

When Damian came into his study, looking strangely panicked – that was strike one, the moment your name left the young boy’s mouth, Bruce was up and practically sprinting to your room. Strike two.

And strike three was the lack of you in your space. The lack of you in the Manor. He had everyone look around, check every nook and cranny, but you were nowhere to be found. He had told you not to go out without telling him. 

But it’s fine, he is the world’s greatest detective. No need to panic.

Taking a tentative step forward, Bruce took a moment to absorb your space, your personality. The posters on the walls, the trinkets littering your shelves, the small imperfections that discerned you.

And then his eyes fell upon it, your teddy bear. “I thought they threw this out.” Bruce mumbled, his eyes flashing to that rainy day when he had met your cold eyes, eyes too haunted to belong to a child. How could he let that child leave when he had promised to take care of you? You and your mother.

Alarm bells rang in his mind, distantly, he could hear Tim and Cass theorise your where-a-bouts. But–

“Alfred, do you remember where we sent her?” Bruce asked slowly, picking up the teddy bear gently – taking in the ruined toy, a testament to the child you were. To the child you are, his thumb running over the messy stitch marks, no doubt done by you. You had the money of Bruce Wayne at your disposal yet you insisted on keeping this trash? The reminder of your impoverished days? He couldn’t understand it, but then again, he’d never be able to understand you.

Not unless he had an actual conversation, as father and child.

“..Yes, I shall send you the details.” Alfred asked after a pause, his eyes strangely distant as he looked at the window, at the rain droplets racing down. “Please, Master Bruce, be swift.”

sorry for neglecting yall i was tryna make the book immersive ;3

dookie chapter because i am simultaniously studying for my health and social exam

tags; (asked to be added thru dms)

@estreiiuh @beyondblissxoxo @jjsmeowthie @vanessa-boo @delias-stuff @d3nnji @wizzerreblogs @lilyalone @strawbrysapphic @regulus-things @iimichie @meepmoopbadabeepboop @buckturd @eloriis @xoxossam @verypersonaldazzel @froggy-voidd @shycreatorreview @wassupbroski55555 @eyeless-kun @anakilusmos @devotedlyshamelessdetective @peehall @bigeyedbaby @chaeugwi

@estreiiuh @beyondblissxoxo @jjsmeowthie @vanessa-boo @delias-stuff @d3nnji @wizzerreblogs @lilyalone @strawbrysapphic @regulus-things @iimichie @buckturd @eloriis @wassupbroski55555 @eyeless-kun @anakilusmos @peehall @bigeyedbaby @chaeugwi

ill get around to adding everyone to the taglist .

[itheunknown]

odi et amo - (02) none for me

negelected! meta! reader x platonic! batfam

masterlist / prev / next

(TW) : emotional neglect, self-destructive behaviour, self-harm, suicide, depression, unhealthy coping mechanisms, underage smoking, underage drinking, alcohol abuse, depression, bpd, depictions of mental illness, violence, trauma, ...

alfred fears he's failed you.

you always were a quiet child, swallowing all the hurt you felt and buried it within your soul. he fears the hurt has consumed you.

he can't confidently say that he's done all he could for you, trying to manage the manor along with the other dysfunctional residents amd their nightly activities, which rendered him unable in giving you his undivided attention.

if he could to back, he would change it all in a heartbeat.

he vividly remembers the day commissioner gordon had phoned him about you, and was briefed about your background and the “accident” through the call, feeling a sense of relief that you had a somewhat normal background. when he saw you, he took that back. the chair you were on looked too big for your malnourished frame, the bandages swallowing your entire body and a couple bruises here and there. but what struck him were your eyes. they were so distant, bags heavy, with no light in them. the eyes that wordlessly show the hidden horrors you’ve been through.

you reminded him of bruce.

you were understandably skittish, settling into a completely new environment and seeing unfamiliar faces that you just had to accept were your now family. he assumed that with time you'd be able to overcome it after mourning the loss of your aunt, along with the help of everyone welcoming you with open arms and getting you accustomed to your new life as part of their family.

yet, that never happened.

he sees them dismiss you.

he’s seen you stand politely outside bruce’s office until he’s done with his tasks before requesting something (the bare necessities), all because previously, the first time (and only time) you had mistakenly interrupted his meeting in order to hand him the papers that alfred had asked you to, bruce had raised his voice at you for being a nuisance.

he’s seen the way you stare at dick when he interacts with the other members, showering them in brotherly love, yet walking past you like you were a piece of furniture, not noticing you.

he’s seen the way you had recommended jason books based on what he had read, only for him to scoff into your face and undermine your intellect, purposely limiting his interactions with you.

he’s seen the way you curiously looked through tim’s door that was left ajar, only for him to give you a scornful look and slamming it in your face, calling you annoying.

he’s seen the way you had agreed to every one of damian’s snide and hateful comments about how you were never good enough for the last name you do not hold, just because he was the only person who paid you any mind.

he's seen the way cassandra could easily read people, but never seemed to think you were worthy enough to give you the time of day, even while your eyes would try to find hers.

he's seen how easy it was for you to cry yet you never allowed yourself to do so, you'd curl your hands into tight fists until it pales and bleeds.

he’s seen the emptiness in your gaze when they’re locked on everyone during dinner, talking and engrossed in each other’s conversation, taking part of each other's lives while leaving you in the sidelines, standing at the doorway before you'd leave to your room, never joining them.

do they not see you?

a few months after you'd settled in, you had requested alfred that he would only really need to come clean your room once a week if at all, claiming that cleaning gives you a sense of control and there's a particular way it needed to be done. you rarely asked anything of him, you were self-sufficient to a fault, never allowing yourself to rely on anyone but yourself. he had offered to learn how you liked the cleaning to be done, but you remained unconvinced. so as to not overstep, he obliged.

he wished he didn’t. he sees you retreat further into yourself. he sees you spiral. he sees it all, yet was unable to stop it. he sees, but does nothing.

alfred cared. but that didn’t mean he could save you.

the weather was gloomy, the grey sky stretched on above you as you watched the soft puffs of smoke escaped from your lips floated up to join the clouds. the familiar comfort that a cigarette brings you feels like a blessing these days. smoking helps lift the weight that weighs heavy on your skull, you try to soothe it even more by pressing harshly against your eye with your other hand void of the burning cigarette. you know it's a bad habit that you should ideally kick, especially worse if you were caught by anyone, but do you actually care?

“thought i'd find you here.”

you don't even need to turn around, recognizing the voice too well.

“what is it this time?”

another voice chippers, the peaceful atmosphere you were surrounded in was interrupted. you sigh and put out the cigarette, waving your hand around to fan the smoke away from your only two friends. they both giggle and extend their arms towards you to pull you up.

“you know, with the amount you've smoked lately, alfred might find out. like, i can smell you before i see you.” they tut at you half-heartedly, watching you brush the dirt off your uniform.

it has become a routine for you, to linger behind after school ends at the more secluded areas, where you hide your bike inside the overgrown bushes (in fear of it being stolen yet again) and smoke away your troubles before making your way back. it's not a habit you started recently, you first smoked when you were working that shitty job to keep you and your aunt afloat, and having mental breakdowns behind the restaurant during break on every shift started to become too much of a nuisance, which was when a coworker had offered you theirs; but you can tell your friends could see that you've been turning to it more often.

with the chatter following behind, you start walking your bicycle towards the main gates of the school, ready to take your usual route home. occasionally joining in their conversations, you're about to bid your friends goodbye until you catch the weird looks the other students throw at you while trying to increase their distance. your hands tighten around the handlebars, trying to remain unfazed as you stood there.

you couldn't even consider yourself a complete social reject, you had tried to remain on everyone's good side to ensure a smooth educational experience: you were helpful and nice, you had good grades and were consistently the top 5 students in your year, and taking parts in various clubs and after school activities. however, no amount of effort could erase the somewhat unsettled look your classmates throw your way and the worried look you teachers would cast at you.

for once, you hoped to not be seen.

does the disdain come from how they never saw your family show up to anything that involved you? or was it because you were a tryhard? it's not like you did it to prove yourself to your family or classmates, but it was a good distraction from the numbness that's eating you whole. you don’t understand what you’ve done. you were clearly not lacking in terms of academic achievements and extracurriculars, so it only left your social life to be judged. your social circle, which only really included your 2 friends, are the sweetest and most supporting characters you’ve known despite being constantly ignored by others, so you come to conclude that you must be the problem. the duo gave you a worried glance, patting your shoulder as you stood there. “hey, don't mind them, you can't please everyone you know.” “yeah, you can't control everything! just let it go.” your other friend chimes in, pushing the back of your bike, prompting you all to walk again.

you smiled, your friends have always been your source of comfort, it was a bond you’ve built on trust and wordless understanding, they had been so compassionate about what you’ve been through even if you rarely opened up - they might be the only people keeping you sane. they understood you more than you did yourself.

you compose yourself and hop on your bicycle, turning back to wave at them. with a sigh, you pushed off, their silhouette fades into into the distance as the wind caresses your face while you pedal. you try not dread having to go back to the manor, enjoying the few short moments you feel at peace within your daily routine, you cycle on the familiar path you've taken countless times before - it's just another day to return to the house that was not your home.

damian was rummaging through your room. mostly out of boredom from roaming the countless empty halls within the manor absent-mindedly, walking past countless doors before he noticed yours. he really didn't have any malicious intentions, despite his distaste of your existence, he was not one to seek you out to make your life harder, he was above that - at least, that's what he believes.

there's not much to see in your room, a couple band posters peeling at the edges, books scattered next to the table lamp on the carpet, bed tidy but not neatly, opened notebooks on your desk. it fills him with contempt. you are less than: no prophecy to fulfil, no legacy to uphold - but also, no trauma to drag you down, your past a clean slate. sharing the same father, but not cut from the same cloth.

unlike him, you were ridiculously normal. unlike him, you were free.

maybe he resents you more than he initially thought.

his eyes lands on a small shirt hung on the wall, it might as well be baby attire.

it was a ragged looking thing, really. the colours worn off, the edges a little frayed but not from use, but rather the quality. curiously, he steps on your bed reaching for it to investigate further.

"what are you doing."

embarrassingly, damian did not care enough to get caught being nosy in your room in the first place. so when you opened your door that was oddly left ajar to see damian standing on your bed with his shoes on after a long day of school, he feels compromised. before he stumbles off your bed, his hand manages to snag the edge of the shirt, pulling it off the walls. your eyes finally catches on to what he was reaching for and your heart rate quickens.

despite how increasingly difficult it was for you to remain calm, you try to smile, "please give that back, damian" you're so nervous your hands almost shake trying to urge him to return it. damian feels humiliated being forced to confront the person whose room he was snooping through, so he fists the article tighter in his hand and snarls at you. seeing as he is not intending to return it, you take a cautious step forward, raising both of your arms.

like a threatened dog, he pushes you harshly with his entire body weight to make way for the door. you stumble back in shock, but grab onto his shoulder before he manages to leave your room. "damian, please, that's very important to me" you plead, trying to pry his fingers off it.

in damian's mind, this was no longer about what's yours, this was his power being questioned.

"you don't even need this rag anymore" he slaps your hand away. your patience wearing thin, frustration bubbling to the surface of your composure, you start forcefully trying to snatch it back. soon, you both were fighting for it, pulling back and forth. you were obviously at a disadvantage, but in your desperation, it didn't matter. you scream at him to let go.

and damian? he's starting to get entertained, having never seen you this emotional before. this was like a game to him, it's too easy to overpower you, so he drags the fight on despite you landing a few hits on him yourself - he's mocking you. the brawl continues, until the sound of fabric ripping stills you.

in your hand was nearly half of your shirt, the other half still firmly held in damian's grasp.

colour leaves your face, you stare in horror at the torn up shirt, not being able to utter a sound.

meanwhile, the fun was over for damian, so he saw no purpose in remaining in your room as he wordlessly let go of the fabric and walked out, stepping on it on the way as if for good measure.

you grabbed him by the shirt, eyes holding back tears. "that was the only thing left from my mother."

the revelation stills him, he feels bad, and he hates that he feels anything for you besides hatred.

"so? that's not my problem. it's not my fault your peasant of a mother couldn't afford anything else to leave you with" he taunts, "in fact, she couldn't even afford to raise you, so now you're here leeching off while haunting the manor with your unnecessary presence."

"what do you know about my mom" damian's eyes widen, taken aback by the seriousness in your tone, contrasting all the times defaulted into being a pushover when with him. you're so upset, your grip on his shirt tightens as you glare through the tears streaming down your face, "i didn't even get to know my mom!"

it's no surprise that with the ruckus that you both caused, it wouldn't have gone unheard. so when alfred came to check and inquire what all the noise was about, he witnessed you yell and push damian to the floor harshly. before you could even register alfred's presence, a force had struck you - your head snapped to the side while the sting starts to burn on your cheek.

alfred had slapped you. alfred. slapped. you.

you and damian stare at him in shock, alfred himself is in disbelief. what had he done? he tries to justify his actions to you, trying to make himself believe he did the right thing.

"damian is younger than you, as the older child you must understand. this is, in no way, an acceptable display as the older sibling."

surely you understand, you always do! he just feared things would have spiraled out of control. right? you're almost catatonic, eyes wide staring at him in disbelief, not believing your ears.

"you must understand."

he stares into your eyes, almost pleading that you'd forgive him. but all that was reflected in your gaze was a look filled with horror and betrayal.

you pushed through both of them, the call of your name falling on deaf ears, storming into the bathroom and slamming the door, locking it.

alfred cared, but not enough.

heyyyyyyyyyy 👋☺️... i uh.. may or may not have used actual events that happened to me in here #projecting am i right :heh: thank you for all your lovely comments 🫶 you're all so skibbidi it really helped motivate me (not to abandon my writing)! as always interactions are very appreciated ⊹ ࣪ ˖ (TAGLIST) lmk if you'd like to be added to the taglist :yowaimo: @confused-they @hoeinthehouse @strwberryglass @heartjwonie @glitchmshade @bat1212 @buddee @eyeless-kun @thereeallink @icantcryicantstopcrying @bunbunboysworld @gh0str00m @wizzerreblogs @lazy-kari202 @dotomuses @gwyneveire @gh6st24 @roseapov @kore-of-the-underworld @kingshitonly @plsfckmedxddy @unknownloner1345 @moon-2232 @lilithquillete @v3vina @froggy-voidd @angrybuttooshorttofightyou @sami0169 @m3vlOvesu @pix-stuff @bunbunbread @agent-nobody-knows @cxcilla @horror-lover-69 @redkarmakai @mariadvorak @shirp-collector-of-fixations @batboygirlie @diejager @noclue-0 @sick2mystmch @novs9011 @kitkatkitmeow @crazycaoticsimp @majonla @hebaoffside

[phosvye]

There are times when intimacy between you and Damian does not mean sex. It's just pure love and need-need in a way that you want the other to be as full as you.

Kissing? It doesn't have to be hasty. When he kisses you, he kisses you expensively, generously-kissing you where you like it. Light, ghost kisses from your shoulders to your neck, jawline, cheeks, and finally, your sweet lips.

The lips where he gently asks for entrance. Lips where he coaxes his own to intertwine his tongue with yours. No hurry, of course-lapping up every sound that comes out of your mouth. He doesn't care if it's messy. All he cares about is that it's passionate-kissing you like he'll die the second he pulls away. Hands playing with your hair like how he plays with you with his mouth, matching you in pace, volume, and intensity.

Tongue gliding with yours like a dance. Oh, how he loves it. How he loves you.

And that will continue until both of you run out of breath.

[4mrplumi]

( crow choir. entry one ) ── dust of snow ( m.s | prev/next )

author's note at the end

you have three brothers- no, two brothers. you’ve only heard of the third. you can hardly think of them as such, feeling traitorous to your old family… families. but you are also a lonely child, so you give them permission to be props of your plain life.

the eldest, with stark blue eyes and dimples at his near-permanent smiles is named richard grayson. he’d given you a warm grin the day you arrived, that somewhat wavered at the blank look you hoped you gave him. you don’t talk to him, but sometimes you wish you did.

you know nothing of the second, apart from his first name; jason. the usual answers to unasked questions, that piece together via general conversations, don’t form here, and you can’t be bothered to ask. you wonder where he is, does he not come to visit?

the youngest of the three is younger than you too, tim drake the butler says, by maybe one or two years, you never tried to figure it out. he came to the house about a few months after you arrived, but seems far more involved with bruce’s business than you ever will be (ever hope to be). there’s a familiar twitch to his brows, and you relate it to old inquisitive roommates, the ones that tried to figure you out without asking questions and always gave up eventually. 

it's a relief he doesn't even try at all.

it does feel a little odd, to not have to talk to anyone just to shoo them away. you strangely miss it, the feeling of being irritated at bothersome small talk. in the silence of the manor, which had not much for a child to do, you start to feel lonely

you've never felt lonely before. alone, yes, isolated, absolutely, but lonely? you've never wanted company. not from anyone who wasn't... forget it.

and thus, you're in an odd situation. you want to be a part of the family, but you have no interest in talking to them. why, the mere idea makes you sweat all over, and you prefer your few meals in your room.

you don't like it. wanting so badly to converse with your brothers, get to know them the way you knew your old previous foster-care siblings, but not being able to.

in your old houses, the children would be somewhat put into forced proximity, there was no choice other than to call out for company. you'd gotten absurdly used to being reached out to without having to do it yourself. your brothers must be busy, or you must be too quiet for them to notice you around.

so with all the courage you could muster, you crept up to an idle older brother, visiting after so long from bludhaven. you might implode from the short moment where he looked at you with confusion, not knowing who you are, before giving you a awkward smile of acknowledgement. no matter, it's not his fault.

he nods off your subtle attempt at asking for his time, maybe you're not being clear enough? it's enough to put you off, so you leave quickly after he gives you a small promise to talk later, maybe get out of the house for a while.

it's such a small thing, but it makes you embarrassed. you try to build up a little stubbornness, and look to find tim. but when you find him immersed deeply in a book, a journal of some sort, you decide otherwise and leave.

it's okay. you'll try again! when you're feeling better. better and livelier.

livelier.

your patterned quilt does little to keep away the monstrous cold of gotham's winter nights, and does it wreck though your nerves and leave you shivering.

the butler; alfred, had given you a good understanding of the room's systems, yet another thing that'd take time to get used to, and you knew the switches that would connect your vents to the central heating system.

but it feels so surreal, and the familiarity of huddling into your own ice cold limbs for warmth is a comfort you can't let go off just yet. you mustn't allow these new privileges to make you forget who you are. what you are, and what you deserve.

you recall a young boy in one of your old homes, discussing earnestly with your 'sisters' about what he'd do if he had all of gotham's money. the prospect of being filthy rich had always irked you to a small degree, to be well-off when others struggle. was it guilt? 

he'd gone on and on about the different things he'd get. a curly-haired poodle, a shining red bicycle, clothes that made him look like a proper gentleman, from a gentler city. you wonder solemnly where he is now, wishing you could share the fortunes you've been shoved into with him. someone who wanted it, deserved it.

deserving... deserving something is odd. whatever makes an individual deserving of something? the hardships they recieve, and the hardships they pass out?

you don’t remember your mother, having gained metaphorical consciousness at the age of six, when your sister started taking care of you instead. you made out from her teary, drunk mumblings that she was an awfully sophisticated woman. she’d colour herself with red blushes and redder lip stains, wear family jewels she refused to sell to her ‘business’ meetings. thin-framed glasses with the eyes of a vixen’s. 

what your sister muttered most about was her many nights away from home. one-sided conversations that plunged a small anchor to your heart, because you knew you were a product of one of them. 

when she was in a bitter mood, your sister never shied away from berating you for your existence. she, unlike you, was born in wedlock. yes, to an unhappy couple, who threw picture frames and cheap souvenirs at each other before splitting up, but she knew her father.

a ridiculously strange thing to hold above one’s head. “i knew my absent father. no one knows yours.” but your depraved heart and dull mind took it so deeply. so, so deeply. 

were those hardships? did you deserve them? others have it worse, right? so do you deserve this? this wealth?

now that you do know your father, you can’t help but resent the idea of knowing. did he know? that he left his child to an unbecoming family and an irresponsible sister? did he know that the guilt of starving your sister to eat yourself made you so incredibly weak-minded at the idea of being full? did he know that you refuse to switch the heater on in the cold, because you don’t know if your old foster siblings got the same luxury? all while the elites of gotham stay in their glasshouses with their rose gardens and wine cupboards.

you can’t put your finger to it. it’s not jealousy, it’s not resentment, it’s not hatred for his absence so far… is it guilt?

you don't know what to do with this abundance of luxury. you’ve lived a lifetime of pet mice from old caretakers, mice that died from the dust that creeped out of cracked floor boards and owls that haunted your window sills. a lifetime of reminiscing about a sobbing woman in your apartment, thinking about all your promises of providing a better life for her, only for her to die in front your eyes. a lifetime of wondering why mommy didn’t come back. why daddy's never there. who daddy even is.

someone else should have it. someone else should have the option to ask the butler for a piece of chocolate pastry at an odd time. to know about their father after countless days of not knowing him. to feel pretty in new dress suits after years of wearing the same two sets of clothes every week.

someone who deserves it more.

your sister.

you miss her.

small events make you change too fast for even your own liking. small things made you so desperately attached to your big sister, small things made you so frightened, so ill, to try to talk to brothers who barely knew you only by your shadow. small things made you tolerate your father more, and mourn the fact you couldn't ever connect to him the way the others did.

small, small things. that troubeled you too much, made you decide it was time to leave. running away from reality in the comfort of your mind when you zone out, is not much different from physically running away, right? troublesome things are not worth the trouble. so you'll run away, and you'll be free. of duties you were never given.

yet another one of gotham’s teenage misfortunes. who leaves a home of riches with a light mind, with the desires of soaring through lost years in gotham like the daftest of pigeons, with no worries or vows. they leave a home of blood and bonds with a heavy heart, lamenting that this time, the choice to leave a permanent, forever family lay on them. they left unspoken conversations unsaid, and imaginary memories within their imagination.

...but, these conversations, these fake memories, become the objects of obsession, for those left behind.

where's the little crow who stalked the corridors, whose naive, cloudy eyes watched from behind walls?

alfred, where's (name)?

INTERACTIONS AND REBLOGS VV APPRECIATED !! incase it was unclear, the sections jump around in the timeline. i did want to leave it to reader interpretation, but since this is the footer, there's no harm in explaining. "you have three brothers..." and "your patterned quilt does little..." are interchangeable within the plot. both are placed after tim's given the mantle of robin, but before jason's re-entry as the red hood. the last part however, is well after both, and damian's entry. anyway you can consider this entry as like, a vague plot summary? there's a lot that happens in between and after, most of the story is about after, but i like setting the ground for this stuff.

once again, if you are interested in the series, do interact! comments, reblogs, etc are so appriciated, to anyone who posts on tumblr! i'll try to get the next entry in soon, but i can't confirm anything!

thank you for reading!!

[streetlamp-amber]

first kicks

batfamily x batmom!reader

word count: 1.9k | divider by @saradika | requests are open!

CW: family fluff, pregnancy NOTES: i wanted to write more batfam fluff this time with jason included. very sorry if jason is ooc, most of my knowledge of him comes from fics lol

Rainy Sunday afternoons at Wayne Manor were usually spent with you and your sons in the living room, occupying the big U-shaped sectional sofa. Sometimes Bruce would join you three, resting his feet on the coffee table as he worked on his laptop. Today was one of those days.

You were helping Dick do some research on the internet for a science school project that was due next week while Jason laid on his stomach on the other side of the couch, reading a Where’s Waldo? book by himself. Your husband sat in the other corner of the couch, doing some research on the latest villain terrorising Gotham. You didn’t mind if the work he was doing was for Batman, as long as he spent some time with the family outside of the cave, you were satisfied. Especially since the Wayne clan was about to expand in a little more than four months. Plus, with your belly growing bigger as the weeks went by, it was becoming harder for you to do some tasks around the house. Tasks that you didn’t want to ask Alfred for help with since it was your husband’s job to be at your beck and call through the pregnancy. Bruce obviously didn’t mind and loved helping you, he just sometimes tended to get lost in his Batman work for long periods of time.

The television was playing in the background, a football game between two teams that you didn’t really care about was taking place but you didn’t mind. You couldn’t work well without some sort of background noise and this was doing the job.

”So Dick, have you chosen which natural disaster to base your research project on?” Bruce asked your eldest while closing his laptop and joining him on his other side, making the twelve year old squished between his parents.

”We’ve narrowed it down to three: the 2011 Tōhoku earthquake and tsunami, the 1906 San Francisco earthquake and Hurricane Katrina,” Dick answered, clicking on different tabs of each of the natural disasters as he named them. “I want to do my research on a popular one so I can easily find all the information I need.”

”Smart, isn’t he?” You smirked at Bruce as you mindlessly threaded your fingers in Dick’s dark hair who continued scrolling on the internet.

“Never thought otherwise,” your husband said, mirroring your grin. “Jay, have you found all the Waldos yet?” He leaned forward to ask Jason.

“I’m almost done,” the six year old easily dismissed Bruce, not even bothering to tear his eyes away from the pages.

“It’s best not to bother him when he’s searching for Waldo,” you informed your husband in a low volume.

Bruce nodded his head in understanding and redirected his attention back on Dick. “So, how are you gonna make your choice, chum? You could write them down on three pieces of paper and do a draw,” he suggested, leaning his arm on the back of the couch behind Dick, his fingers playing with the neck of your tshirt.

“Dad, I don’t need to write it down on some paper,” Dick sighed, a little annoyed. “You can do that on the internet now.”

“You can?” Bruce asked, surprised. Your husband was really tech savvy when it came down to work related to Batman, but silly, random stuff like a drawing roulette was not part of his internet knowledge.

You leaned your head on your left hand that was propped on the back of the couch and soothingly rubbed your round belly with the other. You watched with a soft smile Dick showing Bruce how to generate a random picking wheel to spin on the internet. Moments like these were the ones you cherished the most, domesticity wasn’t always the norm around here when you had two vigilantes living under your roof so you always tried to savour them whenever they happened.

The calmness in you was interrupted when you felt movement under your right hand.

“Oh my God,” you whispered, eyes round like saucers as you looked down at your bump and raised up the hem of your shirt to make sure what you felt was right.

“What?” Bruce immediately turned his attention to you. “What is it? Is something wrong? Are you alright?”

“I think the baby just kicked,”you said, raising your head to meet his eyes.

“The baby just kicked?” He repeated in disbelief.

You shook your head ‘yes’ just as you felt more movement. “The baby kicked again.”

Bruce rapidly stood up to sit by your side while Dick discarded his laptop before placing a hand on your belly and Jason left his book to climb on your husband’s lap to be closer to you. All had a hand on your stomach, staring at it expectantly, waiting for another kick.

“I don’t know if the baby’s gonna kick again,” you told them.

“Well that’s just not fair,” Jason whined.

“We just need to be patient,” Bruce said. “I’m sure the baby will do it again.”

And sure enough he was right. 

“Oh my God! I felt it! I felt the baby kick!” Dick exclaimed, though he kept the volume of his voice to a low level as if he would scare the baby away if he screamed.

“I wanna feel it too!” Jason cried.

“Here Jay, put your hand there,” you told your youngest as you gently grabbed his wrist and moved his hand to a different area of your belly, closer to Dick’s hand.

“Maybe if we keep talking, the baby will kick again,” Dick suggested.

“That’s true, babies can hear us from inside the mother’s belly,” Bruce agreed with him.

“They can?” Jason looked at you quizzically.

You chuckled at his confused face as you brushed his hair away from his forehead. “Yeah they can, it’s not completely soundproof in there,” you answered him.

“That’s why Dad is always talking to your belly?” Dick asked.

You fully laughed at this. “Yes, that’s why Dad talks to the belly. You can too if you wanna.”

“We can?” Dick perked up then leaned closer to your bump. “Hi baby, I’m Dick. Your big brother,” he said.

Jason also leaned forward. “And I’m Jason, I’m also gonna be your big brother.”

“Yeah but I’m the big big brother, I’m the oldest,” Dick argued.

“But I’m gonna be a big brother too!”

“Boys,” Bruce intervened. “No arguing around your mother. The baby will hear enough of that when it joins our lives, let it have its peace while it’s in the womb.”

A series of kicks started at that moment, making Dick and Jason gasp in surprise at the movements they felt under their hands. Bruce turned to you and the two of you shared a look full of love.

“That’s our baby,” he said to you, almost in a whisper, while Dick and Jason continued marvelling at the fact they could feel their sibling.

“That's our baby,” you repeated in confirmation. Nothing could've erased the smiles on both of your lips.

“I love you,” Bruce said against your forehead before leaving a soft kiss there and pulling away to share a short peck on the lips with you.

“Ew! Gross!” Jason interrupted your moment. Your sons weren’t the biggest fans of you and Bruce’s displays of affection for each other.

You giggled at the boys’ antics but still took a second to say “I love you” back to your husband.

“Someone should get Alfred so we can share this moment with him,” you suggested to the kids.

“Not it!”

“Not it!”

Jason and Dick quickly shouted, the former being the fastest to say it.

Dick groaned before he stood up from the couch and jogged out of the living room. The faster he would find Alfred, the faster he would be back next to you. “Alfred! The baby is kicking for the first time!” Dick called through the manor for your butler.

“He knows he doesn’t need to scream, right?” Bruce asked you. “Alfred can hear the boys break something all the way from the other side of the house.”

“Oh, let him be. He’s just very excited about the baby kicking,” you lightly reprimanded him with the corner of your mouth pulling up in a smirk.

You detached your gaze from your husband down to Jason who now had both of his small hands on your belly, his mouth in the shape of an ‘O’ and his eyes round with wonder in them.

“This is so cool,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“Looks like you’re gonna have some competition Jay, that baby sure is kicking a lot,” Bruce jokingly commented as the kicking didn’t stop.

You chuckled as you remembered all the times you’d stop by the gym room to find Jason relentlessly kicking at Bruce’s punching bag. For a six year old, he already had so much anger pent up inside his little body and it worried you sometimes. But ever since Bruce brought him back to the Manor, Jay had been getting better. The amount of vases thrown at the wall had drastically decreased since then, both to yours and Alfred’s reliefs, and he instead would run to the gym room and let out his anger on the punching bag when needed.

“I can’t wait to play fight with you,” Jason whispered loudly to your belly with a smile.

“No,” you immediately said.

“Best you stick to play fighting with Dick for a couple more years, buddy,” Bruce told your son.

Jason pouted. “But he's always pulling some acrobatic shit–”

“Language!” You scolded him.

“But Ma! Dad and Dick say it all the time!” Jason cried out defensively. “That’s not fair,” he retracted his hands from your belly to cross his arms over his chest.

“Well Dad and Dick, and you too apparently, will not be saying words like that around the baby,” you warned. “Capiche?”

“Capiche,” Jason mumbled.

“Capiche?” You repeated, now glaring at your husband.

“Hey, I’ve really been refraining on the bad words ever since Dick joined us,” Bruce argued but you raised your eyebrows in a way that said this wasn’t what you wanted to hear. “Capiche,” Bruce sighed out, knowing he wasn't going to win this fight.

“Master Dick, slow down a little. There’s no need for running,” you heard Alfred’s voice approaching down the hall.

“But Alfred, the baby is kicking!” Dick reiterated.

Your oldest ran in the living room, his hand firmly holding Alfred’s who tried to keep up behind him.

“I heard you the first ten times, Master Dick, the baby will still be there no matter how fast we get there,” Alfred argued.

“Yeah but it might stop kicking,” Dick said and the two sat on the couch to your unoccupied left.

“Don’t worry chum, the baby’s still kicking,” Bruce told him while looking fondly at your belly.

“Please Alfred, feel the baby,” you said to your butler with an inviting smile, grabbing his hand that rested on his knee and gently squeezing it. “We want you to be part of this moment too.”

Alfred’s hand joined the others on your bump and the old man smiled at you and Bruce as he felt the tiny bumps moving around under your skin. “This is sensational.”

“Isn’t it?” You smiled back at him, content to have everyone you wanted to share your baby’s first kicks with.

Your little family of five (soon-to-be six) remained on the couch until the baby grew tired and stopped kicking, much to Dick and Jason’s dismay. Alfred went back to his tasks, the boys to their laptop and book, and Bruce wrapped his arm around your shoulder as you cuddled next to him, watching over your children and just enjoying the normalcy of this Sunday afternoon.

Domesticity used to be rare at the Wayne Manor, but not anymore. And you, for one, were very happy about it.

[angelfic]

— A BOY WHO’S JACKED AND KIND

jason todd x reader summary: you trick jason into participating in a certain tiktok trend a/n: a little drabble because I’ve been doomscrolling on tiktok and jason is most definitely jacked and kind and I need him desperately

You can tell that Jason is getting more annoyed by the second. He can’t continue reading his book for longer than five minutes at a time before glancing up at you from across the room with a curious frown. You move around the kitchen fixing yourself an iced coffee while absentmindedly scrolling through your phone and occasionally letting out a laugh or smiling.

By the sixth time you let out a snort, Jason decided he’s had enough and shuts his book, flinging it onto the coffee table before walking over to join you in the kitchen. “What’s making you smile that isn’t me, babe?”

“Huh?” You pull your eyes away from your phone to see Jason attempting a casual pose, leaning against the refrigerator, but he’s borderline pouting. You bite your lip to stop yourself from laughing at him and shake your head. “It’s nothing, just some videos.”

“What kind of videos?” he asks quietly, reaching out to start playing with a strand of your hair that’s escaped your claw clip as if by reflex. He’s still frowning slightly and you roll your eyes, deciding to put him out of his misery.

“Just a cute TikTok trend,” you explain, pulling one of the videos up as Jason peers at your phone eagerly. “See, you get your boyfriend to see if he can pick you up and put you on his shoulder. Some of them are really cute, but look, there’s some who can’t hack it.”

Jason nods slowly in revelation, still engrossed in the rest of the video that’s currently playing before he huffs and shakes his head. “How the hell is that guy struggling? Easy work,” he mumbles.

You’re about to tell him that not everyone has that Red Hood strength on their side before a plan starts forming in your head. Suppressing a smirk, you glance up at him and raise your eyebrows. “Oh yeah? You think you could do it better?”

Jason looks at you with a blank expression. “Was that a joke, or…?”

“I know you’re strong,” you say, shrugging as you nonchalantly take a sip of your coffee, turning away to hide your grin as you walk over to the living room. Jason is hot on your heels as expected. “I just don’t think you could do this as easily as you think.”

“Let’s go,” he says, clapping his hands together. You slowly turn around and tilt your head in questioning. “Let’s make the video, c’mon.”

Hook, line and sinker.

“Alright,” you sigh, setting down your coffee to prop your phone up against it. You pull up the app. “If you insist. Do you want your face in it or should we do it facing backwards?”

“I’ll just cover my face with my hand,” he waves you off, rocking on his heels impatiently. “I only need one of ‘em to lift you.”

He says it so matter-of-fact, and the knowledge that he’s not actually trying to boast has your mouth going dry. It doesn’t help that he’s now shucking off his hoodie and wearing a short-sleeve black t-shirt. His biceps flex as he flings the hoodie onto the couch and you resist the urge to forget about the video and pounce on him. Just for a second.

Clearing your throat, you busy yourself with pressing record and turning a timer on to allow you to step back towards Jason.

“Moment of truth,” you say, challenging him with your doubtful expression and he merely smirks. “Try not to pull any muscles.”

Jason snorts and goes to cover his face with one of his hands, the other already seeking out your waist.

“Wait, not yet!” you remove his arm to place it back at his side and he peeks through his other hand to let you see him rolling his eyes. When the timer is done, you allow yourself to grin, unrestrained and count to 3 in your head. “Okay, go.”

Before the audio has even played halfway through, Jason bends down slightly to factor in your height compared to his and his one large hand grips your hip to lift you off the ground. It feels effortless as he settles you on his shoulder, steady as a rock and you yelp, not expecting him to be that quick.

The rest of the video is you squealing as Jason unexpectedly spins you around in a circle, his one hand gripping your thigh as the other still covers his face. “Jay!” you shriek, looping your arms around his neck to steady yourself. The only reason you’re unsteady is because Jason’s shoulders are shaking with silent laughter.

The video stops recording when the audio ends and you tell Jason as much, making him drop the hand covering his face to grin up at you. He raises an eyebrow as if to say ‘I told you so’, before flexing his free arm for dramatic effect.

“See?” he says, rubbing small circles on your thigh with his thumb and talking up at you with all the ease of talking to you as if you were on the ground in front of him. “What did I say? Easy work, babe.”

“Big show off,” you say, wrinkling your nose at him as you begin to slide down his body. You go slowly, considering the man is basically a human skyscraper and he seems to take advantage of the fact, hands shamelessly roaming up your legs and your sides. He hooks your legs over his own waist, making you cling to him like a koala.

“Can I help you?” you ask, squinting at him when he doesn’t say anything, choosing to just stare at your face instead, drinking you in. You break his concentration by leaning in to press a short, sweet kiss onto his lips that he chases when you pull away. “Earth to Jason?”

“Y’know, I’d be more inclined to participate in your stupid TikTok trends if they all end like this,” Jason mutters, running his nose along your jaw and down your neck before nestling his face there. He doesn’t initiate anything, simply wanting to bask in the comfort of your skin.

You grin at the successful ending to your grand plan, disentangling yourself from your boyfriend to jump down, ignoring his groans of protest.

You run to your phone to save the video to your drafts - no one else needs to see how good Jason’s arms look in a tight black tee - and pull up your folder of couple TikToks. “Oh, well, if you’re finally offering,” you start saying, circling Jason’s wrist with your hand and pulling him onto the couch. He sighs, previously sweet smile being replaced by something skeptical. “I have a whole bunch of ideas.”

“This feels like a set-up.”

© angelfic 2024.

[olailamajnoon]

Bruce, to Jason: you'll never guess what just happened

Jason: you adopted a new Robin.

Bruce to Tim: guess what just happened

Tim: I got a new sibling already huh? Kinda nice, I figured it was time.

Bruce to Dick: Can you guess what happened?

Dick: ALREADY? Man you have a problem!

Bruce to Damian: can you conjecture what has taken place

Damian: you have acquired another batchild.

Bruce to Stephanie: ok. Can YOU guess what's just happened?

Stephanie: you're pregnant.

Bruce to Cassandra: Can you guess what I'm about to tell you?

Cassandra: Selina said yes.

Bruce, to the entire family: YES!!! ATLEAST ONE OF MY KIDS KNOWS ME!

Cassandra: no, I just got a text from her.

[r-riri]

batboys reacting to you giving them a gift out of nowhere

word count - 916

as usual if you see issues with grammar, you dont

when you came up to him with a small box that had been neaty wrapped in a matte black wrapping paper including a sparkly bow ontop of the gift he was confused for the first thing

he didnt know what to expect and suddenly he was going though all the dates in his head making sure he didnt accidently miss something but even if he somehow did alfred would have told him so for something to have avoided his and alfreds memory would have been shocking in itself

when you gave him the small box and smiling with this cute soft smile that you wore whenever you were proud of something

you usually gave that smile to him everynight when they both were laying in bed and your finger traced his scars that littered his body and he loved it, he loved you

so now he was confused why you were giving him something so out of the blue but of course he took it thanking you deeping claiming that uou never woukd have to give him something like this and that your smile and presences would always be enough for him and for him alone

so when he opened up the gift and looked inside and saw two black clufflinks with a shiny 'b' engraved into the tops of them he couldnt help but smile at them remebering how he talked about needing a new pair for the new suit he got for an upcoming gala and you did it

you were always so caring to him

when richard saw you approaching with your hands tucked behind your back with this smirk plastered on your lips he knew something was up

he eyed your appearance trying to see what you were hiding from him and he knew something was wrong.

when you showed him the medium sized box with black and blue wrapping paper a shining smile graced his face seeing it. he should've know you were up something

dick smiled at you eagerly grabbing the box knowing whatever was actually inside the box he would love and cherish until the day he could no longer cherish them

he carefully opened the wrapping whilst looking up to you watching how youd react as he knew you were always a very facial person

inside the box was something he nearly cried at, inside was a porcelain statute of his dog haley and it was painted to look exactly like her and he sowre in this moment right now he knew he had to make a collection of porcelain statutes of him and you now so that he could make a family creation and put it somewhere he would be able to see everyday

he would then have pulled you into a hug and never would want to let you go as he knew this was his forever.

now this man isnt someone who is well equated with getting gifts so this was something he didn't know how to react to when you gave him a neatly wrapped box that was coloured red and black

at first his instinctive reaction was to smile and thank you before arguing that he didint need anything special and that your love and just pure intentions with him was more than he ever though he would be deserving of him knowing you he couldn't escape this and he has escape many things in his life time before

he begrudgingly he opened the gift and low and behold was something that made he want to curl up and just sit in his feelings and seeing a handmade book and inside were 134 reasons why you loved him and why your pick him in a crowed room before anyone else

he knew you loved him, sure it was something he struggled with but he knew deep down you were gonna vanish on him but it was the small acts like this that reassured him that you werent just gonna up and leave on him

as usual timothy would usually have been found in either his room or the batcave, so when he saw you walking into his room with a red box with a yellow ribbon he was confused

he knew no important dates were today, he knew, he would always know when it came to you, he wouldnt rather you hate him than have forgotten something so important to you so when he saw this safe to say he was perplexed on why

when you gave it to him- more like shoved it into his face he knew you were up to no good so he sighed and slowly unwrapped the box and carefully looked in side and smiled rolling his eyes looking back up at you with a 'are you serious' kinda look in his eyes

instead the box was a framed photo from a newspaper of him at a interview for the latest Wayne enterprises launch and it was of him talking to a newsreporter and he had this lovesick grin and the headline read in bold 'timothy drake lovesick?!' as in that moment he was talking about you since one of the questions asked about how he balances the role at WE and being a 'regular' teen and tim mentioned his lovely partner that he adored

the look on your face had him sighing internally but he knew deep down he never would want anything but this in his life

[delusionsofgrandeur13]

your boyfriend, jason todd’s instagram

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send an ask if you want some other characters too ;)

[ahqkas]

“CRY BABY — jason todd.

PAIRING ! jason todd 𝒙 fem!reader SYNOPSIS! your boyfriend’s here, doesn’t matter if you need him during an important task. you need him now so that’s what he does; he shows up. WORD COUNT! 2.6k WARNINGS / TAGS! fluff, mention of reader’s hair + lmk if more found ! NOTES! based on this req.!! header bellow belongs to @/v6que © ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

THE GROCERY STORE WAS UNUSUALLY CROWDED FOR A FRIDAY EVENING, the fluorescent lights overhead buzzing faintly as you shuffled through the small grocery shop. You grabbed a cart and slowly pushed it past the holiday display at the entrance. The pine garlands and cinnamon-scented candles filled the air with cheerfulness of the holidays that felt out of place for your mood. The day had been fine, but a little . . . heavy, like the edges of everything you did were frayed. Shopping for groceries was supposed to be routine, calming even, but tonight it felt more like a chore.

You started in the produce section, eyeing the dark red apples stacked neatly in pyramids. Jason liked apples, especially sliced up with peanut butter, and you didn’t have any at home. You grabbed a few, along with a small bag of clementines—they were on sale, and the idea of peeling one later sounded comforting. You added some spinach to the cart, though you weren’t ure what you’d do with it yet.

The next aisle had the coffee and teas. You hesitated in front of the shelves, scanning for Jason’s favorite blend. He always said he didn’t care what kind of coffee it was as long as it had caffeine, but you knew he liked the dark roast with the smoky flavor. So, you grabbed a bag and tossed it into the cart before picking up a box of black tea for yourself.

In the dairy section, you grabbed a carton of eggs and some milk, along with a tub of the fancy Greek yogurt Jason pretended to hate but always ate half of when you weren’t looking. You added a block of cheddar cheese too, because he always complained when you didn’t have any “real cheese” in the fridge.

Finally, you grabbed a loaf of bread and a box of pasta before heading to the candy aisle. You’d been eyeing the peppermint bark in the holiday section earlier but didn’t grab it. Now you plucked a small bar of it off the shelf and dropped it into the cart. A little indulgence couldn’t hurt.

The cart wasn’t full, but it was enough. Enough to get through the week, enough to stock your kitchen for the nights Jason decided to stay over and make himself at home. He didn’t live with you—not officially—but his presence lingered in your apartment like a second heartbeat.

You made my way to the registers, where the lines were moving slowly. It was late, but the store was still busy, the energy of people rushing to finish errands before closing time crackling faintly in the air. You took your place in line, watching other customers inch forward and fiddling with the edge of your scarf.

It wasn’t a bad day, you reminded yourself, just a heavy one. You would unload the groceries back at home, make some tea, and settle in for the evening. Maybe you’d call Jason later, hear his voice and let the rough warmth of it carry you into something softer. The thought made the corner of your mouth twitch up in the faintest smile. And maybe he could even stop by, spend the night.

That thought warmed your heart.

The line at the register moved slower than you expected, giving you too much time to stand there, awkwardly fiddling with your scarf and glancing at your cart. The apples and kettle chips sat next to each other, an odd little pairing that made you think of your boyfriend. He’d swipe one of each, snack in hand, smirking like he’d outsmarted the whole grocery system.

Finally, your turn came, and you pushed the cart forward. The cashier was a lanky teenager with a mop of greasy hair tucked under his name-tagged baseball cap. His name tag read Trevor, but his expression read bored in bold letters. He glanced up at you briefly, his eyes darting over your cart with the kind of disdain only a teenager could muster before going back to his phone.

“Hey,” you greeted the kid politely, smiling despite yourself as you began unloading your groceries onto the conveyor belt.

“Yeah, hey,” Trevor muttered, clearly distracted as he shoved his phone into his pocket. He hit a button on the register with a little too much force and sighed loudly, like the very act of being here was an affront to his existence.

You handed over the loaf of bread first, thinking maybe you could set the pace for a smooth interaction. Trevor grabbed it and scanned it without a word.

“Paper or plastic?” he asked flatly, not bothering to meet your eyes.

“Um, paper, please.”

Trevor reached for the bags, shoving the bread in haphazardly before grabbing the apples next. The bag tipped slightly, the loaf threatening to crumple. You winced internally but said nothing, figuring it wasn’t worth the trouble.

As he scanned the rest of your items, you started to pull out your wallet. Your fingers fumbled for a moment as you searched for your debit card, the silence stretching uncomfortably.

“Do you, like, need the receipt?” Trevor mumbled under his nose, tossing it into the bag before you could answer.

“Um—yes, please,” you said quietly, slipping your card out of the wallet at last.

The teenager rolled his eyes, exhaling loudly. “Next time, maybe have it ready? Kinda holding up the line.”

The words hit you like a splash of cold water. You froze for a moment, face flushing as you quickly swiped your card through the reader. Your hand trembled just enough to make you fumble again, and you could feel the heat of embarrassment crawling up your neck.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, not daring to meet his eyes as you hurried to finish.

Trevor didn’t respond to you anymore. “Next!”

You grabbed your bags as quickly as you could, your vision blurring slightly as you turned away from the register. Your chest felt tight, the weight of the embarrassing moment pressing against the bones of your ribs as you hurried out of the store.

By the time you reached your parked car, the tension had built to a boiling point. You set the bags down in the passenger seat and slid into the driver’s seat, closing the door behind you with a soft click. The space felt safe, isolated from the world, and as soon as you were alone, the tears spilled over.

It wasn’t just the kid or his tone—it was everything. The way the week had dragged on endlessly, the tiny moments of frustration piling up like bricks until this one insignificant encounter became the tipping point.

You pressed your palms against the steering wheel, breathing uneven as the tears came in quiet, hot streams. They weren’t loud or desperate, just a release, a way to let go of the tension that had been weighing you down all day.

After a few minutes, the sobs subsided, leaving you feeling raw but lighter. You wiped at your face with your sleeve, sniffing softly as you leaned back against the headrest. The worst of it was over, but the ache lingered, a reminder of how fragile the balance could be sometimes. What you needed now was something solid, something warm to remind you the world wasn’t as heavy as it seemed.

Reaching for your phone, you scrolled through your contacts, thumb hovering over his name for a moment before you pressed it. The line rang twice before his voice came through, low and rough but tinged with familiarity and care. Jason always had a way of grounding you, his voice a tether when the world felt too loud.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, his tone already softer than usual. “What’s going on?”

And just like that, the weight in your chest started to ease.

“Hi,” you said, the word wobbling despite your best effort. “Are you busy?”

There was a beat of silence, the kind that told you he’d caught on. Jason’s voice shifted, quieter but firm, like a hand on your shoulder. “No, I’m not busy. You okay? You sound . . . upset.”

You hesitated, the urge to downplay it bubbling up. “I’m fine,” you said quickly, though you knew it wasn’t convincing. “Just . . . had a moment. Nothing big, I promise.”

“Sweetheart,” Jason interrupted gently, his voice like a steady anchor. “Don’t do that thing where you act like it doesn’t matter. Talk to me.”

You sighed, resting your head against the window now. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “It’s stupid. A cashier was kind of rude, and it just . . . got to me. I cried about it in the car, and I feel better now, but I guess I just—” Your voice cracked, and you exhaled shakily. “I wanted to hear you.”

Jason didn’t respond right away, but the silence wasn’t heavy. It was the kind of pause that said he was listening, thinking about the best way to hold you from a distance. When he spoke again, his tone was warm and firm, a voice that could steady mountains.

“First of all, it’s not stupid,” he said. “People can be jerks, and it’s okay to feel what you feel. You don’t have to justify that to me—or to anyone.”

A small smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. He always had a way of cutting through the noise in your head, finding the simplest truth in it all. “Thanks,” you murmured.

“Where are you?” he asked. “Still in the car?”

“Yeah,” you admitted. “Just . . . sitting in the parking lot.”

He hummed softly, the sound almost like a purr through the receiver. “Okay. Here’s what we’re gonna do. Take a deep breath for me—nice and slow. Can you do that?”

You nodded before realizing he couldn’t see you. “Yeah,” you said softly, following his instruction. The air filled your lungs like it hadn’t in hours, grounding you.

“Good,” Jason praised. “Now, I’m on my way to you. Sit tight, and don’t you dare think about apologizing for needing me.”

“Jason,” you started, but he cut you off.

“Don’t ‘Jason’ me, sweetheart. You’re my girl. That means if you need me, I’m there. Simple as that.”

The lump in your throat returned, but this time, it was different—softer, less heavy. “Thank you,” you whispered.

“Always,” he replied, and you could hear the faint sound of him grabbing his keys. “Now stay where you are. I’ll be there soon. And when I get there, I’m giving you a hug so big, you’re gonna forget what the cashier even looked like.”

You laughed softly, the warmth of it surprising you. “I’d like that.”

“Good,” Jason said, his voice lighter now. “I’ll see you soon, baby. Just hang tight for me.”

The call ended, and though the ache hadn’t fully disappeared, it was quieter now, tempered by the knowledge that he was coming. Jason didn’t just make the world feel manageable—he made it feel safe, like no matter how overwhelming the little things got, he’d always be there to pull you back to solid ground.

Ten minutes later, a sharp, sudden knock on the car window startled you out of your thoughts. You jumped in the seat, heart leaping into your throat as you turned to look—and there he was, standing outside in the cold, his broad shoulders hunched slightly against the wind. Jason’s cheeks and nose were flushed a soft pink from the winter air, and he had one hand shoved into the pocket of his leather jacket, the other gesturing for you to roll the window down.

You blinked, processing his presence as he gave you a small, crooked smile through the glass. “Come on, sweetheart,” he called, his voice muffled but still rich and warm, like it carried all the heat you’d been missing. “You gonna let me freeze out here or what?”

Scrambling, you fumbled with the controls and rolled the window down halfway. “Jason? What are you doing here?” Your voice wavered between shock and something lighter, something closer to relief.

He gave a soft huff, his breath visible in the cold air. “You really think I was just gonna sit around after that phone call? Get outta the car, baby.”

You hesitated for a moment, the weight of the earlier tears still clinging to you, but his steady gaze left no room for argument. With a sigh, you grabbed your scarf and pushed the door open, stepping out into the biting cold.

As soon as you were standing in front of him, Jason’s hands found your shoulders, his touch firm but gentle as he guided you closer towards him. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low and earnest, his green eyes scanning your face like he was trying to read all the parts of you you hadn’t said aloud.

You nodded, but the way your chin trembled betrayed me. “I’m fine,” I responded quietly, even though the words felt flimsy. “I was feeling better after we talked, really. You didn’t have to come all the way out here—”

Jason cut you off with a soft, knowing sound, one of his hands moving to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. His touch lingered, his knuckles warm against your cheek. “Yeah, I did,” his tone left no room for debate.

For a moment, the two of you stood there, the cold wrapping around you but unable to penetrate the bubble of warmth his presence created. His thumb grazed your cheekbone, and you realized you had been leaning into his hand without thinking.

“You’ve been crying,” he said softly, the observation carrying no judgment, only quiet understanding. “You don’t have to pretend with me, y’know. Not ever.”

The lump in your throat returned, but it was smaller now, manageable. You took a shaky breath and gave him a faint smile. “I just felt stupid crying over something so little. I didn’t want to bother you.”

Jason’s brows knit together, his expression turning almost stern. “Hey,” he exclaimed, tilting your chin up so you had to meet his eyes. “Your feelings aren’t little. And I told you—no matter what, I’m here. You don’t bother me, alright?”

You nodded, swallowing hard as the weight of his words settled over you like a blanket. His sincerity had a way of melting through all the self-doubt you carried, leaving only the quiet reassurance of his steady presence.

“Good,” he said after a moment, his hand dropping to take yours instead. He laced your fingers together, his grip firm and grounding. “Now, give me your keys.”

You blinked up at him. “What?”

He smirked, his nose still adorably rosy from the cold. “You’re not driving, sweetheart. Not when you’ve had a day like this. I’m taking you home.”

“You didn’t bring your bike?” you teased faintly, trying to lighten the mood.

Jason snorted. “In this weather? Hell no. Now quit stalling and hand ’em over.”

Reluctantly, you pulled the keys from your pocket and dropped them into his waiting hand. He gave you an approving nod before tugging you toward the passenger side door.

“Come on,” he said, opening it for you like the gentleman he only pretended not to be. “Get in. I’ll crank the heat for you.”

As you slid into the seat, Jason closed the door behind you and walked around to the driver’s side, his movements easy and confident despite the chill. When he settled in and started the car, the warmth of the heater began to fill the space, and for the first time that evening, you felt completely safe.

Jason reached over, brushing his hand across your thigh in a gesture so casual yet intimate it made your chest ache. “See? Already better,” he said, glancing at you with a lopsided grin.

And as the car pulled away from the parking lot, the groceries safely tucked in the back and Jason by your side, you couldn’t help but think he was right.