#tim drake x reader

[yannawayne]

If I can't have you baby, no one else in this world can!

SYNOPSIS: The Batboys & Cass at their most unhinged, most protective, and most devoted. TAGS: FEMALE Reader! Fluff! Jealousy! Fake Marriage, Mild possessive behavior, Mild innuendo / suggestive banter, Mentions of weapons/violence + Older! Of-Age! Damian NOTE: Don’t take the content or characterizations too seriously! It’s literally just a goofy, for-fun fic :ppp AO3: yenwayne Ko-Fi: buy me a coffee!

જ⁀➴ RICHARD GRAYSON

“I hate these missions,” came Dick’s voice, petulant and immediate in your earpiece.

You didn’t pause. Instead, you stepped delicately around a marble column, your heels tapping rhythmically across the ballroom floor. Your dress shimmered with every movement, a slinky midnight blue number that hugged your form like it had been stitched by jealous gods. Your fingers grazed the low curve of your hip, pretending to adjust the fabric, when in reality you were activating the mic hidden beneath a faux diamond brooch.

“Nightwing,” you said calmly, smiling at a champagne server as they approached. You took a glass with a graceful nod, flipping your hair over your shoulder with casual elegance. “We’re at a gala. There are hors d'oeuvres and a string quartet. Try not to combust.”

“I am combusting,” he muttered, like he was personally being subjected to torture. “You’re pretending to be married to Barry Allen. That’s basically infidelity.”

“We fake-filed a fake tax return together like, five minutes ago,” you said dryly. “Relax.”

Dick huffed—huffed—and you could practically see him brooding on some rooftop, arms crossed like a bat-gargoyle. “I just think I, your actual husband, should be there.”

You let out a quiet sigh, walking toward the ornate staircase where Barry stood chatting up a senator. You could already see the knowing glint in his eye as he spotted you, lifting his glass like a man trying too hard to appear casual.

“Oh my god,” you muttered under your breath, smiling sweetly as you closed the distance. “You are literally in my ear. You’re more present than Barry is right now, and he's the one touching me.”

“What?!”

You glanced sideways at Barry. He shifted, his palm resting in the safe, polite territory of your lower back as he leaned in to whisper something to the senator. “Arm, Dick. It’s just an arm. We’re blending in. No need to send in the Batjet.”

“I swear to god if he tries the forehead kiss thing—”

You blinked. “What forehead kiss thing?”

“He does this thing,” Dick said, his voice a little breathless with outrage, “where he smiles all slow and soft and tilts his head, and he leans in like he’s gonna whisper something but instead he does this little forehead press like he’s in a rom-com. I hate it. That’s how he seduced Iris that one time!”

You bit the inside of your cheek to suppress a laugh, shifting your weight subtly as you allowed Barry to guide you toward the center of the room. The music shifted into a softer waltz.

“Pretty sure they were already dating when that happened.”

“Not the point. I should be the one fake-forehead-kissing you at fancy galas.”

You stepped past an older couple slow-dancing near the fountain centerpiece and turned, giving Barry a small apologetic smile as you pretended to be distracted by something in your clutch.

“Would that make you feel better?” you whispered.

“Immeasurably.”

You were about to respond when you caught the faintest flicker of movement overhead. The security camera nearest you pivoted. Just slightly. Just enough.

Your smile vanished.

“Did you just hijack the camera feed to watch me?”

Silence.

“Dick.”

“…No?”

“Dick.”

“Camera’s just doing its job.”

“You are the camera.”

There was a beat of long, silent guilt on the line.

“It’s a security sweep,” he finally muttered, defensive. “Totally standard.”

You turned and stared directly up at the rotating lens, narrowing your eyes. “You’re pouting, aren’t you?”

“No,” he said, full pout in his voice.

You glared at the camera, already knowing the exact pout he was pulling behind the cowl. Barry chuckled beside you, still in his gala-husband role. You looped your arm through his and leaned in with a soft smile, playing along for the watching donors. Wealth glittered across the ballroom. Pearls, tuxedos, and dresses worth more than a small country’s GDP.

And then Dick dropped the line.

“You just had to wear that gown, didn’t you?”

Your eyebrows twitched.

“It’s a dress.”

“It’s a crime scene, actually.”

You nearly snorted champagne up your nose. “Are you okay? Do you need to go punch a mugger and walk it off?”

“You don’t understand,” he hissed. “There are at least six guys pretending not to stare at you right now. One of them dropped a canapé. I watched it happen. I’m seconds from pulling the fire alarm.”

You hummed in amusement and tilted your head, letting the chandelier light catch the sheen of your lashes.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

You swirled the champagne in your glass, then took a slow, knowing sip, the bubbles tickling your lips as you smirked. “Are you gonna rappel in through the ceiling and punch Barry in the face mid-waltz?”

He didn’t answer immediately. And that was the worst part.

“…Maybe.”

You laughed under your breath, drawing curious eyes from across the floor. “You are the most dramatic man I’ve ever married.”

“I’m the only man you’ve ever married!”

“For now,” you teased.

Dead. Air.

You could feel it through the silence. The precise moment Dick’s jaw clenched, the way his hands probably curled into fists on some high-rise ledge. You almost felt sorry for the next criminal who looked at him funny.

“Sweetheart,” he said finally, voice dropping into that dangerous purr he only used when he was 70% teasing and 30% ready to commit felony assault. “If Barry so much as breathes too close to you, I’m driving over there and disguising myself as a waiter just to strangle him with a linen napkin.”

You giggled again, covering it with the rim of your glass and a quick flutter of lashes.

“Relax. You’re still my real husband.”

“I should hope so. I signed that marriage license in blood.”

“You pricked your finger opening the envelope.”

“It still counts.”

જ⁀➴ JASON TODD

The dim light of the bookstore warmed the space, the faint scent of old paper mixing with the musky air of Gotham’s streets. It was the perfect Saturday afternoon. You and Jason had been to this little corner bookstore a few times, tucked away near the flat you shared, where no one bothered you, just the way you liked it.

Today, the place had a sale. And you were taking full advantage. Because, books.

You bent slightly, pulling another book off the shelf. Your fingers lingered on the spine, the title catching your eye, but your gaze drifted briefly to Jason beside you.

He was holding a stack of books you'd already picked up, his strong arms braced beneath the weight. His other hand was occupied, casually flipping through the pages of a suspense novel. His worn-out motorcycle helmet hung off his elbow, the strap digging into his skin like it always did when he wasn’t too concerned about making a spectacle of himself.

The sight of him in his usual attire, tight compression shirt, cargo pants, and those damn ratty boots, was almost enough to make you forget why you were even here. You couldn’t help it. Your husband, who exuded that rough, untamed charm that always made your heart skip a beat, even after everything.

You coughed, quickly pulling your focus back to the shelf, cheeks flushed. You weren’t here to ogle at him. You were here to buy books, to stock up for the upcoming winter nights in your cozy little flat.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him glance over at you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he noticed the way you’d momentarily gotten lost in thought.

“You okay there, doll?” His voice was low, but that teasing drawl was there, practically sending your internal warning system into overload.

You snapped back to the shelf, cheeks now officially flushed. “Fine. Just… you know, checking out some new releases. That’s all.”

Jason took a step closer, his hand reaching out to adjust the stack of books he was holding, brushing against your side. You could feel his eyes on you, that damn teasing look in them. He knew.

"Uh-huh," he muttered, clearly amused.

You shot him a glare. “Stop being so obvious.” You grabbed a couple more books, pretending they were the most interesting thing in the store, while mentally trying to avoid imagining how good he looked in those pants.

The moment passed, and you made your way to the counter. But, of course, Jason insisted on carrying all the books for you, despite them weighing next to nothing. Which, really, wasn’t a huge shock. The man could bench press a car if he felt like it.

The cashier, a young guy in his twenties, greeted you with a friendly smile as he began scanning your newest babies.

“Oh, you read The Cruel Prince?” the cashier suddenly asked, lifting the book from your pile with excitement. “I’ve been dying to meet someone else who loves it.”

You couldn’t help but grin, excited to talk about one of your favorites. “Yes! It’s amazing. I love Jude as a character. She’s so strong, and the plot twists? Wild.”

The cashier, clearly eager to engage, leaned in slightly, his elbows resting casually on the counter. “I know, right? I just finished The Wicked King,” he said with a boyish laugh.

“I’m almost done with The Queen of Nothing now.” His eyes flicked up, lingering a moment too long on your face. “You into high fantasy like this, or was it just a one-time thing? ‘Cause if you’re looking for recs… I’ve got a few I think you’d really love.”

You smiled, delighted by the conversation. “Oh, I’m always open to fantasy suggestions. I love character-driven stuff with sharp worldbuilding.”

Completely absorbed, you missed the way the cashier’s eyes dipped briefly down your frame before flicking back up to meet yours. "Lucky for me, you stopped by today.”

Jason, who had been standing just behind you, tensed. Subtly, he stepped closer, the warmth of his body brushing your back as he shifted the weight of the books in his arms. His free hand settled on your waist, low and firm.

It was casual, at least outwardly, but there was nothing casual about the way his fingers flexed slightly against your coat.

The cashier, oblivious or ignoring the shift in energy, handed you the receipt, gaze still lingering. “Seriously, though. A doll like you geeking out over The Cruel Prince? That’s rare. Real rare. Kinda makes a guy believe in fate.”

Jason’s voice cut through the moment, cold enough to make the air around you drop a few degrees. “Yeah,” he said, eyes locked onto the cashier’s now, unreadable but intense. “She’s one of a kind.”

The cashier blinked, clearly feeling the shift, but tried to laugh it off. “Right, of course. I’ll, uh, finish ringing this up.”

Jason didn’t move, didn’t blink. “You do that.”

A moment later, the books were bagged, and the cashier’s enthusiasm had visibly dimmed. He offered a half-hearted smile, handing you the bag. “Enjoy your books.”

Jason took it before you could, his hand brushing against yours as he did. “We will.”

You followed Jason out of the store, blinking at the sudden rush of cold Gotham air. You were about to say something when you caught the tension in his jaw, the way his eyes stayed forward.

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Jealous?”

He scoffed, but didn’t deny it. “Nah. Just making sure it’s clear. You’re mine.”

You slipped your arm through his. “Always.”

જ⁀➴ TIM DRAKE

“Hi, Timmy Junior,” you crooned, crouching low to the penthouse floor with a dramatic sweep of your coat as it slipped from your shoulders. Your fingers found the cat’s chin, scritching gently beneath the plush fur.

The feline let out a noise of pure bliss, an undignified grrrrrr-rup purr as he leaned his entire ridiculous body weight into your hand.

“You’re so spoiled,” you whispered like a secret, ruffling his ears. “Where’s your dad, huh? Inventing new molecules? Hacking the Pentagon again?”

You padded deeper into the apartment, your heels left by the door, your coat sliding neatly onto the rack with one smooth toss. The air inside was warm and low-lit, cast in that signature honey-gold glow Tim always adjusted for you when you worked late at the hospital. Cozy, inviting. The kind of lighting that lured you toward rest like gravity.

Your gaze landed on him instantly. Folded up on the couch in a soft Gotham U hoodie and well-worn sweatpants, socked feet tucked beneath him, glowing laptop balanced on his knees.

The blue light framed his face like a crime scene photograph. His fingers flew across the keys, precise, fast, controlled. His brow furrowed, and his jaw clenched just slightly, like whatever he was typing deserved war.

You didn’t say a word.

Instead, you launched yourself forward like a sleepy jungle cat and collapsed into his lap, head-first, limbs folding as you burrowed in like you belonged there. Because you did.

Tim paused, but only for a second. Then one arm wrapped around your waist, locking you into place as his other hand resumed its furious typing like your sudden weight had simply activated some comforting subroutine. Like muscle memory. Like ritual.

“You’re late,” he murmured, finally meeting your eyes with that gentle, tired smile you’d always been weak for.

“Code blue,” you mumbled, curling tighter into his hoodie. “And two separate idiots who thought knife fights belonged in the ER lobby.”

He hummed low and familiar. “Gotham.”

You exhaled slowly, melting into him. The scent of him wrapped around you—green tea, clean soap, and ozone, like he hadn’t moved from this couch in hours. The safest smell in the world.

But something… tugged.

You felt it now. His body didn’t soften the way it usually did when you came home. His hold was there, but too controlled. The tension in his shoulders hadn’t gone away. He hadn’t kissed your forehead.

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, eyes narrowing. “What’s wrong?”

Tim’s lips parted like he wanted to deny it, but instead, he let out a breath that deflated his whole chest. “It’s nothing,” he said, almost too fast. “Just… internet drama. Dumb stuff.”

“About work?” you asked, brows raising.

“No,” he said after a beat, tone shifting. “About us.”

You stilled.

Tim blinked at you, then sighed. “You did an interview with Vicky Vale today?”

You blinked again, slower this time. “…Yesh,” you mumbled into his neck. “She was a nightmare in heels, but Bruce said something something ‘positive press,’ ‘curated coverage,’ PR speak, blah blah—”

“Right,” Tim cut in, nodding slowly. Too slowly. “And in that very public interview, broadcast to half of Gotham… you said Nightwing was your favorite vigilante.”

Silence.

You shifted.

“I stand by my words.”

He gasped in faux betrayal and grabbed your hand, holding it up like a piece of evidence. The diamond on your engagement ring caught the light dramatically.

“This is a literal rock,” he said, dead serious. “A shiny, cut-from-the-mountain, six-years-of-our-life-together rock. And that,” he gestured vaguely in the air, “is slander.”

You bit back a grin as he continued, spiraling.

“…Treason, even,” Tim added dramatically, eyes wide with mock hurt. “I should call Bruce. Or the League. Or Alfred. Someone’s has got to arrest you.”

You covered your mouth to stop the laugh threatening to bubble out. “You’re going to tattle on me to Alfred?”

“Damn right I am. He likes me best. He’ll understand.” He pointed a finger accusingly. “And you—you—are officially banned from Titans reruns, YouTube edits, and any content where Nightwing is in leather and doing that thing with his sticks.”

You tilted your head, feigning confusion. “What thing with his sticks?”

Tim looked personally wounded. “You know what thing. The twirly thing! The one with the hip pivot.”

You smirked, throwing your arms around him like a blanket. “Hm. But you're still my favorite fiancé.”

He scowled into your hair. “Not good enough. I want it in writing. Signed affidavit. Notarized.”

“Fine,” you deadpanned. “I, under oath, declare Timothy Jackson Drake to have the second-best butt in Gotham.”

Tim pulled back sharply. “Second?!”

“Best fiancé,” you corrected with a squeal, kicking as he launched a tickle assault. “Best fiancé! Tim! Stop! I swear to—!”

He kept going, merciless and grinning, until you both dissolved into laughter and flailing limbs on the couch. Tim finally flopped beside you, chest heaving, arms still tangled around you.

You were still breathless, clutching your stomach, when he murmured:

“…Still should’ve been first-best butt.”

You reached over and kissed his nose. “You’re number one in my heart.”

“And in Alfred’s rankings.”

“Exactly.”

જ⁀➴ DAMIAN WAYNE

The wind bit at your exposed skin, Gotham’s chill cutting through every crack in your suit, making you shiver despite your best efforts to hide it. You tried to pull the oversized cape tighter around your shoulders, Damian’s cape, and flicked it dramatically, hoping for a bit of extra warmth. It made you feel a little ridiculous, but god, it was warm.

You glanced sideways at Damian, the stone wall of a man beside you, not even acknowledging the cold as he stared down at the street below, his jaw set and his posture as rigid as a statue.

You raised an eyebrow. “You know, I’m freezing my ass off in your oversized cape, and you’re standing there like a stone wall, making me look like a damsel in distress.”

Damian flicked a glance at you, his lips barely twitching into a smirk. "You do look ridiculous."

You rolled your eyes, adjusting the cape again. It really did swallow you whole. You felt like an overgrown child in a giant’s cloak.

"Well, at least I’m warm," you muttered, "unlike some people."

“Tt. I’m fine, beloved,” he said, but there was a little something extra when he said beloved.

Something warm. Something intense. And despite the cold, your heart did a little leap.

Sexy stone statue, you grumbled to yourself. You were so not above it.

The night air crackled with tension for a moment before Damian broke the silence. “Something’s off. Stay close.”

You straightened, your body on high alert, instinctively leaning closer to him. You followed his gaze toward the flickering lights…A bank alarm.

The unmistakable shriek of Gotham’s most wanted sound—bank robbery.

“Trouble,” you said, giddy with the thrill.

“Indeed,” Damian replied, voice low and dangerous. Before you could respond, he vanished into the night, melting into the shadows.

“Show-off,” you muttered, launching a web and following him across the rooftops.

You landed beside him, crouched above a black van outside the bank. Thugs were unloading duffle bags—money and cologne, Gotham’s finest.

“Someone’s making a withdrawal,” you whispered.

“Then let’s make sure they don’t get too comfortable,” Damian muttered. With a single flick of his wrist, a Batarang flew out, slicing through the air and knocking one of the thieves out.

“Smooth,” you swooned, eyes wide with admiration. “Hey, this might be the best date night we’ve had all month.”

“Tch. I prefer less… crowded dates,” Damian shot back, already taking down another guy with a fluid motion that made it look effortless.

Fast. Precise. Unfairly hot.

You couldn’t help but grin, heart racing as you jumped into the action, doing a flip over one of the thieves to disarm him mid-air. You were all set to land on your feet, ready to keep up the momentum, when suddenly, a shadow slammed into you from nowhere.

The impact knocked the wind from your lungs, sending you crashing into the rooftop with a grunt.

Damian’s head snapped your way, eyes dark, hand flying to his blade. Ready to kill.

"Wait!" you said, breathless, as you pushed yourself up and caught sight of the person on top of you.

"Black Cat?" you breathed, disbelief flooding your chest.

She grinned down at you, that too-familiar cocky smile spreading across her face.

"Hey, Spider," she said, pressing a hand down on your shoulders, keeping you pinned, her fingers firm and possessive. "Long time no swing. You look… deliciously out of breath."

Your brain short-circuited. "Holy shit. What are you doing in Gotham?"

Before she could answer, a shadow dropped hard beside you. Damian. Radiating absolute fury in a tight, concentrated glare.

“Get. Off.”

Two words. Ice-cold.

Black Cat didn’t flinch. In fact, her grin widened.

"Ooooh," she said, drawing out the syllable like she’d just tasted something expensive. “You must be new. You gotta get in line, cutie. Spider’s got fans, you know.”

“I am not a fan,” Damian snapped. “I am her partner.”

You sat up. “Aw.”

Damian flushed.

“In combat,” he added stiffly.

You winced. “Less aw.”

Black Cat howled. “Oh, this is so much better than I hoped. You got yourself a territorial one, huh?” She leaned in close to Damian, eyes twinkling. “Tell me, do you bite?”

“I don’t bite,” Damian said coldly.

“Oh?” she said with a smirk. “Shame.”

“I maim.”

“Well, you’re no fun,” Black Cat tsked, her hips swaying as she walked forward with that signature, cat-like confidence. “Relax, Bird Boy. Just saying hi to my favorite Spider.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “Guys! Seriously? We are not doing this right now. We’re literally in the middle of a robbery!”

Black Cat flipped her hair over her shoulder, unfazed. “Handled it already, sweetheart. I snagged the bank’s security drive, webbed the goons to their getaway van, and took care of the heavy lifting before I jumped you. You’re welcome.”

“…You webbed—my web fluid?!” you gawked.

“Borrowed,” Black Cat said airily. “Don’t be stingy.”

“I made that with bio-polymers and blood, you kleptomaniac bat-licking menace—”

“Oh, please,” she rolled her eyes. “I'm sure you can make another one of your web knick-knacks.”

Damian’s eyes flashed. “Those cartridges are proprietary.”

“Pro‑pri‑e‑tar‑y!” you echoed, stabbing a finger at her. “He means off-limits, you thieving furball!”

Black Cat rolled her shoulders, utterly unbothered. “I’ll return them. Hm… rented at a fair rate, of course. Maybe half a million an ounce?”

Damian growled low in his throat. “You—I'll—”

“Okay, okay, enough. Look. I’ll put them back before breakfast tomorrow, deal?” Black Cat offered, waggling her fingers like this was a brunch invitation and not felony-level theft.

You opened your mouth to protest because you absolutely did not agree to that, but it was too late. With a mock curtsy and a wicked glint in her eye, she vanished into the shadows, her laughter echoing like a warning shot.

You turned back to Damian, who stood tense, blade still in hand, every muscle in his jaw working overtime.

“I should have let her fall off the building,” he muttered.

You snorted. “You would never.”

“I could have accidentally loosened her grip.” He sheathed his sword with more force than necessary. “No one touches you like that. No one pins you but me.”

Your brows shot up. “So you do want to pin me—”

“Strategically,” he snapped.

“Strategically?" you purred, arms wrapping round his shoulders. "That’s what we’re calling rooftop makeouts now?”

“I—Tt—focus.” But Damian's hands settled at your waist anyway, traitorously warm. “We need to debrief. Secure the scene. Call in the GCPD. Recheck the vault—”

“Oh, Dames…”

જ⁀➴ CASSANDRA CAIN

You were no better than a man.

You were definitely not supposed to be staring. Or, at least, that’s what you kept telling yourself as you tried to focus on the workout in front of you. But there was no way you could ignore Cassandra right now.

She was… perfect.

Her form was flawless as she moved through her calisthenics routine. Push-ups, pull-ups, even backflips! Nothing seemed to faze her. And here you were, struggling not to turn into a puddle of goo on the gym floor.

It wasn’t fair, honestly. How was one person allowed to be so hot? You were supposed to be stretching, but instead, you were completely fixated on your girlfriend, who was now hanging effortlessly from the pull-up bar.

She wasn’t even breaking a sweat. Meanwhile, you were sitting here pretending to stretch, but your eyes couldn’t stop following her every move. How could you not? She was making calisthenics look like some kind of sexy ballet, and you were feeling some type of way about it.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you barely heard the guy who suddenly sidled up to you. You looked up, confused, to see him standing a little too close.

"Hey, uh…" He cleared his throat, clearly trying to sound casual. "I noticed you were watching your friend there… I could totally show you how to lift weights, you know. Maybe even you."

You blinked at him, trying to suppress a laugh. Your brain was still stuck on your friend? Was that supposed to be his pick-up line?

“Uh… really?” you said, raising an eyebrow as you glanced back at Cassandra, still breezing through her workout like she was in some kind of fitness commercial. You could barely keep your mouth from hanging open.

"Yeah!" He puffed out his chest like he was some kind of Greek god. "I can handle lifting your body weight, no problem."

You blinked again. "Oh??"

"Yeah," he said with a cocky grin. "I can totally do it."

You crossed your arms, trying not to burst into laughter. “Okay, then. Show me.”

The guy dropped to his knees in front of you and looked up, ready to lift you. You tried to brace yourself, but honestly, you weren’t sure what was going to happen. This was either going to be impressive or a disaster, and you were pretty sure it was going to be the latter.

He grunted. Nothing.

You raised an eyebrow, watching as he struggled. His face was turning red, sweat starting to drip from his forehead, and—yeah, this was as bad as you expected. He couldn’t even get you an inch off the floor.

“Need help with that?” you asked, barely able to hold back the giggle bubbling up.

“No—no, I’ve got it!” he snapped, lifting harder, but the effort only made him wobble like a newborn giraffe.

"Maybe next time, huh?" you said with a sigh, holding back your amusement.

Then, just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, Cassandra appeared. You didn’t even see her coming. One second, the guy was still struggling with the whole “lifting you” thing, and the next, Cassandra was casually stepping between the two of you. She looked at him like he was a bug she couldn’t be bothered with, then lifted you effortlessly with one hand.

You froze.

One hand.

The guy’s face drained of color as Cassandra set you down like you were a stuffed animal she was tossing back on the shelf. She didn’t even glance at him as she flicked her hair back, returning to her workout like nothing happened.

Meanwhile, the guy? He was just standing there. Shocked. Maybe a little bit scared. His mouth was moving, but no words came out.

Could not have imagined a more embarrassing moment for him…

Turning to Cassandra, your grin only widened. “Baby… you just broke his soul.”

Cassandra didn’t even glance your way. She simply raised an eyebrow, then shot you a small smile as she signed, He should have known better.

As you were about to respond, the guy finally seemed to snap out of his daze. He stammered something about ‘his form’ and ‘next time’ before practically sprinting off, likely rethinking every choice he’d made that led him to this moment.

You chuckled under your breath, eyes flicking back to Cassandra. “Well, looks like you just ruined his chances of ever lifting a girl again.”

Cassandra shrugged, clearly unfazed, and went back to her pull-up bar. Not my problem.

As she started packing her things, she shot you a sly smirk. Let’s go home. I’ll give you a workout of your own.

You raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile pulling at your lips. “That… sounds promising.”

And just like that, the gym, the only thing on your mind now was what your workout would look like tonight.

Goopyness... This was very fun to write!

My requests are open! Please...Uwu

[robinvomit]

being reminded of the whole tim drake (v1) being a cat thing has me out of my mind..

because he definitely just.. sits and collapses against your side when he's tired but will disappear if you move.

he absolutely plants his face against your neck or shoulder and rubs against you because he's just not going to ask for affection.

bats at you if you try to take something from him.

will bite. will bristle. and while having 0% of social awkwardness, immediately leaves the room when there's company.

and yes.. he has held eye contact and pushed something off a counter just to be an asshole.

he also does not like unfamiliar smells on you when you get home, which is why your clothes are washed and put away with his own. and why he brushes against you, noses your shoulder — basically does everything in his power to make sure you smell like him.

and, yes, he will sit and stare at you like you're the stupidest person to exist while you're doing something completely normal but — that is his love language.

[kitkatscabinet]

TAKE ME TO YOUR BEST FRIEND'S HOUSE

Pairings: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne x fem! reader.

Summary: So, he might be going against "bro code". He can't help it, though; his best friend's sibling is just too cute.

A/N: Reader can be imagined as biological/adopted/found family.

DICK GRAYSON & WALLY WEST

How Dick hadn't learnt to not leave his phone unattended was beyond Wally, especially when, for a vigilante, the man had such lax security for his personal phone. Nor should he have ever trusted Wally with the password.

Already drafting his absolute PR nightmare tweet on Dick's account, he's mentally rubbing his evil little hands together when his thumb hits the banner notification that pops up on the top of the screen.

My Heart: Thinking about you, come home soon xo

Alongside the text is a photo, a very suggestive photo of a woman dressed in nothing but one of Dick's hoodies. Wally knows because he bought Dick that hoodie, he's also very familiar with the woman in the photo on account of it being his baby sister.

He shrieks, the phone slipping from his slack with shock grip and landing on his big toe.

He doesn't hear the ringtone over his sudden stream of pained expletives, hopping on one foot, until he hears your voice from the speaker.

"Hey babe! You left your hoodie at - "

"YOU!" Wally screams, blubbering incoherently, pointing an accusing finger at the phone like you can see him.

"Jesus Christ," he can practically see you recoiling away from your phone, "Wally?" You've heard enough of your brother's meltdowns over the years that you can recognise him from just a single word.

"YOU, YOU - YOU HARLOT!" You snort at his words, staying silent until his stream of consciousness is finished.

"You done?" You hum, completely unphased at the tantrum Wally's just thrown for the past seven minutes.

"Am I, am I done? No, I'm not done." He squawks, "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME!" There's a beat of incredulous silence on your end.

"Excuse me? What have I done to you?"

"DEFILED THE SACRED BOND OF BROTHERHOOD IS WHAT YOU'VE DONE, HE'S MY BEST FRIEND"

"The sacred bond of brotherhood? I'm your fucking sibling, you're supposed to attack him, not me!" Wally can't help but notice how you don't deny his words.

"Oh, believe me, Dickhead is gonna get what's coming to him."

"Yeah, whatever, I'm hanging up now, tell Dick I'm getting pizza for dinner."

"Don't you dare - " He doesn't even get to finish his sentence before you've followed through.

"Hey Wally, have you seen my ... phone?" Dick trails off as he spots the item he's looking for in his agitated friend's hand.

"You don’t fuck your best friends younger sibling. That’s like the number one rule of bro code!” Wally shrieked, not greeting him like a normal person, and not giving Dick even a second to realise what was happening before he was being grabbed and shaken by his shoulders.

"I love her." No explanation, no apologies, just pure earnestness and the softest look Wally had ever seen on his friend's face.

The declaration takes all the wind out of his sails, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He drags a hand down his face slowly,

Finally, he groaned and dragged both hands down his face. "Ugh. I hate that you’re so genuine. It ruins my ability to stay mad. Barry's not going to be happy you kept this from him though."

The mental image of the Flash going protective uncle giving him the slightest bit of sick satisfaction, until Dick shatters his dreams by casually saying, "he already knows."

"He what?! Am I the last to know?" Dick makes a show of thinking about it before shrugging with an unapologetic grin.

"Kinda, yeah."

"I'M SURROUNDED BY TRAITORS!" Wally yells, sinking to his knees in defeat.

JASON TODD & ROY HARPER

Nobody had ever accused Roy of being a detective. He might not be as smart as the bats (an impossible hurdle in Roy's opinion), but he wasn't completely fucking stupid.

An unfortunate reality for his sister, who he'd caught sneaking into the Titans Tower at the ripe time of 4:47 am, wearing a familiar leather jacket with a bullet hole in the sleeve. A jacket that could only mean one of two things.

You had joined a biker gang.

You were dating Jason Todd, AKA, his best friend, AKA dead fucking meat.

Because while option one terrified him, he'd still prefer it to the option he had a sinking suspicion about was actually correct.

The next afternoon, he finds Jason working out in the Tower's gym, and he grins wickedly. Bastard didn't even have to make Roy track him down.

"Hey, Roy." Jason greets, never once faltering in his reps, entirely unbothered, like he hadn’t committed emotional treason.

Roy thinks he could be forgiven for his following action, he could have done a lot worse than picking up the nearest kettlebell and throwing it at his unsuspecting friend.

"WHAT THE FUCK ROY?" Jason screeched as he dove for cover.

"YOU’RE DATING MY SISTER?!"

"Um, what?" He squeaks, before clearing his throat, "I mean... I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Don't try to gaslight me!" Roy jabbed a finger at him, seething. "You're supposed to be my best friend, and you went and... and started... canoodling my sister."

Jason’s brows shot up in amusement despite himself. "Canoodling?"

"Don't try and deflect either." Roy flushed as red as his hair.

"I’m not—well. Okay. I am. But in my defense, it wasn’t like I planned to fall for your sister."

"Have you kissed?"

Jason contemplates lying but bites the bullet and nods.

Roy gasped like an old lady hearing someone say cunt. "ON PURPOSE?!"

Jason gave him a flat look. "No, Roy, I tripped and fell. Of course, it was on purpose. More than once, too." He smirks, unable to stop himself from prodding the bear.

Roy spasms.

"Ok, let's not make this weird." Jason huffs.

"Make this weird? It's already weird, we're neck deep in it, NAY!, We're drowning in it!"

"Oh dear god," Jason sighs, squeezing his eyes shut and speaking before he can think better of it, "I love her."

Roy chokes, Jason startles, clearly surprising, even himself, "Oh my god, I love her."

There's a heavy, pained silence before Roy croaks "... Bro"

"I know." Jason tugged at the roots of his hair.

"…BRO." Roy was trying to prevent a panic attack, his panic fuelling Jason's.

"I know."

"You love me?" A slightly giddy voice breathes from the doorway.

Both men groan for different reasons as they spot you bouncing toward them.

"Babe, I -"

"I love you too," you beam, throwing your arms around Jason's neck and kissing him like your life depends on it.

Roy gags, forcing you to pull away. "God, this is gonna ruin every group hang for the rest of my life." He whined.

"Nah. You’ll get used to me kissing your sister in front of you."

"I SWEAR TO GOD —"

TIM DRAKE & CONNER KENT

Conner's knee is jiggling furiously. From across the room, Cassie raises a questioning brow, but Conner makes no effort to stop as he checks the time for the fourth time in less than three minutes.

You're late. So is Tim, but it's not him Conner's worried about. You're never late; you've always been a perpetually early person, and you always get so anxious if you aren't. Conner knows, having been on the receiving end of your time-anxious meltdowns more than once.

"Dude, calm down, they're not even five minutes late yet," Bart says, looking at him as if he's the weird one here, when clearly, something terrible has happened to you.

You've been in a car accident (you don't drive), you've been shot, (you're bulletproof), you've been taken hostage by Lex Luthor (plausible), you've -

"Hi guys, sorry I’m late, I slept through my alarm." You laugh bashfully, avoiding Conner's gaze, which narrows in suspicion.

"That never happens." He scowls, his enhanced hearing picking up the slight stutter in your heartbeat.

"Well, it did today." You rolled your eyes, crossing the room to sit next to Cassie.

Barely two minutes later, a harried-looking Tim scurries through the door, brushing his sweaty hair from his face, and in doing so, accidentally reveals a hickey just beneath the neckline of his shirt.

It's only for a second, but that one second is all he needs to connect the dots.

"No." He says, glaring at Tim as everyone else, including you, watches in confusion.

"No?" Tim repeats.

"NO!" Conner snarls, jumping up from his seat and pulling down the neckline of Tim's shirt to display not one, but three love bites.

"YOU’RE SLEEPING WITH MY SISTER?!"

"Technically, there wasn't much sleeping involved - " Tim mutters, with absolutely zero regard for his well-being.

"I trusted you with my life, and you go behind my back to DEFLOWER MY INNOCENT BABY SISTER?!"

"You're the same age?" Tim mumbles at the same time you scoff.

"Deflower? Innocent? Are we living in the Middle Ages? Are you my owner?"

"Stay out of this!" Conner whirls on you, his gaze dangerously red.

"Stay out of my own sex life?" You guffaw, ignoring the way Conner puffs up like an angry cat. "Besides, Tim's hardly my first."

Your words are enough to shock your brother enough that he drops Tim, reeling back with a hand on his chest like he's suffering a heart attack.

You take the opportunity to scoop your partner into your arms, flying away before Kon can recover, until you reach the safety of the bed you've both only just left.

"I think he's actually going to kill me." Tim mumbles, burying his face in your chest.

"Hmm, guess you''ll just have to keep me around forever, for protection."

"Sounds perfect." Tim dreamily says, clutching you even tighter in contentment.

BRUCE WAYNE & CLARK KENT

Once, there would have been a time when interviewing Gotham’s Bruce Wayne would have left him an anxious wreck, but now, Clark relished in the opportunity. Giddy that his best friend, no matter how much the man denied it, would turn to him (him! A Metropolis interloper), instead of someone like that tart Vicki Vale.

(That thought has him mentally apologising to his ma for his crudeness, but what she wouldn't know, couldn't hurt her.)

Needless to say, Clark was excited to have been given the chance, and he refused to squander it.

They were in Bruce's "office," a room they both knew he hardly ever even stepped foot inside, but had occupied to keep up the facade.

A brilliant facade it was, Clark thought in amusement, as he watched Brucie Wayne ramble on earnestly. Nobody would ever suspect the man, reaching for his wallet to pull out a picture of his kids in an interview on Wayne Enterprises' newest ventures, to be the fearsome Batman.

Clark, ever affable, just smiles, nodding along until a second picture flutters onto the desk. Bruce freezes, his perfected mask slipping just a fraction, but enough for Clark to notice as the unshakeable man's eyes widen in sheer panic.

Bruce was composed. He was always in control, a master of self-control. Bruce was unflappable, he had a plan for everything.

Bruce, evidently, did not have a plan, beyond freezing in horror, for when an intimate Polaroid of his girlfriend, Clark's sister, landed face up on the table between them.

You're wearing one of his button-up shirts, seated sideways across Bruce's lap, the man's large hand clasped over your thigh, as you stare up at him like he's your whole world.

Clark paused, staring at the photo on the desk like it was a live grenade.

Bruce, very carefully, snuck a hand out to retrieve it. Only to be thwarted by Clark's superspeed. He holds it between his thumb and his index finger like it might bite him, the blinding grin never once fading from his face.

Bruce thinks it's the most terrifying Clark has ever looked.

There's a long pause, with Bruce mentally calculating how long it will take before he has some Kryptonite on his hands and whetehr or not Clark will flatten him before then.

"Oh my god," Clark said.

Bruce grimaced. "It's not what it looks like."

"It looks like you're dating my sister."

"Ok, it's exactly what it looks like, but—" He cuts off once more as Clark speaks with surprising giddiness.

"You carry her around in your wallet. Like a real boyfriend, it's sickeningly sweet."

Bruce opened his mouth, closing it and opening it again repeatedly like a stunned fish as he blushed a brilliant red.

Clark wasn’t finished; if anything, he looked like Christmas had come early.

"Is there more?" Bruce stiffens, "There is! Do you have a shrine? I bet you have a shrine!"

"Clark."

"Is it in the batcave?"

"Clark."

"What about a scrapbook? Is she on the manor walls yet?"

"Clark."

"Do your kids know? Wait, am I the last to know?!" He seemed genuinely hurt by that thought.

Bruce looked up at the ceiling like it could save him from the confrontation; he thinks he'd rather fight than... whatever the hell, it is Clark's doing.

[niwaart]

DOCTOR!MALE!READER X BATFAM

[Part1 - Part2 - Part3 - Part4 - Part5 - part6...]

#############################

Y/N groaned as he stumbled into the hospital staff hallway, rubbing his tired eyes. Last night's Wayne family dinner had been a disaster—stealing a cake, a food fight, and Damian trying to stab Tim with a fork. He just wanted to get to his office, drink his orange juice in peace, and forget about it all.

But the universe had other plans.

As soon as he stepped into the hallway, Sammy, his usually calm assistant, grabbed his arm and dragged him into the pantry.

"Where the hell have you been?!" Sammy whispered in panic. "Do you have any idea what's going on right now?!"

Y/N blinked. "Um... no? Did anyone die?"

Sammy shoved a newspaper into his hands.

The front-page headline:

《《Bruce Wayne's Secret Doctor? Mysterious man spotted leaving Wayne Manor late at night! 》》

Below, there was a blurry but clear image of Y/N sneaking out of Wayne Manor, his bag suspiciously stuffed with what appeared to be stolen goods (which were actually Alfred's cookies).

Y/N's stomach lurched. "Oh. Oh no."

Sammy groaned. "Oh no?! That's all you have to say?! The entire Gotham press is out, convinced you're Bruce Wayne's personal psychiatrist! The hospital board is panicking, the nurses are cackling, and—"

A loud thump echoed from the front hall.

Both men froze.

"Dr. Y/N! Are you treating Bruce Wayne for a mental illness?!" a reporter shouted from outside.

"Is he unstable? Is that why he adopted so many children?!" another reporter said.

Y/N slowly turned to Sammy. "...I think I need to fake my death."

Sammy grabbed his shoulders. "No. What you need is a statement—something to make them go away!"

Y/N rubbed his temples. "Like what? 'Sorry, I'm not a therapist, I'm just his bastard son and I went to him for cake?'"

Sammy gave him a blank stare. "...Maybe you're ignoring the bastard son and cake part."

Y/N hoped the reporters would get bored and leave.

They didn't.

Instead, they multiplied.

By noon, the hospital lobby was packed—reporters shoving microphones at anyone wearing a lab coat, cameras flashing, and sweating security guards holding back the crowd.

Y/N, hiding behind a potted plant, watched in horror as an overly aggressive reporter cornered a terrified intern.

Reporter: "Is it true that Dr. Y/N is using the experimental treatment on Bruce?!"

"I—I don't know, I'm just getting coffee—" the intern said, panicking.

Y/N grumbled. "This is a nightmare."

Sammy, his auras appearing dark circles under his eyes, he muttered, "You think? The council is threatening to suspend you until this 'gets sorted out.'"

Y/N's eye twitched. "Suspending me?! Why? For my presence?!"

Sammy sighed. "For causing a media frenzy that harmed the hospital's operations."

Y/N opened his mouth to argue—

**Bzzzzt.**

His phone vibrated. A text message notification lit up the screen.

Unknown number:

"Turn on channel 5 now."

Y/N frowned, grabbed the remote in the break room, and flipped to the local news.

Newscaster (on screen):

"Breaking news—Wayne Enterprises has just released an official statement regarding the rumors surrounding Bruce Wayne and Dr. Y/N Wayne of Gotham General Hospital."

The video cut to a pre-recorded video of Lucius Fox, standing in front of the Wayne Enterprises logo.

Lucius Fox said calmly, "Contrary to recent speculation, Dr. Wayne is not, and has never been, Bruce Wayne's personal psychiatrist. He was invited to Wayne Manor as part of a special charity initiative for the pediatric wing of Gotham General Hospital. Any other claims are baseless and irresponsible.”

Y/N was surprised.

Sammy whistled. “Oh my God. Bruce Wayne saved you.”

Y/N stared at the screen, torn between relief and skepticism. “...Why?”

Sammy shrugged. “Maybe because you’re his son?”

Y/N snorted. “I doubt it. He doesn’t seem to want the press to explore his secrets.”

By evening, the reporters had finally dispersed, though some lingered outside, hoping for a scoop.

Y/N sat in his office, exhausted, staring at the last remaining cupcake he’d smuggled out of Wayne Manor.

“Okay,” Sammy said, looking at Y/N. “Now what?”

Y/N took a slow bite of the cupcake. “And now? Pretend it never happened."

Sammy raised an eyebrow. "And the next time Bruce Wayne invites you to dinner?"

Y/N chewed the muffin thoughtfully. "...I'll get a bigger bag for the muffin."

Sammy grumbled. "You're hopeless."

Y/N smirked. "But you love me."

"That's debatable," Sammy said wearily as he walked out of the office.

At Wayne Manor, Bruce sat at his desk, watching the news coverage fade on his tablet.

"That was...uncharacteristically kind of you, Master Bruce," Alfred said coldly.

Bruce sighed. "The last thing I need is for the press to associate him with me in the wrong way."

Dick leaned into the cave entrance. "Or...maybe you didn't want your son to be bullied?"

Bruce glared at him. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Dick grinned. "Of course, B. Anything to help you sleep at night."

Bruce ignored him and went back to his tablet. But as he watched the last reporter leave Gotham General Hospital, a small, almost imperceptible smile spread across his lips.

############################

Side story:

Dick: [sends article link] GUYS LOOK Y/N BEING KIDNAPPED BY RED HOOD 

Tim: That’s not kidnapping. That’s a rescue. 

Damian: Tt. He’s weak. 

Steph: Aww, Jason’s being a protective big bro! 

Jason: SHUT UP. 

Bruce:…Is he safe? 

Jason: Yeah, yeah. He’s complaining about missing his cupcakes. 

Y/N (added to chat): I HEARD THAT. 

Dick: WELCOME TO THE FAMILY GROUP CHAT, BIG BRO! 

Y/N: …I hate all of you. 

[Y/N has left the chat.]

Jason: He’ll be back. 

Tim: Yeah. For Alfred’s cake. 

[Bruce Wayne has sent a photo of a triple-layer chocolate cake.]

[Y/N has rejoined the chat.]

Y/N: …Fine. But I’m bringing my own fork

############################

@roxy776699 @missmannequin @theultimatezazasniffer @chericia @mybones537 @thegothamsiren

@eyeless-kun @thegothamsiren @a-brilliante-mariposa @s4raahi @s0ggyrate @glasscurrents @iiriam5 @f33rumm

[dulcet-aurora]

the decuntification of 90s!conner kent and 90s!tim drake needs to be studied

[hearts4mica]

It’s too dangerous out there to walk, so i had to save you

Damian Wayne & Batsis Reader Masterlist

_________________________________________________

Being Damian’s older sister meant protecting him from the world. He’s just a child afterall.

_________________________________________________

You and Damian had always been really close ever since he moved into the Manor.

Being a vigilante was never your cup of tea but you learnt the basics anyway. Jason taught how to use guns, Dick taught you gymnastics. But you’d rather not being hit everynight but Damian wanted to be Robin. Of course you tried to tell him it was ‘too dangerous’ but he didn’t listen he never did.

At the Galas he never left your side. His excuse being that the ‘woman there never left him alone’ which meant pinching his cheeks. You always stayed there with him no matter what and he appreciated that.

One night Bruce and Damian got into a major disagreement and he sneaked out of the house at night dressed up as Robin he went to punch criminals and release his anger.

Dick called you asking if you had seen Damian since he knew most of the time he went to your apartment. You answered no.

Now being worried about him. You decided to go out and look for him but a few seconds later someone crashed onto your window breaking it. It was Damian all bloodied and bruised up. He layed down on the floor, he looked so small but you had to be quick he was bleeding out.

You ran to your bathroom and grabbed a first aid kit.

“What happened Damian?” You muttered to yourself.

After a while he was all patched up and you laid him in your bed, now you had to take matters to your own hands.

_________________________________________________

Masterlist

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

"GAME OVER!!"

TIM DRAKE X FEM!READER

What you thought would be a relaxing Friday night playing video games with your lovely boyfriend Tim turned out to be something entirely different. Boss music was blaring in your ears as the sounds of soft grunts and groans escaped your lover's lips. "Pay attention, baby," he mumbles against your ear, nipping it gently. How could you possibly pay attention while he's fucking you so perfectly, his cock slowly moving in and out of you at a gentle pace? The wet sounds filled your ears, along with the sounds coming from the console. "T-trying," you stutter; each thrust made it harder to think and harder to play. You were this close to dropping your controller, but a swift slap to your ass had your body jolting. "Ahh!~" you shivered, biting your bottom lip gently. "Focus," he ordered, taking your hand and making you hold the controller correctly. "You have three potions left and your health is low; you ain't doing too hot, baby," he laughs against your neck. Of course, you're not doing so hot—you're getting dicked down while playing this stupid game. "W-well, if you could actually put some inside instead of doing fuck—" He pushed his cock deep inside, kissing your cervix so sweetly it had you babbling. "Rude~" You could feel that little bastard smirking behind your ear. "Alright, drink your potion and stop using the hammer; it's slow. Use the long sword; more range." He kissed down the back of your ear to your neck. "But I like the hammer; it's cool." He let his cock slip out, then slammed it back in, making you squeal. "O-ok, long sword," you agreed. "Now when he powers up, he's vulnerable, so attack him then." You nodded, taking his advice. "There you go, sweetheart—mmh—there you go." His praise made you tremble as he rubbed your back, slipping his cock deeper into you. "Nghh—fuuuck, baby..." he grinds his hips into you; you couldn't tell if the game was getting harder or if it was him. "Ah—doing so well, baby." You felt his cock twitch inside you.So close to winning, you can't have him distracting you now. "Pay attention, baby," easy for him to say. So close, so fucking close. You bite your lip and your eyes hang low. Fuck, you weren't gonna win. Your face fell straight into his arms, dropping the controller. "Timmy!" He kissed your lips, muffling your words, feeling his hot cum fill you up to the very brim. "GAME OVER." You look up at the screen, eyes half-lidded. You shoved your face into his arms, whining like a sad puppy. Tim lets out a husky laugh. "I'll take it from here."

[iydiamartinx]

HOME IS IN YOUR ARMS

Pairing: Tim Drake x Reader

divider by: @cafekitsune & @omi-resources word count: 414 synopsis: After a long day at the office, Tim seeks comfort in your arms

It was just after noon when you heard the front door open.

You blinked, lowering your book slightly. You weren’t expecting anyone. Tim wasn’t supposed to be home until late—he had meetings stacked back to back, a mountain of reports waiting on his desk, and at least one WayneTech board member who was testing the limits of his patience.

You stayed still, listening. The unmistakable rustle of a coat being dropped. The quiet creak of the hallway floorboards. And then—your bedroom door cracked open.

There he was.

Tim stood in the doorway, his figure slightly backlit by the hallway light. No jacket. Tie gone. Shirt wrinkled like he’d been tugging at the collar for hours. There was a faint pink crease across his cheek where he must have rested his head in the crook of his arm at some point, and the shadows under his eyes looked worse in the natural light pouring through the windows.

You sat up instinctively, your book slipping from your lap.

“Hey…” you said softly, surprised but already opening your arms. “What are you doing here?”

He didn’t answer. Just let out a breath—shaky, quiet—and crossed the room.

When he climbed onto the bed, it wasn’t graceful. He folded into you like someone unraveling, burying his face in your chest, arms wrapping around your waist with quiet urgency. Like the moment he saw you, his body just gave out.

You didn’t ask any more questions.

You laid back with him, shifting so he could curl into your side. One of your legs hooked over his. One arm cradled his back. The other threaded into his hair, slow fingers sliding through soft strands, grounding him.

Tim let out a soft exhale that sounded more like a surrender.

“I needed you,” he murmured, barely audible.

“I’m right here,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. Another to his temple. Your fingers never stopped their gentle motion. “You don’t have to do anything right now. Just breathe.”

His grip on you tightened slightly, but the tension in his shoulders began to ease—inch by inch, like a rope slowly unwinding.

You stroked his hair, kissed the crown of his head, let him rest against you like the world wasn’t clawing at his heels. And in that quiet midday light, nothing else mattered. Not WayneTech. Not the city. Not the endless expectations piled on his shoulders.

Now in your arms, Tim Drake, who always carried too much, let himself fall.

[pomegranatelifethis]

Brother

The rain came down in sheets, a relentless curtain of gray that blurred the Gotham skyline into a smear of neon and shadow. You stood on the rooftop of an abandoned warehouse, the cold seeping through your jacket, your hair plastered to your face. The city growled below—sirens, horns, the pulse of a place that never slept. But up here, it was just you and Jason, your twin brother, his broad frame silhouetted against the storm. His Red Hood helmet was off, tucked under his arm, and his dark hair was soaked, clinging to his forehead. His green eyes, usually sharp with wit or warmth, were hard now, cutting into you like broken glass.

“You screwed it up, Y/N,” he spat, his voice low but venomous, each word a deliberate strike. “Every damn thing. The intel was bad, the plan went to hell, and it’s *your fault*.”

You flinched, the accusation hitting harder than the rain. Your chest tightened, and you hugged your arms around yourself, trying to hold it together. “I didn’t—Jason, I checked the intel. I triple-checked it. It wasn’t—”

“Don’t,” he cut you off, stepping closer, his boots splashing in the shallow puddles pooling on the roof. “Don’t stand there and make excuses. You were supposed to have my back. You *always* have my back, and tonight you didn’t. You let me walk into a trap.”

Tears stung your eyes, hot and unwanted, mingling with the rain on your cheeks. You hated crying in front of him—hated showing that kind of weakness, especially when he was like this, all fire and rage. But the weight of his words crushed you. You were twins, two halves of the same soul, raised in the same gritty streets, trained under the same grueling mentorship of Bruce Wayne. You’d fought side by side, bled together, laughed together. But when Jason got like this, when the anger took over, it was like he forgot all of that. Like you were just another screw-up in his way.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” you said, your voice breaking. “I’d never let you get hurt on purpose. You *know* that.”

“Do I?” He laughed, a bitter, hollow sound that made your stomach twist. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re too busy playing hero to care about what happens to me. You think you’re so perfect, don’t you? The good twin, the one who never screws up, the one Bruce trusts. Meanwhile, I’m the one picking up the pieces when you fail.”

“That’s not fair,” you whispered, your hands clenching into fists at your sides. The rain was freezing now, but it was nothing compared to the cold spreading through your chest. “I’m not perfect. I’m just trying to do what’s right. Same as you.”

“Same as me?” He took another step, his face inches from yours now, his breath warm against the chill. “You’re nothing like me, Y/N. You don’t know what it’s like to crawl out of your own grave, to have the whole world turn its back on you. You’ve got no idea what I’ve been through, and you still act like you can fix me. Like you’re better than me.”

The words hit like a punch, stealing your breath. You stared at him, your twin, the boy who’d once shared your secrets, who’d patched your wounds and teased you until you laughed so hard you couldn’t breathe. Now he was a stranger, his face twisted with pain and blame, and it broke something inside you.

“I’m not trying to fix you,” you said, your voice barely audible over the rain. “I just want my brother back.”

For a moment, something flickered in his eyes—regret, maybe, or guilt. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by that hard, unyielding wall he’d built around himself. He shook his head, stepping back, the distance between you growing wider than the rooftop could hold.

“You want me back?” he said, his voice quieter now, but no less sharp. “Maybe you never had me to begin with.”

He turned, his silhouette blurring in the rain as he walked toward the edge of the roof. You wanted to scream, to run after him, to grab his jacket and make him stay, make him listen. But your legs felt like lead, your throat raw from the sobs you were choking back. The tears came harder now, spilling over, and you didn’t care anymore if he saw.

“Jason,” you called, your voice cracking. “Please.”

He paused, just for a second, his shoulders tensing. But he didn’t turn around. “Go home, Y/N,” he said, his voice carried back by the wind. “This isn’t your fight.”

And then he was gone, vaulting over the edge, disappearing into the storm like he was part of it. You stood there, alone, the rain washing over you, your heart pounding in your ears. The city roared on, indifferent, and you sank to your knees, the cold concrete biting through your jeans. You pressed your hands to your face, trying to hold back the flood, but it was no use. You cried—for Jason, for the brother you’d lost, for the part of you that felt like it was drowning in the rain.

Somewhere in the distance, a bat-signal cut through the clouds, a fleeting beacon in the dark. But you didn’t move. Not yet. For now, it was just you and the storm, and the ache of a bond that might never heal.

------

The rain had stopped by morning, leaving Gotham slick and gleaming under a weak, gray dawn. Jason Todd sat on the edge of his safehouse cot, his head in his hands, the weight of last night’s words pressing down on him like a physical thing. The small apartment was a mess—empty takeout containers, a half-disassembled gun on the table, a cracked mirror reflecting his own tired eyes. He hadn’t slept. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw your face, tear-streaked and broken, your voice trembling as you called his name.

“Damn it,” he muttered, dragging his hands through his hair. His knuckles were bruised from punching the wall after he’d gotten back, a futile attempt to drown out the guilt clawing at his chest. He could still hear himself, the venom in his voice as he’d torn into you, his twin, the one person who’d always been there, no matter how far he’d fallen. *Your fault. You screwed it up. You’re nothing like me.* Each word felt like a blade now, turned back on himself.

He grabbed his phone, thumb hovering over your contact. No missed calls, no texts. Just silence. That was worse than anything—knowing you hadn’t reached out, that he’d pushed you so far you might not come back. His stomach twisted, a sick, hollow feeling he hadn’t felt since the days after he’d crawled out of his own grave. He’d been angry last night, blindsided by the botched mission, the trap that had nearly gotten him killed. But it wasn’t your fault. Not really. He knew that now, in the cold light of day, and the truth made him feel smaller than he ever had.

Jason stood, pacing the cramped room, his boots scuffing the worn floorboards. He could still see you on that rooftop, soaked to the bone, your eyes wide with hurt as he’d thrown your love back in your face. *I just want my brother back.* Those words haunted him, each syllable a reminder of how he’d failed you. You weren’t trying to fix him, like he’d accused. You were just trying to love him, and he’d made you pay for it.

He stopped by the window, staring out at the city. Gotham was waking up, delivery trucks rumbling, pigeons scattering from rooftops. Somewhere out there, you were probably at the manor, or maybe at your own place, nursing the wounds he’d left behind. He wondered if you’d told Dick or Tim, if they’d be knocking on his door later to chew him out. He almost wished they would. It’d be easier than facing you himself.

His phone buzzed, and his heart jumped, hoping it was you. But it was just a notification from one of his informants, something about a lead on a case. He tossed the phone onto the cot, cursing under his breath. He didn’t care about the case, not now. All he could think about was the way you’d looked at him, like he’d shattered something precious, something he might never get back.

Jason grabbed his jacket, the same one he’d worn last night, still damp from the rain. He needed to see you, to fix this, but the thought of facing you made his chest ache. What could he even say? *Sorry I blamed you for everything? Sorry I made you cry? Sorry I’m a screwed-up mess who doesn’t know how to let you in?* He wasn’t good with words, not like you were. You’d always been the one to smooth things over, to bridge the gap when he pushed people away. But this time, he’d gone too far, and he wasn’t sure you’d let him close enough to try.

He stepped out into the street, the cool air biting at his skin. The bat-signal was long gone from the sky, but he felt its weight anyway, a reminder of the family he was part of, whether he liked it or not. You were part of that family, too—his twin, his other half, the one who’d shared his nightmares and his dreams. He’d spent years pushing you away, telling himself it was to protect you, but last night had been different. Last night, he’d hurt you on purpose, and the regret was eating him alive.

As he walked toward your apartment, his steps heavy, he rehearsed what he’d say. He didn’t have the words yet, didn’t know if he ever would. But he knew one thing: he couldn’t lose you. Not you. Not ever. The rain might have washed away the evidence of last night, but it couldn’t erase the truth. He’d been wrong, and now he had to make it right, even if it meant facing the one person he’d hurt the most.

[clemmmmmmmmmmmmmm]

“There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin.”

Bat boys x reader:Giving birth unexpectedly!

This is a filler headcannon. I will post works next week hopefully.This is inspired by the way i had my son;In our car in a campsite😭😭.wrote this while my partner and son are asleep (Finally.)💛Enjoy!!

Bruce Wayne –

Gives birth in the Batcave during a lockdown

• Bruce has contingency plans for everything. Protocols. Staff. Medical equipment. Even a direct line to the best OB-GYN in Gotham, complete with a private hospital suite prepped and waiting.

• So when you go into labor two weeks early during a surprise cave lockdown triggered by a bio-threat alert, Bruce realizes just how little plans mean in the face of reality.

• “Of all the days to trip the emergency security seal…” he mutters while trying to override the system that locked down the Batcave.

• You’re pacing in the command center, gripping his arm mid-contraction, and Bruce—THE Batman—is rattled. Not visibly. But his jaw is tighter than steel, and his voice keeps lowering into that clipped, deadly tone.

• “The ventilation systems are sealed. Medical wing is sterile. We’ll stay here.”

• He clears the armory’s examination table, then covers it with sanitized cloth from the medkit. Everything becomes clinical—measured.

• But then you cry out in pain and fear, and that cold steel in his voice breaks just slightly. “I’m here. You’re safe. I promise you—you’re safe.”

• He’s no doctor, but his hands are steady. He follows the steps like a soldier disarming a bomb, all while keeping your eyes locked with his.

• When the baby finally comes, Bruce catches them with reverence and holds them for a moment before laying them on your chest. “Hello,” he whispers, as if stunned. “You’re early. Just like your father.”

• Once the lockdown ends, Alfred is the first to arrive. He says nothing when he sees the scene—just places a blanket over your shoulders and smiles at Bruce. “Master Wayne, it appears your most impressive legacy has just begun.”

⸻

Jason Todd –

Gives birth in a remote mountain cabin during a snowstorm

• You and Jason were supposed to be taking a quiet getaway in the mountains—no crime, no city noise, just peace.

• But a snowstorm traps you both in the cabin, and you go into labor with no service, no landline, and no neighbors for miles.

• Jason tries to stay calm, but his hands keep flexing like he wants to punch the storm into submission. “You’d think after all the crap I’ve survived, I’d get one weekend off,” he growls while boiling water on the stove and digging out the first aid kit.

• The fireplace crackles as he builds a makeshift birthing space with every warm blanket he can find. He holds you through the worst of the contractions, whispering calming reassurances that are so unlike the man most people know.

• “You’re not alone. Not for a second. I’ve got you, and I’m not letting go.”

• You scream through it. Cry. Curse. And Jason stays right there, steady and strong, letting you dig your nails into him without complaint.

• When the baby comes, he doesn’t even realize he’s crying until you reach up and brush his cheek.

• “They’re perfect,” you whisper.

• Jason looks down at the tiny, red-faced bundle and chuckles—half disbelief, half raw emotion. “You know… I’ve cheated death, escaped hell….but this is the scariest, most incredible thing I’ve ever done.”

• The storm finally ends the next morning. Jason steps out onto the porch with the baby swaddled to his chest, looking out over the snowy mountains and whispering, “No better place to start over.”

⸻

Tim Drake –

Gives birth in the WayneTech server room during a tech emergency

• Tim was showing you around the newly renovated WayneTech R&D floor when the unthinkable happens: a massive tech breach hits the servers, and your water breaks at the same time.

• Alarms are going off. The elevators are frozen. And you’re gripping a rack of prototype tech while Tim stares at you in utter disbelief.

• “I—uh—okay. Okay. Baby. Yes. Not now, but yes.”

• He immediately drops into triage mode. He reroutes power, uses an emergency system override to lock down the room for privacy, and hacks a medbot to assist.

• You’re lying on a pile of foam floor tiles, breathing through a contraction while surrounded by glowing server lights and the hum of computers.

• “So…this isn’t exactly the sterile birth plan,” you groan.

• “Statistically speaking, no,” he deadpans, then flashes a smile. “But the lighting’s dramatic.”

• He talks you through each contraction, quoting snippets from baby books and software manuals alike, as if he’s compiling his own parenthood operating system in real-time.

• “You’re doing amazing. I don’t know how you’re handling this with only 20% battery and no Wi-Fi.”

• You scream again. “Timothy!”

• “Right, shutting up.”

• When the baby finally arrives, he goes silent. Truly silent. No jokes. Just wide-eyed, overwhelmed wonder.

• “They’re… ours,” he whispers, staring down at this impossibly tiny human like they’re a miracle.

He wraps you both in his jacket and sits on the server room floor with the baby in his arms.

Dick Grayson –

Gives birth in a subway car

• Dick had planned everything. He mapped out the fastest hospital routes, kept emergency bags packed, and even memorized breathing techniques like he was preparing for an Olympic sport.

• But fate has a flair for drama, and on a completely normal afternoon ride through the Blüdhaven subway, your water breaks in the middle of a crowded train.

• At first, you thought it was just a Braxton-Hicks contraction. Dick was even joking about the train delays. Then you grabbed his arm and said, “Dick… I think it’s happening.”

• All the blood drains from his face. “Happening like… happening happening?”

• He immediately takes charge with a surprising level of calm—because behind the charming, goofy exterior, Dick Grayson is a born leader.

• “Alright everyone, I’m going to need some space. My partner is about to give birth. Please—back up and someone call emergency services.”

• Someone tries to film, and Dick glares. “Unless you want a lawsuit and a shattered phone, put it down.” The phone disappears instantly.

• He helps you lie down on a bench in the mostly-cleared car, cushions your head with his jacket, and holds your hand like a lifeline. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

• Between contractions, you keep asking if the train is moving. It isn’t. Power outage. Of course.

• “You had to propose to me on a rooftop, and now our baby’s coming in a subway,” you groan.

• “What can I say? We’re just a very public transit family.”

• You scream at him to stop making jokes. He doesn’t. It’s the only thing keeping him sane too.

• When the baby is finally born, the train lights flicker back on—almost poetic. Dick holds them like the most precious thing he’s ever touched.

• “Hey, little one. Welcome to Blüdhaven Underground.”

• When help finally arrives, you’re both surrounded by a circle of subway strangers who are all a little teary-eyed.

• Dick doesn’t let go of either of you for hours. “I’ve done a lot of things in tights and under pressure… but nothing as incredible as this.”

⸻

Damian Wayne aged!up

Gives birth in an art gallery during his solo exhibition

• Damian, now 26, has traded the Robin mantle for a quieter life—he’s a respected artist known for surrealist pieces that blend traditional Middle Eastern motifs with Gotham’s harsh modernity.

• You’re 8 and 1/2 months pregnant when he unveils his latest collection in a sleek, intimate art gallery downtown. The night is supposed to be a celebration of his evolution as a person and creator.

• But the gallery is warm, and crowded, and you’ve been on your feet all night admiring his pieces with other guests. That’s when you feel the sharp, unmistakable pain of labor.

• “Damian,” you whisper, grabbing his hand. He thinks you’re just tired until you add, “It’s happening. Now.”

• His whole face changes. Not panic—just immediate, tactical focus. “We need to leave. Now.”

• But the contractions are fast and furious. You’re not making it to the hospital. A horrified gallery intern runs to grab supplies, while Damian helps you to the quietest room—a stark, white-walled exhibit space filled with his paintings.

• Ironically, the piece behind you is called Rebirth.

• Damian sheds his jacket and lays it beneath you. He calls Talia first—yes, his mother. Say what you will, she knows how to keep her cool in chaos.

• “She’ll be fine,” Talia says over the phone. “Trust her. Trust yourself.”

• He gently presses his forehead to yours between contractions, speaking to you in soft Arabic—his most vulnerable, instinctual language. “You are strength. You are life.”

• He coaches you through the birth with focused determination and awe. When the baby arrives, it’s quiet for a moment… then a cry. He exhales shakily.

• The first thing he does is lay the baby on your chest, whispering reverently, “My finest creation.”

• Someone tries to enter the room, and Damian growls, “You will not disturb them.” The door shuts. Fast.

• Later, he paints a piece inspired by that night—an abstract image of you and the baby, surrounded by the negative space of a blank canvas. He titles it Origin.

• “I thought my art was complete,” he says quietly, holding your hand. “But nothing I ever make will compare to the life we just brought into this world.”

[mychaosflowers]

Batboys and Their Sex Toy Preferences

Dick would definitely be down to use sex toys during intimate moments with his partner. He's not shy about trying new things that could make both parties feel good. While he wouldn't necessarily pull out the toys every single time, you could expect them to make an appearance pretty frequently – maybe a few times a week, depending on what they're both in the mood for.

When he does decide to incorporate them into playtime, he might reach for a nice thick dildo or vibrator. But really, Dick's open to whatever strikes his fancy; he just wants to have some fun and explore different sensations with his boo. As long as they're on the same page and enjoying themselves, he's game for anything!

Jason is more of a hands-on kinda guy when it comes to getting down and dirty with his partner. While he doesn't mind busting out a toy here and there to spice things up, he prefers to keep things simple and not rely on them too much. He's not opposed to using a vibrator or handcuff every once in a while during foreplay, but these are more occasional treats than regular staples in his intimate repertoire. At the end of the day, Jason derives the most satisfaction from the raw physical connection with his lover—feeling their skin against his, hearing their breathy moans of pleasure, and knowing he's the one driving them wild.

Tim approaches intimacy with a thoughtful, analytical mind, and that extends to incorporating sex toys. He wouldn’t be someone who randomly pulls them out, but he is definitely interested in exploring them as tools to enhance pleasure and deepen understanding with his partner. He’d research different options beforehand - maybe a sophisticated couples' massager for targeted stimulation or a discreet bullet vibrator for experimentation. Tim would likely suggest trying something new after a while, framing it as an opportunity to learn more about each other's desires. Expect plenty of questions and discussion beforehand, and a careful, measured approach to ensuring everyone feels comfortable and enjoys the experience. It’s less about the toy itself and more about the shared discovery and communication it facilitates.

Sorry for the mistakes, English is not my native language.

[alikesical]

I know Tim's missing spleen is more of a joke but it has so much untapped potential

for those that don't know, the spleen is a lympoid organ, which means it's involved in immune response, which means it keeps us from getting sick!

and bro is severely immunodeficient

man's always sick, and he tried so hard not to let it get to him, but he acts like a dad with 4 kids having a fever, dying on the couch, breathing heavily

and like

he's wiped for you on a normal day but when he's sick? he follows you around like a wet dog and when you ask him what he wants he says nothing, but still becomes your shadow

and ofc he's trying to work while he's sick but he always falls asleep on the table

amd when he wakes up with a blanket covering him he starts crying because he just loves you so much

so yeah, Tim is a sick little kid always

[kitkatscabinet]

"THE WAYNE SIBLINGS READ THIRST TWEETS"

requested by anon

summary: the internet is horny for you, your brothers suffer for it.

pairings: platonic! dick grayson, jason todd, tim drake x batsis! reader

A/N: 18+, on account of horny twitter users ;)

You and your brothers are lined up in a semi-circle, Dick, you, Jason then Tim, each of you sporting different expressions as the cameras begin rolling.

You and Dick are cheerful mirrors of each other, while Jason and Tim look like they'd rather be anywhere but here as the four of you settle into place.

"So today we're going to have you reading thirst tweets, but the twist is, they're all about your sister." The producer says from out of frame. Abruptly, your brother's moods swing violently.

"No!" Dick cheers, the blinding smile plastered across his face never even twitching.

Jason's frown has evolved from "mildly disgruntled" to "about to start shooting people."

Tim, meanwhile, appears to have stopped working altogether. "Timmers?" You giggle, waving a hand across his face.

"Ew... I mean, people find you attractive?" He scrunches up his nose, and your face turns murderous.

"RIGHT! Listen here you little - " you lean across Jason to strangle your little brother when a giggle from somewhere on set reminds you where you are, and you paste on a practised grin.

"I can see why Damian wasn't invited now."

"None of us should have been invited, this shouldn't be happening." Tim mumbled with a thousand yard stare.

Relishing in his stress, you quickly pull a piece of paper from the oversized thirst jug, staring directly at Tim as you read. "Bruce Wayne's daughter could smack me across the face with a brick and I’d say ‘thank you, mommy’"

Tim dry heaves, face a little green.

"Damn, now I can never use that in bed again." Jason grumbles, causing Dick to spit out his water as Tim gags once more.

"You're disgusting." He kicks Jason as you hum in consideration.

"I don't know, I think I could get behind it."

"Never speak again, actually." Tim fires back.

"Well, if you liked that, then you'll love this one: Sit on my face, I'll pay you, anything! please, SIT ON MY FACE! SIT ON MY-” Dick, who's only just recovered from his previous near death experience starts choking again, making you hit his back a little harder than strictly necessary.

Jason starts attempting to take the jug off your hands, but you quickly dance out of the way, "Oh look, this one's not even that bad." Your brothers look sceptical, but they don't stop you, "She's so fine, I'd kill a man just to breathe the same air as her."

"What is with people and committing crimes?" Jason seems genuinely concerned. How chronically offline of him.

"I attract a very passionate demographic." You shrug.

"You attract future convicts," Dick mutters in devastation.

A shit eating grin covers your face as you read the next one, having lulled them into a false sense of security.

"Need her to pull on my hair like a leash as she fucks me into next week with the strap." Dick wails, falling sideways off the chair like a fainting Victorian woman.

"Hmm, you want the pink or the green one, baby?" you smile seductively at the camera.

"That's it! You're done, you're done!" Jason lunges for you at the same time as Dick, your older brother getting the jug whilst you're hauled over Jason's shoulder.

You shriek, but you refused to be deterred, unfolding one of the papers you'd managed to grab before Dick attempted to thwart your fun. "Not to be dramatic, but if Jason’s sister looked me in the eye and said ‘kneel’, I’d hit the floor so fast I’d break my - hey."

Tim pulls the paper from your hands, staring at it like it killed his puppy. "Why are you encouraging this?" Tim gestures accusingly at the Buzzfeed staff members laughing behind the cameras, before he does a double take at the twitter handle.

"Wait... This is from Roy's Twitter account!" Tim yells, whirling on Jason like he's personally responsible for all of his grievances.

"There's one here from Conner too," You clear your throat, holding the paper far above Tim's head with your superior height courtesy of Jason's unwilling help, "I’d treat you right. You ever want someone to make you cum till you forget your own name, hit me up babe."

Your brothers scream, and you’re having so much fun that you only mildly worry about Conner’s safety in the near future.

(You wonder if you’ll have time to take him up on his offer before his inevitable funeral.)

The video ends with a message flashing across the screen: "Several of the tweets submitted came from Wally West's Twitter account. Some were deemed too explicit to share."

[niwaart]

LOST OMEGA

*Part1 *Part2 *Part3 *Part4

After Y/N settled into the house, she slowly started to show signs of improvement. She was still confused about the time she'd missed, but having Jason, Dick, and Bruce around helped her feel safe. Even Damian, who had tried to pretend he didn't care, found himself sneaking into her room every now and then to keep an eye on the little bunny she'd turned into.

But today was different... because it was the day Y/N would meet Tim Drake, the former Robin she'd never seen before!

Tim had been away on a mission for a whole week, so when he got back, he'd planned on taking a long nap, but he hadn't expected to hear a commotion upstairs when he arrived in the middle of the night... Wasn't everyone supposed to be on patrol by now?

"What's going on here?" he wondered as he climbed the stairs, finding Dick and Jason arguing over who was holding Y/N while Damian tried to snatch her from them with his sword.

"Give me the bunny!" Damian shouted.

"No, it's not a game!" Jason replied, trying to push her away.

"Oh my God, you're like children!" Dick said, trying to mediate.

Tim stood stunned in the doorway. "...Can someone explain to me why there's a little bunny causing all this chaos?"

There was a moment of silence before everyone shouted at once:

"That's Y/N!"

"She's our adopted sister!"

"She's back!"

Tim raised an eyebrow. "Well... I didn't know we had another adopted sister."

Y/N, still in her bunny form, looked at Tim warily. He smelled unusual... He wasn't family! Suddenly, she leapt out of Dick's arms and ran behind the couch.

"Oh no, you scared her!" Dick said, accusingly.

Everyone looked at Tim with an accusing look, which made Tim try to be nice so Damian wouldn't tear him apart. "Hi... I'm Tim. Don't be afraid, I'm a friend."

But Y/N wasn't convinced. Suddenly, she emerged from under the couch, rushed into Damian's lap, and began growling like a predator. "Don't come near Robin!" she shouted, pointing at Damian.

Damian paused for a moment. He finally managed to pick her up after a struggle with Jason and Dick.

Tim looked at Damian, then at Y/N. "Uh... huh?"

Jason laughed. "She likes to protect anyone with an R on their jacket."

Tim looked at the jacket Damian was wearing... yes, it had the Robin logo. "....I still don't understand."

After several failed attempts to convince Y/N that Tim wasn't a threat, Tim decided to use his diplomatic approach. He went to the kitchen, returned to the living room, sat on the floor, and slowly pulled out a bag of carrots.

"Would you like some carrots?" he asked with a smile.

Y/N stopped growling. The smell of carrots was irresistible! She walked over slowly, grabbed the carrots, and ran to the corner of the room to start eating greedily.

"This works?!" Jason said, surprised.

"Of course, she's a bunny," Tim said proudly.

But his joy was short-lived, because Y/N suddenly jumped on his shoulder and started sniffing his neck curiously

"Oh... oh no," Tim said, trying to stay still while Y/N checked his scent.

"She's checking to see if I'm part of the pack," Dick explained.

"I feel like a toy to the cats," Tim whispered.

Suddenly, Y/N stopped and pressed her small cheek against Tim's. "You're... not bad." Then she jumped into his lap.

Tim froze. "What do I do now?"

"Don't move, or she might bite you." Damian said seriously.

"Oh, that's cool," Tim said, carefully holding the little bunny, while everyone laughed.

After that, Tim suddenly became Y/N's favorite target. Wherever he went, she followed him in her bunny form, jumping on his shoulder or sleeping in his lap while he worked on the computer since he was the only one who didn't move much.

One day, Bruce came in to find Tim surrounded by piles of vegetables while Y/N enjoyed her meal at the keyboard.

"Tim, is this a mission report?" Bruce asked coldly.

"Yeah... but she ate half of it," Tim said, trying to salvage what was left.

Bruce looked at Y/N, who had stopped chewing and looked at him innocently. Then he took out his phone and took a picture. "I'll send it to the team."

"Bruce! No!" Tim protested, but he was too late.

By evening, he received a message from Barbara: "Finally, Y/N has found something worth chewing on other than computer wires!"

Even Jason sent a meme made with a picture of a disappointed Tim with the caption: "Ex-Robin vs. Rabbit... Who wins?"

Y/N, still perched on Tim's shoulder, rubbed her cheek against his in acceptance.

Tim sighed. "Well, at least I'm loved."

Y/N snuggled back into Tim's lap for another nap.

@reeyy0-2 @natsukicookies @tsxukikami @kiarst @qardasngan @adrestlyed @trasparentsublimesuit @classicsimpforaaronwarner @cqerrz

[sangunary]

BatBoy x Hero Reader.

SYPNOSIS: Being the subject of admiration of kids is a real privilege.

IMP: Reader is only 5 year's older.. Reader do not reciprocate the feelings.

Dick Grayson:

He liked you before he was Robin, before the light were on him just because you complimented his mother. Most Heroes don't really have the time to take personal note of citizens but you did, and he wasn't ashamed about liking you hell everybody knows that the you g boy liked you. The way his eyes would sparkle whenever he saw you or how he was trying his best to impress you like how kods would.

He broke his leg because he was trying to impress you, forgetting about the fact that he jumping through roofs too occupied with making sure you were watching he totally forgot everything he have learnt. It was embarassing for him pretending that his broken leg was just some boo-boo but you saw through him. Gave him a piggy back home which made him promise to you that he would be stronger and he'll carry you like that one day.

Bruce wouldn't stop lecturing him, scolding him for broking his leg for 'validation'. The moment Bruce somewhat insult you the young boy definitely defended you with his whole heart. He did not care who he had to face no one talk about you like that to him. Alfred wouldn't stop passing remarks about you from that day.

Jason Todd.

He started to like you when you gave him food when he was still living in the street. To you it was just giving a poor kid some food but to him... You were an angel sent by God personally for him and luckily he got to meet you again by fate.

He was more reckless than any of your mentee and definitely more ruthless, Bruce already told you about his bad tendency but you treat him like a normal person. With him around you could go through a whole mission while closing your eyes he would take care of everything for you before you can ask. If any thug get a hit on you, boom! A dislocated arm. After each patrol with yoy Bruce would lecture him again and again, and as a result he was permitted from patrolling with you alone.

He took it like a champ and run straight to your house with his belongings, a credit card he stole from Bruce on his hand. Begging you take him and run away somewhere without Bruce. He ended up staying with you for two months before the unthinkable happened.

Tim Drake.

Being liked by him have to be the worst dream for heros. Not only did he show up at your apartment with a whole binder full of why you were the exact hero he demanded for him to be your sidekick. He even brought a list of chores. He talked about how easy it was and even bringing a presentation on how to hide your identity better cause not every kid deserves to know your identity he needs your validation real bad.

Not only did he not get to live with you he instead got to live with the dark knight. Even during Patrol he wouldn't stop asking you questions which you answered, everything but the 'Can you love a sidekick?'.

Bruce is very sick of your name now, everytime he did something wrong Tim was ready to bring his luggage to your apartment. For Bruce he was learning every random fact about you through his bored kid "Their bathroom is atleast 5 feet by 8 feet", "They're neglecting their school work, especially on friday", "They eat ramen everyday... We should give them money".

Bruce made Tim your contingency plan.

Damian Wayne.

Damian started to 'care' about your presence after you flicker his forehead when he was stating facts. He was amazed by your audacity so much that he ended up at your apartment analyzing everything and memorizing them. It was because if he has to fight you it'll be inside your own home and he'll laugh at you when he ended you in your own comfort.

That never happened he ended up cleaning your apartment out of pity. Gradually he would 'soften' letting you do his hair or let you touch his personal weapon he treasure dearly. To him you weren't just a person you were the embodiment of warmth and he wasn't going to let any one took that warmth from him, they should thank him if they managed to left with only a broken rib.

Bruce saw you as a huge disaster and tried to send you to blüdhaven for your own and his son sake. Damian would always visit you every single night, he couldn't be at ease knowing his trust was so far away so he made sure that you were taking care of yourself not because he love you and only because you were the missing part of him. Being lectured by a kid on how to live isn't fun.

[la-patrona-magdalena]

Don´t Like Me! - prologue

Synopsis:

You always wanted your family to look at you, even just once. At least with a bit of the affection they gave to the portraits of your mother. Too bad that when they finally did, you were looking at the pages of a comic that showed the cruel future.

Inspired by the manhwa: no place for the Fake Princess

Warnings: English is not my first language, so I used a translator. Yandere content, neglect, abandonment, angst (?), allusions to death, original character (not the reader), allusions to torture. I try to keep the gender neutral, but in some places I may miss a feminine pronoun. If any warnings are missing here, please let me know.

You can read the fanfic in its original language (Spanish) on my AO3

Masterlist - Next chapter

(coming soon)

Prologue - a look at the disaster

You felt Alfred’s gentle gaze through the rearview mirror, while you smiled looking out the car window. It was a comfortable silence that you could only have with the butler, though it hurt a little that he was the only one in your whole family who gave you that kind of look... But it’s okay! You were on your way to find something new that might bring you closer to them. And you could already see the comic book store on the next block. You squeezed the wool plushie you had made in your crafts workshop with excitement. What kind of comic should you buy? The typical superhero ones? Or those that are extensions of unfinished stories? Should you ask Alfred about your brothers’ preferences? No, the last time you started a hobby based on your brothers’ tastes, you got overwhelmed quickly. You need to start at your own pace, and once you got used to it, you’d go for your brothers.

Your smile grows wider when Alfred parks in front of the store. You almost jump as you get out of the car.

—I promise I won’t take long! Wait for me here! —You give Alfred a small goodbye kiss on the cheek and run off toward the store, full of joy and holding your little wool purse in your hand.

---

After a small incident with the shopkeeper, you come back looking at your three new comics that you got for free. Alfred can’t help but smile a little at the irony that they’re Batman comics.

You settle into the backseat, watching Gotham’s streets through the window. You hoped these comics would help so that this time they’d be the ones to look at you the way you looked at them. Even if you didn’t expect much, you still had a bit of faith in your family. Too bad that hope would vanish the moment you looked at the pages inside the comics.