cloudy-day00

[cloudy-day00]

do you guys ever like forget you're interested in something until you start engaging with it again and you go "oh wait i'm like crazy crazy about this yeah"

[cloudy-day00]

Gothamite voice: At least our billionaire isn't a super villain

[cloudy-day00]

𐔌 ⋮ “She loves what makes her suffer.”

— or, Damian's habibti who's is allergic to flowers, and Damian Wayne commits an act of devotion anyway

She loves flowers.

She says it like a confession, every time.

“I know they make me sneeze,” she’ll murmur, eyes watering, “but look at this one. Isn’t she so pretty?”

She’ll cradle a daisy like a holy relic. Brush her fingers reverently across petals in the florist shop window, sighing like she’s greeting old friends. Her voice goes soft around the names of them — freesia, peony, jasmine. Like each one is a poem she’s memorized in another life.

And then she’ll sneeze.

Violently.

Five times in a row.

Damian once watched her nearly pass out because she insisted on keeping a bouquet of lilacs in her room for “vibe purposes.” Alfred had to intervene.

It makes no logical sense.

Why would someone adore something that actively harms them?

He tells her so.

“You know you’re allergic,” he says one day, watching her hold a wildflower with tears in her eyes and blotchy cheeks.

She beams. “But they’re so hopeful, Damian. Like tiny living declarations of beauty for no reason.”

He squints. “That’s irrational.”

“That’s romantic.”

“They make your throat close.”

“They make my heart open.”

He almost chokes on the sheer emotional recklessness of it.

That night, Damian goes to the greenhouse behind the Manor.

The one Cass tends to like it’s her sanctuary.

He enters with surgical gloves and no expectations.

He leaves three hours later, covered in dirt, vaguely pissed off, and carrying a seed catalogue.

Two weeks pass.

She doesn’t hear much from him — patrols, League interference, Bat drama. She doesn’t push. He’s not much of a texter, anyway. But when she rounds the corner into the Wayne Manor west wing one afternoon, Alfred gently guides her to a door she’s never seen before.

“Master Damian asked me to escort you,” the old man says with a subtle smile.

“…To a horror movie set?”

Alfred simply opens the door.

Inside — is a room.

Not large. Not ornate.

But it glows.

The walls are covered in soft white drapes. Fairy lights snake across the ceiling in warm lines. A low wooden bench sits in the center, surrounded by pots of—

“Wait,” she breathes.

There are flowers.

Everywhere.

Lilies. Marigolds. Poppies. Violets. Not a single one real — but perfect. Crafted from fabric, glass, paper, even delicate origami. Each one clearly made by hand. Folded and cut and painted with so much care her knees go weak.

She touches one. Petals like satin. No pollen. No sneezing.

There’s a small tag attached to the nearest pot.

“They won't hurt you. But they’re still yours.” — D.W.

She spins around— And he’s there. In the doorway. Arms folded. Face impassive.

“I had to study seven different origami guides,” he mutters, clearly embarrassed. “And burn the tips of my fingers with glue four times.”

“You made these?”

He shrugs.

Her heart squeezes like a vice.

“You made these.”

“I logically deduced that the artificial replicas were the safest way to approximate the aesthetic effect without the accompanying allergic reaction.”

“Damian.”

His jaw twitches.

She crosses the room slowly, stopping just in front of him.

“I love them.”

“I know.”

“No, like—this is insane. You folded an entire bouquet of calla lilies.”

“I had blueprints. Cass helped with the iris. Hers looked better.”

She cups his face before he can duck away. Holds it in her hands like something sacred.

“Say it again.”

“…Cass helped with the—?”

“No. The other thing.”

His throat bobs. He looks away.

“I know,” he says again. Quieter this time. “I know you love them. I wanted you to have something beautiful that doesn’t punish you for wanting it.”

Her eyes sting. (Not from allergies this time.)

“Damian.”

He finally looks at her.

And then—

She kisses him.

Soft. Certain. Like pressing her lips to the quietest part of his soul.

Later, the Batfam finds out.

Because of course they do.

Jason walks in and sees the room. Stops dead. Blinks. “Yo, who built an allergy-safe fairy cottage in here?”

Stephanie gasps so hard she chokes. “Did Damian Wayne do a Pinterest project?!”

Tim silently walks in, takes one look, and walks right back out. “I can’t. I’m gonna cry. I have midterms. I can’t process this.”

Dick just grins. Grins.

“Little D made a flower garden for his girl. Guys. He’s in love.” He turns to Damian, who looks like he’d rather spontaneously combust. “Tell me you at least kissed her in here.”

Damian doesn’t answer.

But She walks in wearing a flower clip in her curls made from folded gold paper, smiling like she carries the sun in her chest.

So yeah.

They know.

The room stays.

Sometimes Cass sits in there and folds more blooms. Sometimes she brings music and sings while paints new petals.

Sometimes Damian just… sits in silence. Watching the light shift across the room he built for a girl who loves the very thing that makes her suffer.

He doesn’t believe in many things.

But he believes in her.

And now— She has flowers that never make her cry. Only smile.

And that’s all he ever wanted.

writing this while listening Sombr on repeat is crazy LOL Taglist🏷️: @simpingmyassoff , @shootingstargirl2001 (if you want to be added,comment down below!) reblogs,comments and likes are appreciated! ©𝒙𝒐𝒙𝒐,𝑹𝒐𝒓𝒚🐚 —-do not copy, repost, plagiarize,translate or feed any of my work into ai. I work hard to give quality content.

[cloudy-day00]

I LOVE THEM!!!

[cloudy-day00]

HUNTR/X 💥

[cloudy-day00]

Where you fill their faces with lipstick marks.

THIRD-YEARS

FIRST YEARS HERE

The second years will be published throughout the days <3

Where, in a fit of affection, you start showering your boyfriend with soft, quick kisses. However, before you know it, you've covered his entire face with your lipstick. How would the guys react?

maybe cringe? fr I had a lot of fun writing this lmao I didn't take it too seriously and maybe too ooc?

Leona Kingscholar

“Tsk… what a pain.”

From the first kiss, Leona narrows his eyes in suspicion.

For the second, he frowns.

For the third, he lets out a long sigh of resignation.

But most importantly… he doesn’t stop you.

He just lets you do it, lying back with his arms behind his head as if this were another one of an herbivore’s “whims.”

When you’re done, he opens one eye and looks at you in boredom.

“Are you done?”

You nod, satisfied.

Leona stretches and rolls over to go back to sleep.

“…I’ll clean it up later.”

And when he says “later,” he means he’s going to walk all over Savanaclaw like this without caring what anyone says.

When Ruggie sees it, he almost falls over laughing.

“Boss, you look like a romantic work of art!”

Leona doesn't even blink.

"So what?"

If you try to repeat it another day, he'll pull you by the wrist and roll you with him in the grass, trapping you under his arm with a mocking smile.

"Now it's my turn."

And well, you're going to be stuck for a while.

Cater Diamond

From the first kiss, Cater is already smiling. He’s one of those who enjoys these kinds of romantic gestures without any shame.

When you keep leaving traces of your lips on his face, he doesn’t just stay still, but encourages you to continue.

“Come on, Cay-Cay needs kisses on the other side too~!”

When you finish, his face is a mess of kisses. There are marks on his cheeks, his forehead, his jaw… even on his neck.

And the first thing he does is take out his phone 💀💀💀

“Selfie time~! #KissAttack #CayCayIsLoved #BestSmoochEver!”

Not only does he upload the photos to Magicam, but he sets one of them as his wallpaper for a good while.

But the best part comes when Riddle shows up.

“…Cater.”

“Yeah, little housewarden~?” he asks matter-of-factly.

“…Wipe your face before the unbirthday party.”

“Nah, I can’t erase this love!” he replies, winking at you.

And the best part of all: even though he says it’s “for aesthetics,” deep down he feels very loved and doesn’t want to wipe them off so quickly.

And yes, he uses that photo as his wallpaper for a few days… until someone bothers him too much.

But secretly, he saves it in his gallery forever.

Trey Clover

“Oh… so you play dirty now, huh?”

Trey isn’t one to be easily surprised, so when you start showering him with kisses, his initial reaction is to calmly smile and let you have your fun.

But when you finish and look at him in satisfaction, he raises an eyebrow, as if he’s planning something.

And then…

He catches you.

In one swift movement, he grabs you by the waist and drops you onto his lap.

Before you can react, he gives you a forceful kiss on the forehead.

“…Now you’re just like me.”

At first, you’re confused. But then, you feel the warmth on your skin and it dawns on you.

Trey used his own invisible lipstick.

Cater, who was passing by, lets out a laugh.

“Trey, dude! I didn’t know you had such a naughty side~!”

Trey laughs and shrugs, wiping himself off slowly.

“Maybe I should do the same with you next time, huh, prefect?”

And from the way he looks at you with a calm smile, you know he means it.

Vil Schoenheit

“Mh...what are you doing?!”

The first kiss already has him in crisis.

The second has him shaking.

By the third, his mind is collapsing.

“My skin! My makeup! MY FACE!”

He brings both hands to his face as if you’ve committed an unforgivable crime.

He looks at you with drama and disappointment, as if you’re his worst aesthetic mistake.

“I’m going to need to cleanse and rehydrate my skin immediately.”

Without another word, he hurries off to his vanity, pulling out the most expensive products he owns.

But… if you look closely, he’s smiling slightly.

And if you do it in private, he might not take it off right away.

Rook Hunt

"Oh, mon trésor, what a passionate attack!"

From the first kiss, Rook is already fascinated.

Not only does he not stop you, but he leans his face to receive more.

"How bold! How romantic! Your love has been stamped on my skin with the intensity of a tragic poem!"

And the worst thing is that HE DOES NOT TAKE IT OFF.

He walks through Pomefiore with his lips marked as if they were a trophy.

When Vil sees him, he puts a hand on his forehead and sighs deeply.

"Rook… please."

But Rook smiles proudly.

"I will never erase this trace of love, Roi du Poison."

If you try to run away, be prepared, because he will chase you to return your kisses.

"It's my turn to hunt, mon amour..."

Hell yeah he will catch you.

Idia Shroud

“Uh.....”

When the first kiss hits his skin, Idia completely freezes.

When you finish, his hair is completely PINK.

He literally stutters.

“T-This is like… like… a rare event from a secret route in an otome game…”

He's so freaky tf

He can’t process it. His head is crashing.

And the worst thing is that he doesn’t know what to do.

He covers his face with both hands, but his ears are completely red.

“…Why did you do that?” he whispers, almost like it’s a game glitch.

If Ortho sees it, he immediately smile

“Nii-san, you’re super blushing! Did you like it?”

Idia just mentally shuts down.

Malleus Draconia

"Oh… is this how humans show affection?"

From the first kiss, Malleus remains completely still.

When you finish, he stares at you with genuine curiosity.

"…I like it."

HE DOESN'T TAKE IT OFF.

If Sebek sees, he panics completely.

"YOUNG LORD! WHO DID THIS TO YOU?! IT'S DISRESPECTFUL! UNACCEPTABLE!"

Malleus ignores Sebek and smiles gently.

"…Can I have more?"

And then you decide your fate.

Lilia Vanrouge

"Oooh, you're so adorable, prefect~!"

Lilia accepts all the kisses excitedly.

When you're done, he pats you on the head and laughs happily.

"Such youthful energy! It reminds me of my days in the royal court~!"

Not only does he not wipe, but he actually wanders around Diasomnia like that.

If Silver or Malleus sees it, he'll just smile proudly.

"Look, boys, how affectionate is prefect to me~!"

If you try that again, he'll catch you and shower you with kisses in revenge.

Thanks for all the support and I will be uploading the next parts and other twst scenarios on my profile <3

[cloudy-day00]

Conversations of various Robins and Batman that the JL has overheard.

Dick as Robin:

Batman: "Don't touch that."

*gets ignored*

Batman (more desperately): "Don't touch that! Robin I'll ground you!"

Robin: *snorts and continues to reach for the very dangerous alien object*

Batman (floundering): "I- Catwoman's out of Arkham! And if you touch that I won't let you see her!"

Robin: *gasps and backs away from it reluctantly* "That's no fair! I wanna see Catwoman and touch the thing!"

Batman, crossing his arms and looking very stern despite the objectively ridiculous situation: "Well, you can only have one of those things."

-

Robin, starting to tear up and sniffle: "B-but I want to help other kids so t-t-they don't lose their mommy and daddy!"

Batman, deadpan: "That's not working on me, kid."

Robin, tears immediately drying up: "Was the mommy and daddy too much?"

Batman: *seesaw hand*

Robin, nodding: "I think I'll keep it to mama and papa - that usually works better."

//

Jason as Robin:

Batman: "Yes, Robin, your English teacher is an idiot when it comes to Shakespeare but that doesn't mean you can egg her car."

Robin: "What about her house?"

Batman: "That's actually worse than egging her car."

Robin: "Sooo, I should be allowed to egg her car because that's better than egging her house!"

Batman: "Should people be allowed to commit assault because that's better than murder?"

Robin, dead panned: "Isn't that literally what we do every night?"

(This one made Flash laugh so hard he pulled a muscle)

-

Robin: "B, I just met Toy Man."

Robin: "Is that REALLY one of Superman's enemies or was that a joke? Please tell me it was a joke. He's like a level two Gotham rogue - his shtick is toys, Batman, TOYS. And I thought the Riddler was stupid."

(Superman tried to defend his honor and was ultimately defeated by the meanest thing to exist - a teenager)

//

Tim as Robin:

Batman: "Robin, explain the voicemail I got from the school."

Robin: "Didn't they already tell you?"

Batman, frowning heavily: "Humor me."

Robin: "My math teacher was being a bitch so I took apart her calculators and hid the pieces around her room and in her stuff."

Batman: "Including her salad."

Robin: "Including her salad AND protein shake."

Batman: "She's could have choked and died!"

Robin: "But she didn't! And anyway in my experience, people are SO much more tolerable when they almost died recently! Take my dad for example-"

-

Batman: "Stop it."

Robin, grinning over his laptop: "I'm not doing anything."

Batman, exasperated: "Don't lie to me! That's your hacking face, Robin."

/

Steph as Robin:

Robin: "It's only glitter!"

Batman: "Three tons of it."

Robin: "... Did i mention that it's biodegradable so it's like totally okay for the environment! See, i DO think ahead sometimes!"

Batman, mumbling: "Maybe I should start putting glitter on your case files so you'll focus..."

-

Robin: "It's because I'm a girl isn't it?"

Batman: "Me telling you to stop putting sprinkles on your pasta is completely unrelated to your gender."

Robin, taking a bite of her pasta monstrosity and pointing the fork in his direction: "Misogynist!"

/

Damian as Robin:

Robin: "But i only THREATENED to stab him. I didn’t actually stab him."

Batman: "..."

Batman: "That's definitely progress but still-"

-

Robin: *cape starts to make a hissing sound*

Batman: "Robin.... What is in there?"

Robin: ".... Her name is Daffodil."

Batman, growing dread in his voice: "And what exactly is Daffodil?"

Robin, without misisng a beat and completely serious: "A beautiful young lady."

[cloudy-day00]

One like = one smooch on his little head

One reblog = granting him access to the nuclear launch codes

[cloudy-day00]

I made a thing….

[cloudy-day00]

Ok so I’ve seen posts talking about Bruce doing the parent thing where he mixes up his kids names but I raise you: the batkids accidentally calling each other “Mom”, “Dad”, “Bruce” etc.

Like imagine Tim helping Jason, who’s delirious with a fever, get back into bed only to hear a quiet “Thanks, mom.”

Imagine Duke working tirelessly on some case and Cass sneaking up behind him to tell him to get some rest, and when he sees her he just goes “Jesus, Bruce, you scared me!” and then just pauses, turns, and walks away.

Imagine Tim getting some sort of infection and he’s just lying on the floor, and Damian stumbles upon him and helps him onto the couch while muttering insults, and then Tim just blinks at him and whispers “Dad?” before passing out.

Imagine Damian with a bad concussion arguing with Steph, and getting more and more tense as the argument goes on before he blurts out “You are correct, Grandfather.”

It’s not just the kids either, imagine Bruce being sleep deprived and staring at the same spot on the batcomputer for ten minutes, and Dick walks up to him and tells him gently but sternly he needs to go to bed, and Bruce just goes “Ok, mom.” without a hint of sarcasm.

Imagine Alfred, whose age is beginning to catch up with him, seeing Jason’s massive figure reading silently in the library one night and going “Master Bruce, what are you doing in here…?” before freezing when he realizes his mistake.

[cloudy-day00]

— ♡ my pretty neighbour.

PART 01.

PAIRING: jason todd x witch! reader

CONTENT WARNING: afab reader, blood, violence, alcohol, mention of assaults, more to be added.

CATEGORY: shit ton of fluff and sfw, maybe angst?

SUMMARY: a witch trying her best to lay low and live her life, while being out of every gothams vigilante's radar. turns out red hood had been her neighbour all along. also they have cute little pets.

WC: 4k

A/N: another jason fic yep. i didn't really have a solid idea but i just really wanted to write something so.... enjoy!

fic masterlist. next.

dividers by @cursed-carmine

gotham is filled with all kinds of criminals, masterminds, lunatics, druglords— you name it. each has done such horrible deeds that it has scarred hearts and souls of every innocent, each has a certain level of craziness in them that requires insane amount of intellect to even catch them. and despite the vigilantes giving their utmost best, everyday having to push themselves to think better, be faster... criminals still hide in those dark alleys, unbound and free.

so you can't really blame the protectors of the city, as they like to call themselves, to be cautious of every activity that goes on in the city. they are understandably hostile to superheroes who try to help, a bit too hostile sometimes in your opinion, but maybe the massive workload makes them snippy.

being a witch and living in gotham is a bit tough therefore, you not only have to hide your powers from the normal people but also from the vigilantes. you do not want to be evicted out of the only city where you can afford the rent, that too without any dignity since witches are sort of still discriminated by the myths and fake stories. still, its understandable, mankind has always been afraid of what they can't control or understand.

you had been ridiculously meticulous in your choice of residence, not like you had much choice to begin with. but you had scouted out the area as best as you could to your needs, and upon confirming that there wasn't much vigilante sighting in the neighborhood, you had finally settled.

a barista's salary didn't really help much, but you didn't really have much needs. your only goal was to live a drama free, quiet life where you could experiment with your little spells (harmless ones.. of course) and, the most important, provide for your little gentleman, alfred, a cute little doberman (he's huge). that was your goal, the ideal life you chased— should chase. but often a heart's desire overwhelm the logic of mind.

you have a penchant for getting into trouble. having promised to never get involved in anything that might shed light upon your existence, you strayed from that promise more often than not. all for good deeds, mostly.

"this is the third time this month. i have got to practice some self control." you sigh as you nudge the body of the man on the ground, groaning and coughing up blood. your brows furrow in mild annoyance as you kick his thigh this time.

"i didn't even use a strong spell! come on you wuss!" you softly groaned to yourself before sighing as you looked away for a moment, scratching your brow with your nail. the blood wasn't a problem, to be honest you wouldn't give a crap if he died. he was assaulting a sweet old man, punching him to death— you just had to step in.

...maybe you stepped in too much. now his arm is twisting at an odd angle, you were supposed to teach him a simple lesson. just give him some scare that'll scar him for life. now he got a bonus broken arm.

you've left one too many mens like that lying and crying, and it'll only be a matter of time before they lead those pesky vigilantes to your doorstep.

you put on a spell that altered his memory of your face, in case he saw it, before turning around to be on your merry way. but cue gotham weather's shitty timing, it starts pouring hard.

"mother nature you're really teasing me today..." you murmured sarcastically to yourself, yet sauntering off unbothered, rain never bothered you much anyway. you just hate how the clothes get all damp and clingy, weighing down your body.

by the time you reach your place you're visibly drenched to the bone, humming some tune under your breath, totally not seeing the man walking ahead of you. and so consequently you bump into his back, eyes widening for a moment as you stepped back with an apology right on your tongue.

but they die on your lips when you see the most brilliant bluish green eyes glance back at you, bitter and hostile. but you've always had a weak spot for pretty things, and when the man turns fully, you note he is the most prettiest man you've ever laid your eyes on.

you're far too lost in admiring him that you fail to notice the slight shift in his demeanor. after all, jason was already in a wretched mood and the next second he turns around to see an absolutely drenched women staring back at him. he isn't that easily fazed, your skin glistens, the damp and dripping hair clinging to the side of your face, that makes you look gorgeous but he's seen gorgeous. your eyes though— they seem unreal. feel unreal. there's just something otherworldly about it— ethereal even. and he's not among those to be poetic.

you realise you've been staring for a second too long and the silence becomes awkward real quick, you blink and step back with a polite smile. "sorry. i uh— wasn't looking where i was going." his brow raised slightly at your politeness, seemingly even more sweet due to your low and honeyed voice.

"no problem." he murmured casually, his voice even more grumpy and rougher than usual, a tough night and patrol hasn't even started. he then turned around and ascended the stairs, and so did you, lagging behind by two steps. you couldn't make the pretty man uncomfortable after all.

but he noticed you following him floor after floor, stopping right when he did at his floor before your steps softly followed behind him again. when he reached his door he turned around, and found you looking back at him with the same confusion.

"...hi neighbour?" you jokingly whispered with a hesitant smile but he didn't.

"how long have you been living here?" that came out more as an interrogative question than a confused one and it made your brows raise in amusement. this one's got a feisty side.

"a few months. wasn't aware anyone lived there." you replied back coolly with a smile that bordered serene yet sultry. his eyes dropped down to it for a small second, narrowing slightly as if the smile irritated him. it indeed irritated him because of the shiver that ran down his spine at the sight of it.

"I've lived here for more than a year. never seen you before." he retorted like he's insinuating an accusation and your lips pull to a slow grin.

"you're awfully stingy for a pretty neighbour." you remark, your nose scrunching up in fake disappointment as you unlock your door.

stingy?

"pretty? " he didn't know what of those words baffled him more, yet that was the one that had to come out of his mouth.

"and interrogative. are you in the gcpd or something?" you asked as you leaned your weight against your door which was slightly ajar.

"no. you're the one interrogating now." he scoffed quietly as he turned around, fetching his key out his pocket.

"seems like you don't know the difference between making conversation and interrogation." you lightly chuckle and thats when he realised its your voice thats the root of the irritation being caused in his already irritated mind. its irritatingly sweet and honeyed— addictive may be the right word.

"that's your version of making conversation?" he scowls as he opened his door and stepped inside while your grin widened, he finds your amusement at his expense really insulting.

"only with pretty, grumpy neighbours."

"and is that your way of flirting? cus its not effective."

"slow down, pretty boy. if you think this is flirting then clearly you haven't been properly flirted with before. how sad." if he can't handle your teasing, he'd be a downright mess when you actually flirt then. and those reddened embarrassed cheeks simply intensify the want to flirt with him.

he gives you one last scathing glare before shutting the door on your face. a chuckle quietly escapes your lips as you call out a loud "goodnight!" which you're probably sure he heard and frowned even more.

you step in your apartment and close the door, flicking on the candles with a swish of your hand. you could just switch on the lights but you secretly love the theatrics. a quick spell could dry you but a warm shower would probably help you more.

and it does help you, you're more relaxed and less tense. your muscles feels like mush just like your head. and yet, as you lay on your bed, your eyes are open wide and awake. you're a bit of an insomniac. its a bother and inconvenience but just like ever other nuisance in your life, you've gotten used to it.

just like always you get up, grab a grimoire and your reading glasses, learning a spell or two. it usually takes you more than an hour to understand and practice and most nights it ends up with something getting on fire or your own self. you suppose that's the fun part.

and again, like always, you get bored and lay back on your bed. this time the pretty neighbour occupies your mind, beauty aside, it is a question that you met him just today when he claims to have been living for a year. why didn't you bump into him before?

you hoped for no trouble, yet something tells you he'll make you be neck deep in one.

"again? " jason frowned as he dropped to the ground with a muted thump of his boots, not a noise at his landing, its like second nature to him.

"third this month." oracle spoke through the comms and jason crouched infront of the little blood that was splattered across the gritty pavement, the rain had washed off most of it yet some stayed, seeped into the earth like a taint.

"some random person reported it almost an hour ago and he was taken to get treated." oracle continued and jason scoffed sarcastically, "you're telling me the cops beat me to it? that's a first."

she simply rolled her eyes at that, "i checked his background. a typical small time thief, arrested quiet a few times for mugging and burglary."

he grunted as a response and looked around but nothing else was amiss. with a sigh he got up, "someone's doing our work here. unfortunately for us they're pretty good at it."

"not for long." Jason's brows furrowed a bit on reflex as bruce's voice came in, "they're bound to slip."

"they haven't for the last two month. maybe they might never." course he agreed with bruce, but where's the fun in agreeing?

"they will. and we have to catch them. they're a threat to the city—"

"times like these, wish i was deaf."

"what was that?"

Jason's not that worried about the mysterious person on the loose beating up criminals, he's sure they were probably in the act of committing a crime to deserve this. but bruce's worry has a point, they need to know who it is. not everyone's a protector. they may be saving right now, but is that all they're doing?

jason knows first-hand how times change, how fast people change. how deceiving time could be, how deceiving humans can be.

his mind is immediately pulled to you at that thought, someone who looks pretty harmless, eyes that are both innocent yet alluring like a siren's. you looked even more helpless and naive in your drenched form. yet all it took was for you to smile and that image shattered.

that smile was a warning in itself, an omen as if. innocence might be something of a past to you, your eyes held no fear, no apprehension. your smile was steady and dangerous, he's a man who has fought back death, rendered men almost lifeless with just his fist— and still his gut told him you were not to be taken lightly. harmless you might be, for now, but not innocent.

he returned back at his place at dawn, grunting and groaning at the sore muscles that ached here and there.

"at this point im gonna age faster than alfred." he murmured to himself with an almost pout. a quick shower and some television were supposed to really tire him out, but sleep escaped him. insomnia the trouble of yet another person.

and he doesn't really leave his place much, but today he felt like it. maybe a walk might help him. its still early so he doubts the streets to be that busy.

he really should have thought this through.

"hey pretty neighbour." he gave a deadpanned stare to that same amusing smile of yours.

"ooh you don't seem like a morning person." you pretend to frown, still locking your door before turning around with a wink, "i know you for less than twelve hours and we already have something in common. is this destiny's sign for something more? " you said dramatically, taking huge delight at his annoyance.

"no, but my headache's a perfect sign for nothing ever." he quietly snapped as he slammed his door shut a little too hard tugging on his hood over a bit before walking away.

"so you do have sarcasm." came your voice not too far behind him, but he knows you're not following him. he saw your clothes when he stepped out, formal and perfectly ironed for work. maybe it really was the rain that gave him the innocent illusion last night.

he sighed as he started descending the stairs, shaking his head as he immediately regretted his decision for this walk.

"you talk a lot." he called out and heard your quiet chuckle in response, "you talk too less." his steps became hurried and your grin simply widened.

"would you tell me your name if i ask you?" you asked him, your smile barely contained and he rolled his eyes, "think you already know the answer."

soon both of you stepped out on the pavement and you turned to face him with a teasing smile, "guess I'll just call you pretty neighbour then."

you waved at him goodbye before he could turn the other way, and yelled "bye pretty neighbour!" as loud as you could, making sure it'll turn heads.

his eyes widened for a moment before he glared at you in disbelief, then swiftly turned around to walk away from imminent embarrassment. maybe it was better if he never knew he had a neighbour next door, no matter how beautiful you are. he sighed to himself as your smile flashed in his mind, unfortunately you really were beautiful. damn you.

you loved your barista job, after all it involved brewing and you were, not to brag, quite the master at it. you kept your conversations with the customers at a minimal, there's no need to involve in idle chatter with them. your coworkers though are a bunch of sweethearts, mostly, so its never a headache working there.

but sometimes some assholes walk in, harassing the workers, some be rude to you about the order even when its made just like they want— but you do what you gotta do to survive.

when you're returning on your way back home, your mood's sour than usual. you don't have it in you to even smile. all anyone would want after a shitty day at job, is the damn bed. even if you can't sleep.

but, the world always tests you on your worst days.

you stop dead in your tracks just a few steps away from your unit, whose door is wide open by the way. your senses heightened and every spell on the tip of your tongue. you didn't have to worry about all your witchy things being stolen or affected since they're all safely locked in a cupboard bound by a spell, unseen by anyone other than you. your important things are also spell bound to your home so no thief can take them out of your apartment.

no, what you're worried about is alfred.

you peaked inside in your own home, the lights were on. you slowly pushed the door without making a sound, a little proud at the creaky door to not give you away today.

suddenly your eyes caught the top of someone's head peaking from behind your dining table— alfred's there too! your eyes widened and your brows furrowed into an angry glare.

"step the fuck away from alfred!" you extended your hand, about to cripple the hell out of whoever that is— but then you see your pretty neighbour straighten up fast and alfred perk up before rushing to you, all smiles and happy.

"woah woah chill— wait who??? " his initial shock subsided to one of pure confusion as he stood there with his hands raised.

ignoring him you crouched down to alfred's height, checking him for any injury because heaven knows if there is one, then that pretty neighbour might not leave the world very pretty—

"he's fine." he said as he slowly rounded the table before stopping short at the sight of your glare. it was... a change, different. he had the impression of you being as much of a nuisance as dick is, if not more. but right now all your eyes hold is hostility and distrust.

"i'll be the judge of that." you snapped at him before plastering a helpless smile for alfred who, suddenly, very surprising of him, trotted back to your neighbour. and you just stayed rooted to your position as your mind errored because what the fuck????

alfred barely ever lets anyone touch him. he had a difficult time when he was just a puppy in an abusive household. he only trusted two people, one is you and your best friend.

you look up at the neighbour with the same dumbfounded expression and for the first time he found it in himself to smile, it was a bit cocky but a smile nonetheless.

"you... what.. what did you do to him? and why the hell did you break into my apartment?" you questioned as you rose to your full height, regarding him suspiciously.

he gave you an unimpressed look at your immediate assumptions before sighing, "i was in my apartment when i heard him growling. loudly. then he started barking. turns out someone was lurking outside of your apartment."

"what?"

"yeah. he had already picked the lock actually, acted like he was opening the door and claimed that he lived there. if i hadn't met you last night, i might have been given him the benefit of doubt. when i confronted he said he was dating you. but i knew that was bullshit." he shrugged like it was no trouble.

you were a bit stunned. yes you thought of him pretty, maybe a nice man but you never expected him to be nice, you never expect anyone to be nice. the world had taught you time and time again that humanity is scarce and kindness is a luxury.

"oh." you murmured before lightly shaking your head, "oh that's— thank you. i- where's that man now?"

his lips slightly tugged up in amusement at your stunned look, feeling maybe a teensy bit of pride to wrong whatever misconception you had of him. "he lives two floors up actually. don't worry i made sure he will be kicked out."

"....thanks." you mumbled out before rubbing the side of your face, you hated being in the wrong, and awkward and embarrassing situations like this. how the hell did you miss an asshole like that? you thought you knew everyone from the apartment as a safety measure.

"i- um sorry i assumed and accused you." you took his words as final because alfred was literally sat near his feet. alfred's a great judge of character.

but this time he didn't scoff or smirk, instead there was a soft smile on his face. he understood your anger after all. "s alright. i understand i also have—"

you froze when you felt something brush by your feet, something very soft and— "meow."

you looked down and there it is, a very adorable, very extra soft siamese cat, who is now staring down alfred like he wronged all her ancestors.

you look up at him with raised brows and with a tired sigh he points at himself, confirming your assumption.

"sorry-"

"can i pet?" you asked softly, looking up at him with such hopeful eyes that all he could do was nod. you crouched down and approached the cat carefully, extending your hand. the cat inspected a little before rubbing against your hand.

"who's this beautiful little baby?" you mused, grinning wide as you scratched the cat.

"... miss pearl." he mumbled too quietly but you have good ears, and unlike how he expected you to laugh at that, you simply smiled in great approval.

upon remembering something his brows furrowed again, "um sorry what did you say his name was?" he pointed at alfred and you looked up at him with most proud smile. "alfred."

"huh." that's a really funny coincidence and a small laugh started spilling out his lips slowly. you looked up at him with furrowed brows, "what?"

"no. nothing. great name."

"are you making fun of him?"

"you really think i would?"

"...hm."

you got up finally and smiled at him, it didn't have that sultry undertone— just a smile.

"again, thank you." you said and he nodded suddenly finding his cat more interesting to look at, his ears reddening.

"uh your place. great aesthetic huh." he said, diverting the topic and you looked around. it didn't look that much like a typical witch's home, but there were too many candles everywhere that normally, normal people don't really have.

his eyes narrowed a bit as he smiled amusingly, he did find that... eccentric.

there was a beat of silence as you looked at candles at literally every flat surfaces.

"i just really like candles. they're scented." you said with the most convincing smile you could conjure up. he didn't buy it, but didn't question it either. gotham is filled with every sort of weird after all.

slave to your habit you still ran your eyes around your apartment, while he picked up miss pearl, but everything was at its place. you really gotta put a spell on the damn door now, the lock had already been weak.

he was almost in his unit before you called out behind him, "all this help and you still won't give me a proper introduction?" that teasing tone was back in your voice.

he sighed in exasperation as he turned around, but weirdly enough, to reasons unknown to him, his ears felt warm again.

"jason."

"jason.." you grinned wide and replied back with your name before winking at him. he simply gave a deadpanned stare before shutting his door.

he let pearl go from his arms, while staring off at a distance, his eyes a little hazy as his mind repeated the way you said his name. shaking his head he scoffed, you were nothing more than just a weird little neighbour.

come next morning he's about to head to bed when he heard a knock. his brows furrowed as he wondered who the hell is bothering him this early. but there was no one when he opened the door, nothing but a small little tin box on the floor with designs engraved on it.

he picked it up suspiciously before taking off the lid, in there were some... tea bags? there was also a note, in there was a little message written in neat words.

this helps with insomnia. its my personal favorite too. hope you do know how to brew some tea.

your pretty neighbour ;)

now he realises what exactly feels weird when he sees you, its his silly little heart.

reblogs are appreciated! :))

taglist: @deadbeatphobos @lettucel0ver @fixated29

[cloudy-day00]

⠀⠀ ⊹ ⠀ 𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐄, TOO⠀─── ⠀𝓓𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄—𝐀𝐋 𝐆𝐇𝐔𝐋 ୨୧⠀⠀ sfw⠀⠀ ꒰⠀one-shot⠀꒱ ⠀·⠀ ୭

PAIRING: damian x vet!reader.

𓈒ִ ꯭ׄ○ LISTEN TO: silly girl by chloe moriondo.

WORD COUNT⠀꣑ৎ⠀ 1.1k⠀ ─⠀⠀ SUMMARY⠀꣑ৎ⠀ a stray cat at the shelter is named dami after the boy you’ve got a crush. sfw content. all fluff. brief description of a sick kitten. ۫ ꣑ৎ

꒰ DIARY:⠀this is for my lovely @xoxorory !! consider it an early birthday gift <3 i really wante to write a one-shot and here we are !!! i’m getting a kitten soon so that inspired the whole prompts. i’ll be naming him nemo ♡⁠╰⁠(⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠´⁠꒳⁠`⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠)⁠╯⠀💬

You weren’t expecting him to actually show up.

Sure, Damian had dropped a few casual ‘Maybe I’ll stop by’ comments during your last conversation, but he said it with the kind of nonchalance that felt like a formality more than a promise. He was busy, and you weren’t one to cling to wishful thinking.

You did want him to show up. Seeing him seems to be the only reverie you get from the crush you harbor in your heart. Damian has managed to carve out a place in your heart. Meeting in an animal shelter among abandoned and hurt animals somehow made you like him.

Like him—… his strange and quiet kindness that shined through at the most unexpected of times. His small smiles that you had to pay extra attention to just to remember them. His gentleness that he hides under the prickly surface.

So when the shelter’s front bell chimed and you looked up from your clipboard to find Damian Wayne standing just inside the door— hood up, arms crossed, expression somewhere between annoyance and discomfort— you blinked. Your heart rate picks up. You can feel it. Just like the heat in your cheeks.

“You came,” you said, a little stunned.

He shrugged, stepping further inside. “You said the kitten was sick.”

“Yeah, but—… I didn’t think you’d actually come.”

“I was already out,” he replied, almost too quickly. “Running errands.”

You resisted the urge to smile. Damian Wayne? Running errands in the middle of the city near your out-of-the-way shelter? Sure.

Still, you didn’t question it. You led him through the quiet halls of the building, the few volunteers linger in the hallways. He didn’t speak, but his eyes lingered on the cats napping in their cubbies, or the dogs curled in their crates. He looked at all of them with a guarded sort of interest. Like someone who’d spent time with animals before, maybe even preferred them.

The kitten—his kitten—was curled up in a little bundle of blankets in one of the smaller quarantine rooms. He’d come in a week ago, shaking and starved and all fangs. You’d been the only one who could get close to him.

You glanced at Damian. “He’s in here.”

He stepped inside the room, scanning every inch like a soldier sweeping a battlefield. The kitten lifted its tiny head, blinking slow and bleary— and then let out the most pitiful little chirp of recognition.

Damian looked down. The kitten mewled again and freed itself from the blankets, wobbling straight toward Damian like he was the only one in the room.

You bit your lip trying to fight back a smile. “He really likes you.”

Damn it. You really liked him too. He just didn't see it.

Damian crouched slowly, extending a hand that the kitten immediately nudged with its tiny head. He scratched behind its ears, and the kitten all but melted against his fingers.

Then he saw the collar on the kitten.

“You named him after me,” he said after a beat.

You smirked. “I did.”

He looked up at you, a mixture of disbelief and offense playing across his face. “You named a stray after me?”

“He bites everyone except me. He growls when he’s sleepy. He broods in corners. It felt accurate. He’s basically—… you.”

You don’t comment on the hidden meaning of those words. Neither does Damian. He doesn’t deny the fact he’s kinder to you. It almost feels as if he favors you.

Or so you hope.

He stared.

“Also,” you added, nudging your shoulder against the door-frame, “he's got good instincts. He picked you.”

Damian turned back to the kitten, who had now draped himself dramatically over Damian's boot. “He's dramatic.”

“You would know.”

You expected him to argue, or at least scowl, but instead he chuckled. Just a little.

You felt it in your chest like a flicker of warmth.

“Do you want to hold him?”

He paused, like the question physically startled him.

“He’s a little feverish, but he should be okay. He just needs some TLC.”

Damian picked the kitten up with the kind of tenderness you’d rarely seen from anyone, let alone him. One hand supported the tiny body; the other curled protectively around its back. The kitten purred, nuzzling into his hoodie.

You stepped closer. “You’re good with him.”

Plus, you were a little jealous that the kitten got all the cuddles from Damian all to himself. You’d like to nuzzle into his hoodie as well.

Get your head out of the gutter.

“He’s tolerable,” Damian muttered, barely above a whisper.

“You said that already.”

“Then he’s still tolerable.”

Your grin was unstoppable now. Damian’s eyes trailed to the smile dancing on your face. You didn’t notice how his gaze lingered.

Damian didn’t put the kitten down. Instead, he moved to the small bench along the back wall, cradling the fluff ball against his chest. You followed, sitting beside him with just enough distance to keep things casual.

“You know,” you said, voice softer, “he was shaking when I found him. Took me three days before I could touch him.”

“He’s resilient.”

“So are you.”

That made his jaw twitch. His eyes shifted to you, and you saw something else there now— not just irritation or amusement, but the same gentleness he’d shown the kitten. Brief, unsure, but real.

“Why do you do this?” he asked, finally. “Work here.”

You blinked. “Because they need someone. And they don’t ask for much. Just time—… care and love.”

“That’s more than most people deserve.”

“Maybe,” you admitted. “But not them.”

The kitten shifted in his arms, and he held it tighter. As if protecting it from some invisible threat. Or maybe from the kind of world that made kids like him flinch from kindness.

You leaned in just a little. “You could foster him, you know. If you wanted.”

Damian stiffened. “I live in a manor.”

“Plenty of space.”

“Alfred would disapprove.”

“Alfred raised Bruce. I think he can handle a kitten.”

Damian went quiet again. The kitten licked his thumb.

“He already likes you.”

“He’s foolish.”

“He has good taste.”

You saw it then— the way Damian's lips twitched at the corners. Like he wanted to smile but didn’t quite know how.

You stood, brushing off your jeans. “I’ll go make us some coffee. Want to stay a bit?”

He didn’t answer right away. But when you turned at the door, he was still sitting there, the kitten curled up like a purring shadow in his arms, and Damian’s eyes were far too soft to be annoyed.

“Only for the cat,” he called after you.

You grinned to yourself.

Sure. The cat.

directory ⋆˚꩜ rules !

INBOX OPEN.⠀⠀feel free to send me asks and suggestions in my inbox. ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

✶⋆.© 𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐁𝐂𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐒 don’t use my work without my consent.

[cloudy-day00]

; Coming Full Circle

Part 1: here , Part 2: here , Part 3: here , Part 4: You’re here!

CW: Reader is pregnant BUT is gender neutral only being referred to as you, if you don't have the ability to get pregnant you do now (in this series). Neglected reader x (platonic.) bat family, Reader x Conner “Kon-El” Kent (romantic.). Reader is probably around in your 20s (21 - 25) and is the 5th(??) oldest

TW: Heavy Angst, a lot of crying, abuse in the form of neglect, pregnancy, Reader briefly expresses regret for existing

Theres a beat of silence after your husband came crashing through the window, minus the sound of your own sobs, you’re too overwhelmed to focus on the crash after all you just found out the people who neglected you, apparently they had done it all to protect you. Even when it wasn’t something you asked to be protected from. You missed out on so many things normal families did and now all it did was leave you scarred, untrusting with deep attachment issues and currently sobbing on the floor surrounded by glass that your husband shattered to get to you.

“CONNER?” Yells Tim in pure shock, which finally makes you finally look up and towards the crash. There, Conner Kent, your husband stood. He was clearly in shock, his soulmate who was pregnant with his child is kneeling on the floor, eyes a soft red and face all puffy as tears slip down. Meanwhile his best friend’s family is staring at said soulmate on the floor awkwardly.

When you see him you honestly cry harder, finally you’re not alone surrounded by people who supposedly loved you but someone who did truly care, and wouldn’t go fucking up your life, at least not without asking first.

“Please take me home Conner…” you sob choking on your own words as you stare at him desperately. Hearing you speak snaps him out of his shock, perhaps on autopilot he picks you up, making sure you are shielded away from your family. “Sorry dude, I’ll… text later. Maybe.” He says solemnly speaking to Tim but he still only looks at you. Tim goes to say something but before he can Conner is gone instantly, leaving behind one stunned bat family.

Conner flies through the sky still holding a sobbing you as he gently whispers “hey.. hey, it’s okay I’ve got you now. You’re safe.” in an attempt to soothe you and himself as well.

He knew you were like him, had family issues and weren’t loved quite right. Perhaps that’s how you guys bonded so fast, shared trauma is a powerful bonding agent. But he never knew who exactly they were, he knew you didn’t want to talk about it and he respected that. When he met you, you had your mother’s last name before taking his, so he never even had the slightest idea Bruce Wayne was your father. Also didn’t help Tim never once mentioned your name, unlike the other siblings he’d call by name, Tim referred to you only as “My other sibling.” on the rare occasions he did allude to you existing.

If he could get a headache right now he would, unfortunately(?) due to Kryptonian things he can’t. As he’s flying he thinks briefly before landing at your shared home ‘Damn what the hell is going on.’

You don’t remember what happened the rest of the night when you got home, you only remember continuously sobbing and a worried Conner trying his best to soothe you all for it to fail. It was so bad when Conner put you down on the couch to get you some water, when you tried to stand you just fell to your knees only able to lean on the couch as support, holding onto it like it’ll somehow save you. Perhaps all the suppressed emotions came flooding, a life time of being strong to have it crumble.

the years of watching your supposed siblings hanging out but it almost disbanding when you tried to join,

the months of drawings about your supposed father holding your small hand left unlooked,

the weeks of wondering if maybe you prayed hard enough someone would hug you

and the days of wondering if you would’ve been better off at the orphanage, or better yet never been born at all.

Now suddenly they did it for your sake? All the missed moments? You want to laugh and scream. The irony of thinking it’s better to neglected a child than to tell said child the truth. You feel Conner put a reassuring hand on your back gently rubbing when he hands you the glass of water, you push it away. You just need to cry, not water. He seems to understand putting it to the side on the hard wood floor and instead choosing to be a comforting presence while you cry.

You cry and sob for hours, unable to stop. Even when it slows down enough for Conner to finally get you to drink some water, urge you to change into your pjs because it was close to dawn now and you hadn’t slept a bit, you can still feel the tears rolling down. You think you must’ve passed out from crying because the last thing you remember seeing was Conner’s worried face like he would’ve cried too and now you’re looking at the sunrise peak through the blinds.

You sit up and sit on the edge of the bed looking down you feel dull and empty, like the entire world suddenly decided to drain itself of all joy and leave you with nothing. As you get up you pass the shared floor length mirror, when you look at yourself, all you can think of is how you look like a husk of a person. To be expected, you did go through something emotionally taxing and you did cry a lot so it makes sense your eyes look empty.

You can smell burnt pancakes. It seems Conner is trying to bake again…

As you enter the kitchen you can see the pile of burnt pancakes on a plate he prepared. Conner gives you an awkward smile as he looks at you and the pancakes, “In hindsight it’s a lot different to use heat vision than the stove.” You pause staring at him and then at the pancakes again, he looks nervous before he clarifies “they’re still edible I promise…”

A smile spreads across your face before you begin to laugh. And laugh. And laugh. Somehow you laugh so hard it morphs into crying again when you threw your head back in a fit of laughter. Conner’s relieved face at you laughing turns to worry again as he floats over quickly to have you in his arms.

You cry your eyes out into Conner’s shirt as he holds you tight against him. “Hey, it’s okay, we are going to be okay.” Conner says gently rubbing your back supportively.

“I just can’t believe for such a stupid reason they shut me out!” You weep into your hands, the tears almost collecting in your palms as you finally start speaking. “But at the same time I.. I sort of get it? and it’s frustrating because… I don’t know! Cause it feels like now I don’t have the right to complain or just be upset anymore!” You shout frustrated by everything and all the emotions you’re feeling merging together to create one big storm. “Perhaps it’s somehow my fault—“ you mumble softly before you’re cut off by Conner.

Conner grabs you face and makes you look at him before you can finish, his face solemn as he speaks “You have every right to complain, even if they had good fucking intentions it still hurt. And that sucks.” His face scrunches a bit from sadness at frustration. “Don’t say stuff like it’s your fault. It’s not and I won’t let them demean the one good thing I have in my life.” He gently taps the side of your face before sadly smiling at you and your teary eyed face.

You chuckle softly. You want to cry more but you don’t feel like crying when you remember that Conner loves you and even if you don’t have a father or siblings like you wanted, you still have your adoring, handsome, funny, charismatic husband and an adorable child-to-be-born that’ll have your amazing looks and his personality. It may not have been the family you always wanted as a kid but it’s what you want and need now, and that’s all that matters.

“Hey, Let’s spend today in bed and order food the entire day.” You say smiling at him your face still feels a bit weird after all that crying.

“Sounds good… but are we not going to eat my pancakes?” He teases

“I love you, but not enough that I’d eat actual ash for you.”

“Oh wow so you don’t love me anymore?” Conner replies clutching his chest dramatically before taking a step back to lean himself the table like he’s dying. To which you roll your eyes.

“Okay that’s NOT what I said. Anyways I’m going to rest in bed, come join after you finished ordering breakfast and being dramatic.” You remarked before you walk away and into the bedroom to wait for him, you knew he wouldn’t be long.

Meanwhile the entire bat fam is FREAKING. Damian is arguing with both Tim and Grayson to which Barbara has to try and break it up, Bruce is sat on the couch (not having moved since last night) covering his face as he tries to ponder where it all went wrong, Stephanie is pacing around anxiously, Alfred is trying to repair the window which was supposedly shatterproof but unfortunately ‘shatterproof’ isn’t a concept that exists for the supers, Jason is shrugging and saying “I told you this would happen.” (He didn’t.) and everyone else is scattered about some watching the argument, trying to brainstorm to a silent brooding Bruce or trying to help fix the window.

Eventually they would all have to begin brainstorming on what to do next, how to repair it all and get you to forgive them. Right now is time for panic.

[cloudy-day00]

˖ ֹ੭୧ TO DODGE A KISS ⊹ ࣪ ⑅

ˋ°•*⁀➷batboys react to influencer!reader dodging their kiss !

ˋ°•*⁀➷CHARACTERS: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Aged up!Damian Wayne

NOTES: requested by anon! and if that anon is reading this, thank you so much for your lovely words and i hoep you enjoy ml! <3

BRUCE WAYNE:

TikTok Upload: @/yourusername Caption: he acted like i filed for divorce 💀 

[VIDEO STARTS]

The camera is angled just right: sleek kitchen, perfect golden-hour lighting, and you, sipping a matcha latte in Bruce’s oversized button-down. The TikTok audio is soft, just a lo-fi beat, nothing suspicious. It’s the perfect setup for a harmless little prank.

You hear his footsteps approaching behind you. Enter Bruce Wayne: fresh from a morning run, towel slung around his neck, jawline sharp enough to file taxes on.

He leans in to press a kiss to your temple.

You lean away, casual.

He freezes.

You glance up from your drink with a sweet smile. “Oh — sorry, didn’t see you there.”

He studies you. Blinks. “Hm.”

You pretend not to notice his pause. Bruce goes to grab a glass from the cupboard, but not before you catch the micro-expression on his face: confusion. Offense. Calculating.

Thirty seconds later, he passes by you again — this time, brushing his hand along your back before leaning in to kiss your cheek.

You casually bend forward to “check your phone.”

He stops dead.

“…Are you upset with me?”

You blink. “What? No, why?”

Bruce is staring now. Dead serious. “You dodged me. Twice.”

“Did I?”

He narrows his eyes slightly. “Are you testing me?”

You stifle a laugh behind your cup.

He slowly crosses his arms. “If this is another social media trend, I’d prefer if you informed me before I assume our marriage is in jeopardy.”

That’s when you crack — full giggles, spilling into his chest.

Bruce sighs, pressing his lips together. “I see. So this is retribution for the time I asked what ‘delulu’ meant.”

You nod, breathless. “You looked like you were writing your resignation letter from love.”

He finally allows a smile, dry and amused. “Next time, just tell me you want attention.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

[VIDEO ENDS]

[TOP COMMENTS]

@/gothamsfinestfan: he thought u were abt to file a love withdrawal on him 😭 @/brucewayneupdates: HE SAID ‘our marriage is in jeopardy’ like y’all were on a legal drama @/batdadcore: he looked like he was calculating how many emotional support jets he’d have to buy to cope”@/deluluforbruce: not him referencing the time you explained delulu…he took notes fr

DICK GRAYSON:

TikTok Upload: @/yourusername Caption: he was about to cry/smile through the pain i actually feel bad 😭

[VIDEO STARTS]

You’re sitting on the couch with a fuzzy blanket and your laptop, pretending to scroll aimlessly. The phone’s propped up at just the right angle. Cue the audio: soft indie music with a tinge of melancholy.

Dick walks into frame like a Hallmark love interest — hoodie sleeves pushed up, damp hair from the shower, two mugs of tea in hand and the warmest look in his eyes.

He smiles, leans down, and goes to kiss your forehead.

You shift slightly.

He misses.

Dick pauses mid-air like a confused golden retriever who just missed a tennis ball.

“…Huh.”

You hide behind your laptop. “What?”

He laughs awkwardly, still holding both mugs. “Nothing. Just, uh… missed.”

He tries again. This time aiming for your cheek. He leans close, patient, charming.

You “yawn” and turn your head away.

Missed again.

The silence is deafening.

“…Are you mad at me?” he asks, blinking like a kicked puppy.

You glance up, all innocence. “Mad? No, why?”

Dick stands there, visibly glitching. “I just—usually you kiss back. Or at least don’t… dodge.”

He shifts his weight. “Did I do something? Did I leave my socks in the bed again?”

You nearly lose it right there.

He sets the mugs down and walks off-camera slowly, hands in the air like he’s surrendering. “Okay. It’s fine. Rejection builds character. I'm fine. Totally fine.”

You wait.

He peeks back into frame a second later. “But like… if you are mad, just tell me before I start journaling about it.”

[VIDEO ENDS]

@/wingmansyndrome: he said ‘it’s fine’ then walked away like a ghost in a rainy music video @/cryingsunshine: DICK GRAYSON NEEDS A HUG AND A KISS RN @/graysonsglutes: he was about 0.5 seconds from apologizing for world hunger to win u back @/hearts4dickie: the way he popped back in like 🥺 ‘just tell me before I start journaling’ STOPPP

JASON TODD:

TikTok Upload: @/yourusername Caption: pranked the grumpiest man alive and immediately feared for my life 💀

[VIDEO STARTS]

The apartment is quiet except for the faint music playing in the background. You're perched on the kitchen counter in one of Jason’s hoodies, phone propped up discreetly against the spice rack. Everything looks peaceful. Domestic.

Jason walks in, sweatpants low on his hips, hair still a little messy from his post-workout shower. He’s drying his hands on a towel, gaze locked on you with that familiar lazy, love-sick smirk.

“Hey, babe,” he murmurs, stepping between your legs. He leans in — slow, deliberate — clearly aiming to press a kiss to your lips.

You turn your head at the last second to "reach for your water."

He kisses air.

There’s a full two seconds of silence. You can practically hear his ego crack.

Jason pulls back slightly, blinking. “...The hell was that?”

You keep sipping like nothing happened. “Huh?”

He squints. “You dodged me.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Yes you did.”

He stares at you, offended and suspicious. Then, deadpan: “Are you mad? Did I forget something? Did someone say somethin’ to you? Is someone about to die?”

You laugh. “What? No—why would someone die?!”

He narrows his eyes. “I dunno. Depends. You rejecting my kiss like that—either you’re mad or someone’s about to be buried in the Hudson.”

You try to stay cool, but your grin is breaking through.

Jason studies you another second… then snorts. “Oh. Okay. You’re being cute.”

He suddenly tosses the towel aside and lunges at you without warning.

You squeal as he wraps his arms around your waist and throws you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Try dodging a kiss now, sweetheart.”

“JASON PUT ME DOWN—”

“Nope. Actions have consequences.”

You’re wheezing.

He spins around once for good measure.

“Welcome to my kissing dungeon,” he says, completely serious. “You live here now.”

[VIDEO ENDS]

@/toddlover69: NOT THE KISSING DUNGEON GOODBYE 😭😭😭 @/grumpybfenergy: he was ready to commit a felony over a single missed kiss @/deluluforjay: the way he immediately clocked that smth was WRONG like sir pls relax it’s a prank @/jasonslibrarycard: me: I want a soft boyfriend. also me: I want one who’ll throw me over his shoulder and threaten kissess for crimes @/batboytears: someone check the Hudson River 💀 he had names READY

TIM DRAKE:

TikTok Upload: @/yourusername Caption: i feel like i just hurt the love interest in a coming-of-age movie 😭

[VIDEO STARTS]

Your camera is set discreetly on your desk, angled just enough to catch both your chair and the door. You’re pretending to scroll your phone, legs tucked up under you in an oversized hoodie.

Enter: Tim Drake. Hoodie on, dark circles under his eyes, hands occupied with two iced coffees from that one shop that opens at ungodly hours (the one he only goes to for you).

He walks in, quiet as usual. “Hey, angel,” he says, voice soft like a worn-in song. He sets one of the coffees beside you and leans down, pressing a quick kiss to your temple—

Or at least, he tries to.

You shift at the last second. He kisses air.

Tim pauses.

He blinks once.

Then twice.

“…Oh.”

You peek at him innocently. “Hm?”

He gives a faint, uncertain smile. “Nothing. Just missed.”

He backs up a bit, sipping his coffee and pretending everything is chill™️. But his eyes flick to you again, like he’s studying a glitch in the matrix.

Then: “Are we okay?”

You blink. “Of course we are.”

He nods too quickly. “Okay. Cool. Yeah. Just…you usually let me kiss you.”

You almost crack. He’s too soft. Too honest.

He gives a little laugh under his breath and walks toward his desk.

Then stops again.

“Wait. Are you upset about something I said yesterday? Or—was it the documentary? I didn’t mean to spoil the ending, I just—”

You burst out laughing, unable to hold it anymore.

His eyes narrow slightly. “Oh my god. You’re pranking me.”

He sets his coffee down slowly. “You’re actually evil.”

You’re still cackling as he plops into the chair across from you, face in his hands.

“I literally made you a custom coffee order and everything,” he mutters. “I thought we were having a moment.”

You lean over and finally kiss his cheek. “We were.”

He side-eyes you over his fingers. “I hope the internet’s happy. They’ve wounded me.”

[VIDEO ENDS]

[TOP COMMENTS]

@/girlofdrake: tim drake is the only man i’d apologize to for a prank @/yawnking: he spiraled in SILENCE and i respect that @/mamamia: he made her a custom coffee and got ghost-kissed… i’m hurting @/user12983: someone hold his hand immediately or i will

AGED UP!DAMIAN WAYNE:

TikTok Upload: @/yourusername Caption: he took that personally 💀

[VIDEO STARTS]

The camera is positioned sneakily on the windowsill of your shared apartment. You’re curled on the couch in Damian’s hoodie, casually flipping through your phone, feigning innocence.

Footsteps approach.

Damian enters the room with a quiet sort of calm — sculpted in self-control, dressed like he walked off a GQ spread, jaw tight from whatever boring art gala he just endured. He softens the moment his eyes land on you.

“Tt,” he exhales, crossing the room with zero hesitation. “You’re finally home. I was beginning to think the coffee shop had stolen you.”

You glance up with a smile. “Missed me?”

He hums. “Every second.”

Then, he leans down, hand tilting your chin gently as he goes in to kiss you—

—and you turn your head abruptly, “checking” your phone again.

He kisses your cheekbone.

There’s a beat of silence.

His brows twitch.

“I see.”

You look up. “Hm?”

“You dodged me.”

“No I didn’t.”

“You did,” he says flatly. “I could chart it with footage. You’re being filmed, aren’t you?”

You try to act clueless, but it’s too late — his eyes are already sweeping the room.

In a single graceful motion, he turns and spots the phone, still recording from the window.

His jaw clenches.

He marches over.

You scramble off the couch. “Damian—don’t you dare—”

He picks up the phone and turns it around to glare directly into the lens.

His voice is calm. Too calm.

“This,” he says, gesturing back at you without looking, “is my beloved. They are currently suffering from a brief lapse in sanity.”

You’re wheezing behind him. “Dami, come on—”

He lifts a hand. “Silence. I’m addressing the nation.”

You fall onto the couch.

“To all of you who found this amusing: congratulations. Your digital corruption has reached my home.”

Then, softer, muttering mostly to himself: “First the app steals their attention. Now it steals my kiss.”

He finally turns the camera back around and narrows his eyes.

“If anyone tags me in this, I will block you.”

He ends the video.

[VIDEO ENDS]

[TOP COMMENTS]

@/fattycatty: nah he was about to issue a national statement 💀 @/feralforgotham: 'i will block you’ sir with what account 😭😭😭 @/damispaintbrush: not him calling us ‘digital corruption’ like we’re a disease 😭 @/yomamadotcom: he said ‘my beloved is suffering a lapse in sanity’ with his whole chest like it’s a diagnosis 😭

[cloudy-day00]

Dick: Does anyone have any suggestions?

Jason: Why dont we shoot the Joker?

Dick: How that will help us in an alien invasion?

Jason: It would be really funny

Dick:

Dick: Works for me, add it to the list!

[cloudy-day00]

PULL ME IN

summary: due to Bruce distancing himself from reading and seeing other women - batfam has to watch their mom willow away.

For the twenty-five years, Bruce and Name have been married together - Alfred has never seen Name so withdrawn - so detached . He watches every morning how Name's frail body maneuvers around the kitchen making her own breakfast -

God knows how many times he's asked that stubborn woman to allow him to cook for him but she has always refused him with a quiet smile and a wave of hand. He watches her glide around the kitchen- a woman of once poise and grace reduced to her fumbling with simply holding a cereal box.

Alfred could never pin point where it had all went wrong in their marriage - they were both high-school sweethearts- their marriage was beautiful- he'd know because he had honored it himself. To see them so distant aches his heart.

Alfred knows Bruce has a mission - to save Gotham- a mission that seems ever lasting - a mission that had consumed him entirely to the point it took him over . It took away his relationship with his kids and his own wife .

Alfred would always shoot him disapproving looks when he sees Bruce being too flirty with Talia and Selina - he blesses Name's heart for loving Damian all the same like she has with all her other kids but Alfred notices since then she is virtual never in the same place with Bruce.

She no longer goes to galas anymore , no longer makes public appearances - maybe its because Bruce always had a different arm candy every other night. It's gotten so bad that even the kids started realizing this - Damian , upon realizing his birth had broken down in Name's arms one night - pleading with her to love him - that he's sorry for being born.

Alfred remembers Name cradling the young boy in her arms all night and assuring him he's the best thing Bruce ever made and that she would never blame him for Bruce's actions. Since then - the young boy has always stuck to Name - every morning, he'd affectionately hand her daily medicine and would always help her wrap a shawl over her shoulders.

Tim and Bruce began arguing - particularly because Bruce starting leaving the massive work of W.E for Tim to handle- it came to a head one night when Name and Bruce argued for two hours straight. He remembered how raw her voice was when she yelled at Bruce for overworked her poor son - that he's young and deserves to live and experience his teenage years.

Bruce had argued that Tim had wanted this - that this was what being Robin was about. Jason- god knows Jason and Bruce doesn't get along - ever since what happened to Joker but they argue even worse when it boils down to Name .

Jason was a child primarily raised by Name - she taught him to trust and showed him everything he knew - down to ironing his shirt to tying his shoelace - Name was the mother Jason never had and God could damn for all he cares but couldn't stand to watch Bruce treat her like she was an option because she wasn't - not to him or his brothers.

Jason always made it a point to call Bruce out for his own hypocrisy, himself and Damian always teamed up against him, especially when he was being too flirty with Selina or some random eye candy.

" I suggest you back off harlot , my mother might not kill you, but I will " - Damian when Bruce and Selina were flirting together on patrol.

" I don't give a fuck if ma begs me not to put a bullet in your head , the next damn time I see you talking about her like that I won't hesitate to skin you alive " - Jason when he caught some arm candy bragging to her friends how the 'Bruce Wayne' took her out on a date in front of Name.

God if anyone argues more with Bruce in this household was Dick - Dick was their first child and a child whom lost everything and yes Bruce may of made him robin but name made him dick grayson - bless that woman's heart for having to deal with his tantrums and outbursts when he was younger -

But that woman despite not birthing him was his mother - the woman who literally hugged him everynight to go to bed , the same woman who made his suit for prom by hand and also the same woman he goes to for advice and comfort - safe to say when he heard what Bruce was doing - they argued non stop-

" For god sake, Bruce, you're destroying us - you're destroying our family, and you don't even care." - Dick when Bruce had called you useless because you couldn't walk up a stairs anymore.

Someone from the outside might think they're dramatic, but ever since Bruce started distancing himself from Name and going out with God knows who , Name has fallen into a deep depression - a type of depression that ensnared them in their deep claws and deprive them of what little happiness and energy they have left.

Most days , Name sits on a swing outside and just exists- barely eats , barely talks anymore - how can they ? How can one fathom to be happy when their own spouse is out cheating on you with different people and to make matter worse the public condones it - even more so enables him.

Always publishing some new article of which new model or actress can become worthy of being Bruce's wife as if she doesn't exist. Alfred swallows as he watches her tonight - they're sat stiffly in a velvet love seat , a faint smile on her face, Damian is resting his head on their shoulder, showing them his latest art piece while quietly talking about his day.

Behind her, jason embraces her in a backhug , head resting on her head - his hands sometimes play with the loose strands. Tim quietly sits beside her , his hand holding her free hand - now and again he'd squeeze it . Dick is sat next to Damian on the love seats' arm rest as he prepares her nightly medicine.

Even if the public and her own husband loathes her, name still has the love of her kids and Alfred as always. Suddenly, the large oak doors of the living room are pushed open - the vibrant warmth interrupted as Bruce steps inside .

Damian quiets - everyone looking at Bruce except for Name - she has taken it to state at her hands. " It's time for patrol" Bruce says grufly . No one responds but reluctantly leaves Name side , Jason side hugs her one last time before leaving .

" Yeah, whatever you say, geaser," He says as he shoves Bruce out of his way to go to the cave . Damian glares at his father , " Hopefully, things are taken seriously on this patrol " he insinuated- knowing eyes glaring right at his father disapproving.

Bruce ignores them and stares at name, " Make dinner before we leave " he orders before promptly walking away. Name says nothing - too numbed out a long while to even react. Dick and Alfred himself curses him while Tim is glaring at the closing door harshly .

" Ma I'll order us something don't stress yourself " Tim assures her while ordering Uber eats for them on his phone . Name doesn't say anything but sends him a small smile. " I can't believe I raised that boy," Alfred murmurs as he shakes his head in disappointment .

Bruce may not realize it now but it's too late to fix anything - too late to pull his wife back in and live the happy life they once had - its too late to repair their broken family since the glue that's stuck them all together is fading away .

ty for reading, please like + comment + share !!!

pls do not hate a on queens talia & selina they won't do this , theyre too girlboss for bruce anyways

[cloudy-day00]

ello ✨

i enjoy your writing sooo much and am on a chibi brainrot rn. so like,, idk if this is gonna be a request or something but like—

reader finding a pocket/mini-me of their significant other (any if the batfam or all) and brings them home only for their original big version to see it being all lovely-dovy to reader and are now fighting (and threatening) to 💀 said small them

˖ ֹ੭୧ MINI ME? FUCK NO. ⊹ ࣪ ⑅

ˋ°•*⁀➷ bf/gf!batfam react to mini-them x reader !

ˋ°•*⁀➷ CHARACTERS: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Barbara Gordon, Jason Todd, Cassandra Cain, Tim Drake, Stephanie Brown, Duke Thomas, Agedup!Damian Wayne

NOTES: THIS IS SO FUNNY LOL

BRUCE WAYNE:

It began with a soft thump in your purse.

You weren’t sure when you’d picked it up—maybe at that weird antique bookstore that smelled like cinnamon and existential dread—but nestled between your phone and chapstick was a… tiny man?

A very tiny, grumpy-looking man in a miniature black suit.

“Who authorized this?” he asked, voice no louder than a whisper, yet filled with the gravitas of a Batcave full of trauma.

You blinked. “I—what? Who are you?”

“I’m Bruce Wayne,” said Pocket Bruce, crossing his arms. “You brought me here. You’re responsible now.”

The moral implications of owning a tiny billionaire were lost to the part of your brain that immediately thought, He's kind of cute. Like a stern Funko Pop come to life.

Naturally, you brought him home.

You tucked him into a drawer-turned-bed, gave him a shirt scrap for a blanket, and when he said “thank you,” your heart did a tiny backflip. By day three, he was climbing your shoulder like a very serious parrot, advising you on investments, security systems, and emotional boundaries. It was… oddly therapeutic.

That is, until the original Bruce walked in on Pocket Bruce kissing your cheek.

“What,” growled Full-Sized Bruce, “the hell is that.”

“Oh, hey,” you said casually, holding up Pocket Bruce like a kitten. “Look what I found! He’s like you, but travel-sized!”

Full Bruce’s jaw tightened. “Put. Him. Down.”

Pocket Bruce smirked. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you.”

“Neither does dying,” Bruce shot back. “Which is exactly what’s going to happen if you don’t remove your tiny lips from their face.”

You watched as your very stoic, very mature boyfriend started threatening his miniature doppelgänger like it was a rival suitor from the League of Shadows.

“Bruce, he’s like four inches tall.”

“He’s making moves.”

“He gave me a flower made of lint.”

“He gave you his heart. I see it. I see the betrayal.”

Pocket Bruce raised an eyebrow. “I’m literally you.”

“I would never behave like that.”

“You absolutely would,” you and Pocket Bruce said in perfect unison.

Bruce glared. “That’s it. I’m building a terrarium prison. And he’s going in with a GPS tracker, a tiny treadmill, and no visiting hours.”

You cuddled Pocket Bruce closer. “You’re just mad he gives more compliments than you do.”

Bruce Wayne, billionaire, vigilante, and now insecure over his micro-self, crossed his arms. “I am not losing you to pocket-sized competition.”

“I mean… he did say I looked radiant this morning.”

“…You’re grounded.”

“Bruce, we don’t even—”

“Grounded. You and the tiny little shit.”

DICK GRAYSON:

It started as a normal afternoon stroll through Gotham’s market district.

You bought a caramel apple, admired a soap shaped like a raccoon, and picked up what you thought was a little plush keychain of Nightwing—until it squirmed in your hand and shouted in the most high-pitched but undeniably Dick Grayson voice:

“Hey, hey, hey! Hands off the butt!”

You screamed. Loudly.

By the time you’d stopped hyperventilating, Pocket Dick was sitting on your shoulder, legs dangling, grinning like he hadn’t just spoken full sentences with the voice of an action figure powered by charisma and abs.

“I’m Dick Grayson!” he said cheerfully. “You must’ve summoned me with love, justice, and good lighting.”

You blinked. “You’re what.”

“A pocket version of the best Grayson there is. Limited edition. And look at you—you’re gorgeous! Do you work out? Are you single? Wait—no, don't answer. Let’s just say I’m very emotionally available.”

You spent the entire afternoon with him doing flips off your coat buttons and reciting dramatic “Nightwing Facts” like a Wikipedia page in love. The man even offered to dance with you on your kitchen counter.

So obviously, you kept him.

You were lounging on the couch later that evening, Pocket Dick nestled in your hands and serenading you (very off-key) with “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You,” when your door clicked open.

“Hey babe—” Real Dick called out, “—I grabbed takeout. Hope you didn’t already eat—”

He froze.

You looked up, horrified, as Dick stared at his one-inch clone literally nuzzling against your thumb.

Real Dick’s entire brain blue-screened.

“Is… is that me?” he asked, blinking hard. “Am I—am I hallucinating? Did someone spike my smoothie?”

“Hello, handsome!” chirped Pocket Dick, waving like he was on a float in the Grayson Parade. “You must be me! Wow. We look amazing.”

Dick took a full step back, like the small version of himself had rabies and a taser.

“NOPE,” he said loudly. “I am not doing this. I am not competing with myself! That is a rabbit hole I am not emotionally prepared for.”

“He said I was ethereal,” you offered helpfully.

Dick wheezed. “He did WHAT.”

Pocket Dick flexed both arms (barely noticeable noodle biceps) and added, “I also told them they were the most beautiful human I’ve ever seen. Which is still true.”

“You told them that?!” Dick sputtered, setting the takeout down like it offended him. “I—wait, no, I told them that like… last week! Or was it last month? WHEN DID I LAST SAY SOMETHING NICE?!”

“You told me I was ‘pretty lethal with a fork’ two days ago,” you offered.

“That was romantic!” he shouted, pointing accusingly at his mini-me. “It was contextually romantic! There were dumplings involved!”

Pocket Dick leaned against your fingers like he was on a chaise lounge. “They deserve constant compliments. Honestly, I don’t know why they’re dating someone who won’t serenade them like I do.”

Real Dick’s jaw dropped. “Did he just out-boyfriend me?! That’s illegal!”

He marched over and snatched up Pocket Dick like an angry sibling. “Listen here, small me. You might be charming, you might have my hair—”

“Which looks great, by the way.”

“—but you better back off. This is MY person. Mine. Go find a dollhouse and reevaluate your life choices.”

Pocket Dick crossed his tiny arms. “Jealousy isn’t hot on us.”

Real Dick turned to you with the most betrayed expression imaginable. “You can’t keep him. I’m serious. You can’t let him stay. He’s too powerful. He’ll take my place in like, two days.”

You sighed dramatically, letting your head fall onto Dick’s shoulder.

“Fine. But only because you’re bigger.”

Dick paused.

“…You mean taller, right?”

Pocket Dick smirked. “Do they?”

BARBARA GORDON:

You found her in your hoodie pocket.

No explanation. One second you were putting on your hoodie to run errands, the next, you reached into the pouch and felt… a batarang? No, wait—a whole person.

Tiny, auburn-haired, with a laptop strapped to her back and the most intense little smirk you’d ever seen on something under four inches tall.

“Hey,” she said, casually leaning against your wrist. “You got good taste in sweatshirts. And faces. Are you single?”

You blinked. “Wha—”

“I’m Barbara,” she interrupted, brushing lint off her miniature cape. “Well, pocket-sized Barbara. Less trauma, same fire. I come with unlimited sass, mild trust issues, and an entire database of Gotham’s criminal underworld. Also, I think you’re hot.”

Your brain melted a little.

She was confident. Charismatic. Flirting like she’d been training for it. You were kind of obsessed.

By the time the real Barbara got home—tired, sore, a little grumpy after a patrol—you were curled up in bed, reading, while Pocket Babs lounged on your shoulder eating a crumb of cookie like it was a full meal.

Barbara tossed her gloves on the table. “Hey, babe, you home? You won’t believe what Joker tried tonight—”

She stopped. Froze. Blinked twice.

“Are you… cuddling with a mini version of me?”

Pocket Babs looked up with a devilish grin and waved. “Hi, gorgeous! You’ve got great hair. Wanna compare bat-gadgets sometime?”

Barbara squinted. “What the—what the actual hell is that?”

“Your pocket twin,” you said brightly, petting tiny Babs like a smug gremlin. “She was in my hoodie. I think I love her now.”

Real Babs walked over, hands on her hips. “She was in your—? Okay. First of all, that’s my hoodie. Second, why is she making eyes at you like she wants to steal you from me?”

Pocket Babs licked some cookie crumb off her finger. “Steal is a strong word. Reclaim, maybe. I mean, you’ve got a lot on your plate. Maybe I can be the emotionally available one.”

Barbara blinked. “Is she negging me right now?”

You choked back a laugh. “A little bit.”

“Oh my god.” Barbara leaned in, eye twitching. “I’m being out-sassed by myself.”

“She also said she could hack the Pentagon in a minute and compliment me at the same time.”

Real Barbara’s jaw dropped. “I have done that! That’s just my Tuesday!”

Pocket Babs waved a mini flash drive. “Wanna see what I pulled from GCPD’s servers? Also, you smell really good.”

Real Babs snapped her fingers. “Nope. This is not happening. You—small me—you need to stop flirting with my partner. You’re gonna short-circuit them. And I do not have the energy to fight myself tonight.”

“You’re just jealous,” said Pocket Babs, twirling a lock of her auburn hair. “I’m the cool version.”

Barbara crossed her arms. “I am the cool version! I literally jumped out a window on fire once!”

Pocket Babs shrugged. “Yeah, but did you do it in miniature and land in their hands all flirty and mysterious?”

Barbara blinked at you. “Tell me you’re not falling for her.”

“She has a grappling hook the size of a thumbtack,” you whispered reverently. “I’m kind of enchanted.”

Barbara flopped face-first onto the couch with a muffled groan. “I’m losing my girlfriend to… me.”

You looked down at Pocket Babs, who winked and blew you a kiss.

Yeah. This was going to be a problem.

JASON TODD:

It started with a crash in the alley behind your apartment.

Naturally, like the well-trained Gothamite you were, you peeked through the blinds with a broom in one hand and 911 pre-dialed on your phone.

But what you found wasn’t a mugger or a rogue Joker gang.

It was a pocket-sized man in a tiny red helmet, stomping through an empty takeout container like it insulted his mother.

“I said NO onions, you absolute shitheads!” he shouted, voice comically deep for his size. Then he kicked the container so hard he fell backward into a puddle.

You opened the window and stared.

He froze, looked up at you, and said, “...Sup. You look like someone with great taste in books and bad taste in men.”

You blinked. “Are you—”

“Red Hood. But, you know… travel-sized. You got snacks?”

You were way too curious (and a little entertained) to leave him in the alley, so you scooped him up with your hoodie sleeve and brought him inside.

Turns out: Pocket Jason is all bark, no bite, and 98% unresolved rage in a thimble-sized package. He curses like a sailor, refuses to take off his helmet (“It’s iconic, don’t touch it”), and uses a paperclip as a crowbar.

Also, he flirts like a menace.

“You dating anyone?” he asked, curled up in your hand like a brooding Funko Pop. “You should date someone with anger issues and a tragic backstory. I know a guy.”

You were half-laughing, half-dying when the front door opened.

“Hey, I got that wine you like,” Real Jason said, stepping into the apartment with that rare relaxed grin he only gave you. “Want me to—”

He stopped.

He blinked.

You slowly turned around, holding a swearing, helmet-wearing inch-tall gremlin.

“What,” Jason said flatly, “is that.”

“Oh hey,” Pocket Jason chirped. “Nice face. Your girlfriend is hot.”

The wine bottle hit the floor.

Real Jason stormed across the room in record time and plucked his pocket doppelgänger out of your hands like he was holding a cursed action figure.

“NOPE,” Jason barked, holding him at arm’s length like he might explode. “Absolutely the hell not.”

“Hey!” Pocket Jason squirmed. “Hands off! I'm limited edition! I cost a lot y'know?!”

Jason stared at him with narrowed eyes. “You are one sentence away from getting thrown into the microwave.”

You burst out laughing. “Jason!”

“He called you hot!” Jason shouted, gesturing wildly at you with one hand and holding his mini-me like a crab with the other. “You think I’m gonna let a Thumbelina version of myself hit on my girlfriend?!”

Pocket Jason gave a dramatic sigh. “You’re just mad I’m fun-sized and charming.”

“Jason, give him back.”

He yeeted Pocket Jason onto the couch. The little menace bounced, landed on a throw pillow, and gave you finger guns. “Still available, by the way.”

Real Jason stood over him, seething.

“You flirt with them again,” he growled, “I will vacuum you.”

Pocket Jason crossed his arms. “Try it, big boy.”

“Okay!” Jason snapped, turning to you. “That’s it. You are not keeping him.”

You smirked. “Even if he brings me a tiny cup full of coffee every morning and compliments my eyes?”

Jason blinked. “...I can do that.”

Pocket Jason whispered, “But will you?”

Jason lunged. You screamed. The couch got flipped.

Somewhere in the chaos, the wine bottle rolled under the table and Pocket Jason disappeared into a heating vent with a war cry of “I REGRET NOTHING!”

You didn’t see him again for three days.

(He returned with a tiny scarf and a bottle cap shield.)

CASSANDRA CAIN:

You found her in your sock drawer.

No joke. You opened it to grab your favorite fuzzy pair and instead found a perfectly balanced miniature ninja standing in a defensive stance atop your rolled-up socks.

She didn’t speak. She just stared at you with piercing, dark eyes like she could see into your soul.

You blinked.

She didn’t move.

You slowly reached for a sock.

She kicked it off the drawer and said, in the tiniest, softest voice: “No.”

You whispered, “What the—”

She stepped forward. One sock-sized foot in front of the other. “You’re mine now.”

Oh. Okay.

So obviously you kept her.

You gave her a little tea saucer to sleep in and a thimble of honey and she immediately declared your desk drawer “hers.” She still hadn’t said much else, but she followed you everywhere like a stealthy bodyguard. You’d glance over and she’d be perched on your shoulder, silently munching a Cheerio with absolute menace.

You found it adorable. You told her so. She blinked once, nodded, then handed you a toothpick she’d sharpened into a sword.

“For you,” she said.

You might have cried a little.

Then one night, Real Cass got home from patrol. You were watching a show, sipping tea, and Pocket Cass was curled up in your hoodie pocket like a tiny assassin cat.

Cass froze in the doorway.

Stared.

Hard.

“…Is that me?”

You smiled. “Kinda. She’s smaller. But she protects me. And steals my snacks. You’d like her.”

Real Cass stepped closer. Pocket Cass stood up on your chest like she was ready to throw hands with her full-sized self.

Cass tilted her head. “She’s not… talking?”

“Nope,” you said, sipping your tea. “She just sits and judges people. Sometimes cuddles.”

“…Hm.”

Cass held out a hand. Pocket Cass studied it for five long seconds. Then jumped into it like a graceful little wolverine.

They locked eyes.

You held your breath.

Then Cass whispered, “She’s fast.”

“She stabbed a rat with a sewing needle this morning,” you said proudly.

Real Cass cracked a small, delighted grin. “Good.”

They sat together in silence for the next hour. Cass gave her a scrap of her cape as a cloak. Pocket Cass gave her a single sunflower seed. It was the most intense emotional bonding you’d ever witnessed from two people who said, collectively, three words.

Later, when you were brushing your teeth, you saw Pocket Cass curled up on the nightstand. Cass tucked her in with a tissue and whispered, “Mine.”

You blinked. “Wait—her? Or me?”

Cass kissed your cheek and said nothing.

You are now owned by both of them. Congratulations.

TIM DRAKE:

You found him curled up inside your empty coffee mug.

At first, you thought it was just a weird shadow. Then the mug moved.

“Shhh,” a tiny voice mumbled from inside, “I’m in a depressive nap cycle.”

You cautiously picked up the cup. Inside was a perfectly proportioned, fun-sized Tim Drake, wrapped in a corner of a tea bag like it was a depression blanket. His hair was messy, his eye bags were real, and his attitude was absolutely on-brand.

“…Are you okay?” you whispered.

He opened one eye. “Do I look okay?”

“…Fair.”

You offered him a tiny square of chocolate. He took it like you’d given him a reason to live.

Thus began your chaotic cohabitation with Pocket Tim: a miniature detective with too many feelings and not enough therapy. He lived in your cereal box, stole your pen caps to use as swords, and kept trying to hack into your router with a bent paperclip.

Also, he wouldn’t stop flirting with you.

“Statistically speaking,” he said one night, sprawled on your laptop keyboard, “you’re into emotionally repressed black haired men with guilt complexes.”

You squinted. “You mean my actual boyfriend?”

He gave finger guns. “Exactly. So, you’re welcome.”

That’s when Real Tim came home.

He dropped his backpack at the door and stepped inside, phone in one hand, talking mid-sentence. “Hey, did you see the GCPD file I—”

He stopped.

His eyes zeroed in on the mini-him doing a smug backstroke across your tea.

“…What the hell,” Real Tim said, voice flat. “Is that.”

Pocket Tim peeked up from the mug. “Sup, big me.”

You made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a choke.

Real Tim walked over slowly, arms crossed, eyes narrowing. “Why does he look like me during my second year with the Titans?”

Pocket Tim leaned dramatically on a sugar cube. “Because I am. Unfiltered. Unapologetic. Underslept.”

Real Tim looked at you. “Why is he here?”

“He showed up in my cup,” you shrugged. “I figured you'd want to study him or whatever.”

Pocket Tim grinned. “I’ve already mapped out their favorite music playlists. And their zodiac chart. I’m the better boyfriend.”

Real Tim deadpanned, “You’re literally two inches tall.”

“And yet,” Pocket Tim purred, “I take up more emotional space.”

Tim inhaled deeply through his nose. “I’m going to kill him.”

“You’d be killing yourself,” Pocket Tim chirped.

“That’s not a deterrent!”

You were laughing way too hard at this point. Tim turned back to you, scandalized. “You’re encouraging him.”

You wiped tears from your eyes. “I can’t help it. He made a PowerPoint on why I deserve better lighting in my apartment.”

Tim blinked. “…He’s not wrong.”

Pocket Tim gave a tiny mic drop with a crumb.

Later that night, you found both Tims passed out on opposite ends of your keyboard, one curled up on the spacebar, the other drooling on a sticky note. They’d argued for three hours about Nightwing’s leadership style and which coffee beans had the best ROI.

You took a photo.

You were keeping it for blackmail.

STEPHANIE BROWN:

You were eating leftover waffles on the couch when a suspicious rustling came from your laundry hamper.

You stared. Silence.

Then—POOF!

A flash of lavender and a blur of blonde launched from the laundry like a glitter bomb with combat boots.

“Fear me, mortals!” a voice squeaked. “I’m the Spoiler, but bite-sized!”

You shrieked and nearly flung your waffle.

A tiny girl—complete with a minuscule domino mask, purple hoodie, and the most chaotic grin you’ve ever seen—stood proudly on your coffee table. She raised a sewing needle like a sword.

You blinked. “…Steph?”

“Steph 2.0,” she said dramatically. “Improved. Streamlined. Pocket-sized for vengeance and emotional support!”

You offered her a crumb of your waffle. She took it like a trophy and climbed onto your shoulder with the agility of a very tiny jungle cat.

And honestly? She was kind of amazing.

She made you laugh constantly. She would yell things like “Tiny Justice!” every time she knocked over a water bottle. She bullied your phone’s voice assistant. Once, she took down a cockroach using only a rubber band and your toothbrush.

You’d had her for five hours and would already die for her.

Which is exactly when Real Steph got home.

She walked in, swinging her duffel over her shoulder, mid-text. “Babe, have you seen—”

Her eyes locked onto the little menace standing on your shoulder with her hands on her hips like she was posing for the Batfamily Yearbook.

Steph stopped.

Squinted.

Looked at you.

Looked at Pocket Steph.

“…What the actual Gotham is going on here?”

Pocket Steph beamed. “You’re hot.”

Real Steph blinked. “Okay, I know I’ve said that to myself in the mirror, but this is weird.”

“She’s been vibing,” you offered. “Also she called herself the ‘snack-sized spoiler of my dreams.’”

Real Steph made a face like she’d just swallowed a lemon. “I would never say that.”

“You did. In high school. I saw it in your yearbook,” Pocket Steph said smugly.

Real Steph slowly walked over and squinted at her miniature twin. “Okay, look. You’re cute and annoying and remind me of me before caffeine. But you better not be replacing me.”

“Oh no no,” Pocket Steph said, smirking. “I’m just here to keep them entertained when you’re off ignoring her texts for eight hours.”

Steph gasped.

You sipped your drink.

“First of all, rude,” Steph huffed. “Second of all… okay maybe fair.”

Pocket Steph winked. “Also I told them we should get matching hoodies.”

“Oh my god,” Real Steph groaned. “She’s hijacking my entire personality.”

“You don’t own purple, Full-Sized Stephanie.”

“I WILL DROP-KICK YOU INTO THE BATCAVE.”

They bickered. You watched, grinning into your cup like a reality show contestant who’d just stirred the pot and sat back for the fallout.

Eventually, they fell asleep curled together in your lap: one snoring softly, the other tangled in the drawstring of your hoodie.

You weren’t sure who was the real chaos goblin anymore. But you were 100% keeping them both.

DUKE THOMAS:

You found him in a streetlamp.

No, really.

You were walking home after a late shift, phone flashlight guiding the sidewalk, when one of Gotham’s flickering streetlamps suddenly glowed bright gold. From that soft shimmer floated a tiny, perfect miniature of Duke Thomas—complete with curly hair, a yellow domino mask, and armor repurposed from gum wrappers and safety pins.

He hovered for a second, then dropped like a lightbulb into your jacket pocket.

“Oof—ten outta ten landing,” he said, peeking up with a smile. “Hi. I’m your Pocket Duke now.”

“…My what now?”

“Your emotional support vigilante.” He spread his arms. “Travel-sized for your convenience. Mood-brightening. Vitamin D-certified.”

That’s how it started.

In the following days, Pocket Duke became your favorite thing. He rode on your shoulder during work Zooms, insisted on helping you cross streets (“I’m the designated flashlight, okay?”), and gave you pep talks before interviews.

He was a mini motivational speaker with the sass of a bored honor student.

He also quoted Shakespeare during toast-making. No one asked him to. He just did.

He was good company while Duke was gone on another of his missions.

You were in the middle of brushing your teeth with him reading aloud from The Tempest when the door to your apartment creaked open—and Real Duke finally walked in, mid-yawn, hoodie up, duffle bag slung over one arm.

“Hey, babe,” he mumbled. “Im home—”

Then he froze.

Locked eyes with himself standing on your bathroom counter, reciting Caliban in a toothpaste cap helmet.

Real Duke’s eyes narrowed. “Is that… me?”

Pocket Duke stopped mid-soliloquy. “Oh cool, the big version’s home.”

Real Duke turned to you. “Please tell me that’s a very elaborate animatronic.”

You snorted. “He’s been sleeping in the sock drawer and quoting Dead Poets Society for three days.”

Pocket Duke gave a tiny bow. “I’m your better half. If your better half fit inside a teacup.”

Real Duke squinted. “How do I know you’re not a hallucination from my third all-nighter this week?”

“Because I moisturize,” Pocket Duke said smugly, “and your skin has been looking rough, my guy.”

You were crying laughing.

Real Duke rubbed his temple. “This is exactly why Damian calls me ‘Robin Lite.’ I don’t even get the normal clone trope. I get… this.”

Pocket Duke crossed his arms. “Hey! I am efficient. I am charming. And I got them to actually eat breakfast. What did you do? Ghost them fro three days without even sending a single message?”

Real Duke opened his mouth. Closed it. Turned to you.

“…Are you replacing me?”

You raised your hands. “He makes a good case.”

Duke squinted. “I swear to god, if he starts dancing to his own theme song—”

Too late.

Pocket Duke cranked up your phone’s Bluetooth speaker and began performing a self-choreographed interpretive dance to Childish Gambino.

Real Duke sat down on the floor, head in his hands. “I can’t believe I’m being upstaged by pocket-sized confidence.”

You patted his back. “He is kind of adorable.”

Real Duke sighed deeply. “I can’t fight him. He’s me. But fun-sized. He’s like if ego and therapy had a baby.”

Pocket Duke struck a pose. “You’re welcome.”

Later that night, Duke tucked the mini version of himself into a dish sponge fort and muttered, “If he starts narrating my patrol routes in slam poetry, I’m calling Zatanna.”

You didn’t tell him Pocket Duke already had a sonnet prepared for your grocery run.

AGED UP!DAMIAN WAYNE:

You found him meditating in your windowsill.

You’d come home from a long day at work, peeled off your jacket, and gone to close the curtains—and there he was. Cross-legged. Eyes closed. Arms tucked in a miniature version of a League cloak, swaying slightly in the breeze like a judgmental bonsai tree.

“…Hi?” you whispered.

His eyes snapped open. Glowing green. Tiniest scowl you’d ever seen.

“You are late,” he said. “I waited 47 minutes and 13 seconds. I almost activated Plan B.”

“…What was Plan B?”

He gestured to a half-empty jar of peanut butter and your cat looking unusually satisfied.

You decided not to ask.

You named him “Lil D” in your phone and tried not to giggle when he gave you The Look™ for it.

In the days that followed, Pocket Damian became… a force.

He demanded daily fencing practice. With cocktail skewers.

He threatened your toaster for "mocking him with its insolent ticking."

He drew accurate crime scene sketches with a broken crayon and posted them on your fridge.

And the worst part?

You were obsessed with him.

He was adorable in the way that a saber-toothed tiger cub is adorable. Dangerous. Bitey. But your saber-toothed tiger cub.

And then Real Damian came over.

You were on the couch, hand-feeding Pocket Damian peeled grapes (he insisted on not touching "non-sterile civilian produce"), when the front door opened.

Real Damian stepped in. Jacket half-zipped. Hair slightly windblown. Eyes already narrowed in suspicion.

“Beloved,” he called, setting his keys down. “I could not find you at the training center—what are you—”

He froze.

Pocket Damian wiped his mouth delicately with a square of tissue and turned to face him.

“Well, well, well,” he said. “Look what the camel dragged in.”

Real Damian stared.

You braced.

Then—

“What is that,” he said flatly, tone already descending into steel.

You smiled nervously. “He… kind of found me?”

“He is wearing my League insignia.”

“He said he earned it. With ‘blood and honor.’”

“He is three inches tall.”

“He threatened to duel me for my soul this morning. It was kinda cute.”

Real Damian marched over, leaned down, and squinted.

Pocket Damian met his gaze without flinching.

“You lack discipline,” Mini-Damian said bluntly. “Your posture is failing. Your blade hand is clumsy. You do not deserve them.”

You gasped.

Real Damian did not. Move.

His jaw ticked.

You could feel the murder energy radiating like a low hum through the room.

“Say that again,” Real Damian said coolly.

Pocket Damian leapt to the top of your ramen box stack, cloak fluttering behind him like an angry fruit bat.

“You. Do. Not. Deserve. Them.”

“…You’re going out the window,” Damian said.

You yelped. “Wait—!”

But it was too late. Pocket Damian took one look at his full-size counterpart lunging toward him and flung a mini smoke bomb from your salt shaker. The kitchen filled with paprika.

By the time the air cleared, Pocket Damian had vanished into your sock drawer.

Damian turned to you, betrayed. “You allowed that demon to insult me. In my presence.”

“You are that demon, Dami.”

“He implied you should be with him.”

“He said he’d ‘build me a nation from the bones of my enemies.’ Honestly, it was kind of flattering.”

Damian scowled.

“…You’re jealous of yourself.”

“I am not.” He crossed his arms. “I am jealous of the fact that he has clearly manipulated you using your fondness for the pathetic and the strange.”

“…So me, basically?”

He flushed. “You are not pathetic.”

You smirked. “But I am strange?”

“…Your continued tolerance of him proves it.”

Later, after much negotiation, Real Damian agreed not to “accidentally step” on Mini-Dami—under the condition that Pocket Damian slept in a shoebox lined with Kevlar and did not speak unless spoken to.

Pocket Damian agreed. For now.

You found them both meditating on your windowsill the next morning.

In matching poses.

Real Damian, eyes closed, muttered under his breath, “If he mimics my breathing one more time, I will sew his mouth shut.”

You smiled, sipping your tea.

You were definitely keeping them both.