mysthicsblog112 - Tumblr blog

mysthicsblog112 · 2 months ago

Note

Love your writing! It's a bit heavy so no worries if you don't want to but I was wondering how the batboys™️ would react to the reader refusing to accept money from them even in a financial emergency because they're afraid of taking advantage of the fact their partner is rich asf (I'm a sucker for ✨polite✨ angst)

BATBOYS BUT THEY'RE DATING A POOR!F!READER WHO REFUSES TO TELL THEM AND ACCEPT THEIR HELP.

★ TAGS: older!damian wayne, older!duke thomas, angst, not poly, hurt/comfort, jason before he reformed, mentions of violence (not towards reader), small panic attack (not described in detail), anxiety, lots of comforting and love, it hurts them to see you struggle :(((

★ A/N: first ask, omg!! thank you for coming to save me 💞💞💞 i love angst, you are doing me a favour by requesting it, not to worry!! hope this is good enough <333 oh, and quick notice, but this is not at all meant to romanticise the situation depicted, please remember that not having much money is a real struggle that people go through and this work does not aim to diminish it

★ W/C: 3.5k (why is this so long—)

The paper on your door stares back at you blankly—no sympathy in its gaze, and certainly no mercy in its letters, all uppercase and practically shouting at you: EVICTION NOTICE.

You're sure the thud of your bag hitting the ground can be heard from multiple stories both above and below, but in that moment, staring at those two words with static ringing in your ears and the world closing in around you, it's hard to really care.

You think you spend a while standing there, just glaring at the door with no real thought behind your eyes, no real drive to your actions, just this void swallowing you whole.

It's almost hard to believe that just this morning, you were laughing and shoving the shoulder of your boyfriend as he teased you about something you can't even bother to remember. That just this morning, you were beaming and bright and shining all over as you joked without a care in the world.

And now...

Now this.

A light gasp coming from beside you snaps you out of your daze, tired eyes landing on a pair swimming in so much sympathy and pity that it makes you sick to your stomach, and before you even know it, the echo of your door slamming shut rings clear through the hall, paper all but gone from its wooden surface.

The next few days are a blur, spent either packing, or curled up in your bed with dry, crusty streaks coating your cheeks and a phone laying forgotten by your bedside table, arms too weak to pick it up and brain too tired to bother even trying.

This whole thing just came so fast, too fast, that you couldn't even bring yourself to keep the one thing you spent years trying to hide from your lover a secret anymore, not responding to his texts or calls to the point he shows up knocking at your door, and when you open it, his eyes aren't on you, but glued down.

Glued onto the piece of paper in his hands.

You take a second to quickly glance at your door, spotting another tape situated on it.

That motherfucker put up another notice.

Jaw clenched, you turn back to your boyfriend.

-> DICK GRAYSON <-

"Y'know..." he starts, tone soft with a hint of his usual playfulness, but, you notice, significantly watered down this time, "when I said you can come to me for anything, I meant it."

You part your lips to respond, but can't quite bring yourself to let any words actually escape, just like Dick can't seem to bring himself to lift his head up and meet your gaze.

(He doesn't because he feels like he failed you, staring at those two words without registering anything else as he wonders just how long this has been going on for, just how long has his girlfriend been suffering, while he sat there basking in riches and wealth?)

"I can help," he spits out almost too soon, almost too desperate, "I can wire you the money, pay off the—"

"No."

His head shoots up.

"No..?" he echoes, shoulders dropping and form all but kicked puppy. "What do you mean 'no'?"

"I mean: no, Dick."

Your hand goes up, fingers pinching your nose and head shaking from side-to-side as you curse yourself for not even bothering to answer at least one text.

For even showing him where you live in the first place, really.

"Why not?"

"Because," you force out, the word tasting bitter on your tongue, "I refuse to do that to you."

"Do what to me?"

"That," you hiss, gesturing in front of you as though what you're talking about is actually, physically there. "The asking for money, the begging for funds—God, Dick, I can't. I can't take advantage of you like that. That's not why I dated you."

"Dated?" Dick stares at you, brows knitted and eyes pouring out all the hurt siphoned by his voice.

"That's..." you trail off, shaking your head. "That came out wrong."

Your lips pull down, eyes glazing over before he catches your hands and refocuses your hazy pools towards him.

"Hey," he calls, soft and sweet. "You know you wouldn't be taking advantage of me, right?"

You scoff, and immediately, he lifts a hand up to cup your chin, coaxing your averted eyes back to him.

"I mean it," he says, firmer, "I'm your boyfriend. Your partner. I'm here to help. Money or otherwise."

"I can't, Dick. I can't."

With a tug, you crash into him, hands planted firmly on his chest as his arms curl around you, the warmth like a hammer to your shell, a crack in your dam, and before you even know it, the tears that were glistening in your eyes just moments ago start to spill over.

Dick's arms secure you, grip not faltering even while you soak his shirt in your ugly tears and snot, even while you squeeze it tight enough to dig into his chest through the fabric, even while you admit to lying to him for years about a situation that pains him so.

"Stay with me for a while."

"Huh?" You sniff.

"You said you won't accept my money," he continues, and you crane your neck to find him already looking down at you, "so accept my hospitality instead."

"Dick..."

"Just until you can get back onto your feet again," he pleads. "Just let me help until you can get back up on your own."

"I..."

"Please, [Name], I can't let you live on the streets. I can't."

And he means it, staring at you with such heartbreak, the sob you've worked so hard to keep down climbs back up your throat, sending you crashing straight back into his chest.

And as you stand there, his arms around you and his nose buried in your hair, you think to yourself that, just this once, you'll allow yourself to reach out.

-> JASON TODD <-

"Always fucking hated that prick," he growls out, voice all sharp edges and nasty scowls. "He looks at you like you're some piece of meat and not an actual fucking human being."

"Yeah... I hate him too."

Jason's eyes flit up, gaze narrow and lips taut. "Then why the fuck did you never tell me about this?"

You purse your own lips, words lost on your tongue—

"I can kill him."

—until he says something like that, of course.

"What?" you can't help but scoff out, incredulous. "Jason, no."

The paper scrunches in his hands, bunching up like some petty inconvenience rather than the words that have quite literally decided your living situation for the next who-knows-how-long.

"Why the hell not?"

"Wha—? Are you hearing yourself right now?"

When he only lifts a brow in response, you try for a different approach.

"I thought you only killed criminals."

"He looks at you like a criminal," he quips back, sharp and quick. "That's enough."

"No. You are not killing someone just because I didn't pay my fucking rent on time."

You cross your arms over your chest, stance firm, rigid, as stubborn as your will as you eye him down with a look that promises consequence should he choose not to listen.

A beat passes without a word.

Then—

"Fine." His shoulders fall with a grunt, but the topic doesn't fall alongside them. "If you won't let me kill him, then I'll just pay for your new apartment instead."

"No. No way."

His eyes narrow. "I wasn't asking."

You return the look. "Neither was I."

The moment stretches, the two of you glaring at each other with steely gazes and tight jaws, each equally as unyielding as the other.

(Jason thinks to himself that your glare isn't as fierce as usual. Like it's lacking something. A will. A drive. A reason to continue pushing forward. When did his girlfriend start to look so tired?)

His gaze softens. "Doll..."

Just like that, like his look is made up of some sort of soothing magic, your shoulders fall, and he catches you before you can go spiralling in a pool of your own thoughts.

"What's wrong?"

"I can't do that to you, Jay." You shake your head into his chest, voice all but muffled. "I can't use you like that. Not you."

"You wouldn't be using me, [Name]."

"Yes, I would," you grit out, squinting your eyes shut to force the sting away. "I would..."

He goes to respond, but you beat him to it.

"You've already had to go from having everything to having nothing before." You heave a breath, chest tightening with the effort of holding that damn salty water back. "And now that you've got it back... I can't take that from you."

"You wouldn't be taking it from me, [Name]."

You go to echo your response before, but it's his turn to beat you to talking.

"No, you wouldn't." You can feel him shake his head above yours. "I choose how I spend that money, doll. It's my decision. And if I choose to spend it on you, then it'll be spent on you. There is no using one another. I love you."

Your breath hitches, head shooting up to find his own already facing you, and his eyes are are so soft, so sincere, that you can't help the sob that lurches from your throat, arms looping around his neck and pulling him down until his lips slot perfectly against yours.

And as he stands there, kissing you even through all the salty water that coats your lips, you yield just a little more to the idea of getting some help from someone you love.

-> TIM DRAKE <-

"So that's why you weren't answering any of my texts." He lets out a chuckle, but it comes out dry and insincere.

(He stares at the page. All of a sudden, it all makes sense. The refusal to eat at places that aren't small cafes or local diners, the avoidance of high-spending activities like shopping at the mall or going to theme parks, the amount of dates spent just streaming movies at yours or walking around the same park a dozen times over. How did he not see before? How can he call himself a detective and not notice his own girlfriend's struggling financial situation?)

"Sorry..." You go to hug one arm, voice small and gaze smaller.

"Y'know you could've told me, right?" He glances up, brows knitted and tone soft, reassuring. "You can tell me anything."

"I know."

"Then why didn't you?"

You look up and wince, Tim's defeated expression stirring something within you, something small but no less significant than all your other emotions.

"You already have so much on your plate," you start, averting your gaze because the look in his eyes is just too much to handle. "I didn't wanna worry you."

"I'm always worried about you," he responds simply, "I'm worried about whether or not you get home safe. I'm worried about whether or not you ate, or got enough sleep. I'm worried that some day, somehow, you'll grow bored and leave me. I worry all the time.

"It's how I show I care."

"I know that..." you trail off.

"Then you also know that giving me one more thing to worry about wouldn't make much of a difference."

You stay quiet, and so Tim sighs, carefully going to reach for your hands and cup them with just gentle enough of a hold to give you room to pull away should you choose to.

You don't, of course.

"You know you don't have to go through this alone." Tim's thumbs rub gentle circles over your knuckles, his voice a grounding source that anchors you, keeps you from straying too far into the ocean. "I'm here for you, always."

He's always been good at that. Being there for you. Comforting you. Of all his brothers, Tim is probably the most emotionally aware. The most painfully empathetic. It's so easy to yield when he's the one talking to you.

It's why you kept it a secret in the first place. You knew you'd fold so easily the second he confronts you.

So you plead, "Please, Tim."

His brows knit.

"Don't do this. I can... I can fix this myself."

His lips pull down. "You know you can't."

You want to defend yourself, to tell him he's wrong, you can, but your lips wobble, and a lump blocks your throat, and your eyes just start to shake like a breaking water tank threatening to spill all its contents.

And Tim sees it all.

"Tell you what," he starts lightly, soothingly, "I'll help pay for a new apartment and keep track of how much. Then, when you earn enough, you can pay it all back. You won't be using me. It'll be like a loan."

He knew your reservations before you even told him them. Of course he did. He's Tim. Your Tim. Your sweet, kind, loving Tim.

"I don't deserve you," you say, and you mean it, so he pulls you into his arms and rests his chin on your head, rubbing up and down your arms in that way that just releases all tension from your shoulders.

And as you both stand there together, the only sound being your silent sobs against his skin, you think you can just about get behind this compromise.

-> DUKE THOMAS <-

He whispers your name, soft, betrayed, with a look about the eye that almost cracks your heart in two.

"Why didn't you say anything..?" he asks, and his gaze is all blue, all rain showers and stormy clouds. "Why didn't you tell me you were still struggling with money?"

When you don't respond, he chooses to continue.

"I thought we told each other everything. Ride or die, remember? We—we've been through it all, haven't we..?"

You wait for a beat to pass before finally saying something.

"You... you just looked so happy lately. For a while now, actually. Ever since the Waynes took you in...

"I—I didn't wanna ruin that."

Duke goes quiet.

(In his mind, he's wondering where he went wrong, where on earth you got the idea that his happiness trumps your own, that you weren't both in this together. Did he... did he somehow do something to make you feel that way..?)

A quiet settles over the two of you, a sombre atmosphere that even the most classical of musicians couldn't put into notes, that even the most tragic of tales couldn't spin into words.

In that moment, for the first time since both you and Duke were little, the silence is static, no understanding or connection cutting through, no seemingly telepathic words jumping from one mind to the other, just a void, empty feeling that holds you hostage and threatens your very relationship.

"Duke—"

"Let me help," he cuts you off. Then he lifts his head, and his eyes are narrowed, determined.

"Huh?"

"Let me help you. I can. I have the money now," he says with a will, like he knows his words will come true, like he's so sure he'll be able to do this for you.

"No," you shoot him down, "I can't do that to you."

"Do what?" he scoffs out, arms folding over his chest. "Accept my help?"

"Accept your money," you correct him, and almost as soon as you do, he loses the hard look, settling for something softer instead—gentle. "I can't use you like that."

"[Name]. Don't you think I know that?"

You raise a brow.

"How you feel right now: don't you think I know it?"

You purse your lips, and he keeps going.

"Did you forget already who I was before this..? Did our time together mean that little to you..?"

The accusation is enough to make your eyes widen, words tumbling out your mouth so fast, you can't even second-guess them.

"No, no of course not!"

"[Name]." He shakes his head, pulling you into his arms. "I know what it's like to feel like you're using someone for money. Fuck, I know better than anyone else." His brows scrunch, expression looking pained for a second before steeling once more. "That's why it took me so long to even accept Bruce's offer."

You rest your hands gently against his chest, and then also let your head rest against his own, those brown swirls drowning you.

"So trust me when I say that this isn't you taking advantage of me, or using me for money," he whispers softly. "It's you accepting my help. It's you letting me in."

You blink, lashes growing wet.

"You could never be a burden to me. Ride or die, remember?"

You do. You do remember.

God, you remember it all.

And as he holds you close, as he rests his head against your own in your once again, shared silence, you're sure you'll remember it for the rest of time.

-> DAMIAN WAYNE <-

"Tt. I'll have Pennyworth hire a moving agency and wire you enough money so that this is never a problem again."

Your eyes blow wide, brows shooting straight up to your head, and mouth opening to protest like your life depends on it.

But Damian is already moving away.

In fact, he's already got his phone out, finger swiping away at it with a speed that could rival the Flash himself as he takes step after step down the hall.

So you bound straight after him.

"No! Wait, Damian, wait!"

He stops, your hands planted firm on his chest as you take a moment to catch your breath, the lack of movement you've been doing the past few days making just that short sprint feel like too much.

Fucking hell.

Your chin is tilted up.

"Have you been crying?"

You flinch. "No..."

His fingers trace your cheeks, right over the crusty streaks you know are there, and you wince as you're reminded of just how filthy you must appear in front of him.

"You have," he observes, moving your head from side-to-side gently, "You haven't been eating either."

You purse your lips, choosing not to respond lest you risk another observation that will shake you to your core.

"Beloved"—there he goes again with that petname. The one your heart lurches in your throat for—"you haven't been caring for yourself."

(When?—he wonders—when did you stop partaking in the act of caring for your own health? And why did you not think to come to him, your boyfriend, for help in doing so?)

"I..."

His fingers leave your chin, and you almost drop it to chase the feeling of them before catching yourself and quickly withdrawing.

God, just how touch-starved are you?

"It seems as though I'll need to ask for a larger amount to be wired through than I initially thought."

Once more, you find your eyes turning into saucers.

"No!"

He raises a brow.

"No," you repeat, quieter, but still just as sure, "Damian don't, please."

"Why not?"

"Because"—you think you're shaking, but there's no breeze in the hall, and it's nowhere near winter—"I... I can't take your money like that."

"It's not my money," he responds simply, logically, "it's my father's."

"I know. And I can't use you to get to his money."

"Technically speaking," Damian starts, his head tilting ever so slightly to the side and his lips still the straight line that they were just moments ago, "it's not even my father's money, it's his parents', and both are deceased, so I see no problem in taking it."

When he goes to add more, he stops abruptly, brows furrowing, and for the first time since appearing at your door, lips pulling down.

"Beloved, you're shaking."

"I can't stop..." you whisper, and perhaps it's quiet enough for him not to hear, but you don't even think you're saying it to him. "I can't stop."

"Habibti." He gently squeezes your arms, and your pupils dart up. "Copy me."

His chest rises and falls. His breathing. Copy his breathing.

He means copy his breathing.

So you do.

When his chest rises, so too does yours. And when it falls, yours falls straight after.

It takes a couple of tries before you're in complete sync. But once you are, once you've finally matched the pace of your boyfriend, the ringing in your ears dies down, and the world around you starts to clear up again. You start to feel real again.

"Better?"

You hum.

He pulls you into his arms.

And your eyes flutter shut.

"Rest assured, if you don't wish me to this much, I will not wire you the money," he finally speaks after a long while of standing there with you in his arms, "but I will find a way to get you out of this situation through other means. Even if those means cost me everything."

And as you stand there, the warmth of his presence blanketing your form, hiding you from the world, you let yourself quietly sink into the comfort of his words.

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mysthicsblog112 · 2 months ago

Text

PUCKER UP!

Damian Alg Ghul x Girly!Reader

Synopsis: It's hard to believe this cold, ruthless assassin would let someone even think of putting eyeshadow on him... not after they found out about you.

W.C: 3.0k

Tags: Fluff ♡, some brief mentions of blood/injury, smau

"Damian, are you wearing," Stephanie paused. "Polish?"

Tim looked up from the computer in record speed at the question. His brother, demon child, wearing nail polish? Whatever direction this conversation was about to go he needed to be involved.

"Don't be ridiculous Brown." Damian spat back.

"Very defensive for a supposedly innocent man." Tim quirked a teasing brow. Damian's scowl deepened at the sight

"And the questions have only begun!" Stephanie added with a clasp of her hands. Damian's tormentors took a deep breath in preparation.

"What's with you smelling so good recently?"

"Why do you have specks of glitter on your face?"

"How are your hands soooo soft?"

"I really need you to be honest with me on this one Damian," Stephanie said rather sternly. A serious expression on her face and a finger pointed at Damian.

Okay, that made him a tad nervous. Is something wrong with Stephanie? Did he upset her in some way?

"How are you glowing?"

What.

"You're a vigilante! You barely sleep and spend your days *a"Damian, are you wearing," Stepahine paused. "*Polish?*"

Tim looked up from the batcomputer in record speed at the question. His brother, demon child, wearing nail polish? Whatever direction thus conversation was about to go he *needed* to be involved.

"Don't be ridiculous Brown." Damian spat back.

"Very defensive for a supposedly innocent man." Tim quirked a teasing brow. Damian's scowl deepened at the sight

"And the questions have only begun!" Stephanie added with a clasp of her hands.

"What's with you smelling so good recently?"

"Why do you have specks of glitter on your face?"

"How are your hands *soooo* soft?"

"I really need you to be honest with me on this one Damian." Stephanie said rather sternly. A serious expression on her face and a finger pointed at Damian.

Okay, that made him a tad nervous. Is something wrong with Stephanie? Did je upset her someway?

"How are you glowing?"

What.

"You're a vigilante! You barely sleep and spend your days and nights sparring! You're skin should be awful, you should reak of sweat!"

"Wow, thank you." Damian deadpanned and Tim chuckled.

"But you're not! You're..." She swished her hands around trying to find the word

"Radiant!"

"How'd you do it?" She plopped herself into a desk chair. It skid across the floor a little closer to Tim's from force of impact. She stared in awe waiting fir her answers. Damian sighed, really not wanting to tell them about probably your most common date; spa and makeup nights. Self care nights as you called them.

This morning...

Frantic footsteps echoed through the walls of your home as you scurried around trying to get everything you needed. Picking up makeup products just to drop them remembering that you already had it over at the manor. Your hair was somewhat done, you were dressed and had all your jewelry on. So at the very least you looked presentable.

'What else do I need?' Your eyes scanned the now messy bedroom, you'd have to clean it when you get back. A ring from the doorbell had you rushing down the stairs.

'Doesn't matter haven't the time for anything else." You flopped down onto the bench by the front door and grabbed your favourite shoes, chucking them on as quick as possible. After taking a deep breath you slipped out the door.

"Hello Alfred!"

"Good morning Ms. Y/n," Alfred greeted with a smile. "May I take your bag?"

"Oh, thank you!" He took your bag from you and opened the car door. You always forget that Alfred actually does butler things and isn't just a member of the Wayne family.

The seat belt clicked and you gave it a quick tug to make sure it was secure. Can't risk having anything happen to this pretty face!

The car came to a slow stop at the tall, metal gates leading to the Wayne Manor. You'll never get over how beautiful Damian's home is. The gates opened slowly. The grande and detailed architecture loomed before you as you stepped out at the steps to the front door. Alfred handed you your bag and headed up the steps to open the manor door.

It was a magical feeling everything you came here. The manor always smelt so clean, but rich, and yet cosy.

"Y/n!" A voice boomed from around the corner of the entrance. It was Dick.

"It's nice to see you again." He leaned in a gave you side hug.

"It's nice to see you too!" You reciprocated. "How are you?"

"I've been good, what about yourself?"

"Eh, alright. School has me busy."

"Yeah I imagine. Damian's been swamped with assignments."

"Beloved." Damian called from the top of the stairs before he made his way down. You met him at the last step. He took your bag from you and turned away.

"Come on." He began to head back up the stairs and to his bedroom.

"You're a real romantic, you know that Damian." Dick deadpanned at his little brother's actions. You laughed to yourself as you followed Damian.

Damian sat on his bed, scribbling some notes down, whilst you took up the space at his desk. He has a perfectly good bathroom with a mirror, but you choose to use his desk and your compact mirror. Simply so you can stay in the same room as him. If you hadn't already set yourself and your products up he would've offered to do his work in the bathroom, on the floor beside you. It's inefficient but it's with you.

He looked up and realised you were almost done. You were finishing up your mascara. All that was left was your lips. Remembering he was in possession of one of your lip glosses he reached into his bedside locker.

"You're lips gloss, beloved." He called and stretched his hand out with the clear and silver container rested in his palm.

"Thank you!" You shuffled over in his desk chair. After snatching your lip gloss you took a moment to stare.

"You have very nice lashes." Damian stared back in confused silence for a second before responding.

"Thank you."

"I should do your makeup!" You gasped.

"Absolutely not."

"Oh come on!"

"No."

"Babe please!" You begged as you hopped onto the bed beside him with a pout. He quietly examined your face. Several beats of silence passing before he spoke with a sigh. He was going to regret this.

"Fine."

He just couldn't say no. I mean, how could anyone say no to a smile like yours? That gorgeous toothy, smile that makes him weak in the knees. You could be dripping head to toe in blood and he still wouldn't be able to deny your heart of what it desires. So here he was, hands settled on your thighs, occasionally leaving to grab some sort of product for you. You were working your magic, eyes locked onto his tanned face. One hand was settled under his jaw, hoping his face up and your dominant hand held a small brush coated in concealer. He had learnt that this was possibly your least favourite step, after eyeliner, carving eyebrows. No matter what they just never seemed to be even.

You leaned back and held his face infront of you like it was your newest oil painting.

"Damn, I'm cooking so hard right now." You smirked at the sight. Symmetrical eyebrows.

"You're not cooking beloved, we are not even on the kitchen."

"No! I mean," you cut yourself off laughing. Damian didn't spend much time on social media. He just didn't find any entrainment in it. "It's slang for doing something really well."

You stretched your back and took another moment to simply look at him. My god was he beautiful. You don't know how you managed to bag someone so handsome and so repulsed by everybody.

"Beloved?"

"Hm?"

"You're staring." Warmth rushed to your face at the comment. To be fair, you were staring, hard. It's not your fault though! He's just so gorgeous!

...

"It's not fair!" You suddenly shouted.

"What do you need such nice brows and lashes for?" Your hands wildly gestured towards his face. He didn't flinch at any of your antics. Just quirked the corner of his lips up.

"For you to admire, I suppose."

"You better not get them seared off during some misson." You warned.

"I'll cry!"

"Please don't cry over something so miniscule." Damian pleaded with some concern. You actually crying at the sight of him with his eyebrows and lashes seared off is not an impossible scenario.

He sighed in contentment as your train of thoughts slowed and you picked the makeup brush back up. Your hands cupped his face again and he subconsciously leaned into it. He remembers the gallery of texts that had been exchanged that eventually led to these spa and makeup dates.

1 month ago...

He lazily held his phone above his face. His costume was torn up and discarded on the floor of his bedroom. He was lying to you again. Patrol was not fine. He was not fine. A concerningly deep gash was hidden under some already bloody wrapped bandages on his upper left arm. He had not gotten a wink of sleep in two days. He was exhausted, in every possible way. But you sending pictures of your cat in hopes it would cheer him up, really did work. You couldn't make the physical pain of his injury and exhaustion go away but you could always take it off his mind.

The morning sunlight shined through your open window. You squinted reading the texts from your boyfriend. Sighing, you got up to get ready for the day. You didn't know what to do. Damian was always drained from his vigilante activities and there's no way you can persuade him to take more days off than Bruce already forces him to take. The big mirror on the bathroom wall reflected you thinking face, that was also covered in toothpaste. As you spat it out an idea came to mind. Skincare, snacks, and time together. That's what makes you relax, surely it would help Damian out too. You're a genius.

The summer air was warm against your skin. You opted to walk to the corner store since the weather was so nice. You'll grab some of his favourite snacks and some face masks for you both.

Upon entering the shop, a cool breeze from the air-con and the refrigerated section hit you. It was refreshing. You headed for the snack section picking up some crisps and sweets for you both to share. After scanning the whole shelf of food you nodded in satisfaction at the collection in your arms and made your way to the hygiene section. You nabbed some deodorant and two green tea face masks before going to the counter.

$19.50, the economy's gone crazy.

The handles of the paper bag crumpled in your grasp. Damian would've given out to you for texting while walking, but he wasn't here so it was fine. You pulled out your phone, it's charming swinging about, and sent him a text, inviting him over for the night.

That evening...

You forgot to mention that the snacks you got earlier included face masks. He needed a break. A moment to relax. What better way than a night with his amazing girlfriend, a cool and hydrating face mask, surrounded by tasty snacks? That sounds like a dream to you. You had all your usual skincare set out on your bathroom countertop. You swayed back and forward awaiting Damian's arrival. You couldn't exactly continue you're routine without your toner. As you plugged your phone in to charge, the sweet chime of your doorbell rang through your home. You padded down the stairs, nearly slipping in your fluffy slippers. The lock was undone and the door was sung open quickly, like it held the cure to all you're problems on the other side. You'd say it did.

"Hi!" Damian had the bag of shopping tucked to the side before the door was even open. He knew you'd jump straight into his arms. It was routine at this point.

"Hello beloved." His greeting was muffled by your shoulder. Damian stepped inside and gently kicked the door shut. A quiet wince escaped him as he dropped you back onto your feet. Unfortunately for him, the noise didn't escape you, but you held your tongue for the moment.

"I got what you asked for and some popcorn," He handed the bag to you and knelt to remove his shoes. "I know you always forget it."

"I knew I forgot something!" You looked down into the bag to see your favourite popcorn. As much as you love it you never remember to buy it.

"Thank you!" A loving peck was place upon Damian's cheek. He gazed down at you as you took his hand, leading him up the stairs and to your bedroom.

He sat himself down on your plushie-infested bed. The pink duvet dipped beneath him. You hummed to yourself as you continued your skincare routine now that you had your toner.

Damian subtly shifted his arm. That gash from last night (this morning?) still hurt like hell. Alfred had stitched and wrapped it up for him. He removed his hoodie to see the bandages had been soaked through with blood. They really needed to be changed.

'I should've done this before I came here.' He internally groaned as he grabbed a box of bandage wraps from his bag.

'Need to be quick.' Damian used a blade he always carried to slice off the dead bandages. He shoved them into the bandage box and made a mental reminder to toss them out later. He didn't like lying to you but he hated seeing you worried more. As time went on Damian found that wrapping a wound is a lot more difficult with one hand.

You re-emerged from the bathroom to see Damian trying to wrap his arm back up as quickly as possible. Old, bloody bandages discarded somewhere he hoped you wouldn't find. He knew if you saw the quantity of blood he'd lost you freak out. More than you were about to.

"Oh my god, Damian!" You yelped. "You said your patrol went fine!" The face masks were abandoned onto your vanity as you bolted over to him.

"This is no big deal Habibti," He groaned as he accidentally grazed his nails across the gash. "I've dealt with worse."

"Just cause you've dealt with worse doesn't mean this is fine!" Damian didn't have the opportunity to rebuttal. His injured arm was being gently cradled in your hand as you gripped the other and dragged him into the bathroom.

"Sit here." You gestured at the closed toilet seat. You began rummaging through your drawers. A bottle of saline solution was in your grasp. You picked up some cotton pads you typically use to clean off your makeup.

"I use this to clean my piercings when they're new. It should be fine to clean around your stitches." You informed him as you poured some onto the cotton pad and leaned forward.

"This'll sting."

"I'll be fine." His body tensed up at the contact of the cold liquid. It did in fact sting, but he was too busy focusing on the smell of your perfume. As you clean his wound he distracts himself from the irritating feeling by gazing at your perfume collection and trying to figure out which one you were wearing. The bang of your small trash can against the wall as you discarded the cotton pads brought him back. You threw out the bandages that he had begun to wrap around the wound a moment ago and grabbed a box of fresh ones. He watched as you carefully wrapped his arm up. You certainly weren't as familiar with the task as he was, thankfully, but you were doing a better job since you had two hands to work with instead of one.

"And, all done!" You sang with pride as you stuck the end of the bandage with a Sanrio plaster.

"Really?"

"It's my personal touch," you placed your hands on your hips. "A reminder of who's always here to take care of you." You finished softly. He couldn't help but let a little small find its way onto his face.

"Thank you, beloved." Damian stood up and glanced at his left arm. If any of his family saw this he wouldn't hear the end of it.

"Wait here!" You scurried out of the room and returned with two packets of face masks in your hands.

"No."

"Oh come on!" You pleaded.

"It'll feel nice, and it'll be fun!" He stared at you slightly displeased.

"I'll give you a kiss?"

"You'd do that anyway, you are my partner."

"I'll give you a lot of kisses." He took in your swaying figure and tight-lipped smile. You desperately him to relax and have a bit of fun with you.

He sighed, "fine."

You hugged him, leaning into his good arm.

"No pictures though."

"Ugh, fine!" You pushed away and propped yourself onto the sink countertop. You giggled to yourself as you opened one of the packs.

"C'mere!" He situated himself between your legs, his hands holding the edge of the counter.

"Put this on." A colourful headband was shoved into his hands as you put your own on. He glanced at you to see if you were serious. All he saw was your giddy face. Reluctantly he put the headband on, pushing his dark hair out of his face.

"You can't touch your face once this is on, okay?" You held his face as a brush covered in green rubbed along his skin. What has his life come to?

Here you were sitting on a countertop with your boyfriend between your legs. Both are sporting green face masks. You couldn't help but laugh at Damian's serious expression. He was counting down the seconds until he could take the concoction off his face.

"When do you plan on fulfilling your end of the deal?" He asked very seriously. Did I mention he's very serious about this?

"When we take these off."

He exhaled roughly through his nose, like a fire breathing dragon.

"You'll live until then!" Your arms were thrown over his shoulders and your fingers fidgeted with the hair on the nape of his neck.

"Maybe."

"You're lucky I didn't make you wear cucumbers on your eyes." Damian huffed from beside you. The two of you were snuggled under the covers of your bed and surrounded by snacks. It was basically heaven. An action movie Damian had heard Dick talk about with high praise played in the background. He turned to face you, you were rested on his right side, his good arm loosely around your waist.

"What?" You questioned as he stared at you.

"The deal." As interesting as the movie was he had some other priorities. He watched as a grin spread across your face.

"What deal?"

"Oh come on."

"I have no idea what you're talking about!" You shrugged your shoulders theatrically.

"Tch." He clicked his tongue and brought you closer by the arm around your waist. You braced one hand on his chest and the other on the mattress. The bags beneath his eyes were so much more visible from this distance. They made you remember why Damian was here to begin with. So you leaned him and pressed your lips to his.

A/N: So happy I got back the motivation to feed the Girly!Reader fans. Idk what to do cause I've got so many other ideas and fuck all Girly!Reader ideas... I'm not stopping Girly!Reader series, but I don't think I'll be posting any Girly!Reader stuff for a while. Especially since I want to try to write for some non DC characters. (Tim Drake x Slasher!Reader is burning in the background.)

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mysthicsblog112 · 2 months ago

Text

𓄴， ﹙ ♡ ﹚ 𝓢HORT N' SWEET ! ◌ 𓈒 ׄʬ

💌 — JASON TODD ᶻ𝘇𐰁

𖥻 . sabrina carpenter!reader( minus the singer part ). reader curls her hair. fem!reader. random names,, cherries !!( not really. ) grammatical errors. reader curls her hair. fluff.

REQUESTED ; SUGGESTED : : @jtoddsangel : : hiii i've never actually requested anything before (so i'm kinda nervous idk lol) but i just love love love your writing soo .. can i request jason with a reader who is basically just like sabrina carpenter. the humor, the curls, the everything you know and tysm sweet angel <3 xoxo

BOOKS ; DC BOOK ; RULES

ᨦ𓏲 ، ݃♟❜ : : AAAA, TANIA !! vv happy i was the first ever 😋. hi , hi . by s. carpenter i had NO idea if that includes her being a singer :/// so, so, so, so, sorry if i got your req wrong 💔. i also tried to make it seem s. carpenter 😭 ( the writing, since the pov is leaning more on reader's side. ). i feel like i made it seem dirty ,, like. oh. alwd. pretend it's not idk,, i tried using big words, but i was like. "ion think it matches the vibe" so no no. short n sweet bc it's short af & lip gloss r sweet( at least mine is)

"jay. jay. jay. pick up. pick up. pick up."

you're lying on your stomach, legs kicked up, voice half-way between dramatic urgency & well, shenanigans as you chant into your phone. your bedroom is filled with the scent of strawberries, vanilla, & you. & “you” means chaos. you just curled your hair ( again ), & you're wearing an over-sized baby tee that reads "sassy since birth" because, are you not?

"hello?"

oh, his voice. scratchy. tired. confused. jason todd.

"hey, do you believe in lip gloss soulmates?"

"..what?"

"i'm testing a hypothesis. research. come over. like now. code red. emergency."

"are you bleeding?"

"only from the heart. hurry, jay."

click.

& that left a very confused jason todd who arrives 11 minutes later. sometimes you wonder if he's flash's secret love child.

he's in his leather jacket ( duh ) & in a scowl that you know is very fake. you can tell by the way his eyes slightly soften when he sees you sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by…,

"are those all lip glosses?"

"you're so observant. meet my beloved children, jason."

"there's like fourteen."

"eighteen," you correct him, holding up two tubes like they're precious jewels. "but today, we're reducing it to the crème de la crème. the tastiest. the plushest. the kissiest."

he blinks. hard.

"this had better not be some tiktok thing."

"it's a me thing." you pat the pink plush pillow beside you. "sit, red hood. it's science."

"i'm not wearing lip gloss."

"who told you you were wearing it?"

that catches his attention. his head tilted a little, that obvi-obvious interest in his eyes, the same one he uses when somebody's being too polite in the narrows. suspicious. wary. 100% jason.

"explain."

"easy," you chirp. you twist a tube named peach please & apply it with without any small mistakes. jason observes the shape your mouth takes, & you could swear his eye winks. at least, you think he should wink.

"you tell me which one tastes the best."

"tastes?"

"mhm." you edge closer. the tiny scent of peaches blows between you. "how else are we supposed to know which one's the winner?"

he looks at you. the you're-pulling-me-into-your-shenanigans-again look. "you're ridiculous."

"you love it."

he does. jason todd loves you in all your mess, your arrogance, your jokes & sugar & sass & mess. did i say mess? he loves how you flirt like it's breathing & how your laugh makes the air feel fizzy.

"you want me to kiss you."

"so bad," you sigh dramatically. "for the sake of science."

his jaw clenches, & you knos he's struggling not to smirk. he whines like you asked him to sweep up evidence, but he leans in anyway.

peach.

sweet. soft. you're hardly touching him, just a little kiss, a peck. a test. his hand trembles like he wants to wrap it around your waist but doesn't.

"thoughts?" you ask, pursed lips.

"i didn't know they had flavors."

"he didn't know they had flavors," you tease in a gasp. "you think this gloss is just for shine?" like what's the point of the cute fruit shapes if it doesn't have flavors?

"i thought it was for aesthetics."

"aesthetics," you quote back, scandalized. like he just insulted every woman on earth. "baby, it's for taste. atmosphere. experience. okay next."

he blinks once more. you apply berry me alive.

he doesn't even hesitate this time. he leans in, his mouth grazing yours a bit longer. it leaves you a bit breathless. & perhaps a bit dizzy.

"better. tangier."

"mmh, tangy. we like that."

lip gloss #3 : : mint condition.

"whoa," he says, lips tingling. "this one tastes like i kissed a winter breeze."

"ooh, poetic."

"shut up."

lip gloss #4 : : coconut crush.

"tastes like vacation."

"i am a vacation."

"you're a full resort."

damn right, you are.

his voice is deeper now. warmer. fonder. like he could get used to this. you don't say anything, but your heart does a little spin. & your brain screaming “focus, bitch.”

lip gloss #5 : : bubble trouble.

"this is what pink tastes like," he grumbles, licking his lips afterwards. you laugh. he's so jason. very jason. super jason. literally jason.

lip gloss #6 : : vanilla vixen.

"classy. soft. like kissing a cupcake."

"awww."

he looks at you for a beat too long.

lip gloss #7 : : cherry bomb.

you don't say a word when you put it on. neither does he. the scent was strong. the air changes, this time, when he kisses you, it's not like before. it's definitely different.

longer. deeper. slower.

he kisses like he's starving.

like he's committing it to memory.

like this isn't a game anymore.

like he's done being patient.

when he draws back, you both look dazed.

"winner," he mutters.

you blink, lips kiss-swollen, hair curled & lovely & heart doing flips. your brain is probably malfunctioning. "duh. cherries always win."

"you set that up."

"me? with an agenda? never."

he squints his eyes, then does the unthinkable. he grabs the cherry gloss.

"...jay."

"what?"

"you're applying it to yourself?"

"yeah. for science."

he grins. & next thing you know, you're kissing him again.

& again.

cherry never seemed so sweet.

later, you both find yourselves on your bed, his jacket on the floor, your lip glosses messy like confetti.

"you gonna review it or what?" he whispers, thumb tracing the outline of your cheek.

"maybe. five stars. jason todd seal of approval."

he hums. "you're ridiculous."

"short n' sweet."

"hmm?"

"that's what this night is," you say drowsily. "short n' sweet."

he places a kiss on your forehead. "no. just sweet."

jason todd is so real. & he smells like leather, gunpowder, & now, he tastes cherry lip gloss. he's so, so real.

you win.

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mysthicsblog112 · 2 months ago

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୨୧Sukuna being weirdly infatuated by his human girlfriend (sfw)

cw: fluff, possessive behavior, sukuna being a menace, light darkish yandere undertones, mild language.

It started off with the weird weight of his stare.

You've gotten used to it by now-almost. The way his gaze settles on your sleeping face like a hand, heavy and hot and impossibly still. He watches you like he's dissecting something, like he's trying to unravel you with his eyes. Sometimes, you wake up with a jolt, and he's already leaning over you, arms folded, face unreadable.

"You're twitchy," Sukuna mutters, voice low and scratchy like something old. "Guilty conscience?"

You don't bother answering. You're used to his comments, the way they hover between teasing and threat.

Tonight, though, he's extra... weird. Not in a violent way - those days are specific, intentional, but in that offbeat way he gets when he forgets what being human is like.

He's sitting at the edge of the futon, one hand resting on your thigh. His fingers tap- annoying, steady. When you peek one eye open, you find him already looking down at you. Eyes glowing faintly in the dim room.

"You're not that interesting, y'know," he says.

"Then stop caring," you grumble, voice rough with sleep.

He grins. That slow, unhurried curve of sharp teeth and something more sinister than amusement.

"I could. But then I might miss how stupid your face looks when you sleep." His hands lifts, and suddenly, he's poking your cheek. Hard.

You flinch. "Sukuna-!"

He presses again. Now both fingers, tugging your cheek like you're some stress ball. "You're soft. It's weird. I don't like it," he says flatly, even as he keeps doing it.

You swat at his hand, but he catches your wrist easily, pins it to the bed beside you. His grip is warm - too warm. Heat coils off of him like a furnace, a reminder that he's not like anything that should exist in this world.

"You have so many expressions," he mutters, gaze dragging over your face. "It's exhausting."

"Then leave."

"No." His reply is instant. Lazy but final. "You're mine."

You stare at him, and he just shrugs like it's the most casual statement in the world. Possession, obsession - it's not romantic with him. It's primal. He looks at you like a dragon cluled around treasure it doesn't understand. He doesn't love you the way a man should.

But still... he stays.

His hand slides to your chin, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. He leans closer, like he's trying to memorize the tiny details of your face, skin, the way your lashes flicker with each blink. You feel the slow curl of his breath when he exhales near your mouth.

"I could crush you," he says softly, almost thoughtfully. "Break every part of you and put you back together wrong. You'd still look at me like that."

You don't respond. You're not sure how to respond to something like that.

He tilts his head, studying you. Then, with zero warning, he pinches your nose.

"What the fu-Sukuna!"

"Just checking," he says, snickering. "Wanted to make sure you weren't a corpse. You're so still sometimes."

You roll over, trying to shove your face into the pillow. He let's you, but you can still feel his eyes on the back of your neck. Like the heat of a fire that won't die out

"Go to sleep, freak," you mumble.

"You're calling me a freak?" He laugh, voice echoing in the low-lit silence. "You're the one who sleeps like a baby next to the King of Curses. You've got issues, woman."

His fingers brush a stray strand of hair from your temple. Gentle, too gentle. It doesn't match the way he talks or looks or breathes.

"I could watch you forever," he mutters, barely above a whisper now. "And maybe I will. So don't die on me."

You blink slowly, eyes closing again. There's no real comfort in his words - only a strange, twisted kind of promise.

You drift off, eventually, despite the awareness of his presence. The weight of his stare doesn't fade, but his touch becomes still. He watches.

He always watches.

And even when you sleep, sukuna is still there. Like a curse that chose you.

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mysthicsblog112 · 2 months ago

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PROFESSIONAL BOUNDARIES

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reader

divider by: @cafekitsune & @iydiamartinx word count: 1.6k synopsis: They’ve kept their relationship buried beneath professionalism and protocol, but when someone else starts to flirt with you, Batman’s jealousy slips through the cracks—and so does his control.

The Watchtower’s central command room hummed with quiet conversation, the low murmur of the Justice League echoing beneath flickering lights and the soft whir of the holo-display. The briefing was nearing its end, though you barely noticed. You were seated between Wonder Woman and Batman—though “seated” might’ve been too generous a word. Half-slouched in your chair, one boot propped on the edge of the table, fingers absently twirling a knife you’d snuck in just for the habit of it.

Batman was the one leading the meeting today. The holo-display behind him rotated rapidly through surveillance footage, shifting maps, and streams of encrypted data—all of it moving too fast for the average eye to track. But you weren’t average.

And besides, none of it was news to you. You already knew the plan. You’d helped him write it, not that the rest of the team were aware of that little tidbit.

Which was why you didn’t feel the need to hang on every word as he droned through it again like a stiff-backed schoolteacher.

“Metahuman conflict in Markovia is escalating,” he said, voice low and smooth, as if carved from granite. “We’ll be dispatching teams in rotation.”

Your fingers stilled.

The knife paused mid-spin as he began to list the assigned units. You weren’t paying close attention—until he reached your name.

You blinked. Then slowly sat up, chin coming to rest on your palm as you leaned forward. Your gaze sharpened. You hadn’t been paired with him in the original draft. That… hadn’t been part of the plan.

But he didn’t so much as glance your way.

You leaned forward lazily, elbow propped on the table, chin in your hand. Your voice was a purr of silk and smoke.

“Aww, Batsy,” you drawled, letting the nickname curl like a tease on your tongue. “I knew you couldn’t get enough of me.”

Across the table, Flash blinked twice.

Diana’s brow rose, amused but unsurprised.

Superman coughed—though whether it was to cover a laugh or his disapproval, you couldn’t quite tell.

“You’re a strategic fit for the mission,” he said coolly as he moved to begin typing on the holopad. “Everyone else—meeting dismissed.”

You smirked knowingly.

“Mhm,” you murmured, stretching back in your chair as the rest of the League began to rise. “If that’s what you want to call it, sweetheart.”

You slinked in closer as the others filtered out—Flash already halfway through a joke to Diana, Superman nodding a polite goodbye. You waited for everyone to leave before you dragged a finger across the exposed skin of his jaw, just beneath the edge of the cowl.

“You know,” you said, your voice dropping into a velvet whisper, “if you miss my company that much… you could just ask for it. I’m very good at entertaining.”

He didn’t flinch.

Didn’t even turn to look at you.

But you saw it—the subtle tension that rolled across his shoulders, the slight grind of his jaw beneath your touch, the way his gloved hand flexed once before his knuckles cracked sharp in the hush between you.

“Dismissed, Y/N.”

That only made your smile stretch wider.

You straightened with a slow roll of your spine, gave him one last smirk, and turned to leave—your steps unhurried, hips swaying with unapologetic purpose. The door hissed open as you passed through it, but not before tossing a final glance over your shoulder.

Oh, you were going to get it later for that one.

You hadn’t made it twenty feet from the briefing room before a voice slid in beside you.

“Alright, I gotta ask—how the hell did you get away with that?”

You shrugged, your voice light. “He doesn’t scare me.”

Hal Jordan let out a low whistle, clearly impressed. “No kidding. You’ve got more nerve than most of the League combined to talk to Spooky like that.”

You offered a slow, sideways smile. “You call him that to his face?”

He grimaced immediately. “God, no. I like having all my teeth where they are.”

A quiet snort escaped you. Hal’s grin widened, clearly encouraged.

“So…” he began, scratching the back of his neck like he was trying to seem more nonchalant than he was. “You, uh… got plans after this?”

Before you could answer, you caught the shift of movement at the edge of your vision. A shadow approaching.

“Lantern,” Batman’s voice cut through the air like a blade, sharp and cold. “You’re needed in the lower hangar. Now.”

Hal blinked. “What—now? I haven’t even—”

The air turned colder. Something in Batman’s tone left no room for negotiation, and Hal, to his credit, picked up on it fast. He raised his hands in exaggerated surrender and took a few steps back, though not without flashing you a cheeky wink.

“Rain check, sweetheart.”

You didn’t respond, just offered a lazy shrug and watched him walk away.

The door hadn’t even hissed shut behind Hal before Batman was on you.

Two long strides and you were pinned—back against the cool metal wall of the command deck. One gloved hand braced near your head, the other found your waist—firm, grounding, possessive.

Your lips curled. “Someone’s jealous.”

“I’m not—” he began, but the words barely made it past his lips before your fingers found the centre of his chest plate, tracing the outline of the bat symbol.

You tilted your head, brow arching. “Oh? So if you aren’t… maybe I’ll take him up on his offer for drinks.”

His grip on your waist tightened immediately, fingers flexing through the layers of tactical material like he was resisting the urge to give into his baser desires. Instead, he stepped in, close enough that there was no space left between you two. His voice dropped to a low, razor-edged growl.

“Don’t forget who you belong to.”

You arched up into him, your lips just shy of his, gaze dark with challenge. “Maybe I need a reminder.”

His mouth crushed to yours with no hesitation, no warning—just the surge of everything he kept buried under armour and silence. His gloved hand tangled in your hair, the other holding your hip in place like he could anchor you there forever. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet. This was your Bruce—letting his iron clad control slip.

You kissed him back with equal force, your hands fisting in his suit, mouth parting for him without hesitation. His body pressed flush to yours, heat radiating through armour you both wore.

You could feel the tremble in his control—the rigid lines of muscle taut beneath his suit. He was a man who was always controlled. Always composed.

Except when it came to you.

A soft sound escaped you when his teeth grazed your lower lip—sharp and possessive, leaving behind a faint sting that only made your blood rush hotter.

He pulled back just enough to speak, his breath ragged against your cheek.

“Is that enough of a reminder,” he growled, “of who you belong to?”

You smiled, slow and wicked, eyes still half-lidded, lips kiss-bitten and tingling. “If you admit you were being jealous,” you murmured. “You know I was just being polite.”

He leaned in again, lips brushing your ear. “You were teasing.”

A shiver danced down your spine at the sound of his voice—low, frayed, barely clinging to composure. You’d pushed him on purpose. And you were still pushing.

“You know if you keep kissing me like that again while we’re in public,” you whispered, “and we won’t be a secret much longer.”

His hand slid from your hip to the small of your back, pulling you in until your bodies aligned perfectly—fitting together like puzzle pieces “Then stop giving me a reason.”

You tilted your chin, daring him. “Make me.”

His hand moved, slowly smoothing down the curve of your spine and then he was yanking you back to his lips.

Fifteen minutes later, the two of you walked into the hangar bay—Batman as his usual cold and professional self. And you, the picture of casual ease, sauntering in like your normal self. Both of you acting as if nothing had happened.

Except it had.

Your lips were still a little too pink. Your hair, despite a quick fix in the mirror, had that artfully tousled edge no amount of finger-combing could completely smooth out. And the faint shadow beneath your jaw—a whisper of a bruise blooming—that told its own story.

You were halfway to the transport when Hal spotted you.

He was leaning against the side of a ship, mid-conversation with Green Arrow before he suddenly paused. His gaze found you first, sliding over your face with idle interest. But then it lingered and his eyes narrowed as he clocked the mark on your jaw.

Then the lips.

Then the hair.

Then—

His gaze shifted past you to where Batman emerged behind you, the cowl shadowing his expression but not hiding the ice behind his stare.

They were locked on Hal giving him the infamous bat glare.

Hal stiffened. His attention bounced between the two of you. You gave him a faint, knowing smirk. The tilt of your head that all but dared him to say something.

And he gulped.

“…Right,” he muttered under his breath, already stepping back. “Yeah. No drinks. Got it.”

Batman didn’t say a word.

He didn’t have to.

Hal was gone in two seconds, leaving nothing but the echo of retreating boots and a poorly veiled sense of self-preservation in his wake.

You didn’t look at Bruce—not until the ship’s ramp sealed behind you both with the soft hiss of pressurized air, sealing you both inside away from the outside world.

Then, at last, you turned and in amusement—you said, “I think he got the message.”

Batman didn’t respond but a faint smug smirk ghosted at his lips.

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