#Batman reader insert

[pricetagofficial]

Day 14: Blue Christmas

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reader

Warnings: bits of the angst, but lots of fluff there at the end.

A/N: Welcome to day 14! We are counting down the day! I hope you all have a great weekend! Header by me and divider by @cafekitsune

Masterlist

The halls were quiet, too quiet. It was almost Christmas, and you were alone in Wayne Manor.

The kids were all grown, and gone. Building lives on their own, creating their own identities outside of Bruce Wayne and the Batman. Well, all of them except maybe Damian. But he was well on his way to becoming a man, getting taller and taller each day as he looked more like his father complimented by his mother's features.

Bruce was across the world, and took Damian with him. Alfred had gone back to London to visit family, leaving you the sole inhabitant of the extensive manor.

There were times you didn't mind being alone, but you could feel it. The lingering cold that came with loneliness. In all your years with Bruce, there were only ever a few times you were truly alone.

But each time, he was never gone this long. It had been almost a week, and you missed him so much you had to convince yourself not to beg him to come home. The world needed him, the Justice League needed him-- but so did you.

No matter what you did, it couldn't chase away that feeling. Not even listening to Christmas music was working. Every time you played some, Blue Christmas and other about being with loved ones for the holiday played and it only made your mood worse.

At this point, it really was going to be a blue Christmas.

You were sitting on the couch, by the fire trying to find some comfort when your phone began to ring. Your heart lightened seeing Bruce's name appear on screen.

Picking it up, you saw he was requesting a video chat.

Answering the phone, you put on a smile seeing the love of your life looking back at you. He was still wearing the suit, but his cowl was off and his hair hung in his face as he smiled back.

"Hey, sweetheart."

"Hey yourself."

Bruce's face softened just a bit, only for it to grow concerned.

"What's wrong?"

"Why would anything be wrong?" You shrugged, ignoring the nagging feeling.

Bruce let out a sigh and cocked his head to the side, as Damian poked his head into view.

"Do I need to make my presence known to anyone in Gotham who dares to cause issues?"

You laughed, Damian's comment filling your heart. Even when they weren't near you knew they still loved you.

"No Dami, I promise everything's okay. Just missing my boys, I guess. This manor is too big for just one person."

"Well, surely Alfred is there too--"

You cut Bruce off. "He already left to visit his mother, he wont be back until the twenty-second."

The silence on the other end of the phone made you a little nervous.

"So, you mean you're all alone in Wayne Manor?"

If you hadn't known Bruce for so long, his question would have seemed normal. You could already see him beating himself up because he's left you alone for so long.

"Bruce, I promise I'm fine. I have the fire going, and I was about to start a new book."

You had to keep in the giggles watching Damian and Bruce both hum the same way. When the two of them hummed like this, you knew they were thinking.

"Boys, don't do anything drastic."

Damian's expression morphed into one you knew all too well. He was already up to something. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

You let out a sigh. Before anyone could answer, you were interrupted by a loud beeping behind them.

"You have to go."

Bruce gave you a sad nod. "I'm sorry, my love."

You shrugged, "It's alright, Bruce. It'll just be more stories to tell me when you get home."

The three of you promptly said your goodbyes and hung up. You were once again, alone. Grabbing that book you said you were going to start, you opened to the first page.

You were barely through the second chapter when a body plopped itself next to you on the couch and the other sat on the ground by your feet.

If you didn't see the flash of blue followed by red, you would've grabbed the fire poker and done some damage. But you knew who it was.

Glancing out the corner of your eye, you watched as Dick made himself comfortable curled into your side with his head on your lap like he did when he was a kid.

Jason was at your feet, reading a book of his own mirroring the days when he too was young and so full of joy.

"So, how long ago did he call you."

"Right after he got off the phone with you. Tim is picking up Cass and Duke before they make their way over."

You sighed. "I knew he was going to do something like this, I told him I was fine."

Jason tilted his head up at you. "Don't you tell us frequently that it's okay to not be fine?"

"I've also told you not to use my own advice against me."

Dick chuckled, leaning into your touch as you gently played with his hair. "It's not our fault you helped raise two very intelligent people,"

Within the hour, you were suddenly surrounded by your kids. The ones you helped raise, and mold into the people they were today. You were maneuvered into the middle of the couch because every single one of them demanded they get their special thing with you.

So, of course it ended with you basically dog piled by three grown adults and two at your feet. Naturally there was a lot of bickering, because none of them were as small as they used to be.

But you weren't going to complain. You had your family, and you knew soon enough Bruce and Damian would be home to take their places next to you among everyone else.

[uncpanda]

Found Out

AN: The Law and Order SVU and Batman crossover no one, absolutely no one asked for, but I still wrote. Cause I can ;)

Warnings: Mentions of serial killers. Nothing graphic.

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reader

For being some of the smartest, most intelligent, detectives in the world, the superheros in your life are fairly oblivious. And on some level you’re really thankful for that. It allows you the freedom to do your job without their henpecking. 

On the opposite side of the spectrum, the people you work with, your second family, are some of the kindest, most intelligent, and hardworking detectives you’ve ever met, but they’re also oblivious to the fact that you’re married to a billionaire. 

You had never really meant to keep the worlds separate. It had started off innocent enough, you’d joined NYPD as a beat cop while Bruce was out studying to become the Bat. And when he got home you’d spent every spare minute helping him. Between that and the company he’d been too exhausted to ask anything other than a few questions about your job. He knew you worked for a large organization in NYC and that was it. He trusted you. And the boys were just as oblivious as their father. The only person who knew was Alfred. He’d been the once to come to your graduation from the academy while Bruce was still away. 

On the flip side, your SVU family knew very little about your home life. They knew you were married, they knew you had kids, but they didn’t know how many. After all, you’d only had the two pregnancies; Terry and Matt had both been big but welcome surprises. Then again ALL of your boys were surprises. And you had perfected your technique of avoiding the paparazzi for both SVU and Gotham High Society. 

Honestly, in your mind, there was no reason at all for your two worlds to meld. When you were at home, you took care of your family; when you were at work you tried really hard not to think of them, because despite crime fighting, you didn’t want them anywhere near these types of crimes. 

Of course, nothing lasts forever, but you figure twenty years is a good run, especially when Bruce is driving Dick away for his desire to be a cop. You watch them go back and forth for hours, before you finally step in. There are groans from the other boys about stopping the fight while Cass just grins, and you ignore all of them. 

“You’re going to stop this right now Bruce Wayne.” 

His eyes are hard, his jaw is set, “You don’t understand Y/N.” 

Out of the corner of your eye you watch Alfred roll his eyes in exasperation, “I understand better than anyone here.” 

His hands go to his hips, and you know he’s about to dig a very deep hole for himself, “Sweetheart, I love you, and I know you work the computers from time to time, but this is different. There are guns involved and he’d have to work inside the system.” 

“So?” 

“You can’t do both; there’s too much to hide.” 

You smile sweetly at him, “I don’t know, I’ve been doing both for the past twenty years. Then again, I suppose it might be different for me since I just worked the computers for a while.” 

He blinks at you, and you know he’s connecting the dots. You ignore him, and turn to your oldest, his eyes wide, “While I understand you wanting to do Bludhaven, if you want to do NYPD, we can drive into the city together. Let me know, I have more than a few favors I can call in.” 

Tim is the first to voice the statement, “You’re a cop?” 

You shrug, “First grade detective, but I’m taking the sergeants exam in a few weeks.” 

Jason stares at you, “Seriously? Are you joking right now?” 

“I joined when I was twenty. I’d finished college early thanks to AP classes, went in as a beat cop, and after five years I became a detective. I’ve been working at SVU for the past fifteen years. They’re like my family away from home.”  

You can tell there are more questions, but no one seems brave enough to ask them. You start to head out of the room, when Bruce asks, “Why did you hide it?” 

You pause and turn to him, “I didn’t. You just never asked.” 

As you leave you hear Alfred ask, “Would you like a shovel for the hole you’re digging sir, or should I just make up the couch for you?” 

You go  wait in your room, and lie down on the bed. A few minutes later Bruce comes in, and you look at each other. His brow is furrowed, eventually he asks, “Why didn’t you tell me? How could I not have known?” 

You smile at him, “I didn’t want you to know Bruce. I was on my own path, and I knew you would worry. At the start I told myself I would tell you eventually, but. . . you were so involved with Batman and you were doing so much good . . . I didn’t want to add to your stress. You were barely sleeping three hours a night at that point. 

“Then we Dick, and I considered telling you but he needed us to focus on him, and after a while it became easier to excuse it. It became my secret identity. Are you mad?” 

He lets out a laugh, “I dress up as a bat, and fight crime as a vigilante. I don’t think I can be mad. I think I’m worried.”

“About?” 

“Us drifting apart, not knowing you?” 

You shrug, “I’m me Bruce. I just also happen to be a cop. I see a lot of bad stuff, everyday. The last thing I want when I come home is to talk about it. Same as you guys. When I’m home I want to be happy, but if you want to know I’ll tell you on one condition.” 

He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, after a moment he asks, “What’s the condition?” 

“You can’t involve Batman. NYPD is not Gotham PD.” 

He nods after a minute. The two of you spend the night talking, you tell him about some close calls, you tell him about the one life you’d been forced to take, you tell him about your frustration. You tell him about Liv and Elliot, and how Elliot leaving crushed Liv, but she rose from the ashes to become a lieutenant. You tell him about Munch and Cragen, both of whom have retired. You tell him about Finn, Rollins, Amaro, Carisi, Dodds and Barba. It’s nearly six in the morning by the time you’re finished. 

“And that’s the majority of it.” 

You’re both lying on the bed staring at each other. Bruce has been largely silent, he’d skipped patrol, and only asked a few questions. A part of you wonders when his anger will hit; it doesn’t. Instead he says, “I am so freaking proud of you,” and then he kisses you. And you can’t help but think, that in a normal marriage, a normal family, this would have been a big deal, it would have broken them. In your family though? It’s another day. 

You call out of work that day to catch up on sleep and spend the day with your family. The boys come up with a bunch of reasons as to why they should have realized you were a cop. 

“You work really weird hours.” 

“You never wore heels to work.” 

“You never wore dresses either, come to think of it?” 

“Is this why we own a penthouse in NYC?” 

Jason is the one who asks, “Where do you keep your gun? I thought those weren’t allowed in the house?”

“You don’t need to worry about it. It’s locked up.” Logically, you know each of your boys knows how to use a gun, mainly for the purpose of knowing how to disarm someone holding a gun. You still don’t want them anywhere near it. For that reason, it’s kept in a DNA safe in Alfred’s room. 

When you go back to work the next day, you have your gun and badge on your hip. All of the men in your life focus on it. Bruce corners you in the kitchen as you’re pouring coffee into a travel mug and whispers, “You look sexy as hell with the badge.” 

You laugh, and then you kiss him. You’re the one who drops Cass, Tim, Damian, Terry, and Matt off at school. Jason is in college, and he drives himself. Dick is still contemplating his options. 

The fact that your family knows makes things a lot easier a few weeks later when Carl Rudnick and Greggory Yates escape from prison. You can hear the worry in Bruce’s voice, when he begs you to be safe and not do anything risky. You snort at that and he chuckles, “I know, I’m a hypocrite, but I’m your hypocrite.” You roll your eyes, because the big doofus, is in fact, yours. You also know he’s keeping a close watch on the man hunt. 

Three days later Rudnick is back in custody, but Yates is still on the run, back to Chicago you’re pretty sure. You’ve gotten maybe five hours of sleep total in those days? You’re exhausted, but you have reports to fill out, and Chief Dodds, the commissioner and a whole bunch of brass are hanging around. 

You’re in hour three of doing paperwork, when you hear whispers. Your eyes flicker up to find your husband smiling at  you from across the room. He’s holding a doggy bag full of food, he’s dressed in a suit that costs thousands of dollars, and you know that people recognize him. 

Finn leans forward, “What the hell is Bruce Wayne doing here?” 

You hear Carisi whisper, “Maybe he’s dating Leiu?” 

You can’t help it, you burst out laughing, because you sometimes forget it’s not common knowledge that Bruce is married, despite the ring on his finger. You avoid galas with the best of them after all. You call it the Batman tax; Bruce can fight crime and you don’t have to show up to stuffy dinner parties.  

Bruce smiles at the laughter, before approaching your desk, he settles into the chair next to your desk. “Really? No pictures of me or the kids?” 

You scoff, “Work stays at work, home stays at home.” 

He frowns, “I’m getting you pictures.” 

You don’t argue with him, “What are you doing here?” 

“I brought you food. Alfred and I figured you hadn’t eaten.” 

“I haven’t had anything outside of vending machine junk in days.” 

He scoffs, “What happened to taking care of ourselves?” 

You shrug, “I’ve been hunting serial killers.” 

His face goes serious, “But you’re okay?” 

“As okay as I can be. They got a few more people, our sergeant took a bullet to the shoulder, Rudnick is back in prison, but Yates is headed only God knows where.” 

His fingers twitch, and you know he’s itching to do something, but he can’t. He can’t get involved in this too. He has all of Gotham to worry about and thanks to the league, sometimes he has to worry about the world. 

He lets out a breath, “Can I join you while you eat?” 

“Yes. You can catch me up on the goings at home.” You lead him past your shocked colleagues, and a room full of shocked officials in Liv’s office and to the breakroom. While you eat, Bruce assures you that the boys are fine, but Damian apparently butchered the hedges again. Clark was apparently being a pain in his ass too. The man of steel wanted your family to come to Kansas for Thanksgiving. 

“I’ll probably have to work, use that as an excuse.” 

Bruce grins, “This job has perks.” 

You lean forward and peck his lips, “Lots of them.” 

When you’re finished you stand up to leave and there is a room watching the two of you. You sigh, and Bruce mutters, “It’s good to know the vultures remain consistent.” 

Chief Dodds is about to step forward and ask a question when you step towards Olivia, “Bruce this Liv. She’s saved my ass more than once over the years. Liv, this is my husband Bruce, remember I talked about him?” 

She grins, “Yes, but you failed to mention he was Bruce Wayne.” 

You feign nonchalance, “Did I? Hmmm.” 

Bruce smiles, it’s the one that has everyone jumping to meet his every need, the one that says he’s as innocent as a choir boy, and he would be your best friend if you let him. You smirk at him while he shakes Liv’s hand, “Thanks for watching her back. The boys and I appreciate it.” 

That’s when Finn steps forward, “That right, you guys have a huge family, right?” 

Bruce’s brow furrows in fake concentration, “We have Dick who is twenty, Jason is eighteen, Cass is Fifteen, Tim is fourteen, Damian is ten, Terry is six, and Matt is four.” He looks at you, “How’d I do?” 

“Perfect score.” 

“We have a full house, but it’s nice.” 

You nod, “Let me walk you out.” 

You make sure Bruce gets to his car, you kiss him, and promise you’ll be home by morning. Once he’s gone you head back up to find everyone waiting on you, it’s Finn who declares, “You have some explaining to do.” 

You sigh, life was easier when no one knew anything. 

[currymariana]

GUYS, I' AM BACK!!!!

Actually, I never left; I just struggled to find the motivation to write again. I was feeling unhappy with my writing style and constantly comparing myself to others, thinking things like "they're so much better than me" or "that's how you should write" or "you suck," and those kinds of things. I wasn't frustrated with my story, but with how I wrote it.

But after a while, I realized a few things: English isn't my first language (heck, it's not even my third); I'm not a professional writer; this is just a hobby, and if there are people who enjoy it, it can't be all that bad. I was being too hard on myself for no good reason. 'The tear in my heart' is a story I've had in mind for a long time, and I wish to share it with anyone who's interested. I've every bullet point mapped out from the beginning to the end; now, I just need to shake off my laziness and self-criticism and actually write it. And I don't even know if people are still interested.

With that being said, I've decided to make some changes. From now on, I'll be rebranding the entire aesthetic of the story, possibly even reconsidering the title (it started to sound a bit tacky to me - but i would like to hear your opinions) and updating th cover too. I'll be changing some scenes just to ease my mind, but these won't alter the storyline at all.

I don't even know if anyone is even reading this; or if it matters to you. Yet I'm writing this for myself and perhaps help someone going through a similiar thing. Don't be too hash on yourself; this is meant to be enjoyable, so embrace the fun. If you want to write  a cheesy story or a serious one, follow your heart. We're not earning from this; we are fans who write fiction (or make arts) for others fans. If it's not fun anymore, it's okay to let it go. We're not flawless, and neither are our content. But do what's best for yourself —I extend this advice to writers, artists, and all who engage with this form of expression.

I'm sorry for the lengthy text, but I felt it was necessary only to express myself but also to explain  and express my gratitude to everyone who enjoys or has ever appreciated "The Tear in My Heart." You guys are absolutely the best; thank you for everything. And for those still here... I hope you'll enjoy this new phase.

[ktficworld]

The twist had me wheezing

“I want a divorce” - Bruce Wayne x Reader

Well. The title is rather self-explanatory. Hope you’ll like it ;) : 

My masterlist blog : @ella-ravenwood-archives

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                                                     ******

It wasn’t a rare occurrence for the youngest Wayne boy to barge uninvited in the Kent’s household. He’d come to play video games with Jon, or to just hang out with his friend. 

More often than not, he’d stay for lunch (and of course compare every single thing made with what his mom or Alfred make). And though he never called to say when he would come, apparently thinking it uncessary to do so, he was always welcomed. 

He was such a good friend to Jon, that neither Clark nor Lois minded. Both boys had a good influence on the other, as surprising as this might sound. Besides, Jon too, often went to Wayne Manor uninvited. 

Though unlike the Kents, Bruce grumbled about it all the time. 

Mainly because the kid always flew there using his powers. Your husband told Clark countless times to just ask and he would send a helicopter to fetch him…of course, only Bruce Wayne would think it reasonable to get a helicopter instead of his son flying discreetly there (he always made sure to land in the forrest next to Wayne Manor, so no one would notice him).

Yes, Damian was always welcomed in the Kents’ house, wether he was invited or not. Lately, Lois even managed to make him do the dishes, a feat that she was very proud of. 

Oh and if only she knew that you were the one responsible for that change in your son. One day Jon was visiting and helping Alfred to clean up after diner, and you were thanking him. That’s Superman’s son “betrayed” his friend and made a comment about Damian never helping out when he visited his house, which made you scold him and tell him that it was the polite thing to do to at least offer some help ! 

You’d never tell Lois of course. It was better that she thought she was the one convincing your son to do it. 

Today was one of those unplanned visit. 

Damian knocked on the door (which should have been the first sign that something was wrong, as usually he would directly climb through Jon’s bedroom window. What was it with those Wayne boys and not using doors ?). 

Clark was the one to open and was indeed more surprised that the boy knocked rather than him being here uninvited.

“Hello Mr. Kent, is Jon here ?”

“Mr Kent” ? Asking politely if his son was here and not just making himself at home by coming in ? Clark had no shadow of a doubt that this was your doing. You probably had a little conversation with him about the fact that climbing through people’s windows wasn’t very nice. 

Only you, could make your youngest son behave like that.

“Hi Damian. And yes, he’s upstairs doing his homework. Come on in.”

“His homework ? Maybe I should come back later, then ? I don’t want to bother him, or you.”

That genuinely rendered Clark speechless. Has his best friend’s son been replaced by someone else ? A form of alien body snatcher or something ? Since when did Damian care about wether Jon was busy or not ? Not that he would impose himself if he really was, but homework ? Damian would usually help him out with it so it would be done fast and then they could hang out. 

Clark was staring at the boy with his mouth open, not sure wether it was really Damian Wayne in front of him or not, when Lois walked past them and noticed the boy.

“Oh hey there Damian, coming to see Jon ?”

By saying that, she was expecting a sarcastic : “oh no, I came here to visit the neighborhood, I’m very interested in real estate” or something of the like, as obviously he was coming to see Jon. But she liked little snarky Damian, he made her laugh, which is why she asked him “dumb” questions on purpose sometimes. So she was very surprised when instead, he said : 

“I was, but he’s doing his homework so I should come back later when he’s not busy. I don’t want to be a nuisance or anything.”

Lois stopped in her track. For a few seconds, she wasn’t sure wether the boy was serious or just extremely sarcastic (just like you). But after observing him for a while, she could clearly see he was being genuine. She looked at Damian curiously. 

Which made the boy uncomfortable. Why were they staring at him like that ? What was their problem ? Were they having a brain aneurysm or something ?  Should he just…leave ? Or should he make sure they were ok first ?

But before Damian could do anything, Jon came downstairs and saw all of them bundled up at the front door.

“What’s going on here ? Mom ? Dad ? …Oh hey Damian !”

“Hi. Are you done with your homework ?”

“Oh yeah, it was easy peasy ! Hey come on, I just got to a new level in « Cheese Viking » and unlocked new weapons !!”

Jon ran back upstairs, not even noticing that his parents seemed to be frozen in their place, staring intently at Damian. Your son stared back for a few seconds, wondering what got into them, before following Jon up.

There was a few moments of silence, before Clark turned to his wife and said :

“Did he just…Was he just being…”

“Weirdly polite and considerate ?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah. Must be (Y/N)’s doing.”

“Must be.”

Keep reading

[shortnsweetsposts]

Child!Damian: *Trying to hug Bat!reader*

Bat!reader: Leave alone, baby.

Child!Damian: *Looked up at Bat!reader with them big ol'eyes*

Bat!reader: ...

Bat!reader, starts ugly sobbing and hugged child!Damian back: YOU'RE MY BABY. YOU'RE MY BABY AND I LOVE YOU SO MUCH.

Batfam: Oh wow

[ahqkas]

♯ ATTRACTIVE THINGS THEY DO . . . without realizing

BRUCE WAYNE

rolling his sleeves

bruce wayne sat at his desk, eyes scanning the papers in front of him with a focus that bordered on obsessive. his brow furrowed slightly as he sifted through the reports, the weight of his responsibilities pressing down on him. with a sigh, he leaned back in the chair, his broad shoulders rolling as he stretched, the fabric of his shirt straining just enough to hint at the muscle beneath.

he reached down to his cuffs, fingers moving with practiced ease as he undid the buttons. the action was simple, but there was an undeniable smoothness to it. slowly, he pushed the sleeves up, the fabric tugging against the defined muscles of his forearms as they flexed with the motion. the shirt rode up slightly, revealing the veins beneath.

once the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, he flexed his fingers briefly, feeling the weight of the day settle into his body. there was no rush, no hurry. bruce wayne wasn’t just a man who wore suits—he was a man who controlled the world around him.

looking down and leaning in to hear you better

he stood tall, his imposing presence filling the space as he leaned in slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. the difference in height between you made the moment feel all the more intimate, as though the world around you had faded into the background. his broad shoulders, strong and steady, seemed to fill the room with the weight of his silent power. every inch of him radiated control, and yet, there was something almost magnetic about the way he was focused on you now, narrowing the gap between you.

he tilted his head just a little, his gaze softening yet still intense, before his lips parted slightly. with a quiet, almost imperceptible shift in his posture, he leaned closer, his height forcing you to tilt your head back just to meet his eyes.

“sorry, what were you saying?” he asked, his voice low and smooth, the words lingering in the air between you. there was no rush in his movement, no hint of impatience—just the steady presence of a man who knew the effect he had, who made every action feel deliberate, calculated.

DICK GRAYSON

stretching

dick grayson towered in the middle of your bedroom, a small stretch escaping him after a long day of training and patrol. with a soft grunt, he raised his arms high above his head, his back arching slightly as his muscles flexed in the motion. the action was simple, but the way his body moved with effortless grace caught the light in just the right way, accentuating the sleek, toned lines of his chest and abdomen.

as he reached upwards, the hem of his shirt lifted slightly, revealing the faint line of his happy trail—dark and subtle beneath the fabric. his abs tightened with the stretch, his posture perfect and confident, yet so natural.

when his arms finally lowered, he relaxed, a small, satisfied smile curling on his lips, unaware of the effect the simple stretch had on your wandering gaze.

running a hand through his hair

he leaned back against the post of your bed, his chest rising and falling with each steady breath after another long night of patrol. he was tired, but not exhausted—just enough to feel the strain of the evening settling into his muscles. his hand moved instinctively to his hair, running through it with a relaxed sigh. the motion was effortless, but there was something undeniably attractive about it. his fingers tangled in the dark strands, pushing them back, only to leave them even more tousled than before.

his hair, usually neatly styled, now fell in messy waves, a little wild and chaotic—much like dick himself. as he scratched the back of his head, his tousled look gave off a carefree vibe, as if he didn’t have a care in the world despite the weight of his responsibilities. the slight rumple only added to the charm.

his lips quirked into a soft, knowing smile as he caught the look in your eyes, momentarily lost in them—so damn predictable. he had you right where he wanted you.

JASON TODD

leaning against a doorway

jason todd stood in the doorway, his posture relaxed yet undeniably intimidating. his arms were crossed over his chest, biceps flexing slightly with the movement, a stance that spoke of quiet confidence and a hint of defiance. his shoulders were broad, his body leaning casually against the doorframe, but there was an edge to him—something hard and unyielding beneath the surface. the way his weight shifted ever so slightly to one side gave him an almost effortless air, as if the world had to adjust to him, not the other way around.

his dark eyes scanned the room, taking in everything with a sharp focus, though he didn’t seem to be in a rush to move or speak. the leather jacket he adorned hung from his frame, the subtle creases and folds of the material giving it an air of worn-in familiarity, like it had seen too much for too long. but his gaze—intense, guarded—never left your figure, as if he was watching for something just out of reach, something that only he could sense.

the way jason held himself in the doorway, arms crossed with a hint of tension in his posture, felt like a silent challenge for most, though there was nothing overtly aggressive about it. it was just the quiet power of a man who was used to being underestimated, a man who didn't need to say a word to command attention.

wearing a shirt that fits just right

he moved through the motions of his training with practiced precision, the rhythm of his strikes steady and controlled. his black shirt clung to his body, the dark fabric stretching over the defined muscles of his chest and back as he moved. the fit was snug, highlighting the sheer strength in his frame, the subtle curve of his biceps flexing with each punch and kick.

swaet began to bead on his forehead, trailing down his temple as he focused on his technique, his breathing steady despite the exertion. the shirt, stretched tight across his shoulders, rode up slightly as his arms reached high, the lines of his stomach momentarily visible as he performed another series of rapid, forceful punches. his torso flexed, muscles tightening and releasing with each movement, and the shirt seemed to accentuate the sculpted definition of his body.

as he paused, catching his breath, the shirt clung even tighter, the movement of his chest beneath it noticeable with every rise and fall of his breath. jason didn’t seem to notice—or care—how the fit of the shirt left little to the imagination. his focus was on the work, on pushing himself further, but the way the fabric outlined his form only added to the unspoken intensity of his presence. even when he wasn't speaking, his body did all the talking.

[fromdove]

THINGS YOU DO THAT THE BATBOYS FIND ATTRACTIVE ! batboys x reader

“God, you’re impossible. And I’m so screwed, because I think I’d let you ruin me.”

— fem!reader, suggestive thoughts in jasons & bruces part (maybe dick too??)

© fromdove— All rights reserved. Reposting, translation, or modification of these works is strictly prohibited, regardless of whether credit is given.

∿　 　 . `💭` ㆍ

JASON TODD

the way you hold eye contact when you're angry

It started as a slow simmer—your voice, low and clipped, each word deliberate, sharp enough to slice through the heavy Gotham air. Jason wasn’t even sure what the hell you were mad about anymore. The way your eyes were locked on his, unwavering, lit from within by something electric—it drowned out everything else.

You stood across the room, spine straight, chest rising with each measured breath. Not yelling. Not crying. Just...burning. And looking at him.

There was something about that. The way you didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. Like you could take every jagged, bloodstained part of him and still meet him dead-on, like you’d never blink first. It made his heart twist in his chest, something old and animal uncoiling inside him. He’d faced down murderers, monsters, lowlife scumbags—but the fury in your gaze made his throat go dry. Not because he feared it. Because he wanted to touch it. touch you.

You took a step forward, the kind that didn’t echo but reverberated, and that subtle movement—how your hands stayed relaxed at your sides, how your mouth didn’t tremble when you spoke—undid him.

“Don’t try to bullshit me, Jason.”

There was a beat. One taut, blistering moment where the only thing louder than your breath was the pounding in his ears.

And then he laughed. Just a breath of it, almost involuntary. The kind of laugh you get when something hurts and turns you on at the same time. He didn’t even mean to. It just escaped him.

You frowned, and that only made it worse. He wanted to bite your lip just to see if your mouth would still taste like fire when it was pressed against his. He wanted to grab your face and kiss you so hard it left bruises.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful when you’re pissed,” he murmured, voice low and hoarse, almost reverent.

You blinked at that—but didn’t back down. And the way your stare softened just a fraction, that flicker of confusion folding into resolve again... yeah. That did it. That almost ended him right then and there.

He stepped closer, slow, deliberate, like approaching a lit fuse. His fingers twitched at his sides, aching to touch, to pull, to anchor.

“You gonna hit me?” he asked, tone dark and dangerous and barely hanging on.

You tilted your chin up. “Wouldn’t waste the energy.”

God. That. That right there. The grit in your voice. He could live off that kind of defiance. He wanted to.

Jason had never been good at softness. He didn’t know what to do with people who crumbled. But you—? You held his gaze like a storm, like a girl who could kill him with her silence, and suddenly, all he wanted to do was beg for a second chance to make you smile again.

Not because he deserved it. Because he’d die trying to.

DICK GRAYSON

the way you reach for him in your sleep

It starts small. Always does. You shift once, twice—barely there. Then your hand moves, unthinking. Across sheets warm with your shared heat, it searches.

You don’t know you're doing it. That’s what makes it criminal. You’re not asking to be loved in that moment. You’re assuming it. Trusting the world to place him where he belongs: next to you.

And Dick—poor, cursed Dick—is already awake.

He lies still, pretending. Letting you find him. Every nerve is alight, tuned to the sound of your breath, the whisper of cotton as your wrist brushes the inside of his arm. Then—finally—your hand finds his chest, right over the scar where a blade once tried to make him quiet forever.

Your fingers twitch. Then still. Then curl.

And that’s it. That’s all it takes.

He’s not thinking about villains or masks or the weight of his last name. He’s not worried about who’s watching, or whether he’s enough. He’s just a man now.

A man undone by the way you, unconscious and vulnerable, reach for him like he’s home. Like your body knows him, wants him, chooses him—without performance, without pride.

And it’s just so fucking sweet. The sweetness that life had never thought him deserving of—never bothered to offer, as if the universe had forgotten him in some quiet corner—was suddenly there, in you. And only then did he realize what he had been starved of.

There’s something maddening about your vulnerability—how you press against him in sleep, skin warm and scent-heavy, mouth parted just slightly. Innocent, yes. But not harmless.

Not to him.

He could write an entire religion based on the way your breath hitches when his hand covers yours. He could burn entire cities if someone tried to pull you away while you sleep.

Because this—this secret, sacred moment where you choose him without knowing— is the kind of thing he’s never let himself want.

But now that he’s had it, he knows.

He’ll want it forever.

BRUCE WAYNE

the way you tilt your chin when you're defiant

It is the tiniest gesture—a tilt of the chin, so slight it might pass for nothing at all. But to him? It is semaphore, a flare in the dusk, a gauntlet tossed with exquisite subtlety.

You do it when you disagree. Not with loud words or theatrics. No. You just raise your chin. Barely. As if your body is saying, “I’m not afraid of you.”“I’ll meet you there, if you push.”

And God help him, he wants to push.

You do this thing where your jaw tightens just slightly, where your eyes go sharp and patient at the same time—like you’ve already calculated the cost of standing your ground and decided to pay it anyway.

You look… royal. As though Gotham’s grime never dared graze your skin. Like tragedy tried and failed. Like you’d walk into fire if it meant protecting what’s yours.

And that infuriates him.

Because Bruce—Bruce—knows what defiance costs. He’s worn it like armor. Bled for it. Buried people because of it.

But when you do it?

It doesn’t look like self-destruction. It looks like purpose. Power. Something beautiful he was never allowed to have.

He wants to touch your face when you tilt your chin like that. Wants to grab your wrist and pull you into him—not to overpower, but to understand. To memorize the blueprint of that defiance. To feel it against his mouth.

You make silence feel like war. And he’s losing.

Because there is something deeply, dangerously erotic about a woman who doesn’t flinch when she should. Who doesn’t soften to make him comfortable. Who looks at the darkest thing in him—and doesn’t look away.

He’s not used to being watched like that. He’s not used to wanting to be watched like that.

And every time you lift that chin, he’s reminded of exactly how easy it would be to give up the act, the mask, the fiction of the untouchable man—

—all for one person who sees him and doesn't look away.

[justiceiswater]

My sweet baby boy! I just want to scoop him up and squish his face with kisses! their connection is so strong and talia is the worst. he is so much better off without her.

poor bruce. the only reason damian learned this lesson is because of the groundwork and years of effort that he put in before reader got there. bruce did teach him those things!

Seized

An addition to Approval. Do not read this until reading that first. 

Character: Bruce Wayne x Fem!Reader // Damian Wayne x Batmom

Summary: What happens when Talia Al Ghul learns that someone has stolen the affections of her past lover and her son?

Word Count: 3,000 [One Shot]

“Delinquents have been detained. I can hear the sirens,” Damian stated calmly in his comms.

“Good work, Robin. You know where to meet me. You have a minute,” Bruce responded as he whipped the bat mobile through Crime Alley to grab his son.

Just as Damian opened the door and hopped in, an alarm went off within the vehicle.

“The Manor,” Damian thought aloud as he read the screens with his father.

Bruce ignored his comment and was calling Alfred immediately.

“Master Wayne,” the butler instantly picked up. “I followed protocol, but they were already gone when I arrived.”

Keep reading

[the-halloween-jack]

DC ✢ When he realised he loved you

Characters: Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian and Clark.

B R U C E⠀W A Y N E

The moment had been a quiet revelation, in a silence so profound it frightened him. The kind of silence that followed the first crack of thunder, one moment loud and undeniable, the next building with tension, waiting for it to strike again. 

You were sitting in the library of the manor, an arcane book resting open upon your lap, the fire crackling softly behind you. He had just returned from patrol — broken, bloodied, and defeated.

You looked up, eyes wide, alarmed at his state and asked, ‘Bruce?’ You had spoken as if he were not the Batman, not an emblem of vengeance and grit, but a man, just a man, whose hurt mattered.

Something in him gave out. Not in an ostentatious, cinematic collapse, but in the subtle yielding of defences too long held taut. His mind, a fortress of rationale and boundaries, fell silent.

She sees me, for all I am, it whispered. And yet she stays.

He had not believed in unconditional love since the alleyway. But in that moment, with the stench of blood from his suit and the leaden weight of the city upon his back, he saw love for what it was — not a sanctuary, but a quiet understanding, and a choosing. And she had chosen him.

It terrified him. Because now he had yet another thing to lose, to protect, something that was not abstract. It had a name. A voice. A laugh. It sat in his home and softened his world.

He had never been the same since.

D I C K⠀G R A Y S O N

It crept up on him — not a wave, but rather a tide. Quiet and constant and utterly irreversible.

You had fallen asleep in his bed, still holding a game controller, your brow furrowed even in your unconsciousness. He watched you in the blue glow of the screen and thought, God, I’d die for her.

And then came the laugh — low, bitter, surprised. Because of course he would. He was always ready to die for someone.

But this felt different. This was not a compulsion, a sense of duty. It was not about legacy or guilt. It was about you. And the way your presence grounded the part of him that had always been just suspended above the world, half-grieving, half-trying.

He remembered kissing your forehead before leaving for patrol that night. Slow. Lingering. The kind of kiss that was not about want, but reverence.

That was when he knew.

Love was not a thrill. It was a weight. And he had never wanted anything to anchor him, to tether him to this sphere, more than you.

The realisation made him smile. And then it made him ache.

J A S O N⠀T O D D

Jason felt it like the first rays of sun upon his back after a piercing winter, it flooded his system, warm and compelling. It struck him all of a sudden — new, unfamiliar, and… unwelcome. He did not want it. He had not asked for it.

You were brushing your teeth, half-asleep, wearing one of his old shirts, humming a song under your breath as though nothing was wrong in the world, as though it were not in a state of disrepair just beyond the window. And while watching you, he could believe it for a moment too.

Jason stood in the doorway, paralysed. Because he had seen too much tragedy, too much carnage. He could hardly believe that a quiet instant of peace, like this, could even exist, let alone in his reality.

His first instinct was to run. Not literally — he could never leave you. But to emotionally retreat, to steel himself for the moment this fleeting softness was stolen from him.

But you looked at him. Just looked — toothpaste foam and all — with a kind of amused concern, and asked, ‘You okay?’

After everything he had been through. He was not sure he had ever been less okay.

He loved you. He loved you with a passion that made him feel unworthy, as if he had tainted something holy.

A voice in him protested — said it was weakness. Said this would end in catastrophe. But he ignored it, just this once. He stepped forward and kissed your temple.

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Just tired.’ But he was not. This was a lie. His mind was reeling.

He did not sleep that night. He lay awake memorising your breathing.

T I M⠀D R A K E

It was a question you asked that did it. Something ordinary, like, ‘Did you eat today?’

Tim wanted to laugh because it was such a cliché, wasn’t it? But clichés exist because they are true. No one ever asked him that, not like you had, not like it genuinely mattered. 

Then you brought him a coffee, one of those orders so tailored it was essentially an identity. You did not need to ask what he wanted. You simply knew.

He blinked down at the cup, then at you, and suddenly the task he was completing meant nothing.

He felt the world tilt. Quietly. Like the axis of his orbit had shifted. And it had.

Love, to Tim, had always been a puzzle he did not have time to solve. A thing for normal people, with normal lives, for people who lacked the responsibility he had garnered.

But there it was — simple, unassuming and irreversible.

He did not tell you. Not for a long time.

But he began cataloguing what made you smile. The way your face changed after a laugh, crinkled and carefree. He noticed the way your eyes sparkled just a little brighter when you spoke of things that made you passionate, and how the corners of your lips turned up when you were lost in a quiet thought.

This love became his sustenance, it was the first time in years he feared forgetting something.

D A M I A N⠀W A Y N E (Aged up as Batman)

It had infuriated him. The sheer idiocy of it.

Love was chemical, juvenile, a distraction. Or so he had been taught. So he had believed.

And yet there he stood — across from you in the garden, where you were speaking to a stray dog as if it were royalty, and something in his chest pulled.

At first, he mistook it for contempt — annoyance at your softness in a moment where he was attempting to be serious. But then you looked up, grinned, and said, ‘I think she likes me.’

And the words caught in his throat. Not because he did not believe them, but because he liked you. Against every grain of his upbringing.

He wanted to scold you, retreat, build walls. But instead, he asked the dog’s name, eying the tag.

That was the beginning. The fracture.

He loved you. In an old, mythic sense. In the way poets spoke of their love — fierce, unyielding, as though it could bend the very fabric of time. 

And that it did, time slowed every time you entered his concentration.

He began to dream of futures — a concept once as foreign to him as mercy.

He has not told you. But he will. In his own time. For now, he will continue to relish in it, and continue in this alluring descent. 

C L A R K⠀K E N T

He did not realise. Not at first. Because what he felt for you was too immense, too intrinsic, to label with as small as a word as love.

It was not until you fell asleep in his arms, mumbling about a stressful day, completely unaware of the god you were held by, that it hit him.

You did not see him as Superman. You saw him as Clark Kent. You simply saw him. The man. His hope. His grief.

And he realised then — you are his tether.

He thought of Krypton. Of its loss. Of the gaping emptiness it had left as soon as he had learnt of it. And for the first time in years, he did not feel hollow. He felt… full. He realised, that the planet could never have been home to him like she was. 

You snored softly. He laughed. Then cried.

Love, he realised, was not loud. It was simply your hand over his heart. It was your laughter in the next room. It was your body next to his.

He had not fallen in love. He had found it, unexpected and irrevocable, and for all the power he had been bestowed, this force had left him helpless to resist.

And now he guards it with everything he is. Because you are not just his world.

You are his home.

If you're interested, I've since posted a follow-up called 'When he admitted he loved you' linked, here. Every comment and piece of advice is welcomed and appreciated <3

[streetlamp-amber]

never ending night

bruce wayne x femwife!reader

word count: 1.7k | divider by @saradika | requests are open!

CW: pregnancy, pure fluff NOTES: hello hi i’m ailís and i’ve been meaning to start a blog where i can post some one shots that i’ve been thinking of as a way to motivate myself to finally write down my ideas so this is it. i’ll be double posting my stuff on ao3 (which you can find in my bio) and will eventually make a masterlist as well as a navigation post with a list of fandoms/characters i write for. also, english isn’t my first language.

It was close to three in the morning when Bruce finally joined you in bed after a long night of patrolling and fighting bottom of the barrel criminals all night. He showered in the bathroom on the first floor of the manor to avoid making too much noise and waking you up, but when he finally walked in your shared bedroom, you were already awake, sitting up against the headboard.

“Darling, what are you doing still up?” Bruce asked you as he reached his side of the bed.

The room was dark par for the moonlight filtering through the gap between the curtains, meaning your husband had yet to notice the state you were in.

“Dick had a nightmare,” you answered, voice barely above a whisper due to how tired you were. “It took me two hours to get him to fall back asleep and when I finally came back here, this little one started kickboxing me and keeping me awake for another hour,” you continued rubbing your round belly in hopes of soothing your baby to finally catch some sleep.

“I’m sorry I wasn't here to help,” Bruce apologised, planting a kiss on your temple as he held you close to his body.

“It’s alright, Gotham needs you,” you dismissed, not at all angry.

“Still, you’re six months pregnant. You’re growing our child inside your body, you need all the rest you can get,” he softly argued. “I would've come home earlier but all the amateur criminals came out tonight.”

“Bruce, it’s fine,” you brought your hand up to his cheek and he leaned his head into your touch. “You’ve already been cutting your patrols shorter since we found out about the baby. As long as you keep coming back home to us, alive, then I’m not mad.”

Not knowing what to say – his gratefulness for having someone so accepting of his duty as Batman was almost overwhelming, even after all those years – Bruce kissed your palm while staring at you with the same look full of love that he has been sporting since the first time he met you six years ago.

“How’d I get so lucky to fall in love with the most understanding and selfless person I know?” He asked while grabbing your hand on his cheek, wrapping his fingers around yours and squeezing them gently.

“Now that’s a lie,” you rebutted, a loving smile on your lips, lowering your joined hands on the bed. “You’re more selfless than I am. You’re the most selfless man in the world.”

“Let’s not start this never ending argument again,” Bruce chuckled, now his turn to hold your face as he brought you in for a kiss.

You happily sighed against his lips, the feeling of home that overtook you every time you tasted them was a nice welcome in this interminable night. But the kiss was cut short as you felt your baby kick again and you let your head fall back as you groaned.

“She’s still kicking?” Bruce asked you, he couldn't see the movements under your skin due to the darkness of the room and your hand on your belly.

“We don't know it's a she,” you reminded him instead of answering. You had both decided to wait until the birth to know the gender.

“And I’m telling you, I know it's a girl,” your husband repeated for what could be the hundredth time.

You also secretly hoped it was a girl, but Dick really wanted a little brother. Bruce and you were still in the process of warming him up to the idea of a little sister and it was slowly starting to work.

“As long as she doesn't come in my room,” your eight year old son had said last week, with his arms crossed over his chest and a pout on his lips.

“I doubt she’ll be doing that for the first few years, chum,” Bruce reassured him, fighting off a slightly amused grin.

“And the baby will have its own room with its own toys,” you added.

“Will I still be able to play with the baby?” Dick asked after a moment, uncrossing his arms and a hopeful look filling up his blue eyes.

“Of course you will, bubs,” you said, your fingers threading through his black hair that fell over his forehead.

“But only with her toys at first, some of yours are not suited for a baby,” Bruce pointed out, ever the overprotective father.

Bruce had lowered himself down under the blanket so he could be laying head levelled with your belly, his hand now replacing yours over the bump.

“Hey trouble,” he whispered to your child and the baby kicked again, making him smile lovingly at the movement he felt under his hand. “You shouldn't be awake this late at night, you know.”

“You're one to talk,” you commented, tone almost reprimanding.

“She doesn't know that,” Bruce looked up at you as he defended himself before his gaze fell back on your belly. “Mommy is really tired,” he continued talking to your baby, his hand now rubbing soothingly over your round stomach, “and she needs her rest to do all the work so you can come out all healthy and beautiful. Well, you're definitely gonna be the most beautiful baby if you end up looking like your mother, but that's not the point.”

You smiled at the cheesy comment and your fingers found their place in Bruce’s hair, brushing through it and nails occasionally scratching his scalp.

“Your brother Dick can't wait for you to come around,” he carried on. “Said he will teach you all sorts of acrobatic tricks once you know how to walk. And he asked Alfred if he could help paint the nursery when we finally decide on a colour.”

“And I keep telling you we should do soft green,” you argued.

“I’m not changing my mind from primrose pink,” he told you with a sly grin.

“The room won’t be pink, even if it’s a girl. And that’s final,” you firmly said. Your husband will not be winning this one argument, no sir.

Bruce sighed, rolling his eyes before focusing back on your belly. “I hope you’re not as stubborn as your mother,” he whispered to the baby, as if he was having a private conversation with them and that you weren’t there. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s one of the many reasons why I fell in love with her, but I won’t be able to say no to you even when I have to, so it would save me a lot of reprimanding from Mommy if you’re not as tenacious as her.”

You smiled to yourself as you continued listening to your husband talk to your unborn child as you threaded your fingers through his hair, enjoying the softness it had after a shower. Bruce usually gelled his hair to appear more professional when he was working in the day, and then it would get all mixed up with his sweat under his cowl when he was working as Batman. When he would come back to you after the day was over, you would refuse to touch his hair until he had showered, the texture of the gel and sweat too gross on your fingers for you to ignore.

As Bruce continued talking to your baby, his voice started lulling the two of you to sleep. The baby hadn’t kicked in over almost ten minutes now, and the peace you had waited for so long to arrive made you aware of how heavy your eyelids were. You slowly lowered yourself down the bed, getting in a comfortable position with Bruce’s help where you could finally lay your head on your pillow and it didn’t take long for sleep to catch up on you.

At the sound of your soft, barely audible snores, Bruce turned his head away from your bump to find you asleep with your free hand raised next to your head on your pillow, the other one still tangled in his hair.

He planted a soft kiss on the exposed skin of your belly, eyes closed as he took a moment to absorb the fact that a baby that was half you and half him would be joining your world in a little more than three months. Bruce wasn't known to cry, the only time you ever saw him cry was as you walked down the aisle at your wedding, but tonight, a lonesome tear rolled down his cheek and fell on your stomach, where your child was growing, because Bruce never believed he would ever get to experience again the amount of love he hadn't felt since he was eight years old.

As he observed you, sleeping soundly with his child coming to life inside you, after you comforted Dick back to sleep, Bruce, for a moment, felt overwhelmed by all the love in his life. When he became Batman, he crossed out the idea of ever having a family (other than Alfred), of settling down with someone he loved and who loved him back.

But somehow, the universe put you on his path, as a miracle or a guardian angel or simply as an anchor to life outside of Batman, he didn't know. You walked into his home, into his life, to remind him that he, Bruce Wayne, was also deserving of love, of family, of happiness. Then Dick came along, rather unexpectedly but still no less welcomed, and Bruce started entertaining the idea of having children with you. He definitely wasn't opposed to it, but it wasn't something he wanted to jump right into, especially with Dick having just entered your lives. You were both young, he in his early thirties and you in your late twenties, you could allow yourselves a couple of years just the three of you (four with Alfred) before expanding the family.

So it was rather shocking when two months after you and Bruce had officially adopted Dick that you found out you were pregnant. It both took you by surprise but after talking through it together, you couldn't be happier. And the two of you haven't stopped being happy about this new little addition ever since.

Bruce rose up from his position next to your belly, your limp hand fell from his head as he did so, and he laid on the bed next to you. He delicately kissed your forehead, then your nose before falling back on his pillow and whispered “I love you” as he curled around your body, his hand resting on your belly as he fell asleep.

[spocks-husband]

Consider: One of the Batfam starts dating a civilian who happens to be a crime/mystery/horror/detective writer, eventually they know the vigilante identities of the family after things get serious, and yeah it's a lot to get used to but overall everything is pretty great!

Until at one point, y/n gives their partner a scene from a book they're working on for some feedback, and their partner is like "hmm. Yeah, it's pretty good, but your description of being stabbed isn't super accurate."

And then they go into this whole explanation of how it feels to be stabbed, which eventually is overhead by other Bats who are VERY offended because OBVIOUSLY all of that is wrong, and it starts this giant family debate over which adjectives best describe a stab to the kidney because all of them have experienced it at some point, Alfred comes in and adds his input because of course he's also been stabbed before, Damian and Jason have to be physically restrained from performing a demonstration-- and the entire time y/n is just sitting there like 😦

[uncpanda]

Christmas Tree Glow

Requested by: 2 different Anons 

Prompts:  “Your eyes are the prettiest things I’ve ever seen”     and “Huddling together on a cold day”

Warnings: Pregnancy. Nothing graphic.

“Remind me again, why we became parents.” 

You laugh from where you’re lying on the couch. You’re exhausted. Christmas has that effect on parents. 

Bruce raises an eyebrow, “You’re laughing?” 

“I’m sleep deprived.” 

This time Bruce smiles. He’s standing in front of the Christmas tree. It’s the only lighting in the room. It makes him look even more handsome. His eyes shine with mischief, as he sets down a piece of fake food in the play kitchen he just assembled. It’s for Jason, he’s obsessed with helping you cook and now he has his own kitchen. 

There’s also a bike for Dick, a drone for Tim, and an assortment of stuffed animals for Damian. There’s more than twenty books for all of the boys, plus clothes, and an assortment of other small toys. 

You shift on the couch when your back twinges. Bruce walks over to you, and then kneels next to you. “How are you feeling?” 

You smile, “Like a whale.” 

He leans in and brushes his nose against yours, “You look beautiful.” 

You reach up and stroke his face for a second before you pinch a cheek, “You are such a liar.” 

He turns his face and kisses your palm, “I’m telling the truth.” 

You move to sit up and he helps you as you groan. He sits down beside you and you lean on him. His hand moves to rub the perpetually sore spot on your back.  “You say it with every pregnancy, and I can see myself. I know you’re lying.” You scrunch your nose and he kisses it.

You snuggle into his side. 

After a few minutes of silence you state, “We’re going to have five kids this time next year.” 

He snorts, “Try in a month.” 

There’s a kick to your ribs and you smoothe a hand over the spot. Of course that doesn’t calm her down. No, instead it seems to get her started up. “Your daughter is on your sleep schedule.” 

“Sorry.” 

You look up at him, “She’s going to be just like you. All of our kids are. It’s like my genes don’t even matter.” 

He kisses your forehead, “They matter. I see you every time Dick helps one of his brothers. Or every time Jason begs for ten more minutes of reading. Or when Tim focuses solely on one thing.” 

You interrupt, “That comes from both of us.” 

He chuckles, “And especially in the way that Damian loves people so fiercely.” His hand settles on your belly, “And something tells me that this little girl is going to be your mini-me.” 

You look up at him, “That may be, but I hope she has your eyes. You have the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen.” 

Bruce smiles at you and the clock chimes midnight.It is officially Christmas day, and in six short hours you’re going to have a gaggle of kids waking the two of you up. You look up at your husband, “Merry Christmas, Bruce.” 

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

[gilverrwrites]

Discretely touching them down there to their parts and gently squeezing when no one is looking and them not being able to do anything (since it's in public).

Ft. Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, & Roy. AN: Anon you're a menace and I love ya!

Bruce

You get exactly one, which he acknowledges with a stern pout and a cocked brow. Flawlessly concealing the fire you’ve ignited but for his laboured breathing and blown-out pupils. You’re walking a thin line, behaving like a brat in front of Gotham’s elite.

If he sees you reaching for him again, and trust, he will see; it will take him precisely 0.8 seconds to lock you in an unsuspecting death grip and pull you close. He wants you to feel the increased tempo of his heart against your chest. To feel the growing stiffness of his hard-on grazing your hip as he tells you assertively to; “Behave.”  

Dick

Dick sees your game; he raises you tenfold. He knows you’re up to something when he clocks the determined bite of your lips as you survey the subway car, and the mischievous glint in your eye as you look back at him. When your hand snakes under this shirt, caressing his v-lines, he juts his hips forward, presenting himself to you; daring you to take it further.

When you sink your fingers below his waistband he sucks in a deliberately loud breath. You freeze to survey your surroundings, but Dick does not. Dick starts grinding on you until he senses you growing nervous. He locks a sturdy hand around your elbow just in time to prevent you from pulling away, leans in close and whispers; “What’s wrong baby? Thought you wanted to play?”

Jason

“Is that a gun in your pants, or are you just happy to see me?” You giggle at your own joke, because Jason is always packing some form of heat. He might have laughed too, might have trapped your wrist in his hands and rocked against your outstretched palm if you’d been at home, or the club, or even the casino. But not the fucking grocery store, you little perv.  

“Are you drunk?” He offers you an out, glaring down at you with a gaze fierce enough to make a nun blush. You respond with a brazen-faced shake of your head, and he can’t help but imitate it out of disbelief at your cocky attitude. You stay like that, locked in a stare of, rock vs hard place, until Jason cracks first, noticing a couple rounding the corner at the other end of the aisle.

He grabs your arm with an unapologetic level of force, spinning you around and trapping you between his body and the trolley. Hiding his hardness by pressing it against your back. “You’re in for it later.”

Tim

Tim is the most taken aback. His pale blue eyes are rapidly examining your surroundings the moment he feels your devious fingers ghosting over the top of his thigh. He’s cute when he’s flustered, with pink cheeks and blown-out pupils. Nobody is looking, too focused on the conference speaker.

“What are you doing?” He hisses, but before he can get his words out, your hand is gone, casually pulling a non-existent thread from your sleeve.

You don’t reply, you just smile and shoot him a playful wink which puts him even more on edge. So much so that when you abruptly return, this time cupping his half-hard cock through his jeans that he fucking flinches. His knee hits the chair in front, and he sucks in a loud breath, earning him many pointed glares from multiple members of the audience.

“Babe.” Be tries to warn, but his hushed breathy tone makes him sound exactly as aroused as he feels.

Roy

You get it, you do. It was a long trip, and he’s starving but you’ve really been feeling his absence over the last few weeks, and the fact that you’re currently sat in a Burrito Bucket, watching Roy devour a tray of tacos, instead of being at home and watching him devour you, is a problem.

He seems to have noticed your sulking, but too late. “You okay ho- “

His question is halted by your foot tactfully situating itself between his legs. His gaze flits between his food and you, defiant eyes watching you through a mop of shaggy hair. A knowing grin spreads across his queso-stained lips as you answer faux-sweetly. “I’m fine, baby.”

“Right.” He huffs, breath hitching, freckled cheeks turning red when you press your toes down and something firm pushes back. He knows what you want, but he just loves to play dumb. So, he takes another bite, jerking every time you tap or roll your foot but never acknowledging what you’re silently begging for. “Is this one of those things where you say you’re fine, but actually you’re not fine?”

“I’m going home.” You finally concede with an exaggerated sigh, dropping your foot back to the floor and gathering your things.

“I’m coming with you.” He’s on you the moment you stand, draping his arm over you and placing kisses to the side of your neck, your face, whatever he can reach as you struggle to move with his deadweight over your shoulders. Notably, there’s still half a tray of uneaten tacos left on the table. “Funnily enough, I’m hungry for something else now.”

Taglist: @wandalfnation

[kimjun]

Damian: crushes are the worst

y/n: right? i tend to act stupid around mine

Jason: you always act stupid

y/n: yeah, don't think too hard about that

[justiceiswater]

It is not lost on me the irony of bruce being in such desperate need of therapy and his closest confidante as a child grew up to be a therapist.

it just goes to show! they are tied together with lines of fate! and shes so good at tunneling into his soul! into his mind! she just digs her nails in and crawls all up into his skin!

In Times Past

Character: Bruce Wayne x Fem!Reader

Summary: Bruce Wayne’s life doesn’t exist beyond the fake storylines he performs for the media and citizens of Gotham. Maybe the only person that can change that is someone who knew him before Batman ever even existed. 

Word Count: 8,200+ [One Shot]

Warnings: Violence, mentions of sexual harrassment

A/N: As I teased before, this was inspired by this scene from Batman Begins. 

Bruce could sense Alfred’s tension when he walked into the kitchen that morning. The man was not one to hold back his thoughts and feelings. It was both a blessing and a curse. But Bruce sensed it was the latter today.

Before Bruce could even get a sip of coffee in, Alfred tossed the Sunday newspaper in front of him.

On the front page was a photo of Batman, far too high of a resolution for Bruce’s liking. ‘BATMAN: SAVIOR OR MENACE?’ the headline read.

“A little too close for comfort, don’t you think?” Alfred asked with a hint of sass.

However, Bruce controlled his reaction.

“Not the first time I’ve been photographed, Alfred.”

“You’re dancing with the devil, Master Wayne.”

Keep reading

[shortnsweetsposts]

Jason: Cooking together is NOT romantic, MOVE the fuck out of my way.

Reader: I'm tempted to stand in your way while you cook now.

Jason: I'll boil you next.

Reader: When he's a cannibal 😍🥰💖