|| ON A BREAK FOR A WHILE ||Â she/they | a demisexual demigod | Star wars | Marvel | Science |Â and some random stuff | writer for Ezra Bridger (send in an ask!)Â
I'm just another Ezra Bridger stan, trying my best to give the people the content i'd like to see. If you have any ideas as well, please don't be shy and share them! It may take a while but i'll try not to leave anyone without an answer.
(I DON'T WRITE +18)
I'll add my works as I go!
* â author's favourite
1. Letters from Ezra to his "Princess" from Earth.
1st letter - 2nd letter - 3d letter - 4th letter
They follow a chronological order and reference current events such as the pandemic (i wrote them as a way to escape the panic of being stuck inside)
2. The rebels find out about you and Ezra*
A small list of contextualized reactions on finding out you and Ezra have been a thing for a while.
3. Headcannons/imagines
â taken care of - based on the "Of grumpiness and candy stashes" story, some ideas on what it would be like to have ezra as your boyfriend while youâre on your period.
â cuddles with ezra headcannons *- headcannons of your bonding experience with Ezra through your cuddling
â sharing your music with Ezra - you're a musician in the rebellion, and Ezra absolutely loves that about you
â we know that he looooves you* - inspired by that "In the heights" scene and audio that's so popular on tik tok.
4. Small stories
â Dos oruguitas - Inspired by that masterpiece that was Disney's Encanto, a songfic about being a pair of oruguitas in the big, big galaxy.
â We'll survive together - After a mission gone terribly wrong, Ezra is right there to encourage you to keep fighting
â Stressed out - Work hasn't been very encouraging lately. Thankfully, Ezra has just the right idea to cheer you up.
âAfter the Chimaera - Ezra doesn't get to go through with his plan to defeat Thrawn, and the excitement of the events draws some confessions out of you. (gn reader!)
â Of grumpiness and candy stashes - You may hate yourself and others during that time of month, but Ezra knows how to take care of you (inspires the "taken care of" imagine)
â Under the Lothal night sky *- Ezra takes you stargazing after the battle for Lothal, and you think of a hpeful future together.
â Relics - Very focused on some self-insert-shifting more than a ship, but he's there, he's teasing, so we're good.
â I'm home now *- you've been waiting for a long, long time, and fianlly get to see him again.
â nightmares - You've been having nightmares every night, so you give in to the voice at the back of your head and go check on Ezra.
you can check out the edit on tik tok here!
â inquisitor* - you wake up hurt after the events on Malachor, and still can't understand how Ezra Bridger thought helping out an inquisitor was a good idea.
â Never rescue me again - you've been captuted and questioned by the Empire, and Ezra has to rescue you.
.
any links not working or works i've forgotten to add? please let me know!
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Bruce, walking in: Are you ready for patrol, chum?
Dick, snapping his head toward Bruce and pointing at the screen: Explain!
Bruce: Oh, my contingency plans? I make those for everyone in the Justice League.
Dick: Iâm not in the Justice League!
Bruce: But you were trained by me, which makes you better than some of them.
Dick: But I wouldnât become evil!
Bruce, coming to stand next to Dick so that he can scroll down: I donât think I would either, but I have a contingency plan for myself in case I do. See?
Dick, muttering: Youâre so paranoid.
Dick: Wait, you actually think Iâm enough of a threat to make a plan for me?
Bruce: Of course. Youâre my son.
Dick, getting a little teary-eyed: Oh. Thanks.
â
Tim is in his second year as Robin and has heard about Bruceâs reputation for making contingency plans, and wants to see them for himself
Tim: Here it is! Contingency plans. Letâs see⌠why the fuck am I on here?
Tim, clicking on his plan to read it: A weaker fighterâuncalled forâwho relies more on intellect and strategy than raw strength. Create a trap with an overwhelming number of variables. While he is distracted, disarm and restrain him.
Tim, leaning back in his chair, crossing his arms: That wouldnât work⌠probably⌠would it?
Tim: Iâll make a better one, just in case.
Later
Tim: Hey, Bruce, I updated your contingency plan for me.
Bruce: You found that?
Tim, kind of proud now: Yeah, and I figured if you think I could be a threat, then you should probably have a better plan. I thought of one that would work.
Bruce, reading the plan: Tim, this says to fake all of your loved ones' deaths and to get someone to shoot you while youâre grieving.
Tim: I know. If I become evil, you need to kill me because Iâll escape any prison you put me in. Iâm pretty susceptible to bullets, so this should work.
Bruce: âŚgood thinking.
â
Bruce is typing up Cassandraâs contingency plan
Cass: That wonât work.
Bruce, flinching in surprise: Cass, what are you doing here?
Cass: Observing. That plan wonât work. It relies on you taking me by surprise. Thatâs unlikely.
Bruce, sighing and deleting what heâd written because he knows sheâs right: I know. Are you not offended Iâm making a contingency plan for you?
Cass: Maybe. Youâll find out soon.
Bruce, worried: Oh.
â
Stephanie has been Batgirl for a year
Steph: So, Bruce, I was on the Batcomputer, and I couldnât help but notice you have a contingency plan for me in case I go a little nuts.
Bruce: Yes.
Steph, pleased: When did you decide you needed a plan for me?
Bruce: Three months ago.
Steph, less pleased: Wait, but Dick and Tim both said they found theirs when they were Robin.
Bruce: Yes.
Steph: Fuck you, old man.
Bruce: âŚ
Steph, realizing what she just said and hurrying away: Iâll be going now!
â
Damian is three months into being Robin
Damian, hanging from the ceiling of the Batcave, looking down at Bruce working on the computer: Hm. A contingency plan for me. A respectable decision, Father.
Bruce, looking up, remembering the time Cass also caught him writing a plan: How does this keep happening?
â
Barbara has been Oracle for a while
Barbara: Bruce, I just thought you should know that using a city-wide EMP isnât going to work as a contingency plan for me.
Bruce: It wonât?
Barbara: Definitely not.
Bruce, frowning: Did you have a better suggestion?
Barbara: If I turn rogue? Hope I see reason. Or find a way to temporarily disable all electronic devices. Thatâs on and off planet.
Bruce, unhappy: âŚIâll have Tim look into it.
â
Duke is talking to Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian
Duke: I found the weirdest thing on the Batcomputer today. Bruce has a contingency plan for me.
Dick, patting him on the back: It was about time you found it!
Duke: Uh, not exactly. Kind of offended, actually.
Tim: Eh, youâll get over it. We all find our contingency plans pretty soon after joining.
Jason, who has never seen a contingency plan for him: The fuck? No we donât?
Tim: Aside from Steph, we all found ours as Robin.
Jason, confused because he looked through the contingency plans as Robin, and he wasnât on there: Uh, no?
Dick, frowning: You didnât find a contingency plan for yourself when you were a kid?
Jason: No. There wasnât oneâI looked.
Damian: Unlikely.
Duke: You sure you didnât just miss it? Thereâs one for you now.
Jason, shocked: He added one? When?
Duke: I think it said it was updated last week. Not sure when it was made.
Bruce, walking in: Hello.
Jason, glaring at Bruce: When did you make a contingency plan for me?
Bruce, thinking: A few days after learning you were Red Hood, I believe.
Dick, Tim, and Damian: Shocked gasps
Dick: You didnât have one for him as Robin?
Bruce: No.
Jason, hesitantly: Why? You seriously made one for Timmy over hereâ
Tim: Hey!
Jason: And not me?
Bruce: I had ideas. I just didnât foresee needing them, so I never made an official file for you.
Jason: âŚ
Dick: You trusted him that much?
Bruce: Yes.
Jason, turning his head away: âŚshouldâve made the damn plan.
â
Realistically, I think if Bruce were making contingency plans for the entire Batfamily, he definitely wouldnât have skipped over Jason, but this is more interesting imo, so here we are.
Jason: I can't believe Bruce is making me write a CV when I am legally dead. What am I going to write? Crime Lord for three years specialising in garbage disposal and logistics?
Dick: I'll help. I am great at getting jobs.
Jason: No, you and your Barbie-ass CV can get out of here.
Dick: My what?
Jason: You have had more jobs than Barbie! And like bizarre jobs. A cop. A model. De facto Prince Consort to an alien kingdom. It's not normal. Ugh... basically the only Barbie job you've not had is being a pop star.
Dick: I mean, me and the Teen Titans did release an album under fake names. How do you think we paid for the Tower?
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When Bruce met Bernard, he was skeptical. He respects Tim's choice of partner don't get him wrong, but something about the boy triggers his paranoia.
Bernard is on his way to getting a dual PhD in physics and biology. (Rouge gallery are mostly doctorates)
He spouts conspiracies with passion. (Some were close to the truth and contain details that a normal civilian shouldn't know)
When discussing said theories he has this manic look in his eyes. (also this child is an ex-member of a pain cult)
It didn't help that one day when Bernard was visiting Tim is the manor the boy casually said "You know Gotham's cave system are so interesting. They span across the city and from my research, bats tend to migrate here, especially in the area around Wayne Manor." (Bernard was working on a conspiracy about how Batman is actually an alien pretending to be vampire by mimicking bats and failing.)
Later that night, Bruce has Bernard's profile under the 'potential rogue list' Right next to Tim's name.
Freak4Freak Timber is the only way I acept them. Or any Tim ships.
Tim is a freak and a potential rogue who will rules the word (or the universe). So, obviously he need another freak who will math his freak. Just look Steph, Tam (she wants Tim during his potential villain origin, so...), Lonnie, Core4
summary: falling in love with each other was easyâa little too easy. after a series of dates and getting to know the other better, it was only a matter of time, right? no longer able to hold it in, dick finds himself desperate and decides that tonight will not end until he gets to walk home with a kiss, from you.
notes: 4.1k wordsâŚ. fluff!! with a side of nasty kissing, dick is absolutely fed up and DESPERATE, reader has never had a boyfriend before so dick is the very first guy youâve ever been with. so many feelings and love and yearning you guys are so obsessed with each other its genuinely DISGUSTING. but dick is like way worse because at least half of this is him yearning for you,,,, also a lot of making out...dick literally eats ur face. all the dialogue is later in gomenasorry. written with black reader in mind >0<
Dick Grayson was on a mission. Tonightâs date, he decided, was going to be extra special than usual. Why, you ask? Because tonight, he was going to secure his kiss from youâpoor, unsuspecting, you.
Tonight marked the 8th date you guys have gone on ever since your first meeting at a late-night convenience store around the corner of his apartment, where the once peaceful environment was interrupted by a measly burglar waving his gun around with arrogance and the demand of money.
It was the one night when Dick wasnât in costume and was nursing a severely bruised body from a villain he had encountered two days earlier. The situation irritated him even more than he already wasâBruce was still chewing his ass out over a case that he was working on; he still needed to go to work with his bruised body because he canât exactly let them know what violent activities heâs up to at night and his injuriesânow this.
So itâs an understatement when saying the burglar was dealt with easily and quickly, as Dick was able to disarm him before the man could even take another step towards another innocent customerâsomeone Dick learned later was you.
The anticlimactic moment ended with the man scrambling out of the store with much less confidence than before, the store clerk shakily thanking Dick with the promise of free items of his choice tonight and the next time he comes in. Accepting the gratitude, Dick was ready to go home with the multitude of free items in his grocery bag--until he spotted you.
Standing near the entrance, dressed in sweatpants about twice your actual size with a hoodie you were equally drowned in, Dick found you absolutely radiant. He wasnât someone who believed in love at first sight beforehand, but now? Certainly, this is what it means.
It took him a few seconds of silence and staring at you with an open mouth, like a goldfish for him to realize that you were speaking to him, and just like the store clerk. you were thanking him profusely for saving you from the gun that was previously pointed to you. Dick can't remember what happened after that. But he does remember walking out of the store a happy man, your phone number having found its way into his phone.
Back in the present, Dick knew that maybe 8 dates was a little too much to come to this decision; after all, for him it was only on date number 2 that he knew he wanted you, badly. But he knew he had to be patient, especially after you revealed that youâve never been in a relationshipâor on a date at all. It was for this reason that he decided to take things slow and wait for a sign that you wanted him too.
By now, heâs reached his limit.
Every other date youâve had prior to this had been more casual: going out for coffee, the arcade, movie nights at his place (more often yours because he absolutely adores your cat, mocha), grocery shopping together, and going for a stroll in Melville Park to walk Haley, his adorable pitbull you fell in love with.
Tonight, Dick took you to a nice restaurant with tables reserved on its rooftop. He knew you werenât someone who frequented fancy restaurants too often, so he found a solid one just in between fancy and casual.
Dinner was going well, and you were absolutely perfect. Heâd told you beforehand to come wearing a blue outfit, and the dress you wore had surpassed his expectations so much that he considered dropping down on one knee right then and there before ever asking you to be his girlfriend, if it wasnt apparent just how much it affected him seeing that colour on you with his lovesick gaze the entire night.
The dress youâre wearing is dark blue silk, the kind of colour that shifts like midnight water under the lighting of the restaurant's stringed lights. It drapes across your frame in a way that seems deliberate, highlighting your curves, and Dick feels his mouth dry at how it complements your brown skinâlike the colour was meant to be worn by you, and you alone.
The glow of your upper body lets him know of the shea butter youâd rubbed on yourself, your legs that slip through the slit sharing the same glow.
The matching gold jewelry you wear and the updo youâve done with your curls make him fight demons he never even knew he had, wanting to jump over the table to show you how much he loves you.
It truly doesnât help how much heâs reminded of his Nightwing costume every time he looks at you.
He finds himself murmuring more compliments than usual because he canât contain how much it moves him. The blue that once belonged only to his suit now belongs to you too, and he adores itâadores youâin a way he canât keep from showing.
Dick finds himself craving dessert earlier than usual.
But he knows he has to act accordingly; he canât afford to scare you away. So he does what heâs best at and eyes you with a disgustingly lovesick, yearning look as if heâs some schoolboy with his very first crush for the entire night as you guys chat over dinner.
He pays even closer attention to you than ever (if thatâs even possible), maintaining intense eye contact with every word delivered in the air, squeezing your manicured hand (that has the nails he paid for) while you excitedly share the plot of the most recent book you read last weekend, and feeding you some of the food heâs ordered (you protested against stealing his food, but he insisted, claiming, âItâs my duty to feed you.â how do you even respond to that?).
Overall, dinner was perfect. He thinks this is the best date you guys have been on so far, as after dinner he surprises you with tickets to the movie he remembers you wanted to see when it came out.
What a coincidence that today happens to be its release date, and the happy squeal it pulled from you once he revealed the surprise made the rest of his year, he thinks. Itâs something he could listen to on repeat for hours and never get sick of.
As the night got darker and you got tired, Dick knew it was time to take you home. As much as heâd love for this night to continue, he doesnât want to keep you up later than youâre used to.
It brings you both to his car, pulling up into the neighbourhood of your apartment complex, the car filled with a comfortable silence as you gaze out to the passing buildings. His jacket covers your previously bare shoulders during the car ride after heâd noticed the goosebumps rising on your skin (he wouldnât quit sulking at the fact that you didnât tell him anything about you being cold and forced you inside his jacket desite your protests).
Parked in front of your building, you unbuckled your seatbelt and grabbed your purse, ready to thank him for tonight once again and wish him a goodnightâbefore you were surprised with him unbuckling himself and turning off the engine. He paused his actions when he spotted your questioning stare.
âWhat? You thought I was gonna let you walk up there alone? Absolutely not,â Dick huffed, quickly circling around the car to open your door and making space for you as you stepped out. âWhat kind of gentleman would I be if I didnât walk you to your door? I need to make sure you make it inside safely, you know.â
Normally you wouldâve been your own ride home (heâs never liked it but agreed if it made you happy), but Dick insisted that heâs the one who drives you home this time.
Dick walks you into your building, already knowing his way around from past visits, and unlocks the lobbyâs door with his own copy of your keys, then leads you further into the elevators with a hand on your back thatâs still covered by his jacket.
Itâs almost pathetic how during the entire elevator ride, the two of you are stealing glances at each otherâoblivious of the other personâs nervous shifting. Dick knows that itâs tonight that he gets that kiss from you.
At last, when having reached your door, itâs as though the once simmering tension has announced its presence, and settles in the air between the two of you. As you turn to face him with your back to your door, he gives you a soft smile that lets butterflies rise in your stomach, the warm orange lighting that complements his tanned skin doing nothing to help.
If anything, it makes whatever youâre feeling worse, and you donât know if you can keep acting oblivious to your true feelings.
âI had a really great time,â his voice snaps you out of your thoughts, your full attention back on him, âAnd I really loved our conversations tonight. I'd love to do something like this again, with you.â His tone at the end has a hopeful implication. He hopes he doesnât come off as too desperate, but part of him canât get himself to care.
He thinks now would be the perfect time for that kiss, but he doesnât want to pressure you. Dick knows it would kill him to ruin what you guys have, and this might be the most nervous heâs ever been in his entire life.
âYeah?â You ask with a hint of shyness, holding your hands behind your back. âThank you, Dick. I had a really great time with you tonight, too. The movie made me really happy and...Iâm glad you remembered that small detail.â
Dick feels his heart practically melting at the sound of your voice. Your obvious nervousness only boosts his confidence in what he plans on doing, and he canât get over how much he loves your voice. Youâre so adorable. He thinks to himself.
His next smile is a lot more dorky, cheeks warm with his dimples coming out to reveal themselves. Itâs your favourite feature on him, right after his blue, blue eyes, you think. You both feel like high schoolers again with a pathetic crush. âNothing you tell me is ever small.â
Heâs taken aback by how fond he let that come out of his mouth, but he decides itâs worth it when your eyes avert down to your feetâflustered. Itâs his favourite look on you.
But he knows just like this isnât enough. This thought leads him to slowly reach for your arms behind your back, gently uncrossing them while his hands trail down to hold your own. He searches your eyes for any discomfort before intertwining them, when having found none, his calloused palms swallow your smaller, softer ones. The contrast does nothing but make his heart beat faster.
Itâs when you look up at him with wide, glimmering dark eyes filled with hope and a drop of insecurity that it clicksâyou are the woman he wishes to share his life with.
Youâd be lying to yourself if you said you didnât have a crush on him. It was impossible not to, with his easygoing grin that youâve observed goes toe to toe with the sun itself. With each action done with careful consideration of you, with each compliment given, with each laugh heâs pulled out of you, with each dinner cooked together, with each night spent on his fire escape with shoulders touchingâ each day learning about what makes you, you.
It was too easy falling in love with Dick Grayson.
And that scared you.
Similarly to Dick, it was around the third date that you knew you wanted something blooming between you.
Love. What a strange concept for a girl whoâs never fallen in love.
You find that the only reason why you hadnât initiated anything further with him is because youâre unsure if this is how the process goes. Along with the slight insecurity of slipping up if you did, with Dick having more experience than you did. Soon those worries disappeared, because Dick had done nothing but soothe them.
Every moment where you felt as though you needed to initiate anything physical beyond what you were used to, he noticed, and every anxious thought was blown away with a simple reassuring smile.
He never said more than a quiet, âItâs okay,â because to him it was always about your comfort before anything.
Heâs never made you feel forced to do anything, content to lead you through each encounter until you found the moment you were ready.
You realize as soon as he holds your hands in hisâheâs the one for you.
Dick chuckles softly at the look in your eye and squeezes your hands gently. His blue eyes, nearly swallowed up by his dilated pupils, are fixed on yours, studying your reaction with an intensity that makes you want to squirm. He can feel how warm your skin is and his heart feels like it could pop out of his chest.
With a deep breath, Dick takes another step closer, now only inches apart. He lifts a hand to lift your chin ever-so-slightly, making you tilt your head up to meet his gaze. Dark eyes meet blue.
You swallow thickly as your eyes remain locked on each other, feeling his other hand move down to your waist. His expression is so vulnerable and raw as he looks down at you, and you think you might throw up from nerves alone. Your eyes water as these thoughts circle through your mind.
It doesnât take detective skills to read you like a book. He can tell what youâre thinking. He knows the reason youâre unsure as you begin shaking in his arms. His thumb traces slow circles against your jaw, coaxing you to relax. He hopes you canât hear how fast his heart is beating, how heâs memorizing the sound of your soft breaths.
The two of you are the only ones in the hallway at the risk of being seen by neighbours, but neither of you can find it in you to care.
"You okay?" He murmurs softly, searching your face with those impossibly blue eyes. There's no teasing nowâjust genuine care and something achingly tender beneath it all. "I can... we can stop ifâ"
(But the way he lingers shows he really doesnât want to stop.)
"No!" you interject louder than intended to, freezing when you realized ust how loud that came out. A surprised laugh bubbles out of him at your sudden outburst, the sound warm and so fond. That adorable reaction just makes him squeeze you a tiny bit closer.
"Nâno, I... this is okay. I'm okay." You finish softly, heart aching for more. Youâre incredibly greedy when it comes to his touch, and you donât feel a drop of shame for it.
"Good," he murmurs, leaning in until his forehead brushes yoursâso close you can feel his breath against your lips. His free hand lifts to cradle your cheek now, thumb sweeping beneath your eye to catch that traitorous wetness before it falls.
"Because I really wanna kiss you right now," he admits in a whisper, grinning that stupid lopsided grin that makes your stomach flip. "But only if you really want me to."
Your heart almost stutters to a stop, and your gaze is consumed by nothing but want. Your pupils were almost as blown as his, and the way the wind blows, tussling at his wavy hair, drives you crazy. You melt against him as your foreheads touch, letting out a shaky breath.
Itâs as you lose yourself in the pool of his impossibly blue eyes that you realize death doesn't scare you if it's by drowning in his eyes.
You lean into his warm palm, memorizing the sweet scent of his cologne. You give your answer in a hushed tone, as though sharing a secret that's to remain between the two of you alone. "I really wanna kiss you, too."
It sends a shiver down his spine. Holy smokes, he thinks to himself. You look like a dream.
The world seems to melt away as he gazes down at you with an intensity that is both gentle and smoldering. Dick can feel your breath on his lips, and it drives him insane.
"Damn," he mutters roughly, his voice suddenly raw with emotion, "you're going to be the death of me."
It's the only time he'll use the Lord's name in vain.
Just like that, he can't hold back any longer. The dam breaks, and he closes the last meager distance between the two of you, capturing your mouth in a deep, starved kiss.
A cut off gasp is swallowed by his lips, your eyes tightly shutting closed as your lips lock with hisâ and you feel alive. This is your very first kiss, and it's one you will never forget.
Dickâs arms circle your waist completely, pulling you flush against his body as his one hand slides up your spine until his fingers thread into your hair, tilting your head back as he kisses you with everything he has.
If it weren't for his arms holding you up, your knees would have buckled. He can feel how your body shakes with nerves and anticipation against his lips, and he canât resist brushing his tongue over your bottom lip, groaning at the rewarding whimper he gets.
The smack of your lips is nasty; after each smack comes the sound of a deep groan which then triggers a breathy whine. Your blood is rushing to your head, and you think you might die. Youâre suddenly immensely grateful for living on a nearly empty floor.
DIck groans low in his throat when he feels your grip tighten on his dress shirt, like youâre terrified he might pull away. As if he would ever want to. His tongue teases along your bottom lip againâasking without words.
His other hand drops from your chin to squeeze your hip possessively, fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp against his mouth.
"Sweetheart," he murmurs between feverish kisses, voice wrecked already, "c'mon, open up for me."
That toneâhalf praise and half demandâsends a bolt of heat straight through you. Holy shit. Youâre embarrassed at the mewl that escapes you at the pet name. Please call me that again, please, pleaseâ
It's almost instantaneous that you open your mouth, giving his tongue access. The pleased chuckle that escapes him makes your entire body flare up in warmth. It felt good, getting his approval.
Dick takes full advantage of your obedience, the kiss turning downright filthy as he explores your mouth, his tongue coaxing against yours in the most distracting way. He groans again, a hungry, guttural sound that reverberates through his chest. He has to have more of you.
"Dickâ" you whine against his lips as the smacking of lips circles around the small, dark quiet hallway. You find out just how easy it is to forget your surroundings when Dick Grayson is all-consuming in your mind, and on your lips.
The sound of his name on your lips grows his greed, wanting to own every gasp and whine and whimper you make. When your tongue brushes against his, something ignites in him, some feral, possessive feeling that makes his skin burn. You're so cute; he feels like a starved animal.
He pulls away with a wet sound, breathing heavily against your lips and resting his forehead against yours. He can feel your heart racing. He presses one last desperate peck to your lips.
"God," he mumbles raggedly, "you're doing things to me, sweetheart."
"I d-didn't do anything," you pant quietly, catching your breath as a string of drool remains between the two of youâyour eyes half-lidded.
Dick stares at your face, taking in your flushed cheeks, the way you pant, and that adorable little strand of droolâGod, he is so obsessed with you it isn't even funny.
His hands roam your body, one still gripping your hip and the other sliding up to cup your cheek, his calloused thumb tracing your kiss-swollen bottom lip, wiping away the wetness. You resist the urge to take his thumb in your mouth where it sits against your lip.
"Baby, look at you," he murmurs, gaze darkening as he looks down at you. "I could eat you alive right now." His comment makes you squawk. "Please don't," you sigh weakly, a protesting frown on your lips.
"I won't," he murmurs between nips and pecks along your jaw, "not unless you ask very nicely." He punctuates it with a slow drag of his teeth against your pulse point before pulling away just enough to see the reaction on your face.
His fingers tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear as his expression softens into something warmerâsomething more like home. "But I should probably get going before I actually do something reckless."
Oh. Yeah.
"You should..." You realize sadly that as much as you wanted to stay out longer with him, you couldn't risk getting in trouble with your roommate. "I wish you didn't have to," you murmur sadly, looking down at your heels.
His face falls for a second, reading the disappointment in your tone instantly. Dick pulls you back into a tight hug, pressing his lips to the top of your head before sighing dramatically.
"Ugh, don't look at me like that," he whines, squeezing you lightly as he rests his chin on your head. "You're gonna make me stay. And then I'll have to explain to your roommate why I'm camped out on your doorstep like some lovesick stray."
You couldnât resist the giggle at his comment, equally wrapping your arms around him. Youâre overwhelmed and also not whelmed (heh, yj ref) enough by his scent. âI would've let you stay the night like usual, but she just came back from vacation. Sorry, Dick.â
He only sulks above you, letting out one last dramatic sigh. Heâs as dramatic as ever. âItâd be easier if I could just bring you back to mine,â Dick huffs enviously. âIf only life were so easy.â
âYou talk like I wonât just see you soon, silly. I promised Haley treats.â
âSo you only like me for my dog?â
âCrap, you caught me...â you grin, unbothered
He lets out an undignified squawk, your laughther following up with the dramatics.
âTo be fair, sheâs super adorable. I canât resist her eyes; sheâs just a baby!â
âIâll have you know, I was the one who trained her. Her cuteness is a direct reflection of me.â
You laugh, shaking your head. âFine, fine. Maybe I like you a little too.
Dick beams instantly, smug as ever. âI knew it.â
He pulls back just enough to cup your face againâand this time, there's no joking in those stupidly blue eyes. Just something painfully sincere.
"But Iâll see you soon? Like⌠really soon?" His thumb traces the apple of your cheek hopefully.
You nod eagerly, returning his hopeful smile with a tender one of your own. âYeah...Iâd like that.â You confess quietly, holding his hand against your cheek.
His smile brightens immediately, boyish and so unfairly charming. You hate him. "Good," he murmurs, pressing one last lingering kiss to your forehead before finallyâreluctantlyâstepping back.
Dick walks backwards to the elevator like an idiot, unable to tear his eyes away from you. "And hey," he adds with a grin that promises trouble, fingers tapping against his chest where his heart is still racing. "You did this to me."
You canât resist a laugh at his antics, pulling out your keys from your purse as he gets closer to the elevator. You grin like a lovesick teenagerâyou both do. âI sure did, Golden Boy. Call me when you get home?â
âAlways,â he promises, taking a moment to admire your glowing figure under the warm lighting. He stuffs his hands in his pockets to keep himself from walking back over and hauling you into his arms again.
Itâs when you unlock your door and give him one last smile that he dramatically blows you a kiss, his heart warming even further when you playfully catch it.
Dickâs grin softens one last time, pausing as the elevator doors open. âGoodnight, baby.â He tells you. You parrot after him. âGoodnight, Dickie.â Only you know how much that nickname makes his heart flutter.
And thenâjust like thatâyou disappear into your apartment.
(you only realize minutes later thanks to your roommate that you completely forgot to hand back his jacket. when mentioning this to dick he only laughs and tells you to keep it as a souvenir.)
dont forgot to like & reblog! thank you for reading. <3
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Jason Todd absolutely refuses to dress up in a suit. He's all leather and worn t-shirts, practicality with a little flair. If anyone were to ask what's his deal with suits, he'd just answer that the only way a suit could possibly fit him is if he had it tailored. God forbid he resembles Bruce in the slightest, who occasionally spends his morning hours with Gotham's finest tailors in his polished shoes and pressed suits.
Still, when you asked him if he could accompany you to a formal event, how could he say no? There was no way he was embarrassing you either by putting in minimal effort, so he forces himself to dress up, tailored suit and all despite the discomfort of being measured and poked at.
It's all worth it when he sees you.
Dressed in a silk dress that hugs you in all the right places, he wonders if you're trying to lure him into dropping this entire thing, so he could bring you back up those steps to hide you away from the rest of the world.
Eyes roaming over you and taking you in, he notices your widened eyes from his appearance. He likes that look, like you're seeing him for the first time again.
"Told you I clean up nice, sweetheart."
His smirk and the knowing look in his gaze does wonders for your racing heart.
You can't deny his words. You're used to his usual ensemble, mask on or off. Jason carried this rough edge to him, but there's nothing about him now that screams 'out of place', even with his well-fitting tux and gelled hair.
Maybe it's the shock of seeing him in a different light that's making you light-headed, but you can't stop eyeing the way his sleeves hug his arms, or that red shade beneath the black that makes his eyes pop.
Moving closer to him, you can't resist. Your hands roam over his shoulders, then drag down his chest, feeling the way the buttons are snug tight from holding the fabric together.
"Easy." He teases, though his grin barely conceals his delight.
Twisting your fingers around his tie, you pull him closer with a sudden tug, catching him off guard.
"You do clean up nice." You murmur. "But I like you a little undone."
His eyes darken, and you see the gears turning in his mind. You smile teasingly, breaking the distance.
"Come on, we better get going before the Gotham traffic hits."
Tightening his tie again to prove your point, you move past him only for his hand to grab yours, pinning you close to him, chest to chest.
"On second thought." He breathes out. "I can find other more suitable events for this suit."
You blink innocently, pretending not to understand. "Oh, really? Where would that be?"
"Just my favourite location." He leans in, lips brushing your skin as he whispers near your ear. "Second floor, your bed."
Safe to say, both of you don't make it to the event. At the very least, the suit was definitely put to good use.
summary: getting a list of everything damian hates, you feel self-conscious about ticking the boxes in that listâand try to fix that, not knowing that youâre damianâs only exception.
pairing: damian wayne x fem! reader
content: fluffff, pre-established relationship, tim drake uses the wrong words and ensues a chaotic week.
âYou want to know what Damian hates?â
Your inquisitive nature has become a known trait to Damian's family, and if anything, it fits you right in. Damian credits your 'detective work', he terms affectionately, as a perfect fit to his own.
Timâs busy digging through another case, but your question surprises him enough to pause, an incredulous look crossing his tired features. âYou know that doesnât apply to you at all, right?â
âYouâre the only person available to ask.â You plead. âIt's a little awkward to storm right up to him with a âGood morning! Do you secretly hate me and I should jump off the face of the Earth?ââ
âDefine available.â Tim mutters, before snorting softly. âAnd Damian hating you? Thatâll be impossible.â
You donât budge, eyes purposely wide as saucers, hoping your pleading's visible enough to coerce his sleep-deprived brain cells to work on something that wasn't the large Bat-Computer, illuminating a spotlight on his eye-bags.
He sighs. âFine. It shouldnât be that hard to think of.â
âI guess..â He mutters distractedly, multitasking your strange request and his work and an indulgent sip of his over-steeped tea. âHe hates clumsiness? One time, Dick knocked over his printed Bat-Cow mug and even though he caught it immediately, you shouldâve seen the look on Damianâs face.â
Not off to an amazing start. You don't dare recall the amount of times heâs caught you from face-planting in your shared apartmentâor the number of plates youâve broken when they slipped from your hands while washing them.
âRight. Clumsiness.â Your laugh comes out forced. âAnything else?â
âHoarders.â He mutters through another sip, even as his nose scrunches at the bitterness. âI keep a bunch of files in the Bat-Cave, because forbid a man for wanting physical archives in case the Bat-Computerâs compromised. He snapped at me on the amount of useless cases I had collecting dust in the corner.â
Your heart squeezes traitorously, already aligning yourself with the trait before you could even deny the semblance. You didnât expect him to accurately describe someone like.. you?
Your collection of junk is still stored inside a designated cardboard box, keeping letters heâs given you throughout your relationship, receipts from closed-down restaurants, or even the bed that's littered with your worn plushies. You rarely threw away anything as long as it held a small amount of sentimental value.
âUh-huh.â You mutter distractedlyâthinking back on your shared apartment and the amount of drawers you took up.
âI supposeâpeople who canât protect themselves?â Tim shrugs apathetically. âHeâs already so strict on his own training regime, I doubt he could possibly understand anyone who doesnât know self-defence.â
You feel like youâre going to pass out. Tim finally stops, looking over to your distressed expression. âOh, I wasnât referring to you.â His mugâs 'Best Detective' claim flashes at you, sipping awkwardly at the realisation that he may have made a huge error with his words. âI just think he naturally has a lower tolerance for anyone that isnât you.â
Tolerance, something that wears out in time. What if Damian was holding in all these things and it could potentially lead to resentment that youâre a combination of all the traits he finds annoying?
âDonât take it to heart.â Tim says, his expression akin to one trying to disarm a bomb. âSeriously, hell will freeze over before that demon spawn ever hates something about you. Youâre likeâhis only exception.â
You nod faintly, mind too preoccupied to truly listen. Your phone buzzes, lighting the lock screen and a notification for one of your packages has arrived. âAh, I better get back! Nice seeing you, Tim. Thanks for the.. information.â
âNo problem?â He answers, sounding unsure. âDonât tell Damian I said anything!â
â
âBeloved?â Damian calls.
You barely hear his voice over the furious typing on your laptop, much less his trained footsteps that you could never detect. You raise your head, casting him an over-enthusiastic smile. âHey, Dami!â
He tugs his coat off, placing it on the coat rackâgaze lingering on your laptop. âWhat are you doing?â
You feel as if youâre caught in the middle of a heinous act. âUmââ Itâs not like youâre doing anything wrong. Maybe he might even be proud that youâre being proactive about improving your self-defence. âIâm signing up for a martial arts class.â
His brows furrow, his expression perplexed. âAll of a sudden?â
âJust thought Iâd try something new.â Your white lie slips out easily. âWith how Gotham is, I realise I should probably learn some moves. Just in case.â
He frowns. âIs there something concerning you regarding safety?â Looking around the apartment, he analyses the astounding upgrades heâs done with a displeased frown. âI was thinking of thickening the windowâs glass to have an increased bullet-proof rebound rate. Or installing motion cameras-â
âNo! No.â You stop him, already detecting the pattern of his mind, unravelling into a never-ending state of over preparation. Youâre sure that even if the Earth splits into two, your apartment would still be standing unscathed with what heâs already done to the structure. âItâs just a hobby, Dami. You did a great job already.â
The last thing you wanted was to add on more burdens for him. Heâs been taking on more cases than usual, back on another silent war with Tim on a silly tally-off, not like either has been keeping a fair count, and him being away for more hours meant that you had timeâthe chance to show him this improved side to you.
He pauses in his fretting, blinking slowly like a feline before beckoning himself over to where you laid, chin tucked to your neck as you hoarded your favorite corner of the sofa.
Brushing your hair aside, he places a soft kiss on your forehead. âAlright. Anything you want.â He obliges. âYouâve already charged it to my card, yes? If you feel anything inadequate about the instructor, cancel it immediately. Iâm more than willing to train you myself.â
From the way heâs looking at you, itâs almost like he wants you to say you prefer his suggestion. You almost do, tempted to let him teach you insteadâbecause a hot trainer who is also your boyfriend sounds like a match-made in heaven, then you remember Timâs words. I doubt he could possibly understand anyone who doesnât know self-defence.
If Damian saw you with his own eyes on how ill-equipped you were to protecting yourself, what if he sees you as even more inadequate? You shake your head, a perfect vision of Damian's disappointment swarming your thoughts. âIâll see how the first class goes. Apparently, itâs super beginner-level so it should be perfect for me.â
He stares at you, and you can feel his mind racing in its analysis before he nods slowly. âAlright. Iâll join you.â
âWhat!â You splutter.
âI have to ensure the instructor is truly capable in teaching you.â He states casually.
âDamian. Youâre probably more knowledgeable than he is.â You deadpan. âItâs going to feel like how advanced calculus was for you. Toddlerâs work.â
His expression doesnât so much as shift, but you spot tension in his shoulders. âHe? Even more reasons to join then.â
Oh god, what did you just unleash?
â
âWelcome to âGotham Martials-Beginnerâs Class'!â
The instructor is in the tightest, most neon-green outfit youâve ever seen and under the intrusive lights, it nearly blinds you with its reflective power. Damian doesnât bother hiding his grimace at the sight.
âDonât be intimidated, folks. I've only held a black belt in Taekwondo for the past fifteen years.â He boasts. âIf thereâs anyone whoâs going to make you Nightwing-material, itâs yours truly!â
The mention of his brother sours Damianâs expression, visible in the tick of his jaw. Sibling rivalry was only ever intensified among him and his brothers. He schools it into perfect nonchalance when you look over at him, trying to contain your laugh.
âNow, whoâs a willing volunteer to come up and let me show them the ropes?â The instructor calls out. âAs I always say, learning from example is better than theory!â
The instructor eagerly scans the room, and his mark makes its target. âWhat about you, lady? You look excited to start your journey in becoming a Martial Arts expert!â
It mustâve been your nearly-dying expression over Damianâs scowl that caught you in the web of his gaze. Your smile drops, feeling nervous with the numerous eyes on you from the other trainees. âWellââ
âThereâs no need.â Damian calls out, his hand brushing against yours in reassurance. âI volunteer.â
âAh! An enthusiastic young man.â The instructor claps. âVery well, come on to the front.â
Damian casts you a grimace, before he strides to the front. It was almost a comical sight with how he towers over the instructor, his arms crossed in disinterest. His gaze flickers over to you, clearly unimpressed.
âAh, the first rule is to never cast your eyes off your opponentââ
It happens in a flash. One moment, the instructor is charging at Damian, and the next, he was on the ground with a loud bang!, with Damian pinning him down.
âAgh!â The instructor chokes out, and a chorus of gasps echoes through the room.
Damian lifts himself off, brushing his hands against his shirt. âYou were saying?â He says dryly.
Your own hand is clasped over your mouth, but unlike the others, youâre trying so hard not to laugh. Damian's clearly terrified the rest in the room, as the circle of trainees distance themselves from the spectacle.
The instructor lifts himself off the ground, gripping onto his lower back for dear life. âHa-haâRight! I was going easy on you. Good example, folks. This is exactly how you pin someone down.â
His eyes avert Damianâs raised brow, sweat pooling at his brows. âNow, letâs resume the class at its usual distance. Iâll be in the center, and all students will be behind the red circle.â He points down at the faded drawn line, suddenly not willing for an up-close demonstration.
The class continues on with a series of stretches followed by beginner poses. You doubt any moves you were taught would actually save you against an actual criminal on the streets, but seeing Damian being forced to do such minimal movement with a disgusted expression made it all worth it.
âI think I gained a six pack just by watching you.â Your core was still burning from the restraining laughter as he inserts the key to the door of your apartment. âNever seen you soârestrained.â
He casts you an unimpressed look. âThe mystery of how this city has so many civilian kidnappings was all answered by that lacklustre session. If thatâs the highest rated âself-defenseâ class in Gotham, itâs no wonder this cityâs crime rate hasnât gone down.â
âIt mustâve been a pain for you." You sympathise as best as you could with an Al Ghul prodigy. "Even if the session had been a hundred times better than Mr. Neon Tights, I doubt it wouldâve been useful compared to your experience.â
His narrowed eyes soften, hand kept extended to hold the door open for you. When you enter, he swiftly closes the door, arm still hovering over you and cornering you in. âThat wasnât my intention.â He says. âIf I had attended for self defence, that wouldâve been highly unproductive. Butââ
His free hand comes up to caress your chin, guiding your gaze to meet his eyes fully. âMy intention was to spend time with you. And seeing you have a good time, regardless of the quality of the session, had always been the goal.â
Your cheeks warm, and heâs doing that weird thing again where he makes you feel special for doing absolutely nothing. âYouâre cheesy.â
âHm.â He hums. âMaybe Iâve been too affected by Mr. Neon Tights.â
You canât help the laugh that slips out, and his smile deepensâhighlighting a soft dimple that you secretly obsess over. Falling into character, you clear your throat. âArenât you aware, Mr. Wayne? Itâs not always about the result, itâs the journey.â
He huffs in amusement. âI wasnât aware of such peculiar words of wisdom. From now on, youâll be training with me. No more of that nonsense, even if it entertains you, beloved.â
âWhat?â You pretend to gasp. âWhatever shall I do without his neon tights to motivate me, Dami? Youâre cruel.â
Leaning in, he murmurs. âI can think of other ways to motivate you.â Hands parting from the door, they wrap comfortably around your waist, gently pushing you back against the wood as he leans in. His lips press softly against yours, and itâs the soft moments of domesticity like this that you wish so desperately to stay longer.
By the time he parts from you, your lungs were screaming for more air than theyâve ever did in that class.
âHowâs that?â He taunts lowly.
âNot bad. I feel pretty motivated to do a push-up right now.â You affirm, a little dazed.
Damianâs rare laugh is heavenly to the ears.
â
Damianâs away on another patrol, and in the midst of his absence, youâre uncovering your hoard of memories that look more kindled to trash now that itâs laid out on the floor. Damianâs letters, still too precious to ever even consider throwing away are stacked in a pile to your left, and your childhood stash is on the right.
You stare seriously at your pre-school drawing, a horrible attempt of drawing the Bat with fangs coming out under his mask. It's abstract, and you're much too biased to throw away a four year old's masterpiece. Maybe you could use it as a birthday card for Bruce?
âBeloved, what are you doing?â
You quickly hide the card, your body covering the junk as Damian enters the bedroom from the window. Heâs covered in soot, but no blood is seen on his suit. Your immediate relief soothes your body, but his gaze set on the mess behind you seizes you to stand.
âDami!â Your voice sounds way too chirpy to be anything but suspicious. âNothing, I was just cleaning out some old stuff.â
âAt 3 A.M.?â He asks incredulously.
âCleaning jitters.â You shrug.
âAlright.â He says slowly. âIâll take a quick bath, then Iâll assist in sorting it out with you.â
âNo, itâs fine!â You quickly interject. âYou must be tired after patrol. Iâll just quickly clean this up. So you can go to sleep, I know you donât like mess.â
His hand lifts to detach his domino mask. Nothing stops his trained eye from sweeping the floor for this supposed âmessâ youâre talking about.
âMy letters?â He asks, surprised.
âOh, I just wanted to store them somewhere safely.â You explain. âIf it hadnât been for the letters, we.. wouldnât be here now. I didnât want dust mites to get to them.â
His lips quirk up faintly, softening at the memory. He looks over to the corner, where Mr. Paddington, one of your remaining childhood plushies was stuffed into a paper bag.
âWhy is Mr. Paddington there?â He interrogates.
You swallow, averting your gaze. It's just a bear. A bear who's been through your ups and downs for the past decade. âI realised heâsâin really bad condition. And I keep hoarding things because of sentimental value, but itâs taking up space over the apartment. Like the bed is 55% my plushies and I donât want you feeling like youâre running out of space because itâs your apartment too.â
He stares long enough that you start to feel it dig into your skull, before he turns fully and stops in front of you, lowering himself to your eye level.
âIs this an indirect method of asking me to expand our living quarters?â He asks, straight to the point as ever. âI can have us a new apartment by the end of the week.â
âNo way.â You say flatly, his words stoking a flame of protectiveness over your shared home.
Itâs an understatement to say you love this apartment. Call it being biased, but it was the first place you and Damian truly created into a home, and the memories stored within the brick walls (another addition you love), is something that will have to be pried, tooth and nail, from your cold hands.
âI justâI want to be more considerate, of the space and my junk. You may need more hanger space for your 10% shade differences in sweaters.â
He doesnât so much as shift at your teasing, a blunt attempt at distraction to his skeptical eye. âWhatever is mine is yours.â He emphasises. âI got us this place because I wanted you to have a comfort space. I want you to use it.â
He bends, taking Mr. Paddington into his arms and patting away some dust thatâs gotten on him. âYouâre right, the stitching in his eyes has come loose. Iâll send it over to Alfred. He has been itching for something to do ever since most of us moved out, and heâs adequate in sewing.â
You donât know why, but Damian being so considerate despite you having full evidence of your hoarding habit splattered over the bedroom floor tugs your heartstrings hard. You canât resist hugging him, even when his suit is dirty. He holds you tight, Mr. Paddington squished between the two of you.
âIs there anything else you want?â He asks gently, his other hand gently rubbing your back. âYou can always ask, beloved.â
You shake your head. âNo, this is perfect.â
He hums. âLeave it be. Weâll sort it out tomorrow, together. Iâll run a quick bath, so why donât you put Mr. Paddington back on the bed where he belongs, and Iâll accompany you to sleep as soon as Iâm done?â
Heâs perfect. Itâs almost terrifying how easy it is to lean into his arms and accept his help. You should take care of your mess, not give him another task to do when heâs already tired from patrol. Still, when he places a soft kiss over your forehead, you find it hard to disagree tonight.
When he sinks into the bed, the faint smell of his body wash envelopes your senses. His weight tips you towards him, but even gravity isnât as quick as your boyfriendâs instincts, pulling you into his arms till his frame shields yours. His chest moves in synchronicity with your breathing against your back, and the thought hits again that you don't deserve him.
Somehow, against all odds of your bad luck where heâs discovered your flaws two times in a row now when you're only trying to improve them, the softness in his gaze has never shifted, annoyance never once making its way into his expression.
Was Tim really right? That Damianâs intolerance for the flaws he listed out fades when it comes to you? You want to ask, but hearing Damianâs slowed breathing, meaning heâs fallen asleepâyou think not all hope is lost yet. Thereâs still one more flaw you could work on, to make his life a little easier for all the times heâs loved you despite your flaws.
â
If youâre not going to get better at self-defence or the habit to hoard, at least youâll master tackling your clumsiness. Youâve managed in avoiding plate arson for the past week, and call it over-confidence, but when you spot the clockâs hand frozen over the kitchen, you think itâs finally time you get over your fear of ladders.
âBeloved? What are you doing?â Damian calls out, a hint of distress in his voice when he spots you, on the second highest level of the ladder, hands fumbling with the clock.
âTaking out the clock.â You answer, distracted with the hook thatâs stuck onto the nail. âIts battery needs changing.â
âI can do it.â He offers, his hands coming up to stabilise the ladder. âYou need not concern yourself with small matters like these.â
âYeah, but I want to.â You answer, finally unlatching the clock. âGot it!â
When you feel your balance tilt, you realise your miscalculation. With both your hands on the clock, youâre no longer holding the wall, and your feet stumble as your back arches backward. You yelp, falling backwardsâright into Damianâs arms.
The clock is still in your hands, covering your face halfway to hide your shame as Damian stares at you, and you see the waver of relief, worry, and amusement playing out in the flickers of his gaze.
âThatâs so embarrassing.â You mutter to yourself, still using the clock to shield your face from his prying eyes. âLet me down. Ohâcan we please pretend that never happened?â
He doesnât respond, hands still firmly wrapped around your torso, leaving your feet dangling in the air as he pins you under his gaze. âNo, I think I quite favour this position.â
âDonât tease, Damian.â Calling him by his full name doesnât do the trick. If anything, it makes his smugness triple in size. âI seriously thought I accomplished getting over my fear of ladders. Now itâs hyper-intensified and my fears have turned to actual trauma.â
He snorts softly, carrying you over to the sofa and settling down. You lay there in his arms, which is admittingly, very comfortable, making it difficult for you to climb out of his hold. Not like heâd let you, the only time his arms wasnât wrapped around you was when he took one hand to tear the clock out of his hands, settling it at the coffee table.
âWhat is bothering you?â He finally asks.
You freeze. âWhat do you mean?â
âFirst, the training classes, then Mr. Paddington, and now, the clock?â He lists out. Damn him and how observing he was. âSomethingâs bothering you.â
You hesitate. Itâs irrational, but what if you list out the traits he hates, and he realises that youâre really all the things he despises? Your mind knows Damian loves you, but at moments, your heart wonders why.
âWell..â You swallow. âPromise not to get mad?â
âI could never be mad at you.â He answers immediately.
You donât even know where to start. âYou always take care of me. And you rarely complain. So I was starting to wonder if there was anything I did that could.. piss you off that you never mentioned.â
His brows pinch together. âWas there anything I did to make you reach that assumption? I know my communication of my feelings still needs.." He grimaces as he manages the word out. "Improvement. If I ever made you feel at unease, it was never my intention. Iâve never felt that way about you. Ever.â
âNoâno.â Itâs a relief to hear him say that, but itâs much harder to sound convincing when heâs looking down at you with his unbridled concern, his gaze softer than youâve ever seen. âI just didnât want to accidentally do something in habit that irritates you when youâve been nothing but good to me.â
Averting eye contact, you focus on the jammed hands of the clock. âI asked for a list about what you hated andâit felt as if each description pierced right through me, so I panicked and over-compromised.â
His gaze sharpens. âWhat list?â
âUmââ You discreetly feel Timâs lifespan shortening. âJust a couple of things. Hearing them made me realise that I could be a burden to you because of all the annoying things you have to deal withâso I tried to improve them. I donât want you feeling like you have to take care of me because Iâm not good in doing it.â
He shakes his head, mouth pursed and ready to argue but not quick enough to avoid the finger you place on his lips. âItâs not that I donât want you taking care of me, because I love that you do. I appreciate it so, so much that Iâm scared that Iâm relying too much on you.â You admit, feeling a lump growing in your throat. âAnd Iâm scared that taking care of me gets tiring.â
He gently caresses your wrist, pulling it aside so he can speak. âI want to take care of you.â He reassures you.
âBut you hate clumsy people.â You croak out.
âI love your clumsiness.â He answers in a factual tone. "It's easier to get you into my arms."
âAnd you hate people who hoard.â
âI hoard things you gift me.â He bites back. âItâd be hypocritical of me to judge you for that when I partake in the same habit."
âYouââ Somehow, his easy way of dissuading your worries is working, and you canât think of much else. âYou hate people who canât protect themselves.â
âThen what is my purpose, beloved?â He asks. âIf not to protect you. If I could not fulfill even that duty, I would condone that hatred on myself. Never you.â
âThen what has this week been for?â You moan. âFelt like a humiliation ritualâLike I was horribly incapable as Damian Wayneâs partner.â
His lips quirk up. "Adorable." He whispers, as if he can't help himself. "You are capable. Of more things than you think.â
âYou understand people better than I do, which is why you tried to be considerate of me by doing this.â He adds. âI appreciate your efforts, beloved, but you donât need to be anything more or change yourself because I cherish you as you are. Youâre already perfect for me.â
Damianâs love has always been shown through his actions, his unwavering patience heâs harnessed just for you, evident by his siblingsâ complaint of unfair treatment. Yet, to hear him say it so directlyâyou can barely think of what to say back without sounding like an emotional mess.
âWhere did you obtain such an unreliable list?â He asks after a moment.
You wince. He stares and stares, akin to a falcon, till it comes out of you. ââŚTim?â
He scowls, gaze hardening with a familiar murderous intent. âIâm going to kill Drake.â
âPlease donât.â You plead. âItâs my fault, really. And if it hadnât been for him, I would still be avoiding this conversation and I wouldnât have gained the guts to say it out loud.â
His lips purse in a thin line, which is his best attempt at consideration. âIâm still not pleased that he indirectly made you feel unworthy when thatâs never been the case. But you are right.â His free hand brushes over your cheek, growing serious. âNext time, if you ever feel this way, tell me first. Iâll listen, always.â
âAnd believe me when I sayâyou could never irritate me.â He declares. âYouâre my gift in this world, and thereâs no other person who brings me peace the way you do. Youâre not meant to exist without flaws, and I love every single one of them. It makes you human, and more precious in my eyes. So donât hide your worries from me. Bear them with me instead, and Iâll reassure you.â
Your eyes feel wet when you blink, your lashes clumping together, and your heart is thumping louder than it should. âOh, man.â You mutter. âYou just made me fall for you all over again. Thatâs not fair.â
His lips twitch into a soft smile, and presses a feather-light kiss over your forehead. âThen youâve been unfair on me too. I suppose I'll have to be more unbearable in my affections to not let such silly worries get to you. I haven't been doing a good job in my duty if you could believe in a list like that."
âAnd for the record.â His gaze softens. âI didnât see anything we did this past week as a burden. I enjoyed spending time with you, at the martial class, and the morning we spent organising your childhood memories, and even nowâbecause thatâs the reason I want to be with you. To be in your life, to be your support, your person.â
Your throat clogs together, and if he wants to succeed in making you a wreck, he's done it well.
âCause..â He murmurs. âYouâre mine. And Iâm yours. Isnât that what we promised?â
âThen, do you also solemnly swear, Damian Wayneââ Lifting up your pinky finger to him, you muster your most serious expression. âThat youâre truly in this even with my flaws, on the good and bad days?â
He links his pinky with yours, wrapping it close to his chest right above his heart. âI solemnly swear.â
Damian always keeps his promises. You could ask him to capture the Sun for you, and he'd somehow find a way to do it before Monday.
âWhat else did that lunatic say?â Damian interrogates.
Your mind scrambles for anything to save your future brother-in-lawâs life. âTim did say I was your only exception.â
He huffs. âI suppose thereâs one thing Drake finally got right.â
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imagine you and tim staying behind after school to study.
the hallway outside the classroom is mostly empty now, lockers shut and lights dimmed, the distant echo of a janitorâs cart rolling by every so often.
inside, the room feels different without everyone else in it. late afternoon sunlight slants through the windows, dust motes floating lazily in the air.
timâs seated beside you, sleeves pushed up, backpack half-unzipped at his feet. his notebook is open, already filled with neat handwriting and margin notes, like he actually has been working. your textbook, meanwhile, has been open to the same page for an embarrassing amount of time.
neither of you say much.
thereâs the occasional scratch of pencil, the rustle of paper, the soft rustle of tim flipping a page. every so often he glances up, like heâs checking in without wanting to interrupt. you like that about him. he never makes silence awkward.
you shift in your chair and gently bump his knee under the table. âwanna listen to something?â you ask quietly, like the room itself might overhear.
he looks up, eyes flicking from your face to the phone in your hand. thereâs a pause, that familiar one, thoughtful and careful, before he nods. âyeah,â he says, just as softly.
you untangle your earbuds and slide one across the table toward him. he reaches for it, fingers brushing yours when he takes it. itâs quick, barely there, but it sends a warm little spark through you anyway. his hand lingers a second longer than necessary before pulling back.
the music starts low, filling the space between you instead of breaking it. tim leans back in his chair, one shoulder angled slightly toward you now, like heâs unconsciously adjusting to be closer. his gaze drifts back to his notes, but you can tell heâs not really reading.
a few minutes pass.
his knee presses gently against yours under the table. you wait, give him an out. he doesnât take it. instead, he relaxes into the contact, like heâs finally decided itâs okay to stay.
the wire between you shifts as you both lean back a little more, chairs angled just enough that your shoulders nearly touch. your hair brushes his arm, and he freezes for half a second before exhaling slowly, tension easing out of him.
you glance over.
his eyes are closed now, lashes dark against his cheeks, expression softer than youâre used to seeing during the day. justâŚtim.
his hand moves on the table, inching closer to yours. you watch it happen out of the corner of your eye, heart beating a little faster than it should. his pinky nudges yours, tentative, like heâs checking to see if youâll pull away.
you donât.
he curls his pinky around yours, gentle and deliberate. no squeezing, no sudden confidence. just a quiet connection, like heâs afraid to disturb the moment if he does too much.
outside, the bell for after-school activities rings faintly in the distance. neither of you move. the classroom stays warm and quiet, the music playing on, and tim stays right there with you
Šluvlypresley2026 - do not translate or copy in any way.
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