Sarcasm and Inappropriate Jokes

he pokes your shoulder repeatedly, arm draped over the barrier pillow. "baby, baby, baby, baby," he repeats with each poke.

he grins big and wide when you finally turn over your shoulder, glaring at him. "do i need to get a bigger pillow?" you scoff.

"no. this one's perfectly fine," he chirps. "though i'd prefer no pillow at all. i can't feel my baby up like this!"

you roll your eyes. "you don't deserve to feel me up, richard. go to sleep." you shuffle closer to the edge of the bed, juuust far enough that he can't reach you.

he groans dramatically, flopping down on his side with a huff. "fine, whatever. you don't love me, i get it. goodnight, i guess."

he falls asleep with a big, babyish pout on his face, his lip jutted out like a toddler's rather than a 20-something year old's.

his spirits are definitely raised in the morning, though, because he wakes up to his body being draped over the stupid pillow barrier, head nestled against your chest.

jason todd:

jason would take it much worse than dick. he'd feel personally offended, undoubtedly.

he'd glare daggers at the pillow separating his body from yours, wishing he could burn it to ashes with just his eyes. his arms are crossed over his beefy chest like a child told no to dessert.

finally, he tears his eyes from the pillow and onto your sweet body. your beautiful, worship-worthy body. "can i touch you yet?"

"no, jay! that's the whole point of the pillow. no cuddles allowed, i'm angry with you."

he grumbles. "no cuddles isn't the same as no touching. can't i at least hold your hand, ma?"

"no."

"ma, please?"

"jason peter," you snap, giving him the look. "i said no. goodnight."

his eyes remain trained to your back, watching it rise and fall as you breathe. "...night."

you feel much worse about how you spoke to him when you wake up the next morning. his side of the bed is cold, and the pillow in the middle looks as if it hadn't moved once since it was placed.

you get up, padding to the kitchen where jason is flipping pancakes at the stove. his shoulders are slumped, head swaying as if it's too heavy for his neck. he lets out a deep sigh. you frown.

your arms wrap around yourself as you approach. "jay?" you call softly, standing beside him at the stove. no touching, not yet. he doesn't look at you, so you tilt your head to get a look at his face and oh...

his eyelids droop with exhaustion, eyes a bit red from straining to stay awake. his under-eyes are dark bags. his lips are chapped. "baby? what's up with you?"

alas, he looks at you, his lips don't smile, eyes don't soften. he holds out your plate of pancakes and you accept it. "i did not sleep."

"...why?"

he looks at you as if it's obvious. "well, i did not have you to hold, and i can't guarantee your safety without holding you. i tried to sleep, but then i had a nightmare that i'd...lost you. every time i shut my eyes i saw the same thing as the dream. so, i decided to just stay awake."

you've never felt like a shittier person. you throw your arms around him, feeling him slump against you. you vow to never but him on a touch ban again, no matter how angry he makes you.

bruce wayne:

personally, i feel like bruce just...wouldn't even put up with it lol.

unlike how dick and jason kept the pillow and respected the rule (to an extent), bruce would just laugh in your face when he comes in for bed.

he stands at the foot of the bed, looking at your scowling face and the fluffy pillow at your side. "what's with the barrier?"

you huff. "no touching, bruce. i'm not in the mood."

he places his glass of water on his nightstand, casually crawling into bed and tossing the pillow across the room.

"bruce!" you glare, but you can't do much when he snakes his beefy arms around your waist and tugs you close until your back meets his chest. "i said no touch—"

"—i know what you said, darling. and—no offense—i don't give two fucks," he chuckles, the sound low and deep in your ear. fuck, why does he sound so good when you're so upset? "if i want to hold my wife, i'm going to hold my lovely wife."

you grumble, fighting his grip, but to no avail. "bruceeee," you groan.

"g'night, honey," he only croons, kissing your jawline so sweetly. "i love you."

moments of silence pass.

"i said i love you," he repeats, pinching your waist.

you squirm. "ughhhuh, i love you, too."

"good girl," he grins into your neck, holding you closer. "get some beauty sleep, i'll have alfred prepare you a spectacular breakfast tomorrow morning—y'know, as my apology."

true to his word, you wake up to his arms still locked around you like chains. however, the delectable scent of pancakes, waffles, berries and cream, eggs, and coffee wafts into the bedroom.

"ugh, i hate you, you promising, handsome bastard," you grumble, relaxing into his arms with the assumption that he's still sleeping. "i can never stay mad at you."

you feel lips curl into a grin against your shoulder. "yes, yes, you hate me," he mumbles sarcastically. "my wifey hates me and my lovely arms and the breakfast i make her."

"you didn't make anything. alfred made it."

"i made him make it. lovable by association, honey."

damian wayne:

when damian's told that you'd be sleeping with a pillow between you, your sweet baby's signature scowl is tainted with unshed tears. you feel bad, but your anger from the fight overpowers your remorse.

"a...pillow barrier?" he mumbles. "really, habibti?"

you nod. "a pillow barrier. i'm so upset with you, dami. i don't wanna cuddle."

he nods his head once. "i'll try to cope," he sighs, climbing into bed and throwing the covers over his head.

all of damian that shows is a little peek of jet-black hair from under the sheets. despite yourself, you have to bite back a smile. so cute.

"night, damian," you murmur.

his voice is muffled by the comforter. "goodnight, habibti. i love you oh so dearly, my world."

you're glad that he's hiding under the sheets, that way he can't see your grin breaks through—can't see your walls cracking. "i love you too, dami."

dami. the nickname makes your boyfriend smile. dami rather than damian, that's progress.

what you don't see is damian tossing and turning for hours until the clock strikes 2 am. he just can't sleep without his beloved woman in his arms, without your hair tickling his cheek as you drool into his neck.

so, he crawls out of bed and into the cool nighttime chill of the manor. if you won't cuddle him, he shall find a replacement. he returns to the bedroom a bit later with alfred the cat tucked under his arm and titus trailing lazily behind him.

he reunites with the warm blankets, holding alfred close under his chin. titus climbs into bed, sprawling comfortably over damian's legs.

you awaken the next morning the most adorable sight. your dami, arms (and legs) full of his cherished pets.

his hold on the cat is tight, the animal purring softly into damian's neck. titus has since inched his way up the bed, his head level with damian's—the dog is nearly spooning your boyfriend, doggy drool coating his sleep shirt.

well, at least he found a way to get his fix of drool and warmth. your walls finally crumble, and you reach over the pillow to stroke your knuckles against his cheek. that wakes him up.

he peels one eye open, grinning at the gooey look on your face. "what? i needed something to hold."

tim drake:

mommy kink!tim is activated almost instantly, and he tears each and every one of your walls down until you forget why you were even upset with him in the first place.

his face falls when you announce the pillow's presence. "what?!"

"you heard me, tim. pillow stays."

"no...no, no, no, no," he whines softly, feeling helpless. he tosses his phone haphazardly onto his nightstand, flopping onto the bed. "please, no."

you huff. "i'm upset, tim! i can't cuddle with you tonight, i just can't."

"mommy, please!" he begs pathetically, shoving the pillow out from where it's lodged between your bodies. he nuzzles up into your side instantly. his dark locks brush your cheek. "can't sleep without my mommy...need her to hold me, and love me, and tell me i'm a good boy."

you arch a brow. "but you're not a good boy."

he whimpers, eyes drilling shut in regret at your words. "o– okay, then to tell me i'm a bad boy. that i'm such a bad boy and don't deserve my mommy's affection."

"okay, fine. you're a ba—"

"—no! i change my mind. don't tell me any of those things," he whines, big blue eyes looking apologetically up at you through thick lashes. fuck, the eyes. "i'm so so so sorry, mama. i wasn't a good boy, but i can be! a good boy, that is."

you run a hand through his hair, and he whimpers—loud and desperate for more touch. "you promise you'll be good? you're not lying to mommy so she'll cuddle you?"

he keeps his eyes on yours, so melty and gentle. "i'd never lie to you, mommy. i swear."

"okay, then. if you say you can be a good boy, timmy, then i'll cuddle you tonight. but don't make me mad again, understand?"

"understand, mommy," he coos, smiling happily now that he's won you over. he snuggles into your chest, sighing contentedly. "thank you."