obsessedwithromance

KINKTOBER DAY 1: ROLEPLAY

Summary: Red Robin pays a visit to his biggest fan, F/N.

Warnings/Contains: Smut (duh), p in v, no protection, roleplaying as vigilante identity, oral sex (m!receiving), inappropriate use of bo-staff, creampie, face-fucking, dacryphilia, humiliation, established relationship, dub-con?, glove kink(ish).

WC: 1,720

Posted On: 1/10/25 also on AO3!

Title Song: The Collector - Nine Inch Nails

Author's Note: Dedicated to my pookie @jimjjamjamie <3

To the Kinktober Masterlist

18+ MDNI!!!

Clark: you know.

Clark: this isn’t what I thought they meant when they said you’re good at multitasking.

Bruce, pausing mid bite wondering why he’s even here:

Jason: he eats brownies while taking back shots too.

Clark, turning to Bruce suddenly more pleased by this news: does he?

Bruce: if you can’t take burger shit breaks you don’t get brownie back shots.

Clark, eyes glowing with fascination and adoration: I’ve been in here for ten minutes watching you, what part of that says I don’t love you.

Jason: yeah, it says fucking pervert instead.

Clark turns flicking the door shut.

Clark:

Clark: you know.

Clark: this isn’t what I thought they meant when they said you’re good at multitasking.

Bruce, pausing mid bite wondering why he’s even here:

Jason: he eats brownies while taking back shots too.

Clark, turning to Bruce suddenly more pleased by this news: does he?

Bruce: if you can’t take burger shit breaks you don’t get brownie back shots.

Clark, eyes glowing with fascination and adoration: I’ve been in here for ten minutes watching you, what part of that says I don’t love you.

Jason: yeah, it says fucking pervert instead.

Clark turns flicking the door shut.

Clark:

Sir that's his emotional support orphan, leave him alone.

Sir that's his emotional support orphan, leave him alone.

✶ MONSTER IN THE CLOSET!

synopsis ⠀:: ⠀ when you found out about their sick obsession and yet still want them. actually you think it's adorable.

including ⠀! ⠀ bruce wayne. dick grayson. jason todd. tim drake. damian wayne. ✶

contents ⠀! ⠀ fem reader. obsession. fluff? masterlist. english is not my first language. ✶

BRUCE WAYNE

Bruce expects resistance.

He expects hatred.

A conversation.

A boundary.

Something.

Anything.

What he doesn't expect is you sitting in his lap one evening, fingers lazily tracing the veins in his hand, while he realizes you've found the files.

All of them.

The encrypted ones.

The ones he never meant for you to see.

Years worth of observations.

Notes.

Photographs.

Patterns.

Your favorite places.

Your habits.

Your routines.

A portrait of obsession built with detective work.

Enough information to make most people run.

Bruce is already preparing for the fallout.

Already rehearsing explanations.

Damage control.

Apologies.

Then you look up.

Smile softly.

And ask,

"That's how much you think about me?"

Bruce stops breathing.

Actually.

Stops.

For a second.

His heart misses a beat.

Because you're supposed to be horrified.

Instead you sound...

pleased.

Curious.

Almost shy.

As though somebody handed you a love letter.

The silence stretches.

Bruce feels something bloody crack inside his chest.

A pressure he's carried for years.

The certainty that if you saw all of him—

all of it—

you would leave.

Then you lean forward and kiss him.

Like nothing changed.

Like everything changed.

And Bruce realizes he's looking at the only person who has ever seen the monster under the mask and smiled at it.

Not because you didn't recognize it.

Because you did.

And stayed anyway.

DICK GRAYSON

Dick laughs when he's nervous.

So when you casually mention the fact that you've noticed him stalking you, memorizing everything about you—

every expression.

Every habit.

Every mood shift—

he laughs.

Immediately.

Too fast.

Too bright.

Because he's waiting.

Waiting for the judgment.

The realization.

The inevitable,

"Dick, that's not normal."

Instead you tilt your head.

Looking thoughtful.

Then you say,

"I think it's sweet."

The smile falls right off his face.

Not sweet.

Not possible.

Dick knows what he is.

Knows the way his attention follows you.

Knows the way his entire day rearranges itself around your existence.

Knows how embarrassing it is.

How intense.

How much.

Far too much.

Then you reach over and touch his cheek.

Gentle.

Affectionate.

"I like being your favorite thing."

And Dick looks at you like you've just rewritten the laws of physics.

Because nobody has ever said that before.

Nobody has ever looked at the most excessive parts of his love and wanted more.

Not less.

More.

The realization leaves him strangely vulnerable.

Like you've reached inside his chest and found every ugly, desperate piece he kept hidden.

And instead of recoiling—

you gathered them carefully in your hands.

JASON TODD

Jason is convinced you're going to leave.

Not because of something he did.

Because eventually everybody does.

That's the rule.

So when you discover just how bad it's gotten, how much blood is on his hands, how many people he have killed just because they looked at you—

how completely his world revolves around you—

he's already bracing for impact.

Waiting for the disgust.

Waiting for the look.

Instead you start laughing.

Not mockingly.

Not cruelly.

Warmly.

Like you've discovered something adorable.

Jason immediately becomes suspicious.

"Why are you laughing?"

"Because you're insane."

"..."

"It's kinda hot."

Jason stares.

You stare back.

The silence becomes unbearable.

Then you continue.

"Do you know how fucked up it is?"

"..."

"Nobody has ever loved me this much before."

Jason genuinely doesn't know what to do.

His brain completely short-circuits.

Because you're looking at him like he's something precious.

Something cherished.

Not broken.

Not wrong.

Not frightening.

Cherished.

And for someone who spent years believing the ugliest parts of himself made him unlovable—

the feeling is almost painful.

Like thawing frozen flesh.

Like blood returning to a limb after being cut off.

Agony.

Relief.

Joy.

All tangled together.

And before he can stop himself, the tears start falling like leafs in autumn.

TIM DRAKE

Tim never planned for you to find out.

It was embarrassing.

Humiliating, actually.

The sheer extent of it.

The way his brain naturally reorganized itself around you.

The way every room became a place he'd shared with you.

The way every conversation somehow circled back to you.

The way he knew the cadence of your footsteps before he saw you.

The way he could tell your mood from a single text message.

The way he remembered things you forgot saying years ago.

Not intentionally.

His brain just... kept you.

Like a dragon sitting on a mountain of treasure.

Every memory.

Every smile.

Every passing comment.

Hoarded.

Protected.

Loved.

And one day you realize.

Not part of it.

All of it.

The full ugly thing.

The complete picture.

Tim is sitting across from you waiting for the reaction.

The inevitable reaction.

Because now you know.

Now you've seen the tangled wiring.

The unhealthy parts.

The places where affection grew teeth.

You know.

And God.

He hates how nervous he is.

Because Tim is brave.

He fights murderers.

Aliens.

Monsters.

But you?

You can still cut him open and rip his heart out.

Then you smile.

Not nervously.

Not uncertainly.

You smile like you've just discovered something precious.

Something fragile.

Something beloved.

And suddenly Tim feels cold.

The kind of cold people feel before shock.

Because that's not right.

That isn't the script.

You aren't supposed to look happy.

"That's... honestly kind of adorable."

Tim laughs.

Immediately.

A horrified laugh.

Because you've misunderstood.

Obviously.

You don't understand how bad it is.

You don't understand why he hide under your bed at night. Why he pick up your chewed gummies from trash. Why he steal your dirty panties and—

Then you start talking.

And that's when something inside him goes still.

Because you do understand.

You understand all of it.

Every obsessive detail.

Every unhealthy habit.

Every ridiculous thing.

And you're smiling.

Like somebody handed you a gift.

Like you've discovered proof of something beautiful.

Tim just stares.

Because for years he's carried this certainty inside himself.

That if somebody ever looked directly into his head—

really looked—

they'd find something wrong.

Something malformed.

Like an organ growing where it shouldn't.

Like teeth beneath skin.

Something people aren't supposed to have.

Then you reach across the table.

Take his hand.

And casually say,

"You're my favorite creep."

The sentence enters his body like lightning.

Not painful.

Transformative.

For a second Tim feels stripped open.

Like his ribcage has been peeled apart.

Like every secret thing he's ever hidden is exposed.

And somehow—

somehow—

You're touching it.

Admiring it.

Loving it.

And Tim realizes he's spent years preparing for rejection.

Not acceptance.

Acceptance was never part of the plan.

Acceptance is the thing that breaks him.

Because rejection confirms what he already believes.

Acceptance destroys it.

And suddenly he doesn't know what to do with all that fear he's been carrying.

Because you're holding his leash now.

Carefully.

Like it isn't ugly at all.

DAMIAN WAYNE

Damian doesn't panic when you find out.

He gets angry.

Immediately.

Not at you.

At the situation.

At the vulnerability.

At the fact that now you know.

Because Damian has spent his entire life treating his feelings like an exposed artery.

Something dangerous.

Something enemies can use against him.

And you've just been handed a knife.

So naturally he's preparing to bleed.

You noticed.

Finally.

The way his entire body tracks you unconsciously.

The way he knows where you are in a room without looking.

The way his attention snaps toward you instantly.

The way every protective instinct inside him becomes absurd around you.

You noticed all of it.

And now you're looking at him.

He hates this.

He hates waiting.

Waiting for disgust.

Waiting for fear.

Waiting for judgment.

Instead your eyes are shining.

Damian immediately narrows his eyes.

Suspicious.

Very suspicious.

Because you're smirking.

Like you've discovered a secret.

A good secret.

"What?"

The word comes out sharper than intended.

You tilt your head.

Still smiling.

"You're so fucking cute."

Damian almost chokes.

Cute.

Cute.

Cute.

The word feels physically offensive.

Because there is absolutely nothing cute about this.

Nothing cute about how violence he is.

Nothing cute about how sick he is.

Nothing cute about how he have plan to chop your legs off if you ever try to leave him.

Nothing.

He's spent years trying to control it.

Trying to manage it.

Trying to make himself normal.

Reasonable.

Sane.

And you're calling it cute.

You must be insane.

That's the only explanation.

You love how possessive he is.

How territorial.

How intense.

How much.

You want the entire ugly shape of it.

And somehow—

somehow—

you're just as much insane as he is.

The realization hits Damian harder than any punch ever has.

Because suddenly the world stops making sense.

You are supposed to want less.

People always want less.

People spend their entire lives asking him to make himself smaller.

Softer.

Easier to hold.

And here you are.

Looking directly at the deepest wound he has.

The most shameful part.

The hungriest part.

And instead of asking him to shrink—

you seem fascinated by it.

Like you've discovered a rare animal.

Something beautiful.

Something dangerous.

Something worth keeping.

For a moment Damian genuinely cannot speak.

Because his entire life he's believed love was a transaction.

Conditional.

Temporary.

Fragile.

Something earned through perfection.

Then you ruin everything by loving him incorrectly.

By loving the wrong parts.

The difficult parts.

The excessive parts.

The parts he spent years trying to hide.

You reach over.

Brush your fingers against his jaw.

And smile.

Soft.

Certain.

Unafraid.

"I know."

Three words.

That's all.

Not it's okay.

Not I'll tolerate it.

Not I'll overlook it.

Just—

"I know."

And something inside Damian gives way.

Not breaks.

Opens.

Like a locked door finally rotting off its hinges.

Like a starving animal realizing the hand reaching toward it isn't carrying a weapon.

For the first time in a very long time, Damian feels exposed.

Not because you've discovered him.

Because you've discovered him and still want him.

And somehow that's infinitely more terrifying.

If you want to be in my DC taglist let me know :)

Papa: “Every year I see more and more of those damn human insects. There are too many of them in this city. They steal American jobs and are all rapists.”

Mama: “I weep for all the young girls who meet a fae.”

Papa is going to commit a hate crime and it turns out it’s one or a few of his grand babies that he injured. 💀💀💀💀💀

Fret not, Ambrose and Girly pop moved city.

Grandpa wont shoot a baby fae hybrid anytime soon, because a good deal of miles separate him from the bebes. (And Ambrose is not really impatient to have them meet.)

The bebes will be free to grow healthily and freely away from grumpy Grandpa and sad Grandma.

And if you have sex with someone other than your partner without telling them, well, then you’ve just exposed them to whatever diseases that other person might’ve been exposed to. That’s a risk they didn’t consent to.

Nightwing, landing on a rooftop where Red Hood's speaking to one of his subordinates: yo, Hood, what's going on?

Jason: hey. just getting the report for that secret shopper thing i was gonna do with the Wayne kids.

Subordinate: yeah... uh, why are Bruce Wayne's kids taking part in this again?

Jason, without missing a beat: because non of their neighbours need their laws mowed and Brucie says it's important for kids their ages to start learning the responsibility of having a job. anyway, Damian was up tonight, right? who was he buying from, 'cause i already know they failed.

Subordinate: yeah, Rick let the kid buy from him, so he needs to be punished i guess. bought two eighths of weed and an ounce of coke without Rick even blinking.

Jason, frowning: yeah, call that guy up for me to 'speak' to-

Jason:

Jason: wait Damian bought what?

Subordinate: ...two eighths of weed and an ounce of coke?

Jason:

Dick: what's wrong?

Jason, shooting off a grapple: that little shit only gave me back the weed-

~

Jason: *crying with laughter in the middle of the street*

Dick, landing nearby: ...you ok Hood?

Jason: *wheezing*

Duke, faintly, from Jason's phone: ITS NOT FUNNY.

Dick: what's happened?

Jason: Duke- *wheeze* Duke was supposed to do his secret shopper assignment tonight, but he didn't read the memo properly and tried to buy from a group of four of my guys as Signal instead of himself,

Duke: -SHUT UP JASON.

Jason: *still struggling to breathe* so he- so he rocked up and asked to buy as Signal, and my guys all assumed he was arresting them for possession,

Dick: oh my god.

Jason: they dropped him everything they fucking had and bolted, and now he's panicking on the other end of Crime Alley because four peoples' entire product inventory is too much for him to carry in one go and he's scared of leaving any behind for kids to wander across, so he's- *collapses into more laughter*

Dick, in awe: he's just stuck guarding it?!

Duke, from Jason's phone, incredibly distressed: THE RATS ARE CIRCLING IN. I'M NOT USUALLY OUT THIS LATE. SOMEBODY NEEDS TO COME AND FUCKING HELP ME-

Jason: *loses it*

~

Dick: hey, Tim did his secret shopper thing tonight, right? how'd that go?

Jason: *head in his hands*

Dick: ...did the guy fail?

Jason, muffled: no.

Dick: then what happened?

Jason: i had him try to buy from the same guy as Damian, to see if he'd 'learned his lesson', and he refused to sell to Tim point blank.

Dick: ok...?

Jason: but then Tim got offended that he'd sold to Damian and not him, so he pulled a gun on the guy and robbed him instead.

Dick:

Dick: the fuck did he get a gun from-

Jason: i don't fucking know Dick.

~

*Dick and Jason getting food on patrol when Steph calls Jason*

Steph: so i did the thing and it didn't work but i don't think it didn't work because i'm a kid.

Jason: ...what do you mean?

Steph: well i walk up to these two guys and ask to buy, right? and they say sure, what do you want? and i go 'four', and these guys say 'four what' and i'm like ??? the fuck do you think? four drugs. and-

Jason: *puts his head in his hands as Dick chokes on his hotdog*

Steph: -they look at me like i'm the fucking idiot, like, you should know how to count if you're gonna be a drug dealer, it's not like you guys have cash registers to help you out, right? and they start arguing with me and telling me that clearly i'm already high—which, fuck you guys, my makeup is awesome tonight, i do not look like i did it while high, how dare you! so i said maybe they're high and i should call their boss and snitch for stealing his supply, and they were like 'nuh uh blondie, nuh uh!' all mocking and shit, so i kicked one guy in the balls and the other guy grabbed me and now they won't let me leave until i prove that you sent me.

Jason:

Dick: *crying*

Steph, brightly: so yeah, if you could come pick me up~

I think with Duke and Alfred, Duke is more or less just polite to him, his mom raised him to be polite, I mean he is generally thankful for all the cooking, cleaning and medical help Alfred brings, and he finds some of his story’s interesting, but Alfred isn’t his family really, it’s not that he doesn’t get along with him it’s just that he’s not his kind of person

And I feel the need to show you Signal because look at this

Joy and whimsy levels are at an all time high he's so joyful

Bonus of a Babian in the background of picture three

LOOK AT HIM he so twin I love him look at his smile