Jason used to think self-care was “taking a shower after patrol and maybe eating something that wasn’t cold pizza.” Now he has a whole shelf in the bathroom dedicated to the skincare routine you introduced him to. He grumbles about it, but you catch him using the fancy moisturizer you bought him when he thinks you’re not looking.
He lets you paint his nails black when you’re having a lazy Sunday. At first it was “just this once,” but now he picks the color himself sometimes — usually deep red or dark green to match his Hood aesthetic. He wears them under his gloves on patrol like a secret.
Shopping with you used to be torture for him. Now he actually enjoys it. He’ll let you drag him into stores and try on clothes you pick out, even if he pretends to hate it. The first time he bought a soft oversized sweater because “it smelled like you” when you hugged him in it, you knew he was hooked.
He started using your hair products. His hair is softer now, the white streak less brittle. When you run your fingers through it at night, he melts and pretends he’s not purring.
Jason used to wear the same three hoodies on rotation. Now his closet has actual outfits — nice jeans, button-downs you picked out, even a leather jacket that isn’t battle-worn. He wears them when he takes you on dates and looks ridiculously good doing it.
He lets you give him face masks. The first time you put a bright green one on him, he complained the whole time. Now he asks for the “blue one that smells like berries” when he’s had a rough patrol. He falls asleep with his head in your lap while it dries.
Bath bombs. He discovered them through you and is now lowkey obsessed. He’ll come home after a long night, run the water, and drop one in without saying anything. If you join him, he gets all soft and quiet, just holding you in the warm water.
He buys candles now. Not the cheap ones — the expensive ones that smell like books and rain and the cologne you like. He lights them when you’re over and pretends it’s “for the vibe” when really it’s because he wants the apartment to feel like home for you.
Jason used to cut his own hair with kitchen scissors. Now he lets you trim it in the bathroom, sitting on a stool while you carefully shape the white streak. He watches you in the mirror the whole time with the softest look on his face.
He wears your scrunchies. At first it was just to keep his hair out of his face while cooking. Now he has a drawer full of them in different colors you picked out. He’ll wear one on his wrist like a bracelet when he’s out in civilian clothes.
Self-care nights are sacred now. You introduced him to sheet masks, bath salts, and fluffy socks. He complains the whole time but always participates. The first time he asked for a “spa night” after a bad patrol, you almost cried from how proud you were.
He lets you dress him up for dates. You pick out button-downs and nice jeans and he wears them without argument. He even asks for your opinion now: “Does this look okay? I don’t want to embarrass you.”
Jason used to think cologne was “for rich assholes.” Now he has a signature scent you helped him choose — warm, woody, with a hint of spice. He wears it because he knows you like burying your face in his neck and breathing him in.
He takes baths with you. Not just showers. Full baths with bubbles and candles and him sitting behind you, arms around your waist, chin on your shoulder. He’s quiet during those moments, just holding you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded.
On bad mental health days, he lets you pamper him. Face masks, head scratches, you reading to him while he lies with his head in your lap. He used to push you away when he felt like this. Now he leans into it because you make him feel safe enough to be soft.
He buys you matching pajamas. Soft, oversized ones in your favorite color. He pretends it’s “just practical” but the way he smiles when you wear them says otherwise.
Jason started journaling. Not the dramatic kind — just little notes about his day, things that made him happy, things he’s grateful for. Most of the pages end with your name. He keeps it hidden but leaves it open sometimes so you’ll see how much he loves you.
He lets you take care of him. When he comes home hurt, he doesn’t hide it anymore. He lets you patch him up, make him tea, hold him until the nightmares fade. He whispers “thank you” against your skin every time, like he still can’t believe he gets to have this.
The biggest change? He tells you he loves you now. Not just in grand gestures or quiet moments. He says it in the kitchen while you’re cooking, in the shower when you’re washing his hair, in the middle of the night when he thinks you’re asleep. He’s still learning how to be soft, but he’s trying — for you.
a/n: hope this fit the request well.. it was so fun to write omg
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Dick had been away on a Titans mission for five days. Five long days of radio silence, cryptic texts, and you missing him more than you wanted to admit. When he finally texted “back in town, coming over?” you’d replied with a single heart emoji and left it at that.
Now he was here, standing in your living room in a tight black t-shirt and sweatpants, looking unfairly good after a week of fighting crime. His hair was still slightly damp from a shower, and he smelled like the citrus soap he always used.
You were sprawled on the couch in tiny sleep shorts and one of his old shirts, phone in hand, casually scrolling Instagram reels like he wasn’t even there.
Dick raised an eyebrow. “That’s how you greet me after five days? Really?”
You didn’t look up. Just smirked and kept scrolling. “Hi, Dick. How was the mission?”
He walked over, dropping onto the couch beside you. Close. Too close. His thigh pressed against yours, warm and solid. “It was fine. Long. Missed you.” His hand landed on your bare knee, thumb stroking slow circles. “A lot.”
You hummed noncommittally, still staring at your phone. A video of a cat playing piano started playing. You laughed softly at it.
Dick’s hand tightened slightly on your knee. “Baby.”
“Hm?”
He leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “Put the phone down.”
You tilted your head away just enough to keep scrolling. “I’m watching something.”
He groaned, low and frustrated. “You’re killing me. I’ve been gone a week and you’re.. you’re ragebaiting me with cat videos?”
You bit your lip to hide your smile. “It’s a really good cat video.”
Dick’s patience snapped in the best way.
He plucked the phone from your hand and tossed it onto the coffee table. Before you could protest, he had you pinned beneath him on the couch, knees bracketing your hips, hands braced on either side of your head.
“You think this is funny?” he asked, voice rough. His eyes were dark, pupils blown. “Teasing me after I’ve been dying to touch you for days?”
You grinned up at him, innocent. “Maybe.”
He leaned down, mouth hovering just above yours. “Brat.”
Then he kissed you — hard, hungry, weeks of pent-up want pouring out. His tongue slid against yours, tasting like mint and the faint salt of whatever he’d eaten on the way over. You moaned into his mouth, hands sliding up his back under his shirt, nails lightly scratching.
Dick groaned, grinding down against you so you could feel how hard he already was through his sweatpants. “Fuck, I missed this. Missed you.”
You rocked up against him, gasping at the friction. “Then stop talking and show me.”
He didn’t need to be told twice.
He stripped you efficiently but reverently — your shirt first, then your shorts and panties, leaving you bare beneath him. His hands roamed your body like he was memorizing it all over again, thumbs brushing your nipples until they peaked, then sliding down to grip your hips.
“So pretty,” he murmured, kissing down your neck. “All mine.”
He moved lower, settling between your thighs. The first slow lick drew a broken moan from you. Dick groaned against your core, the vibration making your hips jerk.
“Taste so fucking good,” he rasped, tongue working you with devastating skill — long, slow strokes, then quick flicks on your clit, two fingers sliding inside you and curling just right. He ate you out like he’d been starving for you, hands holding your thighs open, eyes flicking up to watch your face the whole time.
You came hard, crying out his name, thighs shaking around his head. Dick worked you through it, gentling his tongue until you were trembling and oversensitive, then kissed his way back up your body.
He rolled on a condom with quick hands, then settled between your thighs again. “Still okay?” he asked, nudging at your entrance.
You wrapped your legs around his waist. “Need you. Now.”
Dick groaned and pushed in slowly, inch by inch, until he was fully seated. He stilled, forehead against yours, breathing ragged.
“Fuck, you feel perfect,” he whispered. “So tight. So warm. Missed this so much.”
He started moving — deep, steady thrusts that dragged against every sensitive spot. One hand braced beside your head, the other gripped your hip, holding you in place as he fucked you with that perfect rhythm he always seemed to know.
“Look at me,” he murmured. “Want to see you’re face when you cum around me.”
You did, eyes locked on his as the pleasure built again. His pace stayed deep and rhythmic, grinding against you on every thrust, one hand slipping between you to circle your clit with gentle pressure.
You came with a moan of his name, walls clenching around him. Dick followed right after, burying himself deep with a low, broken groan, hips stuttering as he spilled into the condom.
He stayed inside you for a long moment, holding himself up so he didn’t crush you, pressing soft, lazy kisses to your face.
When he finally pulled out and disposed of the condom, he came right back, pulling you into his arms on the couch. You curled against his chest, head over his heart, legs tangled with his.
“You okay?” he asked softly, stroking your back.
“Perfect,” you whispered, nuzzling closer. “Missed you.”
He kissed the top of your head, arms tightening around you. “Missed you more. Next time I’m gone, I’m taking you with me. Can’t do long missions without my favorite distraction.”
You laughed softly. “Deal.”
Dick held you like that until you both drifted off, safe and warm in each other’s arms.
a/n : first part is based on a request from a friend but I won’t be sharing it for their sake… anyway check out my masterlist !
based on this request || follow for more || masterlist
summary : Civilian reader who knows his secret, established relationship, Damian being an ass to everyone except you, and the Batfam being hilariously confused by how perfect you are together. CW: light family teasing, grumpy/sunshine dynamic, established relationship, pure fluff. No smut.
The manor was unusually loud for a Saturday afternoon.
Voices echoed from the living room — Dick laughing at something Tim said, Steph and Cass plotting something that sounded suspiciously like a prank on Damian, Bruce’s low rumble trying (and failing) to mediate. You stood in the grand foyer, nervously smoothing down your sundress, a bright yellow thing with little white flowers that you’d picked because it made you feel brave.
Damian’s hand found yours, warm and steady. He was in his usual dark sweater and slacks, looking every bit the youngest Wayne heir. But his thumb stroked gentle circles on the back of your hand, the only sign he was just as nervous as you were.
“They will love you,” he said quietly, voice firm. “If they don’t, I will make their lives miserable.”
You laughed softly, squeezing his hand. “That’s not very nice, Dami.”
He huffed, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “They deserve it if they are rude to you.”
Before you could reply, Dick appeared in the doorway, bright grin lighting up his face.
“There she is! The mysterious girlfriend we’ve all been dying to meet.” He swept forward, pulling you into a warm hug before Damian could protest. “I’m Dick. The favourite brother. Ignore anything Damian says about me.”
You giggled, hugging him back. “Nice to meet you. I’ve heard… stories.”
Damian muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “traitor.”
Tim wandered over next, coffee in hand, studying you with curious blue eyes. “You’re the civilian who knows about the whole… thing. Interesting. How do you put up with him?”
You smiled brightly. “He’s not so bad once you get past the murder attempts and the swords.”
Steph and Cass appeared behind Tim, both grinning.
“I like her already,” Steph declared. “Anyone who can make Damian look like a lovesick puppy is automatically my favorite.”
Cass just smiled softly and gave you a little wave.
Bruce was last, standing in the doorway like a shadow. His gaze was assessing but not unkind. “You know what he is. What we all are.”
You nodded, still holding Damian’s hand. “I do. And I’m still here.”
Damian’s fingers tightened around yours — the only outward sign of his approval.
Alfred appeared with a tray of tea and cookies, saving everyone from the awkward silence. “Miss [Your Name], it is a pleasure. Master Damian has spoken very highly of you.”
Damian’s ears went pink. “Alfred.”
The older man just smiled serenely.
The afternoon unfolded in a surprisingly warm chaos. You fit in effortlessly - laughing at Dick’s terrible jokes, listening patiently to Tim’s latest conspiracy theory, letting Steph drag you into a impromptu dance battle in the living room. Cass watched you with soft, approving eyes. Even Bruce’s usual stoicism cracked into something almost fond when you complimented the manor’s library.
Damian stayed close the whole time, a silent shadow. To everyone else he was sharp-tongued and aloof — snapping at Dick for teasing him, glaring at Tim when he asked too many questions, rolling his eyes at Steph’s antics.
But with you?
He was soft.
He brought you a fresh cup of tea without being asked. Adjusted the blanket when it slipped off your shoulders. Pressed a quiet kiss to your temple when he thought no one was looking. When Steph tried to pull you into another game, Damian simply said, “She is tired. Leave her be,” in that commanding tone that brooked no argument.
You caught the Batfam exchanging glances — confused, amused, delighted.
“How?” Dick finally asked during a lull, gesturing between you two. “How did this happen? You’re literal sunshine and he’s… Damian.”
You laughed, leaning into Damian’s side. He automatically wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer.
“He’s not as grumpy as he seems,” you said lightly. “He just saves the soft parts for the people who matter.”
Damian’s ears went pink again, but he didn’t deny it. Instead he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, completely ignoring the stunned silence from his family.
Later, when the others had drifted off to various parts of the manor, Damian pulled you into the library - his favorite room - and closed the door behind you.
He backed you gently against one of the bookshelves, hands on your waist, forehead resting against yours.
“They adore you,” he murmured. “As expected.”
You smiled, hands sliding up to rest on his chest. “You were nice to them today. For you.”
He huffed. “I was tolerable. For you.”
You laughed softly, tilting your head up to kiss him. It was slow and sweet, full of the quiet joy of being together. His hands stayed respectful but warm, thumbs stroking your sides through your dress.
When you pulled back, you rested your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.
“I love you,” you whispered. “Grumpy parts and all.”
He held you tighter, chin resting on your head. “I love you too. More than I thought possible. You make the shadows feel less heavy.”
The library was quiet except for the soft crackle of the fireplace and the distant laughter of his family somewhere in the manor.
For the first time in a long time, Damian Wayne felt like he belonged exactly where he was.
With you.
His sunshine.
His everything.
a/n : wrote this a while back when I first got the request but it’s been sitting in my drafts 😞
masterlist || based on this request || 1k event :3
The safehouse was quiet except for the soft hum of the city far below and the steady rhythm of Wally’s breathing against your neck.
You were both still in your suits — yours the sleek black and gold armor, his the bright red and yellow Flash suit, both scuffed and torn from the night’s chaos. A rogue meta-human had caused havoc in the Narrows, and you’d jumped in to help without thinking. Wally had been right behind you, as always — the fastest man alive, but never too fast to leave you behind.
Now, the adrenaline was crashing.
Wally had you pinned gently against the wall, not with force but with need. His hands slid under the edge of your armor, palms warm against your bare skin as he kissed you slow and deep, like he was still reassuring himself you were okay.
“You scared me tonight,” he murmured against your lips, voice husky. “Jumping in front of that energy blast like that. I know you’re tough, but… fuck, I hate seeing you hurt.”
You smiled into the kiss, fingers threading through his messy red hair. “I’m fine. Just a few bruises. And you were right there to catch me. Like always.”
He groaned softly, pressing closer, hips rolling against yours in a slow, suggestive grind. The friction made your breath hitch. His hands roamed higher under your armor, tracing the curve of your waist, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts through the thin undersuit.
“You feel so good,” he whispered, nipping at your bottom lip. “All mine. Even when you’re reckless.”
You shivered, arching into him. The safehouse felt smaller, warmer, the world outside fading as Wally kissed down your neck, sucking lightly at the sensitive spot just below your ear. His hands stayed respectful but possessive, sliding over your hips, pulling you flush against him so you could feel how much he wanted you.
“Wally…” you breathed, tilting your head to give him better access.
He hummed against your skin, the vibration sending sparks down your spine. “Just a little more. Need to feel you. Need to know you’re really okay.”
You were about to pull him closer when the comms crackled.
“Batgirl? You copy? I’m in the area — saw the explosion. You good? I’m close to the safe house.”
Dick’s voice. Your older brother. Of course he’d check in.
You froze. Wally pulled back, eyes wide with panic and amusement.
“Shit,” he whispered. “Hide me.”
You shoved him toward the small closet in the corner, heart racing. “In there. Don’t make a sound.”
He grinned, ducking inside just as a knock sounded on the safehouse door.
You smoothed your hair, adjusted your armor, and opened it.
Dick stood there in his Nightwing suit, looking concerned. “Hey. You okay? Looked like a rough one.”
You forced a smile, leaning against the doorframe to block his view. “I’m fine. Just a few bruises. Wally helped me out. He’s… already gone.”
Dick raised an eyebrow, glancing past you into the room. “You sure? I can stay if you need backup.”
“I’m good,” you said quickly, maybe a little too quickly. “Really. Go home. Rest. I’ll debrief with Bruce tomorrow.”
He studied you for a second, then smirked. “Alright. But if you need anything, call. And tell Wally I said thanks for having your back.”
You nodded, cheeks warm. “Will do.”
The second the door closed, Wally tumbled out of the closet, laughing softly as he pulled you back into his arms.
“That was close,” he murmured, kissing your temple. “Your brother almost caught us. Again.”
You laughed, melting into him. “You’re terrible at hiding.”
“Only because I can’t keep my hands off you.” His hands slid back under your armour, warm and teasing, tracing the curve of your waist. “Now… where were we?”
You kissed him again — slow, deep, full of relief and want. His hands roamed, gentle but hungry, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. The night’s adrenaline mixed with the comfort of being safe in his arms, turning into something warmer. Softer.
Wally pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark but tender. “I love you,” he whispered. “Even when you scare the hell out of me on patrol. Even when your brothers almost catch us. Especially then.”
You smiled, kissing the corner of his mouth. “I love you too. My fast, reckless, perfect boyfriend.”
He grinned, lifting you effortlessly and carrying you to the small cot in the corner. He laid you down gently, hovering over you, hands stroking your sides as he kissed you again — slower this time, savoring.
The safehouse felt like the only place in the world that mattered.
And in Wally West’s arms, with his heartbeat racing against yours and his lips soft on your skin, the chaos of Gotham felt a little farther away.
a/n : first fic in a while soz, I’m working on a lot of requests :3
CW: alcohol use (reader is very drunk), protective Hal, emotional vulnerability, fluff and gentle pining.
masterlist || 1k follower event || based on this request
The bar was loud, smoky, and exactly the kind of place Hal Jordan usually loved.
Tonight, though, he wasn’t in the mood for the usual chaos. He’d just come off a long mission with the Corps, the kind that left even a cocky test pilot feeling a little too human. He wanted a drink, some quiet, and maybe a pretty face to flirt with to forget the stars for a while.
Then he saw you.
You were at the end of the bar, slumped over a half-empty glass, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy. Your dress was cute but rumpled, like you’d been there too long. Someone tried to lean in too close, and you waved them off with a tired laugh that didn’t reach your eyes.
Hal’s protective instincts flared instantly. He didn’t know you. Didn’t owe you anything. But something about the way you looked — small, overwhelmed, trying to hold it together — hit him like a yellow beam to the chest.
He slid onto the stool beside you before he could think better of it.
“Hey,” he said, voice easy but firm enough to cut through the noise. “You okay over here?”
You turned your head slowly, blinking at him like he was a mirage. “Who’re you?”
“Hal Jordan. Pilot. Occasional pain in the ass.” He flashed that signature cocky grin, but it softened when he saw how unsteady you were. “And you look like you could use some water instead of whatever’s in that glass.”
You laughed — a bright, tipsy sound that made his chest do something stupid. “Water’s boring. I’m celebrating. Or mourning. I can’t remember which.”
Hal signaled the bartender for water and a basket of fries. “Celebrating or mourning, you’re not doing it alone tonight. Not if I can help it.”
You tried to argue, but the words slurred together. Hal stayed close, shoulder brushing yours, making sure no one else got too near. When the water arrived, he gently pushed it into your hands.
“Drink,” he said, softer now. “Please. For me?”
You did, surprisingly obedient. Between sips, you told him bits and pieces — bad breakup, stressful job, the kind of night where everything felt too heavy. Hal listened without interrupting, his usual cocky charm dialed back to something quieter. Protective.
When you started swaying on the stool, he made a decision.
“Alright, sweetheart. Time to get you home.”
You protested weakly, but he was already paying your tab and helping you to your feet. His arm stayed around your waist the whole way out, steady and warm. Outside, the cool night air hit you like a slap. You stumbled, and Hal caught you easily, pulling you against his side.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured. “Just lean on me.”
He called a cab (no Lantern ring tonight — he didn’t want to scare you). The whole ride to your apartment, he kept you talking — silly pilot stories, dumb jokes, anything to keep you awake and distracted. When you laughed at one of his terrible puns, his chest warmed in a way that he never really got to feel.
At your door, you fumbled with your keys. Hal took them gently, unlocking it for you.
“You’re really nice,” you said, swaying slightly as you stepped inside. “For a stranger.”
He smiled, small and genuine. “Not a stranger anymore. And I’m not always nice. But for you? I can try.”
You looked up at him, eyes soft and a little hazy. “Stay? Just until I fall asleep. I don’t want to be alone right now.”
Hal hesitated. Then he nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”
He helped you to bed, tucking you in with careful hands. When you patted the spot beside you, he kicked off his shoes and lay on top of the covers, fully clothed, one arm draped loosely over your shoulders.
“You’re safe,” he whispered as your eyes drifted shut. “I’ve got you tonight.”
You fell asleep with your head on his chest, his heartbeat steady under your ear.
Hal stayed awake for a long time, staring at the ceiling, feeling something warm and terrifying bloom in his chest.
You hadn’t even spoken to him sober.
But he already knew he was in trouble.
The next morning, you woke up to the smell of coffee and the sound of someone humming off-key in your kitchen.
You sat up slowly, head pounding, and found Hal in your kitchen wearing last night’s shirt and a pair of your oversized sweatpants he must have found in a drawer. He looked ridiculously domestic.
“Morning, sleeping beauty,” he said, flashing that cocky grin. “Coffee’s ready. Black with two sugars. Figured that was a safe guess.”
You blinked at him, memories of last night coming back in pieces. The bar. The water. Him bringing you home. The way he’d held you until you fell asleep.
“You stayed,” you said softly.
He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly shy. “Yeah. You asked me to. And… I didn’t want to leave you alone. Not after last night.”
You walked over, taking the mug he offered. “Thank you. For taking care of me. Most guys would’ve just… left.”
Hal’s expression softened. He stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair from your face with surprising gentleness.
“I’m not most guys,” he said quietly. “And I’d really like to see you again. Sober this time. If you want.”
Your heart did a slow, warm flip. You smiled up at him, small but real.
“Yeah,” you said. “I’d like that.”
Hal grinned — bright, boyish, and a little relieved. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.
“Good. Because I think I’m already in trouble with you.”
You laughed, leaning into him. The coffee was perfect. The morning light was soft. And the man who’d taken care of you when you were at your most vulnerable was looking at you like you were the best thing he’d seen in years.
Hal Jordan had flown through stars and faced down monsters.
But nothing had ever scared him quite like the way you smiled at him.
And he was already falling.
a/n : he’s so kawaii I was smiling on the train while I wrote this
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Ooou yea, I’m sorry I lowk forgot about reader!!😭😭 maybe Jason x reader, like Jason comes back to readers apartment after dick and him argue/fight and reader just comforts him 🥹
Tysm for the idea, I wrote this instead of doing homework 😊
Hello i want to #order milkshake with some fluff for hal as he meets readers at a bar where she's very drunk and when he tries to get close to her at the bar, he ends up taking care of her , kind of he feels a protective instinct towards her at first glance (sorry I'm not the best at describing my thoughts so bear with me i just love asshole but sweet hal gordon )
this was so cutesy to write 😞 your idea was perfect, don’t worry!! Thank you:)
