#cyborg x reader

Jason Todd:

“Jay,” you whine, tugging on his hand to slow him down. 

He stops in his tracks, a brick wall of muscle, and turns to face you. “What’s going on?”

“...my feet hurt.”

He cocks a brow, glancing down at the shoes he’d definitely warned you about before leaving the house. “Uh huh?”

You only nod, hot embarrassment creeping in as you basically admit what he already told you. You shuffle awkwardly in your shoes, hoping to get some relief from the way the edges of your shoes are rubbing against the backs of your ankles.

And despite how badly he wants to say ‘I told you so’, he bites his lip. He can’t bare to see you in pain like this and that cute, somewhat odd looking shuffling you’re doing only pains him even more.

Jason hums, kneeling down in front of you, “come on, then.”

You’re quick to lean against his back, wrapping your arms around the width of his shoulders and letting his arms hoist your legs. Jason rises easily to his feet, hopping slightly to adjust you on his back.

You squeeze his shoulders, planting a kiss to the side of his face. “You’re the best, you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Roy Harper:

The sweltering heat of the day only makes your feet hurt even worse, each step making you wince. You wipe the sweat off your brow and stop in your tracks, Roy following suit.

“Everything alright?” He cocks his head to the side, red hair stuck to his forehead with sweat.

You frown, “my feet are starting to hurt.”

He offers you an incredulous grin, giving a half-hearted glance down to your feet. He hadn’t said anything when he’d picked you up this morning, but he’d thought it: those are not the shoes to wear when you’re going to be walking as much as you are today.

He laces his fingers through yours, tugging you along to a nearby bench and forcing you to sit. “Here,” he says, slinging his bag over his shoulder and digging through it.

You watch him rummage through the backpack before pulling out a pair of sneakers that are very much not his size. You blink, “are those?”

“For you,” he holds them out. “Figured you might want them.”

You’re speechless as you kick off your old shoes, Roy handing you a pair of clean socks. You pull them over, your feet instantly soothed by the absence of your shoes, before gently pulling on your sneakers.

You look at him with teary eyes, “how could you possibly know I’d need these?”

He shrugs, grinning cockily. “I just know things, babe.”

Wally West:

“My feet hurt.”

Wally stops in his tracks, hand tightening around yours. “Hm,” he smiles, “I wonder why?”

“My shoes I think…” 

He glances down, looking at the exact shoes he’d told you would hurt your feet with all the walking you’d be doing today. Still, they were cute and they matched your outfit, and you’ve never been one to listen very well to Wally, anyway.

He sighs, dropping to his knees on the pavement in front of you.

“Walls, what are you—”

You’re silenced when he lifts one of your feet to the top of his thigh, untying the laces of his sneakers. The switch is so fast you hardly notice it, your own feet feeling relieved when they’re placed in the warm comfort of Wally’s much too big sneakers.

He doesn’t even hesitate before he shoves his feet into your shoes. It’s awkward and it can’t possibly be comfortable with the way his ankles are hanging off the back end of your shoes.

“Are you sure?”

“As long as you’re not in pain, that’s all I care about.” He rises to his feet, doing a little twirl for you, “besides, I feel like a baddie.”

You can’t help but laugh a little, rising on your toes to kiss him on the cheek. “You are a baddie.”

“Damn straight.”

Victor Stone:

The ground outside the bar feels uneven beneath your feet, making you rock on your heels and cause your already painful shoes to rub even harsher on your heels. You wince, stopping in your tracks.

Victor stops the second you do, whirling around on you with concern in his eyes. “What’s going on, sweetheart?”

“My feet hurt,” you mumble out, leaning against him to stand on one foot, rubbing the back of your ankle. “It’s fine.”

His brows knit together, arms crossing over his broad chest. It very much is not fine, not when you’re practically limping.

You recognize that defiant look on his face instantly, opening your mouth to say something when all of a sudden he lifts you into his strong arms. 

“Vic!”

“What?” He says, half-hiding his smile, “I just like sweeping you off your feet.”

You let yourself relax against his chest, breathing a sigh of relief at the lack of pain in your feet. “Mhm?”

He kisses the side of your head, resuming his walk down the street like nothing happened. “Mhm, makes me feel like your knight in shining…chrome.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, enjoying the warmth he brings to the cool summer night. His arms feel safe to you, like the most natural place in the world. You lean in, kissing at his jaw.

“My hero.”

He flexes a muscle playfully, offering you a wink. “You know it.”

Garth:

You’re limping. It’s the first thing Garth notices when he meets up with you at the boardwalk, the grin on his face fading just a little. You’re shuffling awkwardly, walking on the balls of your feet like anything else will cause you pain. 

You smile when you see him, immediately throwing your arms around him. “Garth!”

He wraps his own arms around you, hugging you tightly. “Hi, baby.”

You pull away, forcing your face to remain neutral despite the way your heels rub against the backs of your shoes. It burns, and it’s definitely going to give you some nasty blisters later.

His brows furrow together. “You’re in pain.”

You shrug, “it’s just my shoes.”

Just your shoes? Garth shudders, he’s in pain just looking at you. 

He laces his fingers through yours, shaking his head. “Come on.”

You let him drag you down the boardwalk strip, past all the souvenir and food shops and into the air conditioned hut of a store that mainly sells bathing suits, towels and flipflops.

“Go, pick out a pair.”

“Garth, it’s fine.”

He levels you with a serious look, “I’m not gonna be able to rest until I know you’re not in pain so please, just pick some out.”

And you give in like you always do, examining the shop wall and settling on a pair of comfortable looking sandals. Before you go up to the counter to pay, Garth snatches them from your hand, paying for them before you even have the chance to say no.

Outside, he kneels down in front of you, replacing your uncomfortable shoes for the nice, cozy flip flops he’d just bought for you.

He pats your foot gently when he puts it down. “There, all better.”

You smile, running your fingers through his hair. “Thank you, baby.”

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Wally West/Reader

When you find Wally in the room, he’s already upon you with such speed—with such hunger—that you can scarcely comprehend it.

Clearly lost to the throes of whatever sensation that bids make him mouth his tongue at your pulse, his hands working in desperate fraction to undo the button at your jeans, at your collar. 

“Wally—”—You begin in pitched moan as you try to place your hands on the man desperate to get you naked, to have you feel the girth of his cock that is grinding against the meat of your thigh.

You knew that the pollen would be bad: but experiencing it, feeling his hands working below your waistband, feeling how hot his tongue is as it scorches at your collarbone—

“I’m sorry,” He moans, a semblance of shame making itself known. But it’s quickly overridden by the way that his mouth makes greedy suck at the slope of your chest: your gasp of surprise concludes into wanton intake of breath. 

“Wally—”—You echo in repetition, but this plaintive request of his name is more beholden to lust. Is more desperate to give in to what he wants. To what you want, as well.

“Let me have you,” He murmurs into your body, in between the bites that he takes down your chest to mark his territory. “Please—I’ve never needed you more.” 

When he makes such dedicated search of you, his hands already looking for the heat between your legs: how can you refuse? All you do is pull him upwards by the scruff of his collar, taking in those pupils that are dilated beyond comprehension, blown-out with desire that can only be slaked by you. And you draw his tongue into your mouth. 

He moves beyond your comprehension: he’s done it before when the two of you have tangled in the sheets, but this time is so much more sensation, so much more energy that needs to be staved off.

His hands seek out the slick rhythm that he can work in between your legs, the pads of his fingers rubbing out a tempo that has you clutching into him for support, your teeth sinking into the flesh of his shoulder. His mouth is relentless: making bruise after bruise that demarcates his lust into your nipple, your navel, the inside of your thighs. 

When he licks at the junction of your legs: you can only twitch and gasp around him, your thighs clenched around his ears, making sure that the only sound he may hear is the thrum of your body, your pleasure made by the ministration of his own. 

When he fucks you, it’s with such desperate crescendo, such necessary rhythm—his cock sinks into you with such ferocity that usually belies his tender, romantic approach. As he presses you face-down into the mattress so that you can clutch your fingers into it, mouth open and panting as you take his cock. 

“Wally—”—You beg for more, his thighs slapping against the swell of your ass with such perfect, lewd obscenity—“—Wally—”

“Yeah?” He asks, so clearly unmoored, so clearly lost to the throes of pleasure that have him chasing his orgasm. “What—what is it—” 

You angle your head at him, letting him see how fucked out you are, the glassy, delighted haze to your eyes—to see something in parallel on his own—and you make your plea. “More, Wally.” 

He grins: and then, as any good partner would do, he obliges. And all you can do is moan around the way that he makes perfect fit inside of you, fucking you closer to that orgasm you’re quickly approaching. 

Vic Stone/Reader

”How did this happen to you?” You ask you find him, clearly roiling over with a need that has yet to be satisfied. That he restrains solely for your presence as you approach the foot of the bed. 

“Got blasted,” he groans—and what is visible of his flesh-and-blood on his face makes clear it shines with exertion—“—Taking a hit for Wally.” 

“Serves you right,” you grin as you lope a knee onto the edge of the bed. His eyes are so hungry, so lustful—so worshipful as he watches your approach on the bed. “Wally okay?” 

“Think he got blasted, too,” Vic admits; you can’t help but chuckle. There’s a knowing, good-natured grimace as you reach his feet, his legs which spread wider for your access. 

“Poor him.” You say, running a hand over the nuance of his ankle, feeling the smooth articulation of technology made in interval with the flesh, marking your lover whole. “Good thing you got me, though.” 

“Yeah,” he says, voice taut as he watches you sink to your hands and knees, “Good thing.” 

There’s an aborted, stunted grunt he tries to smother as you start your ascent to him: marked in documentation by the kiss that you linger on his ankle. Then as you cross to other leg, pressing your mouth to the crook of his knee, running your tongue over slick metal and skin that scorches with desire. 

“God—”—He shudders—“—You’re perfect—”

All he receives is a chuckle you murmur into his skin, and a kiss to the inside of his thigh that is concluded with definitive sink of your teeth. When he groans—you think you’ll enjoy more of this needy chorus as you lick up the panel that conceals the promised land. 

He makes an oath as you stare up at him with playful grin, your tongue laving up the sleek underside—something winks as you realize he takes documentation of it for later safekeeping. 

“Pervert,” you tease as you find footing on the heels of your palms, working your way up to find yourself seated on his lap. As the guide of his hands eagerly help to make you find home on him. 

“Can’t help it,” he confesses as he searches out for the warmth of you, “Just wanna feel you.” 

“Go ahead,” you say—rewarded with the hiss of air as the panel slides open, and you feel the nosing of his cock press against you. 

“Ready?” He asks—you grin. 

“Always, baby,” you confirm—and when his hands sink into the give of your hips, help to raise you up as the length of his cock slides against you—

And when he bodily lowers you down onto him, stretching you open so that all you can do is clutch to him for support—all you can do is make whisper of his name on your tongue and yours on his—

“I love you,” you say as your walls stretch against him—and you hear him murmur the same as he draws you to him for a kiss. 

Eobard Thawne/Reader

“What a perfect sight for me,” Eobard chuckles as he takes sight of you naked, sweaty, panting with a desperation only he can sate, “Been waiting for me long, sweetheart?” 

“No,” Is all that you can manage, “Eobard, please—”

“Please what?” He asks, his hand seizing around your jaw. Making you see the way his eyes are so eagerly taking consumptive view of you—as his other hand is knuckling your legs open. Working to seize the heat that you eagerly grind upon, held in the heel of his palm. 

“Please fuck me,” you whimper. “I can’t—the pollen—it's too much—”

“Yeah,” he chuckles through gritted teeth, with shoulders that are spreading wide in possessive manner. “So say it.” 

“I need you to take care of me,” you pant open-mouthed. “Please.” 

“Since you begged so nicely,” he croons—before he seizes your bottom lip between his teeth hard enough to draw blood. 

The pollen is to render you insatiable until it has run full course through your body. But the way that Eobard handles you; the way that he holds you, slamming his hips into you as you’re pulled backwards flush against him—

He teeters the line of agony and euphoria, as his cock glides in and out of you with such ease, hitting that spot that makes you wail. Fucking you stupid into the mattress as you try to muffle your whimpers into the pillow—only for him to tear it away, toss it to the floor. 

“Dumb sluts that can’t dodge don’t deserve muzzles,” Eobard says, as he bucks his hips into you hard enough to feel like you’ve bruised. As he slaps his hand hard down the cleft of your ass to make you keen in protest, before he offers the balm of his cock sheathing you to the hilt. 

“Oh, yeah,” he mocks as you slump into the sheets, “Too much for you, honey?” 

“No, no—”—You try to reply, muddled through the haze of delightful torment—“—It’s perfect—”

He laughs, mean and mocking. “Have I fucked you that stupid already?” 

When his cock slams into you again, all you can do is moan as you let him take his fill. As he satisfies you the way that only he can do for you. Even if you won’t say it: your body has already confessed enough. 

Plastic Man/Reader

“It’s not funny, Plas,” you groan as you sit on his lap, grinding with desperate need to satisfy the friction between your legs. “I just—I—”

“Need someone to take care of you, huh?” He asks with such wicked, slick delivery that even though you want nothing more than to ride him into the sunset: you can only give him an exasperated moan. 

“Don’t make fun of me,” you whimper—although his arms are already making spirited twine around your arms, your torso, firmly keeping you locked in place. “It’s bad enough I got blasted with this stupid pollen—”

“And now you have to come asking me for help, huh?” His voice is a very sleek taunt in your ear as you work to try and relieve some of the pressure. 

“We’re dating,” you groan as you try to make spirited kiss as his jaw that makes him growl—“—You should be happy to help me.” 

“And I am, honey,” he replies with such ebullient joy that if his hands weren’t already working to peel you out of your pants—you’d kill him where he stood. Or, rather, sits below you. 

“I just can’t help,” he whispers in your ear, “But take a little bit of time to appreciate you.” 

“Less appreciating,” you groan as you feel the cool exposure of air on your legs, “And more fucking.”

“Aye aye,” he grins—and then decides to get straight to work. 

Adam Warlock/Reader

You wouldn’t know that he was affected by this, if it wasn’t for the fact that you had been told. He stands before the window, his back facing you in such implacable, muscular form that always steals your breath away. 

“Adam?” You ask quietly, watching as those shoulders pitch, stiffen as he makes physical register of your presence. 

“They said you got hit with—”—Is all that you’re able to articulate. That is, before you catch glimpse of the way his eyes are riveted upon you, the way his nostrils flare and his mouth sets with something deliberate—

And then he is before you in such ethereal glory, in such impressive anatomy and poise, his hands finding the curve of your jaw to guide your mouth to him.

And when his tongue presses at the seam of your lips, it’s all that you can do to allow him access—to feel him kiss you with a starved agony that he’s never expressed before. 

His hands are desperate with such locomotion, rushing to find the nuance of your body as you moan and whimper on his soft palate; it’s all you can do to keep up. 

He pulls away—something regretful on his face, something penitent. “I do not mean to—I should—”

He cannot even conclude this sentence before he is making way to taste the salt of your skin where it collects on the column of your neck, summoning another groan on your end. 

“I should be stronger,” he curses into your vulnerable skin, “I should be above such base desires—”

“It’s okay,” you reassure as he continues to eke out such pleasure, “You don't have to be.” 

His eyes seek yours, revealing such humanity. As you affirm once more. “It’s okay.”

He whiles in internal, chaotic deliberation. And then before you can comprehend it, you are pressed into the soft folds of the bed. As his arms yawn over you, his thigh nudging between your legs easily ticking open. His mouth taking care to swipe the scald of his tongue up your collarbone, summoning blissful shiver from you. 

When he fucks you, it’s with a prescience you’ve never felt before—rather than the tender love making it usually is, this is a greedy fuck.

Each stroke that he pumps into you leaves you filled up with the curve of his cock, keening into the unyielding meter of his body. Every rock of his hips leaving you helpless to do anything but take him, with that brutal drag that stretches you so perfectly. 

“Adam—”—You sob as you feel him rut into you, his lips desperate to leave a mark on the junction of your neck and shoulder—“—Don’t stop—”

“Never,” he swears, with such voracious claim into you, “Never.” 

Bullseye/Reader

He seems remarkably put-together as you walk into the room, close the door behind yourself. Take careful visual assessment of him as his eyes seem to nearly gleam in unnatural ken as he watches you. 

“Nice of you to drop by, sweetheart,” he says, and pushes himself up with a mild grunt of exertion to cross over to you.

There’s something off in the swagger of his walk, something that is so very cunning and lithe as per usual. But you can tell that he carries different bearings: there’s something that’s nearly delirious in the catch of his eyes as they take more endured evaluation of you.

He draws up sidelong to you, encroaching on your space enough that you have to take instinctive tick back. 

“How do you feel, Les?” you ask as you feel the door push against your back, knocking gentle air from you in quiet expulsion. He chuckles, still staying askance of your touch: but that doesn’t matter. You can feel the heat that is sloughing off of him, see the uninhibited way that his pupils are drawn wide, to indicate how untethered he is from the moment. 

“Feel great, honey,” He says, and his hands take careful stance on either side of you. His mouth wanders close, so that you can feel every particular of the sentences that he speaks against you. “Feel like I could just eat you up.” 

“You sure?” You ask, watching how he lists a little to the side—and there seems to be a touch of conscientiousness in his voice, something sentient return back to his eyes. Enough to know that you should regret it. 

But you have no time to backtrack it before he closes whatever distance remains, and latches his mouth onto your neck with cruel, merciless bite.

Your mouth catches around a desperate gasp of delight, your hands already seeking out the muscle that composes your man. The implacable, unyielding wall of his body that swallows up whatever distance remains. 

There’s a rip of noise, the nosing of a blade that works up the sinew of your skin—your eyes immediately dart down as you take in the sinister blade that he’s produced. And your clothes fall in open tatters, crumpled heaps of fabric to the ground. He chuckles in amusement at how his tool obeys him. 

“Les—”—You say in combination of exasperation and surprise—“—How’m I gonna get out of here if I’m naked?” 

His mouth is already traveling down your stomach, his tongue lapping into the divot of your navel. “Don’t worry about that right now, honey. For now—” 

Where his tongue licks up in slow, torturous drag, you can’t help but scrabble your fingers against the wall for purchase, let something shuck through your teeth as he makes ragged exploration. 

“Lemme take you for a ride,” He smirks up at you. 

You just don’t realize how you will until you’re made to ride him, to bounce on the length of his cock that fills you up so wholly, a rocketing wave of pleasure darting up your body with each roll of his hips he makes.

The blade that he freed you of your clothes from presses into the vulnerable exposure of your neck, darting closer to sanctity with each treacherous sink that you make down onto him—but you could care less. Not when he looks at you with such abject desire, his tongue lolling from open mouth as he takes in the sight of you. 

“Good work, honey,” He taunts you as you sheath yourself on him to the hilt, a whine of exhausted pleasure escaping you. “Just like that—” 

The blade whispers further against your skin, making the adrenaline run taut with the wave of sensation that pushes you closer to the edge. As his fingers grow more ravenous against your waist, guiding you along in careful meter to fuck you to orgasm. 

Matt Murdock/Reader

“Will it make it more intense?” You ask—he finds you across the meridian of the bed, his hands working to interlace with yours. He burns under your touch, finding some mild relief in the homeostatic temperature that you leach into him, that he greedily accepts. 

“Make what more intense?” He asks, as you watch a bead of sweat dart in pearled manner down the arc of his temple. Your eyes fixate on it, wondering what it would taste like if you licked him from chin to crown of head, baptizing him with your tongue. 

“Your senses,” You murmur, extending hand to search out the nuance of stubble that frames his jaw. That makes him shudder, lean instinctively into you: he has no sight.

All that he can rely upon now, with this overwhelming fractal of senses, are his smell, his touch—and what must he sense from you? What can he glean from his faculties, from the way that your hand makes imparted touch onto him?

“They’re already turned to 10 all the time,” Matt says, his voice breaking as your fingers work behind his ear, sinking into the scrape of his scalp, “I guess this is just eleven.” 

Every inch of him is so hot, scorching—how he seeks to abate it with you. How he’s already crawling on hands and knees to find you, to make establishment of territory into you with hands that are pressing you back. With his lips that are search up the crook of your arm, up the slope of your shoulder. With a tongue that inches its soft palate up your cheek, teeth scraping against you. 

He tortures you now: you had expected something fast, something fueled with adrenaline, something made to leave you bruised and satisfied.

But he wants to take it slow: making cruelly navigated pump of his cock into your legs that are pinioned around his waist, making you feel the full spread of him in advancing inch by inch.

His breath huffs into your ear, his hands planted firmly into the spread of your shoulders, desperate to commemorate all of your body kept under whatever acreage of him he can manage. 

When he finally admits himself fully into you, finally bottoms out, the head of his cock nosing at that terrible spot—you arch your back against him, your hands seized against the flat plane of his stomach. “Matt, please—” 

“God—”—There’s something so truly reverent in his voice as he savors the feeling of you swallowing him, the way that his body is fully pressed against you in such intimate manner. Made for perfect complement against each other. “—I need you like this, forever—” 

He slinks out of you with such unyielding poise, every muscle of him taut, before he takes advance into you again. The wave of pleasure that is slow and torturous to make nascent peak over you is heightened by the prayer he makes into your skin. By the oath he swears by his teeth that rasp down your earlobe, his tongue that makes worship in nonverbal form. 

“Love you,” He groans, overwhelmed by the touch of you that is all he has ever needed to sate himself with, “God—” 

He is broken and in necessity of what you can only give to fix him. When you find your tongue against him, careful to make sure that he memorizes the taste of you: he sinks into you again, and you find the sanctity in the touch of your lover once more. 

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🦇﹒౨ৎ˚₊‧ Robin - 𝑫𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝑮𝒓𝒂𝒚𝒔𝒐𝒏

He will do anything to make you feel like part of the team.

During the first few days, you definitely feel out of place.

The Titans decide to hold a contest to recruit someone new, and Robin thinks you're the perfect choice.

You see all the other superheroes who want to join, and you feel like you’re nothing compared to them.

When they announce you as the winner, you can’t believe it! But you did it! The other candidates were all desperate for attention and tried too hard to impress the Titans.

The first time you enter the tower, Robin tells everyone not to embarrass you—but of course, no one listens. When Beast Boy and Cyborg start asking you a million questions, Robin clears his throat, and they finally get the message. You smile at him and ask for your room. Starfire is the one who shows you the way.

Twenty minutes later, Robin knocks on your door to apologize for BB and Cyborg. “They’re not bad... just curious.” You smile and reply, “No problem. I just need five more minutes and then I’ll answer all their questions. I’m curious too! I want to know everything about the team. I want us to be... friends?” Robin smiles and leaves you to settle in.

During dinner, you talk to everyone—even Raven! At one point, you ask why they chose you. Everyone turns to look at Robin, and your eyes meet his.

He’s eating in silence, but when he notices all the eyes on him, he starts coughing.

“We needed someone with your powers... and someone who isn’t annoying. We already have Beast Boy for that.” → “HEY!”

You’re not fully satisfied with the answer, but you smile at your new teammates anyway.

The next morning, you’re not sure what time everyone wakes up, so you stay in bed and wait to hear some noise before leaving your room.

The first person you see in the kitchen is Robin. He’s drinking coffee, and when he sees you, he smiles. “Early riser?” He offers you a cup, and you accept. “I want to know everything about you,” he says, and you cough in surprise. “You know, I’m the leader. I need to know my teammates for training purposes.” You nod and start telling him everything.

Robin quickly becomes your best friend in the tower. You love training together and chatting about anything. He’s good with new people—he had to welcome all the new Robins when he was younger—so he knows how to make you feel at home.

There’s nothing romantic between you two—just a really good friendship. When the others make jokes, both of you get annoyed. Friendship between a guy and a girl exists!

Robin has a huge crush on Starfire—but no one knows it. Not even Robin.

One day, you try on his costume and he laughs at you. The colors don’t suit you at all, only the mask looks right. “Everyone tries it on at some point,” he says. “It’s a canon event for all the Titans.” You both laugh.

You try to make him realize his feelings for Starfire, but he insists they’re “just good friends with a nice bond.” You don’t believe it, of course, so you talk to Starfire instead.

Thanks to your subtle pushing, Robin and Starfire finally became a couple. You start calling them “mama y papa.”

You and Robin love to strike matching poses during battle. Over time, it becomes a full-on competition. You both try to do the best pose with the most dramatic catchphrase.

When you ask the team who’s better, they say you’re both amazing. Robin always replies, “I’m better! I taught her.” You: “The student always surpasses the master!”

⋆🐾° Beast Boy - 𝑮𝒂𝒓𝒇𝒊𝒆𝒍𝒅 𝑳𝒐𝒈𝒂𝒏

Beast Boy is like a little brother to you—annoying, but you love him anyway.

Your first meeting wasn’t great: he started asking you a billion questions and you didn’t even know where to start.

He immediately saw you as the mother figure he never had. When he makes jokes, you don’t react like the other Titans. You try to stay calm, understanding that all he really wants is attention.

You two love spending time together—whether it’s playing in the park or just watching movies. He transforms into a cat, and you play the role of the owner.

He teaches you how to play video games. When you eventually beat him, he’s stunned by his own teaching skills.

When he wants to play with someone, you’re always the first one he thinks of—because you’re patient and gentle with him.

When you’re sad, he stays by your side, even in silence (which is incredibly hard for him).

He shares everything with you—and I mean everything. “So I was walking, right? And there was this dog that pooped behind a tree, and then a kid started crying because he wanted candy, and there was a police car and I thought they were gonna arrest me but then I remembered I’m a hero and… I forgot where I was going with this.”

When he’s scared, he turns into a tiny green mouse and hides behind you.

Whenever you and Beast Boy do something stupid or dangerous, Robin scolds you like a disappointed dad. You two just look at each other and burst out laughing, which makes Robin even angrier.

Everyone thinks Beast Boy is a bad influence on you, but you’re actually worse than him. So when you both pull a prank, everyone assumes it was his idea—but it was yours. And he takes the blame.

Becoming friends with Beast Boy was almost instant. You went grocery shopping together once and came back as besties.

Beast Boy loves spilling tea with you. You talk about everything and everyone likes it’s a full-time job. When one of the Titans wants to know some gossip, they come to the two of you. If something juicy happens, he’ll say, “You make the cookies, I’ll bring the tea,” and you know it’s going to be good.

˚⊱🪷⊰˚ Raven - 𝑹𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒍 𝑹𝒐𝒕𝒉

Becoming friends with Raven wasn’t easy—you had to earn her trust first, and then become tolerable.

You gave her the space she needed, so gaining her trust didn’t take long.

The two of you have a lot in common. For example, you both love reading, so you start reading the same book together and then discuss it like it’s a sacred ritual.

You basically have your own little book club. Every weekend, the two of you go out to buy new books to read.

You introduce Raven to the world of fanfiction... and now you both share the fics you find about your favorite characters.

For your birthday, she always writes a fanfic just for you—dark, a little intense, and kind of twisted—but you love everything she writes.

Raven constantly complains about movie adaptations of books. She firmly believes that movies should follow the source material word for word.

She marks her books with color-coded sticky notes and highlighters, leaving little comments in the margins. After finishing a book, she gives it to you so you can see what she liked and what she didn’t.

Raven shows affection in subtle ways: fixing your hair when it’s messy, reminding you to wear a jacket when it’s cold, or silently handing you your favorite tea when you’re stressed.

She almost never says “I love you” or “I care about you,” but she shows it through actions—and you’ve learned to recognize them.

She loves listening to you talk, even about random, silly things. At the same time, she sometimes craves silence—but she won’t say anything because she doesn’t want to hurt your feelings.

When you sense she needs quiet, you stop talking and just sit beside her, resting your head on her shoulder, giving her all the space she needs to meditate.

Just to share more reading time with you, she tries genres she never would’ve touched before—even cheesy romance novels. And in the end… she kind of enjoys them.

When she’s not talking about books, she’s usually venting about Beast Boy. “He never stops talking. I wish he would just shut up sometimes.” Deep down, you know she doesn’t mean it—but you pretend to believe her anyway.

Her advice is unmatched. You always go to her when you need real answers—not sugar-coated words, but the harsh truth.

You spend countless nights together brainstorming fanfic ideas to publish on AO3 or Tumblr.

You’ve both gone through the Wattpad phase, and when you argue, one of you always brings it up. “At least I didn’t read stories where my family sold me to a mafia boss!” And then you both burst out laughing—because, of course, you both did.

She’s the kind of friend you wish you’d had back when no one seemed to understand you.

˚.🎀 Starfire - 𝑲𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒂𝒏𝒅'𝒓

With her, you literally get the girlhood you deserve.

The two of you love watching romantic movies together, and you always have to dry her tears every time something bad happens (mostly when it’s about animals).

Every morning and night, you do skincare together, and sometimes you put makeup on each other just for fun.

She likes dressing you in her pink dresses like you’re a doll because she thinks you’re as pretty as one.

You (sadly) have to tell her she can’t adopt every cat or dog she sees on the street because maybe they already have an owner.

She talks all the time about how cool Robin is, and you always listen to her. When she finishes, she asks if you’re interested in anyone.

She shares every post about feminism, war, and racism with you, adding a paragraph about what’s right or wrong in the post.

You two created the group chat “Titans!” where everyone texts even when the whole group is in the same room.

You both go to every protest for human rights. Complaining about the government is your favorite thing, and you’re probably the ones who started it.

Girly and feminist coded.

“Us? Feminists? We actually think women are better than men.”

You both like giving the men in the tower things that people think are for women.

You always shop together because the others don’t like spending a lot of time picking clothes.

Her way of showing affection is showering you with compliments, and she loves giving you little gifts.

“I saw this and it reminded me of you.”

“I bought this dress, but looking at it more closely, I’m sure it would look better on you.”

Her favorite gifts are handmade, so she always gives you cards or something made by her on your birthday.

When you post a picture, she’s always the first to like and comment: “My bestie slayed as always,” “Girl, you ate.”

She always checks if everyone is fine and tries to solve all the problems in the tower.

She’s the mother of the group. If everyone is still alive, it’s only because of her.

⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆Cyborg - 𝑽𝒊𝒄𝒕𝒐𝒓 𝑺𝒕𝒐𝒏𝒆

You and him love to challenge each other at everything—especially after you beat him at video games one day.

With him, you can talk about everything on a deeper level. Like the meaning of life.

You’ve spent many nights arguing about things bigger than both of you, and sometimes you can’t sleep afterward because of the conversation.

He teaches you everything about technology and cars (even if you don’t understand much, you love listening to him talk about what he’s passionate about).

You’ve learned all the basics to fix things if needed.

He supports you in everything you do—but quietly. Even though he’s not very expressive, he somehow manages to show you he’s proud of you (especially when you beat him at something).

He likes to pat you on the head or use it likes a support for his arm.

You always have to wake him up because otherwise he’d sleep all day, but every time you do, you somehow “kill” him.

When he snaps at you after a bad day, he always apologizes the next day—either with a gift or a good breakfast.

He gave you your nickname in the tower, even though it annoys you a lot.

He’s like an overprotective older brother who would do anything for you, even if he doesn’t always show it.

He gave you the title of “manager” of the group because you’re the newest member, so he thinks you should organize the activities. (Actually, he did it so you could do what you love most—including the whole team—making it easier for you to settle in.)

He’s interested in your hobbies for a few days but then quickly gets bored.

You love cosplaying as Justice League characters together and playing pranks on the others.

At Halloween, you two always suggest matching costumes (Actually the other can't refuse your idea) and organize all the parties so no one feels left out.

He keeps a folder with all your best memories in his memory.

“alfred hang on i want your opinion on this: ‘am i the asshole for trying on my bosses suit? i (25m) work with some pretty famous people and my boss (45m) has a really cool suit. it’s a little stiff but i think i like it. anyways, there’s a matching hat (if you will) and it smells AWFUL, so i sprayed it with febreeze but it only made it worse—’” -you

“hang on. this cant be…” -alfred

“HOW DID YOU FIND MY REDDIT ACCOUNT?!” -barry, over comms

“your name is scarletspeedster, and we’ve been trying to wash that febreeze smell from the cowl for weeks.” -you

“my god, barry. next time, just use an old suit” -alfred

“really?!” -barry

“no” -you and alfred

you do a lot of gadget/weapon design with JL members

“it’s acceptable” -bruce

“wow, thanks” -you

“it’s…it’s good work. i mean it” -bruce

diana sits with you and tells you stories, sometimes theyre very informational

“so if you ever do end up fighting, you’re going to want to craft a very nice sword for yourself. i know you’re good at that, you’ll do just fine” -diana

barry nerds out with you sometimes

he gets real excited when he sees you designing stuff on the computer

and tries to be helpful

“wind resistance might be a problem with this design, you should go sleeker” -barry

“hey, barry? if you don’t let me do my job im gonna design a tool specifically to shut you up” -you

“harsh!” -barry

“sorry, maybe a little too far. but let me work” -you

arthur wanted cooler clothes

“can i get you some material from atlantis so you can make me a nicer suit?” -arthur

“only if you bring me extra so i can have fun with it” -you

“not a problem for the king, its a deal” -arthur

clark didn’t really need/want much

but he was a great help when testing new weapons and suits

“can you just…laser vision that target right ahead. new suit material” -you

“yeah, stand back” -clark

it held for a good 20 seconds

“better than i thought” -you

you were their eyes in the sky on missions

directions, lookout, enemies, obstacles, detours, you name it

and yeah, maybe victor could also do a great deal of this stuff, but you got to do it behind the scenes and you actually got paid pretty well for it

but occasionally you did ask him for tech support

“victor, the batcomputer froze” -you

“i know, i did that on purpose” -vic

“can you unfreeze it so i can see what’s going on?” -you

“what’s the password?” -vic

*sigh* “ilovevicstone123” -you

diana let you spar with her sometimes

which honestly scared you every time bc you know she could kill you if she wanted to (but you knew she would never)

(but she could)

you’d never be apart of the justice league, which was very okay with you because you loved being behind the scenes and not being shot at

and so long and you had tea with alfred while the rest of them were kicking ass, you’d manage