#luviery!writes

You had been explaining to him the plot of a 90s TV show you had stumbled upon while browsing during the late hours of the night.

"So the female lead, she decides to go to his house — ugh, I keep forgetting his name "

"Jerry." Jason murmurs, eyes focused on the bowl of ingredients in front of him. Regardless of what work Jason was doing, he always listened to you when you spoke. It almost felt like it was his duty to catalogue every word that left your lips. And he performed that duty to the best of his abilities. It did not matter if he was in the middle of a mission or doing the mundane tasks of living  — Jason listened.

Always listened.

"Ahh yes, Jerry, " you repeat, looking up at him with a slight smile that curves into a scowl as you gather your thoughts about the plot. "now Gabriela should dump Jerry's ass, right?"

"Yes," Jason affirms as he takes in your face, painted with annoyance.

Cute.

"But instead she begs him, like what the actual fuck ? Why do these directors even —" the vibration of your phone against the counter cuts your rant short, a wide smile replacing the frown on your face.

"It's Zara."

A few minutes into the conversation, Jason can see you hunched over, giggling about something that your best friend told you over the phone. Meanwhile, Jason had finished making the paste and, almost as a reflex, scooped a spoonful of the paste and brought it to your mouth.

His hand is under the spoon, making sure the red doesn't fall on any of your clothes. He had already made sure it was not too hot by blowing over it multiple times. You open your mouth as the stainless steel presses against your tongue, coating it with red. Jason looks at you, eyes wide with hope and lips pressed into a line.

You hum, squeezing your eyes before kissing your fingertips and moving them away towards him with a spread of your fingers accompanied by a dramatic flair.

Chef's kiss.

Jason huffs out a laugh, shaking his head as he starts prepping the pan on the stove. The sudden sound of sizzling onions next to you has Zara asking whether you were at some street food corner.

"No, It's just my husband —"

You wished he hadn't listened to the slip of your tongue over the sound of his cooking but Jason always listens and you knew he had heard when you saw his entire body going still.

His back is turned away from you, broad back covered in black cotton with a spatula in hand as it remained stuck in the air, just a touch from the pan. You don't do any better as you get off the counter and scamper into your shared bedroom, all the while Zara is giggling in your ears.

It was not that Jason did not want to be your husband.

No, it would really be his honor.

But Jason Todd was not completely beyond his insecurities.

Why would anyone want to be with him for a lifetime out of their own will?

You were not one of his siblings who were obligated to be with him as a reason of familial relationship, nor were you part of his team of outlaws who possessed a shared goal.

You had been someone he had fallen in love with at the bookstore.

Was he even worth everything?

"Jason."

He turns at the soft whisper of his name. There you were, standing with your hands rubbing against each other as those angelic eyes of yours refused to meet his. You had cut the call short once the panic had morphed into fear. Zara had understood and reassured you, but your heart wanted the answer from only one person.

"I-I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable, " you murmur, eyes blinking rapidly at the tears forming along your waterline. Both of you had only been dating for a year now but it would be a lie if you never thought about the prospect of marriage with Jason.

They say you know the one when you meet them.

He was the one for you.

But you never voiced it. It had been a slip of the tongue, something you wish you could take back if it had made him even a tiny bit uncomfortable.

"No angel," He takes your hands, rubbing smooth circles onto your skin over the back of your palm. "I-You want to spend the rest of your life with me?"

Jason almost doesn't let the words slip out from him, throat dry like all the moisture had been sucked. His green eyes gleam like those of the vast forests under the soft golden light of the sun. They murmur to you of peace, of love, of eternity.

"I would gladly spend every minute with you Jason. Every waking moment with you," you vowed as you peer at him, "and every non-waking moment too in my dreams." Jason chuckles, a faint glow surrounding him like love emanating from the previously filled crevices of nervousness.

Jason envelopes you, the softness of your cheek pressed against his beating heart. His chin is on the top of your head as you see the slight movement of his Adam's apple, almost like he was trying not to cry.

For the first time, someone who had no moral duty to Jason wanted to stay with him forever.

For eternity.

All because you loved him for him.

He presses a small kiss against the top of your head, gently pulling you even more closer, like two puzzle pieces that fit perfectly.

"I will gladly spend a lifetime with you too, my love"

Jason could feel the curve of your smile, tracing against his black t-shirt. The both of you stay wrapped in each other's presence like a warm blanket accompanied by the smell of something burning — burning?

"Jason, I think something is burning, " you say, trying to peek through the gaps of his muscled arms, but to no avail. He only lets out a contented sigh, still blissfully bathing in your warmth. You pinch his skin, a sharp yelp resounding from his mouth.

" SOMETHING IS BURNING."

Finally, Jason lets you go as you both turn towards the source of the smell. The once sizzling onions were now burnt to a crisp.

"Fuck"

It's a random Tuesday as Bruce, and you stand in the middle of your grandfather's beloved attic. The wooden floors creak under your weight, dust particles moving in spirals as the early rays of sunshine flit through the glass panes of the dormer window. Your mother had asked for your help in cleaning your grandparents' place, and so you pulled in Bruce - offering him a break from his corporate duties, which he gladly agreed to.

"Wow, I did not realise my grandad hoarded so many things", you say, looking at the vast number of trinkets and boxes stacked along the walls on both sides of the attic. Each was well organised, with a label pasted on the top.

"Your grandad was a man of culture", Bruce chuckles, looking at the various band posters from the 40s and 50s. There were even autographs from some of them, neatly preserved.

Both of you got to work immediately, knowing it would be hours before everything was cleaned out. You had decided to split the work by concentrating on different ends of the triangular room.

Bruce had struck gold by ending up in the corner where your granddad had seemed to store much of the photo albums and cassettes, stacked on top of each other, labeled in detail about what the insides contained. It gave Bruce an insight to your family, a family from looking at the albums that had photos from back since your grandparents got married, having their daughter — your mother, to her getting married, and having you.

He had seen a lot of your photos since the early days of dating, but these were different. Your grandfather was an avid photographer, and Bruce could sense it through the varied angles and poses that he made everyone do.

"Having fun, huh?" you mumble, looking at Bruce as he suppresses a chuckle while looking at the pictures of you — a two-year-old, wearing a princess gown and a wand gripped tightly within your grubby fingers.

"You get stuck with the more fun part, while I have to dust some old documents", you grumble, looking at files and files of documents.

"Do you wanna exchange, sweetheart?"

"Nope," you say, emphasizing the 'p' as you shift to the next box, "Besides, I like hearing you laugh, even if it comes at the cost of my pictures"

An hour passes by.

You had finished four out of the twelve boxes. Heaving a sigh, you decide it's time for a well-deserved break. And what better to do than annoy your beautiful husband?

"Bruce, Brucie Wayne," you turn to look at him at the lack of any response "Bruce?"

Bruce doesn't answer, his broad back turned towards you. There is something different in the air from a few minutes ago, almost tinged with melancholic fragrance. You move towards, hoping to see what made him go so still, only to let out a gasp when you see it.

There you were, maybe five or six years old, wearing a large doctor's coat that reached well beyond your limbs, dragging onto the marble floor and a cute pink stethoscope around your neck. But that was not what made you gasp; it was the couple you were standing with in the photo.

Thomas and Martha Wayne.

Both of them were crouched next to you on either side. Thomas Wayne in his fitting black suit paired with a dark blue silk necktie embellished with motifs, while Martha Wayne wore a simple black silk dress paired with a blue tweed jacket.

There was a tiny piece of description below the photograph, a little shabby, like your grandpa wasn't sure what to write.

' Y/N & famous couple from Gotham (VHS #155)'

Bruce let out a laugh— loud but bittersweet. It made sense for your grandad to not know them, considering the only people he thought to be rich were the Queens.

You looked at Bruce, his eyes a little glazed as you cupped his face, fingers rubbing against the expanse of his cheek. Pressing a small kiss on his forehead, you whisper, "Shall we watch the VHS tape?"

He hums as you both try finding the exact tape among two hundred of them. Once retrieved, you dust the Toshiba VCR at the corner, pulling it slightly towards the center. You and Bruce try to get it to start since it probably hasn't been used in a while.

After a few minutes, the VCR lights up. Inserting the tape, you press play, and both of you stand back, Bruce's arm over your shoulder as you lay your head on his chest, arms wrapped around his waist.

The VCR displays a blue gradient before buzzing to a grainy film of you in a purple and pink frock , smiling widely at the camera. There's a lot of noise around you — people clapping , speeches being read as your grandad records the stage when Thomas Wayne was giving his speech. Bruce shifted a little, hand holding yours a little tighter, from hearing his father's voice after so many years.

The video then shifts to you, standing in front of the couple, wearing a pink stethoscope and a white coat a little too large for your frame. Martha Wayne smiles , a smile so radiant, before crouching down to her knees as she shakes your hand.

"Hi, there. What's your name?"

You say your name before letting out a giggle at her calling you beautiful.

"You want to be a doctor when you grow up?" She asks, hands pointing at the instrument hanging around your neck.

"Yes, ma'am. I want to be a heart doctor," you say, peering at the woman beside you. Thomas Wayne smiles before exchanging pleasantries with your grandfather.

"Oh, that's wonderful! You will be a great doctor one day, my dear."

And with that, the VHS comes to an end.

Bruce sniffles a little , his hands holding your waist, chin placed on top of your head. Silence fills the space along with the sounds of your nieces playing around the house. You don't know how long the both of you stayed like that, but it could have been forever, and you didn't mind at all.

Bruce is beyond happy. While it may not be visible to the naked eye, you could feel the joy emanating from the open crevices of grief and gaps of affection. He was happy that you —his wife, the love of his life — had met his parents. And they had gotten the chance to meet you.

Perhaps both of you really were soulmates.

A/N: Comments and Reblogs appreciated! Writing something for bruce after a long time.

You really should be listening because, for one, he was right, and two, it concerned a whole lot about the world’s state right now. But how could you, if Jason Peter Todd sat on the velvety couch, knees spread, jaw clenched tight, and those beautiful emerald eyes narrowed into tiny slits. His black jeans strained against his sturdy thighs and white t-shirt stuck to his torso like a second skin – you could even see his abs pulsing with every word, and boy, was it hypnotising.

Both of you had just returned home after watching the recent adaptation (if you could even call it that), and to say the least, Jason was pissed. He had gone straight to the bookshelf at the corner of the living room, grabbed his paperback copy and started ranting about all the discrepancies between the movie and the book, which were pretty much everything.

It’s not like you didn't try; you really did. But your boyfriend was hot, especially when he was angry. You lick your lips, trying to cool the sudden warmth surging through your body. The deep blue lighting from the paused TV screen highlighted Jason, as if he were the beautiful, deep ocean, and you were the reckless sailor drowning in it. Jason leaned, his head falling back on the couch, palm resting against his forehead in exasperation, but instead, all you saw was his biceps flexing.

Yeah, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“What was that for?” he mumbles when you pluck the book out of his hands and straddle his lap. His face is warm under your hands, eyes a little widened at the sudden movement. You brush against his scars before placing feather-light kisses from the tilt of his jaw, the expanse of his cheeks, and his scars to the column of his throat. His hands are at your waist, firm but gentle, as his eyes flutter, breathy gasps leaving his lips at the sudden rampage.

“Baby, please, " he sighed at the lack of your mouth on the only place he wanted.

Finally, your lips seal his, tasting the cherry ice cream he had earlier. Jason squeezes your hips, finding the silver of skin underneath your shirt, tracing circles on to them – either to calm you or himself. Before long, one of his hands cups your neck, slithering his tongue between your glossy lips, swirling with yours like a melody you both are fluent in. Your hips unconsciously grind onto his, as he gasps.

“You just looked so hot, Jay.” You whisper letting out a breath as you nuzzled into the crook of his neck, placing a small kiss while your fingers threaded through his hair, “I couldn’t help it”. He hums, hands trailing to your butt before squeezing the flesh as he stands – your legs still looped at his waist—causing you to let out a yelp.

“ Well, we can’t just leave this halfway now, can we?” Emerald eyes hold yours, now brimming with desire, flooding all your senses. You whisper back, a sly smile on your face “of course, we can’t”

You giggle, as he leaps (literally) with you to the bedroom.

Bonus Scene:

“It still doesn’t make sense how she could cast a POC actor for Edgar but not for Heathcliff,” you hum, drifting in between sleep as you nuzzle into his naked chest, his fingers twirling your hair. It was early morning now, after hours of being in each other’s arms, and Jason was still stuck on last night’s movie.

“Wuthering Heights by Kate Bush is really the best adaptation to date”

You and Bruce fought last night. It was not all that uncommon in your marriage of ten years, but this was different. It had ended with you sleeping in the guest bedroom.

The truth was, both of you hadn't slept that night.

You knew things would be different the next morning — you missed the early morning cuddles, the way Bruce looked peaceful with his eyes closed and hair all around the place, the way his hand was firm around your hips even while he was asleep.

There was one practice the both of you had been following since your time dating — never to skip breakfast. It was simple, the first meal of the day was to be eaten together at the table. The ritual came about as the result of both your professions — Bruce having to be at Wayne Enterprises and you at your own business — there was only really so much time you could spend in the presence of each other.

The ritual was disrupted today.

Bruce had left without sparing you a single glance, only a comment to Alfred about having breakfast at the company's cafeteria. The mahogany doors slam shut with a sharp bang — just as sharp as the icicle pricking your heart.

Usually, the ritual ended with him murmuring the three sacred words along with a kiss to your forehead.

But today was different.

You take a deep breath, swallowing the brick scratching at your throat. Tears pool along your water line, threatening to breach your eyelid even as you tip your head upward, gazing at the glinting chandelier. But they slide past your eyelids regardless, then against your cheek, and fall onto the stack of honey-glazed pancakes on the porcelain plate.

The manor was silent like it was holding its breath. Alfred stood at the corner, posture straight, but you could feel his gaze on you. Placing the cutlery back with a slight clack against the napkin, the wooden chair scratches against the marble floors as you stand up. You shook your head, a small curve on your lips, but you were fooling no one, let alone Alfred.

"Thanks, Alfred, I'm running a little late or else I would've finished it." Even before the words resound in the almost empty room, you scramble towards the staircase, voice cracking as you bring your palm to your mouth.

Alfred sighs, watching your hunched figure, racked with suppressed sobs, disappear into the distant hallways.

The expensive nappa leather of the passenger seat seems to itch at his suit clad skin as his body leans forwards, gripping under his seats with his knuckles white. It was almost like everything around him was trying to remind him of what he had done in the past hour. Sinking back again into the cushion, his phone lights up with a notification from his assistant, but all he could see was the wallpaper.

A photo of both of you at the wedding.

You were laughing at something he had said with your head tipped back, eyes crinkled into crescent moons, all while Bruce was just gazing at you, a small smile on his lips. It had been his favorite photo from all of the wedding ceremonies and almost served as a reminder — a reminder to uphold his promise of keeping you always happy with that same smile he fell in love with.

But today he hadn't.

Today, he had broken your heart.

Bruce sighs, pinching his nose before he decides he needs to turn back. He needs to go back to the Wayne Manor. To his home. To your arms.

" Please turn around towards —" Just as the words slip from his mouth, everything changes.

See, Bruce has a contingency plan for everything. Something he made sure to have after witnessing his parents being killed, the spiral of his best friend — Harvey Dent, Jason's death and many more incidents during his lifetime. He is well prepared for most of life's obstacles, but after years of being Batman, a small, fragile confidence develops, nestled into the crook of his mind, that one often forgets life is as unpredictable as it is predictable.

One moment, Bruce's fingers are wrapped around the rectangular electronic device gleaming against the black material of the seats. The next moment, he is up in the air, his head lolled back as it hits against the roof of the car.

It happens just as fast as it happens slowly because all Bruce Wayne could think of was you.

You — the light of his life, the sun to his moon, the rainbow amongst dark clouds — You.

The mind is a very powerful thing.

Though physically in the following seconds he finds himself squished against the passenger door, Bruce couldn't feel the pain. Because the past decade of his life flashes through his eyes — from the moment he saw you at the Gala, dressed in a dark blue satin gown and that gorgeous smile on his face, to the moment he asked you out a few months later, to nights spent under cotton duvets and tangled legs to eating breakfast together everyday to the day he wed the love of his life to yesterday when he had ignored you to a couple of hours back when he did not say the three words he wished he did — before turning to an endless abyss.

Bruce Wayne wakes up on a bed — no, something similar but a lot less comfortable. The sounds of beeping and hushed voices fill his senses. There's movement in the corner of his eyes as a woman wraps his arm in a bandage. He tries to move, tries to remember what had happened. As he squints again, his blurry vision starts to restore, and he can finally see the paramedic running tests. Almost like being pricked by a thorn, flashes of what had happened earlier today embraced his senses instead, and all Bruce wanted to do was to see you. To touch you. To feel you in his arms.

"Mr Wayne, please, you need—" the paramedic on board lays a hand against his chest in hopes of pushing him back against the cotton, but all it does is make Bruce more anxious. His chest heaves as he pulls on the IV drip from his forearm.

"I need to see my wife. " Bruce's voice is hoarse, etched with dryness. It pains him a little to even utter the words, but the want of your presence is far greater. There is a slight ringing in his ears as he sits upright at once. Bruce could sense that the paramedic was saying something to him, her hands hovering over his, but he couldn't make out the words.

All Bruce wanted was to see you.

"I need to see my wife," he repeats, chest heaving like the world was on his chest, and perhaps it was — the weight of his guilt was equivalent to the entire world.

" I NEED HER."

The doors slam open with a hiss as Bruce Wayne slips out with his hand still on his abdomen. The pristine white dress shirt is now unbuttoned, red seeping through the fabric. His hair is ruffled with tiny grey splotches across his face, accompanied by tiny scratches along his exposed skin. Blue eyes squeeze at the sudden intrusion of the morning rays of the sun as his vision adjusts to the nearby crowd of onlookers consisting of concerned citizens and reporters.

For the first time, the media sees the billionaire in a frenzy.

He hunches a little before walking to the unrestricted sidewalk, ignoring the yells of his name as flashes of light hit his frame. Police officers try to convince the man to get back into the ambulance, but to no avail.

Bruce flags down a cab, the driver rushing away from the scene as the crowd grows smaller and smaller in the side mirror.

You were in the library, working on a presentation for your company, when you heard the roaring voice of your husband, echoing against the thick walls. It was almost next to impossible to hear anything through the walls, especially so deep into the manor. You swiftly place the book back onto the shelf before running down the halls.

"WHERE IS MY WIFE?" Bruce yells, hand over his abdomen, as deep blue eyes trail over the room.

"Master Bruce —" Alfred tries to get Bruce to just sit, eyes wide as he sees the man he has raised covered in blood. Injuries don't faze Alfred. He was used to blood, but when that happened during the daytime. During the time Bruce was just a billionaire, something shifted in his chest.

"I asked where —"

"Bruce."

A hush falls across the room as Bruce swiftly turns to the source of the sound. There you were, standing at the bottom of the staircase, in a pair of sweatpants and his shirt. His shirt. Your beautiful eyes were wide, glazed with sheen as you looked at your husband.

"Bruce, what happened?" you whisper, hands covering your mouth as a tear slips down your cheek. Within seconds, Bruce had pulled you into his chest, his neck tucked between the curve of your neck and shoulder blade as he sobs into your shoulder, his hand clutching at the fabric of your shirt.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart." He mumbles, pressing further into you like he still couldn't feel your presence. The red of his shirt seeps into your clothes as you rub his back. You wanted to tell him it was okay, but all you could feel was a sob bubbling in your throat.

"I love you," Bruce whispers, cupping your face as his finger slides against the tear tracks on your cheek. “More than anything in this world.”

You push back his hair, a little sweaty, as you cup his face and give him a kiss on the forehead. You offer him a smile — the same one he fell in love with as you whisper while slinging his arm over your shoulders.

"C'mon, let's get you cleaned up."

A/N: tried writing this for like two days and here it is!

"Mrs. Wayne, I can—" Rina, one of your husband's secretaries, asks, having spotted you among the crowd, her arms hovering over the flowers.

"It's okay, Rina. I got this," you smile, holding the bouquet a little tighter against your chest. "Thank you."

She nods, though the concern etched onto her face doesn't waver as she gazes at your form walking towards the elevator specifically reserved for Bruce Wayne and a few select people. You press the button for the top floor, readjusting your grip at the base of the bouquet. The silver-stained doors slide open with a hiss as you walk past Daniel, another of Bruce's secretaries, who immediately offers to help, to which you politely decline.

Knocking on the glass door with your knuckles, your hands fumble around for the handle due to your limited vision. Bruce Wayne notices almost instantly, leaving the paperwork behind as he rushes to the door. He takes the bouquet out of your hands without question and sets it on top of his desk.

"So who gave you the flowers?" Bruce asks, trying to mask the green in his heart while his eyes try to find any message card tucked away in the assortment. It wasn’t unusual for you to receive such gifts as a part of your work in betterment of the city, though it stills irks something in him.

"It's for you?" His hands still, deep blue eyes locking onto yours.

"…for me?"

"Yeah, I saw them on the way here, and it reminded me of you." You say, plopping onto the leather of his office chair.

"Roses reminded you of me?" Bruce is genuinely stumped, eyes wide and glazed with confusion.

Batman is remembered for a lot of things — the dark knight of Gotham, Justice, vigilante, while his alter ego Brucie Wayne — Wealth, playboy and  glamour.

But for the first time, the one person who knew him — all of him — remembered Bruce Wayne because of roses.

"Yes, my beautiful husband. These red roses reminded me of you." Your voice is soft as you look up at him with your chin on your palm, elbows on the desk.

"Thank you, sweetheart"

Bruce leans down and kisses you on the lips, before laying a soft one on your forehead.

JASON TODD

Jason was away in Star City for a mission, staying at Roy's place. He would be back later today, and you had decided to surprise him. The past few months had been very hectic for Jason. From missions that sometimes lasted months to patrols that never synced with your work timings, you hardly got to see each other.

That's why you had decided to plan a mini reading event that would last for a few days, after taking off from work and mentioning it to the Outlaws and his family.

As the first step, you had decided to welcome your best friend with an assortment of flowers and copies of some of the books off his TBR carefully covered in wrapping paper. Jason had been wanting them for a long time but hadn't had the chance to buy them yet.

You had just finished wrapping the books when Jason texted you about reaching Gotham and that he would be at your place in an hour. With a curve to your lips, you set down the phone after replying with a thumbs up.

You met Jason after a quick detour to the bookstore. Five-minute conversations about books had turned to hours of texting, to later hanging out at each other's places. Over the course of your friendship, he had revealed his nightly activities and even introduced you to some of his teammates and family.

Both of you are good friends, though you both ached it would be more than that.

A few moments later, a knock on the front door has you cleaning haphazardly after realising how messy your living room was. Jason is early, like he always is. He's clad in a leather jacket, red t-shirt stretched across his chest, that you couldn't really indulge in the sight as he pulls you into a hug. The fresh smell of his shampoo and perfume fills your nostrils as you nuzzle into his chest.

"How have you been, Jason?" you ask, now looking at his face. Red sprouts in blossoms across his face as his chin tips down. That's when you notice — his right hand tucked behind.

" I'm sorry for how long it took to finally meet." Jason murmurs, before his right hand comes into view, holding a bouquet of pink peonies and two books wrapped in gift paper.

"Wait, you got —" you laugh, before running back into your room. Jason's eyebrows furrow, deepening the creases of his forehead as he sees you disappearing down the hallway.

"Please tell me, we did not get the same books." You mumble, now appearing in the doorway with the bouquet of books and peonies. Jason laughs, his palm ruffling through his hair.

" I got Taiwan Travelogue for you," Jason says, pointing at the neatly wrapped book in his palm.

" Oh my god, I got you the same along with some other books."

The air is tinged with something both of you can't place, or rather, won't place. Heat rushes through your body, the distance between you seemingly crackling with intensity so loud, though you both just ignore. You both knew each other so well, you bought the same books for each other. So why hadn't either of you taken the next step? Did he perhaps not like you?

If Stephanie had been here, she would have screamed at both of you.

"Just fucking kiss, you idiots."

Except, the words felt too real — almost like someone was actually shouting it in reality and not just in your head.

Turning back to the window of your living room, you almost drop the bouquet at the sight of not only Stephanie but also Cassandra, Tim, Dick, Duke and Damian all fighting to view inside through the small window.

Jason drags a palm across his face.

TIM DRAKE

You and Tim have been in a long-distance relationship ever since you moved out of Gotham for your job. There were a lot of ups and downs, through the course of your relationship — especially owing to the distance. But you traversed through it — Communication being the key.

But now you were here, in the Wayne manor.

After a few gruesome months of work, you had finally returned to Gotham City for a small vacation, which Tim wasn't aware of. You wanted to surprise him, and though he had his tendencies to keep track of you for safety, with the help of dick, you had managed to trick Tim into thinking you were still far, far away and not doors away from the bat cave.

Standing in front of the grandfather clock, you texted your boyfriend a link. The link being a website, you had coded yourself from scratch through tutorials and tutorials.

you: [link]

Tim has always been suspicious of links, especially since he was hyper aware of all that could go wrong with just a single click. It wasn't unusual that you sent him a link, considering the fact that you liked his opinions on some of the things you liked to buy. But just a link—with no follow-up message, was a little worrying. As Tim contemplates the link, you send another text just in time.

You: Open it fast!!

Tim huffs, a small smile on his face. The link did not open to a shopping website or something that you had learnt along the way but rather a webpage with an animated flower in the middle, a small button with the words 'Start' below it.

He clicks on it, albeit a little apprehensive and amused, when he sees the following words along with a picture of your face — eyes large and lips jutted into a pout replacing that of the flower animation.

Do you like me? — Yes or No?

Tim clicks on the 'Yes' button. The picture changes to that of you , smiling wide. His lips curve immediately at the sight, all the sleepiness bundled in his eyes, vanishing in an instant.

The web page refreshes to the next question, another picture of you — with your hands on your hips , lips pressed into a tiny frown — with the following words at the bottom.

Do you love me? — Yes or No?

He huffs, shaking his head as the words 'of course' leave his lips softly. He clicks on the 'yes' button again. Now, the frown on your face was replaced by your smile and eyes crinkling as your hands form a heart.

But the next words still him. What did you even mean by that?

Then why don't you open the door?

A small creak of the staircase has him turning his head swiftly. There you stood, in all your flesh and bones, with a bouquet of pink,red roses, and some pink lilies in between. You were here, physically just a few meters away. The minute it truly strikes Tim, he is already at your side, hugging you with his head tucked into the crook of your neck as you let out soft giggles.

"Hi, Tim." you ruffle his hair, as he kisses your neck before cupping your face and placing a kiss on your lips. You hand him the flowers, which he gently takes it and murmurs a thank you before placing it aside.

"You're here," Tim whispers. He had missed you, missed the warmth that you gave him. Sure, you guys spoke every day, but this was different.

"I am," you say, giggling, locking your wrists around his neck while his hands plant gently at your waist.

"You made the website? The one with the flowers and your pictures?" He asks, placing another kiss on your lips.

You hum.

" A lot of tutorials , and a little help from my roommate." It had been a pretty hard project for someone who had no experience in coding, but you wanted to surprise Tim through something that he loved.

"God, you're so fucking talented. I should worship you." Tim murmurs, before he starts kissing you again as giggles echo in the Bat cave.

DICK GRAYSON

Dick Grayson was used to doing things by himself.

He would be there in a minute to help others, but would never ask for help for himself. He would drop everything if he heard or even got a whiff that someone he loved was not doing well. But he hid the same about him from others. After all, he could do it by himself. He would be fine.

That was until he met you.

You made sure he took care of himself and let out his emotions frequently instead of bottling them up. It had been a while since you had a date night with your boyfriend, and so you planned one.

You made sure to act as oblivious as you could, sneaking to buy all the ingredients to make his favourite dishes. You had also informed his family beforehand so that dick would not have to patrol for the night in Bludhaven.

When Dick Grayson steps inside the apartment, he is greeted with scented candles, lit up in the hall way. The smell of cream cheese and crab meat waft through his sense, already knowing what's for dinner, which suspends all his worries away. Dick walks to the kitchen, leaning against the doorway as he sees you making some spaghetti and at the same time, stuffing the mushrooms with the crab filling.

You look up at the clock in the hallway only to see Dick Grayson leaning against the door like a model posing for cameras.

"You're early," you say, washing your hands under the sink to give your boyfriend a hug and a kiss.

" Pretty chill day at the station." Dick murmurs against your lips, "What's the special occasion?"

" Nothing. Just thought about you and decided my beautiful boyfriend deserved this." Tugging his hands off your hips, you move back to the kitchen while Dick whines at the loss of contact. " Now go and change into something comfortable."

Once Dick is in his sweatpants and a T-shirt, he is back in the kitchen, already insisting he helped you in some way or another. It takes a lot of convincing (and threats) for him to go back to the living room. Dick really wants to help you.

After a few minutes, you set the dishes down on the table — crab stuffed mushrooms and spaghetti, a pair of wine glasses and two tubs of chocolate chip ice cream for desert. 'How to lose a guy in ten days' play on the large screen, as dick gets comfortable with the cushions laid against his back. You disappear once again, to which dick immediately pouts before it widens into a smile when you come back again — with a bouquet.

You hand him the assortment of red and pink roses with a kiss on the cheek.

"To the best boyfriend in the whole world."

Dick Grayson flusters, a deep red akin to that of the red roses. His dimples deepen when he sees each stem of the flower having a tiny piece of paper attached. He reads one of them and immediately looks at you wide-eyed. Dick does the same for another piece of paper , before he pulls you into a bone crushing hug.

Each of the tiny pieces of paper attached to the stem had handwritten verses from some of his favourite poetry that he loved to read.

Dick's heart flutters at the amount of effort you had taken, taken for him. He swiftly places a hundred kisses all over your face, while you giggle, clutching the fabric of his T-shirt.

The night ends with your tummy full, movies watched, slow dancing to music, Dick reciting the verses dramatically— with his hand on his chest and arms pointed at you — and hearts filled with love. As you sleep next to him, he looks at you and wonders how he got so lucky. After all that had happened in his life, he didn't know how he still deserved you. The flowers were now in a vase on the table, and the notes — delicately packed into a box. Best believe, Dick is going to read these notes when you exchange vows during the wedding.

He presses one last kiss onto your forehead before shuffling closer to you. Dick was going to pay a visit to Poison Ivy and ask all the ways he could extend the lifetime of those flowers.

But honestly, who surprises their partner the way he did, especially in a city like Bludhaven?

You had just returned from work, locking the front door before placing your bag on the couch. The sun's glimmering last rays splayed across your bedroom, highlighting the thick white duvet in streaks of golden.

You really just wanted to throw yourself onto the bed and forget about all that had happened in the last 6 hours at work. But not in your work clothes. And so you begrudgingly pulled yourself to take a shower, a brief one, just enough to be called a shower, before you hopped into your pajamas.

The bed sits at the very center, a thick cotton duvet draped haphazardly. You did not have the time nor the patience to make the bed in the morning with how late you were to work.

You stifle a yawn, eyes blurry, going over to your side of the mattress. Looking at the empty space next to you, a small frown paints at your lips.

Your dear, beautiful, and hot boyfriend wasn't here. Hasn't been here since the past ten days and would not be here for another four days. You missed his touch on the expanse of your skin, his warmth emanating from behind, holding you close to his chest; his husky voice whispering praises; and his soft plush lips that would smother you in kisses and giggles.

You could do this.

Just another four more days.

Or so you thought.

The minute you sit on the soft mattress, the duvet seemingly hugs you, pulling you in. It almost takes you a minute before you realize it was not your comforter but a human as you feel the warmth radiating through the cotton fabric.

A shriek leaves your parted lips, hands and legs flaying back onto the intruder's chest and legs. You could hear him speak, but nothing your mind could comprehend at the moment. Your right leg had finally hit something that made your captor fall off the bed—groaning.

Hah!

the way dick had taught you.

except said intruder was Dick Grayson—your boyfriend and the man who was not supposed to be home for a few more days. He was in a pair of sweatpants and a white t-shirt.

"Dick, what the fuck?" you shout at him before joining him on the carpet. "Are you okay?"

Your hands hang in the air, not sure where to place them.

"Yeah, I will be fine…just give me a minute." He mumbles, standing on his very shaky legs, hand hovering over his groin while his back remains hunched as he moves to the bathroom. "Just give me a minute."

Now, an hour later, the both of you are sitting against the headboard of your bed while he has a cold pack wrapped in a thin cotton cloth over his groin. He had been whining about his dick for the past thirty minutes.

Dick was worried about his dick.

"Why would you even think it was a good idea in the first place?"

"I don't know," he mumbles, bringing his arm over his eyes. You couldn't help but let out a chuckle, quickly placing a palm over your mouth considering the subject of your humor was right next to you. Crystal blue eyes narrow before they squeeze as reality strikes—groaning at every slight movement of his body, his lips finally jutting into a pout.

You move closer to him, cupping his face before placing your lips against his soft ones. The position was awkward with your necks twisted at an angle that would hurt in the long run, but it was not like you could straddle him. You move away before his tongue could slither in.

"Nope, you need to take rest," you say, already sneaking under the comforter. If you guys had continued further, it would have really just left both of you horny with no way of fixing it.

"But, baby," he whines, his hands trying to clutch on to whatever he could of yours, but every movement just made his head fall back against the headboard.

"Let's go to bed, baby," you say, facing him and intertwining your hands. "I promise we can do everything you wish tomorrow."

He agrees begrudgingly ,having no choice over the matter and finally slips under the comforter.

Out of all things dick had imagined happening today to his dick, this was definitely not one of them.

Taglist:

for all works: @milkybbun @champagnesbiggestproblem @itachisrealm @batwngs @starr-jazz @arfemiz @goonette5 @currentblasphemy

THE LIBRARY

You and Jason loved books, one of the very first things that you both bonded over from the very start of your relationship. Hence, visits to the local bookshop and the public library of Gotham City were pretty frequent in the household.

You wander around the library, scoping out possible books you could borrow when you spot Jason leaned against the shelf, a thick book (possibly another classic) in his hands, reading the synopsis.

The library was relatively empty today as you look around for any dwelling citizens before walking towards Jason. You inspect the different books near him as you slyly inch closer and closer.

If Jason notices, he doesn't say anything.

"I have been wanting to read this for so long" you mutter, planting your right hand above his shoulder, gripping the edges of the wooden shelf and your left hand grabs the book from the other side — effectively caging him in , even though you are shorter than him.

Jason goes really still, as you keep looking at different books . He doesn't say anything, in fact you don't think he is even breathing that well, in light of how statuesque he stood. You look up just for a second to see his teal eyes focused anywhere and everywhere except on your form, a light pink layer dusted over his cheeks.

Picking out a copy of Pride and Prejudice, you start walking towards the hallway and almost let out a giggle as you hear Jason huffing.

MISSION SUCCESSFUL

TURNING THE YAPPER SPEECHLESS

There was no doubt that Jason was a total yapper. Sure, he is broody and silent but that's only till he steps inside the comfort of his home — his lover.

It's a Tuesday night, the both of you are sitting across each other on the carpeted floor as he continues talking about the absurd family tree in one of his books. The sound of his gruff voice explaining the plot filled the silence of the night.

You had your head propped up against your arm, tilted as you listened to him. for the most part at least. Jason was wearing sweatpants and a red pullover, his hair a shabby mess like he had been grabbing it in frustration. Green eyes wide and his mouth running a mile a minute — he was so passionate and so so hot.

"Are you even listening?" He mutters, eyebrows raised.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't concentrate while looking at your handsome face, baby. But continue though, I like hearing you talk."

Jason's mouth opened and closed, before he groaned, leaning his head against the couch. His head was empty , loosing the train of thoughts like it was never there to begin with. His Adam's apple bobbed, throat as dry as Sahara desert.

Under the golden light from emanating from the lamp at the corner, you couldn't see him turning red but hey at least you rendered him speechless.

That counts, right?

MISSION SUCCESSFUL

CRINGE PICK-UP LINES

The internet had everything including the most obnoxious pick-up lines that you might have come across in a while. But that was good news for you. You had decided to drop random pick - up lines at the most inappropriate times.

The first time you used them, it was raining cats and dogs in Gotham, which may not be as surprising if not for the fact that the weather reports had stated it would be the sunniest day of the year. You and Jason were returning back home from the grocery store when the sudden downpour of rain started, leading you to find safety under a yellow and white striped awning.

"Are you an umbrella? Because I urgently need to under you." you say, rubbing against his shoulder. Jason just looked away groaning , his palm covering his face though you could see the slight smile curved on his lips. Eventually though, Jason pulled you within his embrace, hands at your waist as you snuggled back into his chest.

But the mission was not really successful. So you tried again.

The second time was when the both of you were lounging on the grass in Robinson park - a small picnic date. The sound of rushing water from the fountain and cackling laughter from a group of teenagers filled the air. You were both lying on the grass, his arm behind your head as you stared at each other.

"The doctor said I lack vitamin D," you whisper to him, rubbing circles on his chest "Can you help me with giving it ?"

A mixture of emotions passed over his face - first, the look of worry at the utterance of the word 'doctor' and 'lack' in the same breath before it turned into blossoming cheeks of red and dilated pupils when he realized what you had really meant. He groaned, dragging his palm across his face.

"You should really stop doing this baby." He mutters, not looking into your eyes yet.

"It's fun, jay. But if you feel uncomf—"

"No, No that's not it" he mumbles, eyes locking with yours filled with reassurance.

"Okay, then" you hum against his chest, before looking up at him "Are you a life alert? Because I've fallen for you and can't get up."

This time Jason laughs, chest rumbling as it sends vibrations through your body.

The sun is shining, the birds are flying across the blue sky and you are lying on the plush green grass with the love of your life.

MISSION kinda SUCCESSFUL

FINGER BITE TREND

Jason was not up to date with social media trends. His go-to activity to pass time was reading or working in the garage. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for you. But it made it a whole lot easier to execute said trends.

You stood in the entry way to the kitchen. The smell of spices waft through the room while Jason slices some tomatoes, his back clad in a black compression shirt that stretched deliciously across the hard panes of his back, biceps flexing with every slice.

Jason had insisted on you not to enter the kitchen till he finished cooking dinner, which you could have followed through until the very thought of flustering Jason cemented itself in your mind. Again.

"I told you not to come." He mutters, sliding the slices onto a bowl and washing his hands in the sink.

"I know I'm sorry ," you say with a pout, gripping his biceps "Anyway, can you check if there is something stuck between my teeth?"

You smile, all pearly whites in display as your index finger points to the lower teeth near your lips. Jason leans forwards, one hand on the counter beside you , when you bite down on your finger, face a little down turned as your eyes lock with green ones.

Jason goes still, eyes tracing your face. Everything blurs around him, only you being the sole focus of his vision. Blood surges through his body , color of red roses creeping through his scarred cheeks till the tips of his ears and between his legs, if not already noticeable due to the visible tent in his sweatpants. He regains a semblance of confidence before pulling you flush against his front, enough for you to feel his hard on.

A gasp leaves your lips as he cages your body against the marble counter, tilting his head with his plush lips pulled into a smirk.

"You didn't think I would just let you go like that, did you?" Heat floods your cheeks, warming the expanse of your body.

"I uhh I -" He leans forwards, his lips a breath away from yours. You try closing the gap only for him to set you on the counter, hands at your waist.

"I-I what. You teased me all week, angel." Jason whispers, lips tracing against the column of your throat as you feel a gush of arousal between your legs. Your head falls back, giving him more access as he bends down to lick a wet stripe against the sensitive skin of your neck. A shiver runs through your body as you gripped the edges of the counter for support.

"Ja-Jay" He hums against your skin, his hand brushing through your hair while the other massages your thigh.

"What baby?"

"W-What about dinner?"

"Forget dinner angel, I'm eating desert first."

MISSION SUCCESSFUL

Taglist: @milkybbun @champagnesbiggestproblem @itachisrealm @batwngs @starr-jazz @arfemiz @goonette5 @caterppillar

If you want to join taglist, pls comment for which character or for all works!