#maybe composing something dramatic together

"Black Cat" 🐈‍⬛

The party had started out exactly the way everyone expected it to.

Loud music. Too many people crammed into the hockey house. Someone had already broken a lamp. Dean was arguing with Tucker about something completely ridiculous. Garrett was somehow winning every drinking game despite barely paying attention. Hannah and Allie were sitting on the kitchen counter watching the chaos unfold like they were observing a wildlife documentary.

And then there was her.

The one person in the entire house who looked like she belonged absolutely nowhere near a party.

John Logan's girlfriend had a reputation.

Quiet.

Reserved.

Intimidating.

The kind of woman who walked into a room and instantly made people sit up straighter without even trying. She wasn't rude. She wasn't cold.

She was simply... calm.

Controlled.

Dangerously composed.

The hockey team often joked that she was basically a black cat in human form.

Sharp stares.

Dry sarcasm.

Zero tolerance for nonsense.

Meanwhile Logan was a golden retriever who somehow woke up every morning excited to exist.

Nobody understood how they worked.

Yet somehow they were perfect together.

At the beginning of the night she sat beside Logan on the couch, nursing a single drink and occasionally smiling whenever he leaned over to tell her something.

Normal.

Completely normal.

Then somebody handed her another drink.

Then another.

Then a mystery punch that nobody should have trusted.

And everything changed.

At first nobody noticed.

She seemed exactly the same.

Quiet.

Relaxed.

Maybe slightly pink around the cheeks.

Then Logan felt something poke his side.

He looked down.

His girlfriend was staring at him.

Not unusual.

The problem was that she was staring at him with the biggest smile he'd ever seen.

A ridiculously happy smile.

The kind that looked completely foreign on her face.

Logan blinked.

"You okay?"

She nodded aggressively.

Then she grabbed both of his cheeks.

"You're so pretty."

The room went silent.

Dean nearly dropped his drink.

Garrett choked on his beer.

Allie's eyes widened.

Hannah looked delighted.

Logan looked like he'd just won the lottery.

His girlfriend never said things like that in public.

Ever.

She continued squishing his face.

"So pretty."

Logan grinned.

"Yeah?"

"Very."

Then she kissed his forehead.

Everyone froze.

Then she kissed his cheek.

Then his other cheek.

Then his nose.

Then his jaw.

Then his forehead again.

"Oh my God," Dean whispered.

"She's broken," Garrett said.

Logan was practically glowing.

His girlfriend continued peppering kisses all over his face like she had suddenly forgotten how to stop.

Every few seconds she would pull back.

Look at him.

Smile dreamily.

Then kiss him again.

"You're my favorite person."

Logan looked seconds away from proposing.

Dean gagged dramatically.

Nobody paid attention.

A few minutes later she wandered into the kitchen.

The team watched nervously.

Like researchers observing a rare animal.

Dean happened to be eating a blueberry muffin.

She stared at it.

Dean stared back.

"Do you want some?"

She nodded.

Dean tore off half and handed it over.

She accepted it.

Took one bite.

Then immediately wrapped both arms around him.

Dean froze.

The entire kitchen froze.

His eyes widened in absolute horror.

"Guys."

Nobody moved.

"Guys she's hugging me."

His voice cracked.

The hug tightened.

"Dean."

"What?"

"You're nice."

Dean looked genuinely emotional.

"Nobody's ever said that to me before."

Then she kissed his cheek.

The room exploded.

Everyone started shouting.

Dean screamed.

"LOGAN SHE KISSED ME."

Logan nearly fell off his chair laughing.

His girlfriend looked completely unbothered.

She simply finished her muffin and wandered away.

A few minutes later she discovered Garrett's truck keys sitting on the counter.

Her eyes lit up.

"You let me drive your truck that one time."

Garrett nodded carefully.

"Yeah."

"I liked your truck."

"Thanks?"

Before Garrett could react she launched herself at him.

Full hug.

Both arms.

Maximum affection.

Garrett stood there looking absolutely terrified.

The hockey team immediately pulled out their phones.

"No."

"Take pictures."

"Absolutely not."

"Garrett is getting hugged."

"Delete that."

His girlfriend squeezed him tighter.

"You're nice too."

Garrett looked deeply uncomfortable.

Which only made everyone laugh harder.

Eventually she released him and wandered off again.

Like a very affectionate ghost.

The next victims were Hannah and Allie.

She found them sitting together on the couch.

Immediately pointed at them.

"You."

Allie looked concerned.

"Me?"

"You both bought ice cream."

Hannah burst out laughing.

This had happened months ago.

A random midnight ice cream run when she'd been stressed about exams.

Apparently drunk her never forgot.

"You bought me chocolate ice cream."

Allie nodded.

"You deserved ice cream."

Her expression softened instantly.

Then she practically collapsed onto both of them.

Wrapping her arms around them.

Allie laughed.

Hannah laughed harder.

The three of them ended up tangled together on the couch while she repeatedly informed them how much she loved ice cream.

And how much she loved them.

And how nice they were.

And how everyone should eat more ice cream.

The speech lasted nearly ten minutes.

Nobody interrupted.

It was too entertaining.

By now the entire party had become dedicated to watching Logan's girlfriend.

Nobody cared about the music anymore.

Nobody cared about the games.

The intimidating woman everyone knew had vanished.

In her place was a clingy, affectionate sweetheart who seemed determined to hug every person she'd ever liked.

Logan eventually found her curled up between Hannah and Allie.

Her eyes were drooping.

Her words were becoming slower.

She spotted him immediately.

"Logan."

His heart melted.

"Hey, baby."

She stood up.

Wobbled.

Then marched directly toward him.

The crowd watched.

Waiting.

She reached him.

Grabbed his hoodie.

Pulled him down.

And kissed his cheek.

Then his other cheek.

Then his forehead.

Then his chin.

Then his nose.

Then his cheek again.

Logan was laughing so hard he could barely breathe.

"Sweetheart."

"Hm?"

"I think you're drunk."

She frowned.

"No."

"You kissed Dean."

Her eyes widened.

Then she nodded seriously.

"He shared his muffin."

The room erupted.

Even Logan doubled over laughing.

Her logic seemed perfectly sound.

She ignored everyone.

Instead she pressed her face into Logan's chest.

Wrapped her arms around his waist.

And sighed contentedly.

The laughter slowly faded.

Because suddenly she looked exhausted.

Comfortable.

Safe.

Logan stroked her hair.

"You tired?"

"Mhm."

"Wanna go home?"

"Mhm."

She didn't move.

Logan smiled.

"Baby."

"Mhm."

"You have to stand up."

"No."

He laughed softly.

"Why?"

"Comfortable."

A chorus of groans echoed through the room.

The couple was disgustingly cute.

She mumbled something unintelligible.

Then snuggled closer.

Then closer.

Then somehow even closer.

A few seconds later Logan realized she wasn't responding anymore.

He looked down.

She was asleep.

Completely asleep.

Curled against him.

Arms still around his waist.

Face buried in his chest.

The entire house went quiet.

Dean looked shocked.

Garrett looked shocked.

Hannah smiled.

Allie looked like she might cry from how adorable it was.

Logan stared down at his sleeping girlfriend with the softest expression anyone had ever seen on his face.

Carefully he brushed a strand of hair away from her forehead.

Then kissed the top of her head.

"Best party ever," Dean whispered.

Nobody disagreed.

Because for one hilarious, unforgettable night, the house had gotten to see the impossible.

The black cat had become a golden retriever.

And Logan looked happier than he'd ever been.

The next morning began with a headache.

Not a terrible one.

Not the kind that made her want to throw up.

Just enough to make her regret every life decision that had led her to this exact moment.

A low groan escaped her as she buried her face deeper into the pillow.

Sunlight filtered through the curtains.

The room was warm.

Comfortable.

Safe.

Unfortunately, her brain was beginning to wake up.

And with it came memories.

Scattered at first.

Fragments.

Pieces.

A party.

Music.

A drink.

Logan laughing.

Then—

Her eyes flew open.

She sat upright so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash.

"No."

Her voice came out hoarse.

"No."

A horrifying image flashed through her mind.

She remembered kissing Logan's cheek.

Then another.

Then another.

Then another.

Then another.

Her stomach dropped.

"Oh no."

More memories surfaced.

Dean.

The muffin.

The hug.

The kiss on the cheek.

She stared blankly at the wall.

"No."

Garrett.

His truck.

The hug.

"Oh God."

Allie.

Hannah.

Ice cream.

Another hug.

Possibly multiple hugs.

A speech about ice cream.

Why had there been a speech about ice cream?

Why?

WHY?

She slowly lowered herself back onto the mattress and pulled the blanket over her face.

Maybe if she stayed there long enough she would cease to exist.

A moment later she felt movement beside her.

Logan.

Of course.

The worst possible witness.

He shifted and blinked awake.

Then he looked at her.

Then he immediately started smiling.

That smile alone told her everything she needed to know.

"No."

Logan's smile widened.

"No what?"

She dragged the blanket higher.

"No talking."

His shoulders started shaking.

"Sweetheart—"

"No."

"You don't even know what I was gonna say."

"I know enough."

At that point Logan lost the battle.

A laugh escaped him.

Then another.

Soon he was practically wheezing.

She wanted the earth to open beneath her.

She wanted a meteor.

An alien invasion.

Anything.

Anything except this.

The blanket suddenly disappeared as Logan pulled it away.

She immediately covered her face with both hands.

"No eye contact."

"Oh, we're definitely making eye contact."

"No."

"Absolutely yes."

She groaned.

Long and dramatic.

Logan looked completely delighted.

Which was honestly rude.

"You were adorable."

She made a sound somewhere between a scream and a dying whale.

"Stop."

"You called me pretty."

"Stop."

"You kissed my face approximately—"

"STOP."

"—forty-seven times."

She dropped backward onto the mattress.

Face first.

"I am never leaving this room."

Logan laughed harder.

A pillow hit him in the chest.

It did absolutely nothing.

"You also informed me that I was your favorite person."

The pillow hit him again.

This time harder.

"Go away."

"No."

"Please."

"Nope."

"Logan."

"No."

His grin was impossible.

Absolutely impossible.

The kind of grin that belonged on a man who had just witnessed the greatest event of his entire life.

Which, judging by his expression, he apparently had.

Then came the knock.

She froze.

Logan froze.

A voice sounded from outside.

"Rise and shine, Muffin Kisser."

Silence.

Pure silence.

Then her soul left her body.

Dean.

Dean was outside the door.

She closed her eyes.

Maybe if she didn't move, he would go away.

The door opened.

He did not go away.

"Morning."

She didn't look up.

"Leave."

Dean walked farther into the room.

"Can't."

"Why?"

"I came to relive one of the greatest moments of my life."

She pulled a pillow over her face.

Dean ignored her.

"Did you know I've never been kissed because of baked goods before?"

Logan immediately started laughing again.

"Dean."

"Yes?"

"Leave."

"No."

"Please."

"No."

She wanted to cry.

Dean sat on the edge of the desk chair.

Looking entirely too pleased with himself.

"You hugged me."

Silence.

"You called me nice."

More silence.

"You kissed my cheek."

Silence.

"You know what?"

She groaned.

"What?"

"I haven't washed that cheek."

The pillow flew across the room.

Dean barely dodged it.

Logan nearly fell off the bed laughing.

A second knock came.

Then Garrett appeared.

She immediately covered her face again.

"No."

Garrett looked amused.

Which somehow felt worse.

Much worse.

"Morning."

"Leave."

"Can't."

"Why are all of you here?"

Garrett shrugged.

"You hugged me."

She made a strangled noise.

"I know."

"You told me I was nice."

"I know."

"You thanked me for letting you drive my truck."

"I KNOW."

Garrett looked completely satisfied.

Dean looked equally pleased.

Logan looked like he was having the time of his life.

This was a nightmare.

A genuine nightmare.

Then Hannah appeared.

Followed by Allie.

"Oh no."

"Oh yes," Hannah said.

Allie was already laughing.

Her cheeks burned instantly.

"No."

Hannah sat beside her.

"You gave a very passionate speech about ice cream."

The room erupted.

She considered jumping out the window.

The fact that they were on the second floor suddenly seemed irrelevant.

"You also told us we were angels."

She buried her face in the mattress.

"I hate all of you."

"No you don't," Allie said.

"You're right."

A pause.

"I hate myself."

That only made everyone laugh harder.

The next hour was torture.

Pure torture.

Every single person seemed determined to recount a different embarrassing thing she'd done.

Every story was somehow worse than the last.

Apparently she had followed Logan around for half the party.

Apparently she had called him pretty at least twenty times.

Apparently she'd spent five straight minutes holding his face.

Apparently she'd hugged nearly everyone she liked.

Apparently she had become physically incapable of existing more than three feet away from Logan.

The horror never ended.

By the time everyone finally left the room, she was prepared to move to another country.

Possibly another planet.

The door closed.

Silence returned.

She remained face-down on the bed.

Motionless.

Defeated.

Logan sat beside her.

His hand gently rubbed her back.

For a few moments neither of them spoke.

Then she finally muttered into the pillow.

"I'm never drinking again."

He laughed softly.

"I believe you."

"I mean it."

"I know."

A pause.

Then she rolled onto her back.

Looking up at the ceiling.

"I kissed Dean."

"You kissed Dean."

"I hugged Garrett."

"You hugged Garrett."

"I gave an ice cream speech."

"You gave an ice cream speech."

She groaned again.

Longer this time.

Logan couldn't stop smiling.

Eventually she turned her head toward him.

His expression softened immediately.

The teasing faded.

Replaced by something warmer.

Something affectionate.

"You know," he said quietly, "I liked seeing that side of you."

She frowned.

"Seeing me embarrass myself?"

"No."

His fingers brushed through her hair.

"Seeing how much you love people."

Her expression softened slightly.

"You already know that."

"I do."

His smile became gentler.

"But they didn't."

She blinked.

Logan continued.

"They always see the intimidating version of you."

She rolled her eyes.

"I'm not intimidating."

Logan actually laughed out loud.

"Sweetheart."

"I'm not."

"You made Tucker apologize once by looking at him."

"That's different."

He shook his head.

"My point is everyone finally got to see how big your heart is."

The room fell quiet.

Because beneath all the teasing—

Beneath all the embarrassment—

There was truth in what he said.

She cared deeply.

She just wasn't always good at showing it.

Not the way Logan was.

Not the way sunshine people were.

Yet somehow one night and a little too much alcohol had stripped away every filter she'd ever had.

And apparently all that remained was affection.

An alarming amount of affection.

She sighed.

"I'm still mortified."

Logan grinned.

"I know."

"I'm going to think about this at three in the morning for the next ten years."

"I know."

"I might actually die."

He leaned forward.

Pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"You'll survive."

She narrowed her eyes.

"Easy for you to say."

"Why?"

"Because you weren't the one kissing people for muffins."

At that, Logan laughed so hard he nearly fell off the bed again.

And despite herself—

Despite all the embarrassment—

Despite wanting to disappear into a hole and stay there forever—

A reluctant smile finally tugged at her lips.

Because unfortunately for her, everyone seemed to think drunk her was adorable.

Especially John Logan.

requested! thank you. content: fluff, established relationship, exhaustion, soft intimacy

the break room is quiet in that rare, fragile way that only happens at the end of a long shift.

fluorescent lights hum low above you, the vending machine casting a soft glow across the floor. it smells faintly of coffee gone cold and antiseptic. familiar, almost comforting at this point. you’re sitting on the worn-out couch, shoes kicked off, legs tucked slightly under you, scrolling mindlessly through your phone just to keep yourself awake for a few more minutes.

the door opens. you don’t even look up at first — you already know it’s him.

“hey,” you murmur softly. jack doesn’t answer right away. there’s just the sound of the door clicking shut.

you glance up then. he looks… done.

hair slightly messed like he’s been running his hands through it all night. there’s something heavy in his eyes... not dramatic, not breaking, just… tired. deeply, quietly tired.

your chest aches a little at the sight.

“rough?” you ask gently.

he huffs out something that might be a laugh, might just be breath leaving his body.

“yeah,” he says, voice low. “yeah.”

you don’t push. you never push. instead, you just shift slightly on the couch, opening space beside you without making a big deal out of it. there’s a second where he hesitates. like he’s debating whether he should keep it together, stay standing, stay professional, even here.

but then he doesn’t. he walks over and sits beside you, close enough that your thighs brush.

warm. solid. familiar.

for a few moments, neither of you say anything. just sit there in that shared quiet, letting the world slow down a little.

you’re still holding your phone, but you’re not really looking at it anymore. you can feel it before it happens. the subtle shift.

his shoulder leans into yours. just slightly at first. then a little more. your breath softens.

you stay still, letting him decide how much he needs. and then… he exhales.

long. heavy. like he’s been holding it in for hours.

his head tips — slowly, carefully — until it rests against your shoulder. your heart melts. you don’t say anything. don’t tease. don’t move. you just turn your head slightly, cheek brushing softly against his hair.

“jack…” you whisper, barely there.

no response. you wait a second. two.

and then it hits you — the weight of him, the steady rhythm of his breathing evening out, the way his body fully relaxes against yours.

he’s asleep. actually asleep.

your lips part in the softest, most disbelieving smile.

this man. always composed, always in control, always carrying everything... just… fell asleep on you like it’s the safest place in the world.

and maybe it is.

your hand moves instinctively, slow and gentle, resting lightly against his arm. you trace small, absent patterns there, careful not to wake him. he shifts slightly at the touch, but instead of pulling away, he leans in more. closer. like he’s seeking it even in his sleep.

“okay,” you murmur, almost to yourself. “i’ve got you.”

minutes pass. maybe more. time gets weird when you’re like this — tucked away from everything, wrapped up in someone you love.

at some point, your head tilts to rest against his. you match your breathing to his without even realizing it.

the world outside the break room doesn’t matter. not the chaos, not the patients, not the endless noise.

just this. just him.

eventually, he stirs.

it’s subtle — a shift, a quiet inhale — and then he’s pulling back slightly, blinking like he’s trying to remember where he is.

his eyes land on you. and for a second, there’s confusion. then realization. then something softer. warmer.

“shit,” he mumbles, voice rough with sleep. “i— i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to—”

“hey,” you cut in gently, smiling at him. “don’t.”

he pauses. you tilt your head, still close, still soft.

“you needed it.”

he looks at you for a long moment. really looks.

and something in his expression shifts. that guarded edge easing just a little.

“…yeah,” he admits quietly.

there’s a beat. he doesn’t move away. doesn’t fully sit up.

instead, he lingers there, close enough that your knees are still touching, your shoulders still brushing.

like he’s not quite ready to let go of it. of you.

your hand slides down, fingers brushing lightly against his.

he doesn’t hesitate this time. his hand turns, catching yours, holding it. firm. grounding.

“you’re gonna get a reputation,” he mutters after a second, a hint of dry humor slipping back in. “people are gonna start lining up to nap on you.”

you laugh softly, squeezing his hand. “pretty sure you’re the only one who gets that privilege.”

his mouth twitches. almost a smile.

“…good.”

and for once, he doesn’t rush back out. doesn’t put the walls back up right away.

he just sits there with you a little longer, hand in yours, shoulder still warm against yours. like he’s finally letting himself have something that isn’t responsibility.

something that’s just… yours. and his.

summary. reader randomly asks them to marry her. pairing. bf!skz hyung line x gf!reader. mentions. fluff, literally just them being the sweetest kings ever

hyung line / maknae line

bang chan

chan’s studio always felt different past midnight - a lot quieter, warm, almost like the walls themselves sighed in relief. the monitors glowed in soft blues and purples, reflecting off of the loose curls falling into his eyes. he sat hunched over his computer in an old, oversized hoodie and a brown cap practically falling off the back of his head.

y/n sat curled up next to him, scrolling mindlessly on her phone. the entire couch was there, yet the two of them still sat so huddled together, each in their own worlds, like it was instinct. the blanket kept half-sliding off her shoulder and chan kept tugging it back up without looking - he did it automatically, gently, the way he always cared for her even when he was busy.

her phone had been thrown in her lap for a while now. she was staring at him, watching him and smiling at the way he mumbled at the screen or quietly hummed. he was focused, but in that soft sleepy way where his shoulders relaxed and his eyes drooped just a bit.

maybe it was the hour, or the lighting, or the tiredness catching up to her, or maybe just the fact that she loved him more than she loved anything else in the world.

but the worlds slipped out without warning.

ʚɞ pairing: idol boyfriend!ni-ki x idol girlfriend!reader content: fluff // drabble // imagines // established private relationship word count: 963

synopsis . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. when you and your boyfriend are in the same proximity— he tries his hardest to remain professional… but he loves you too much that he can’t hide his true feelings.

pt.1 | pt. 2

“and next, we have a special rumored vampire group joining us for a quick interview— enhypen!” euijoo started.

the moment the group stepped into view, you already knew ni-ki was going to be a problem.

as one of the special mcs for inkigayo, because yihyun couldn't participate this sunday, you had spent the entire morning smiling beneath bright stage lights, smoothly guiding interviews.

judging by the way ni-ki immediately avoided eye contact the second he stepped beside his members, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck while trying not to smile, he was already struggling far more.

"one, two, connect! hello, we are enhypen!"

you kept your professional smile perfectly in place as the members greeted the camera, bowing politely beside you.

shinyu looked towards the group. "it’s great to have you, could you tell us how you prepared for today's stage today? you guys are coming up soon!"

jay was already trying not to break character, "we focused on polishing our performance and making sure to show a stronger stage today.”

you frowned dramatically, pouting your lips. "very disciplined. almost suspiciously disciplined for a group of vampires."

the second you glanced toward ni-ki, his eyes darted to yours for barely a moment before he looked away again— ears noticeably red. there it was, that annoying grin.

sunoo noticed instantly, taking advantage of nudging him softly since their bottom halves were covered by sunghoon and heeseung being in the front.

“we also made sure to rest well last night.” jungwon chimed in, smirking enthusiastically.

you tapped your chin, looking towards the recording cameras and the team— pressing your lips together. “rest during the night.. interesting timing.”

small chuckles and smiles were left on the rest of the members, including the other hosts.

as they bowed to leave, ni-ki was the last to straighten up.

for once, he didn’t even try to hide the way he glanced at you again— still a little flustered, eyes soft in that shy, almost boyish way that made it painfully obvious he was trying his best not to act like your boyfriend on live broadcast.

you, on the other hand, stayed perfectly composed— tilting your head, smiling sweetly, continuing the interview like nothing was happening at all.

~~~~

you walked up to the door in your dorm that you and your members shared, turning the knob.

"hi." ni-ki slipped through the crack and his arms found a way around your waist immediately.

"hey," you laughed. "what’s the rush?"

he lifted you into a hug, your feet slightly dangling from above the ground.

“you were so cute this morning.” he placed a kiss on your cheek as he put you down, closing the front door behind him.

you huffed, “i knew you were going to say something..”

“don’t be embarrassed,” he followed behind you walking to your bedroom. “you’re a great mc.”

you lifted an eyebrow and folded your arms, immediately remembering what happened exactly that morning. “enough about me— we need to talk about you.”

ni-ki immediately put both of his hands up in a defending effort while taking a seat at the end of your bed. “what’d i do?”

“you could’ve maybe not been so obvious on tv.”

“i wasn’t obvious..” he shoved his hands into his pockets, eyes following you pacing around the room to grab your clothes that were thrown on the floor randomly. “i barely looked your way.”

“exactly—“ you threw the pile of clothes into your black laundry basket in the corner of the room. “you were way too flustered.”

“who said i was flustered?” he raised an eyebrow.

“ni-ki, your whole face said it all.”

“was i not acting like how i always do?”

“no.”

he groaned dramatically as he let himself lay full down on your bed now, hands behind his head. “to be fair, you were being really adorable.. you don’t act like that around me.”

“it’s a part of the job! and what does ‘you don’t act like that around me’ mean?” you mimicked his deep voice. “do you not like me for me?” you sat on your bed along with ni-ki, towering your face over his with a stern look.

“obviously not what i meant,” he perked his head up to place a quick kiss to your lips. “your natural aegyo is so refreshing.”

you rolled your eyes at the sudden action, getting off of the bed. “right.”

you stood in front of him at the end of the bed, taking both of his hands and pulling him upright. he let himself get pulled easily, immediately getting closer the second you did. “you kept acting weird.” you spoke.

“i was normal.”

"you kept smiling,” you continued. “for no reason.”

“you were making silly jokes.”

“everyone else handled it fine.”

“yeah, because they’re not dating you.”

you paused for half a second, avoiding eye contact now.

ni-ki noticed immediately, the corners of his lips lifting smugly. “see?”

“don’t ‘see?’ me,” you scoffed, lightly pushing his shoulder.

ni-ki let out a laugh, grabbing your wrist gently before you could poke him again. “okay, maybe i got a little shy—,” he defended himself right after. “what was i supposed to do?”

“i don’t know, maybe act like im not your girlfriend?”

he tilted his head. “mm, you know i can't do that.”

you rolled your eyes so dramatically that he started laughing again. “seriously, i was trying hard to stay professional.” you spoke

“and you did.” his expression softened slightly as he pulled you into a hug on his lap. “you looked really pretty too.”

“this is exactly what i mean,” you complained, even as your face started warming.

ni-ki grinned. “there it is.”

“what?”

“you’re flustered now too.”

“.. no, i’m not.”

“you are,” he laughed quietly. “now we match.”

── ⋆⋅☆ DIASOMNIA - SEVEN MINUTES IN HEAVEN

── ⋆⋅☆ CONTEXT - Everyone is SO TIRED of you two dancing around your feelings for each other. What's the best course of action? Locking you two in a closet together, of course.

HEARTSLABYUL

SAVANACLAW

OCTAVINELLE

SCARABIA

POMEFIORE + IGNIHYDE

── ⋆⋅☆ MALLEUS DRACONIA

You're out for one of his classic “midnight walks,” which is already suspicious because he phrases it like an ancient ritual instead of, you know… hanging out.

He’s perfectly composed the whole time, gentle smile, soft voice, and that little tilt of his head like he’s studying you the way a dragon studies treasure.

Pretty Isn't Pretty

Bat!sib x batfam 

Summary: Bat!sib isn’t a vigilante like the rest of the family and gets insecure about how they look 

All pics are from pinterest!

Asks/requests are open! Gotham Database

You loved your family. That had never been the problem. The problem was that loving your family also meant learning how to disappear beside them. Camera flashes burst like tiny explosions across the front steps of the Gotham Museum as Bruce stepped from the limousine, effortlessly slipping into the polished smile the city adored. Dick offered his arm to an elderly board member before she could even ask, earning a chorus of delighted laughter from the crowd. Tim was already halfway through answering a reporter's question about Wayne Enterprises' newest scholarship initiative. Damian stood with his hands folded neatly behind his back, posture impossibly straight despite looking as though he'd rather be anywhere else. Jason arrived fashionably late. Of course he did. The crowd seemed to love him for it.

"There he is!"

"Jason! Over here!"

"Can we get a picture?"

He rolled his eyes dramatically before flashing one crooked grin that somehow made every camera flash twice as fast. Beside you, Bruce chuckled under his breath. "You'd think they came to see him."

"They probably did," Jason replied without missing a beat.

Dick bumped his shoulder. "Your ego's showing."

"It's always showing." The family dissolved into easy laughter. You smiled too. Because you were happy.

Really.

"Waynes! Right here!" The photographer waved everyone together. Bruce stood in the center as always. Dick slipped naturally to one side, Jason to the other. Tim adjusted his tie while Damian muttered something that made Dick snort. Without thinking, everyone fell into familiar places.

You hesitated. There wasn't really anywhere for you. Dick noticed first. "C'mere." He rested a hand lightly against your shoulder, pulling you into the space between himself and Tim. "There."

Flash.

Another photographer shouted. "One more!"

Flash.

"Eyes over here!"

Flash.

By the tenth picture your cheeks hurt from smiling.

The articles were online before you made it home. You hadn't intended to look. You never intended to look. Yet somehow your thumb always found its way there.

WAYNE FOUNDATION RAISES RECORD DONATIONS AT ANNUAL GALA

The first photo showed Bruce. The second showed Dick laughing with donors. The third was Jason shaking hands with firefighters. The fourth caught Tim mid-conversation. The fifth was Damian standing beside Alfred. The sixth...

was the family portrait.

You stared at it longer than you meant to. Everyone looked... effortless. Dick somehow smiled with his whole face. Jason looked like he'd accidentally wandered onto the cover of a magazine. Tim's suit fit like it had been stitched onto him. Even Damian, who had complained about attending the gala for three straight hours, looked composed. Then your eyes drifted toward yourself. Your smile looked too tight. Your posture seemed awkward. Your hair had fallen strangely around your face. Had your shoulders always looked like that?

You barely noticed the article anymore. Instead, you pinched at your reflection in the dark computer screen. Maybe if you stood straighter...

Maybe if you lost a little weight...

Maybe if—

A notification appeared.

Comments (642)

You should've closed the tab. Instead... You clicked.

"Dick Grayson somehow gets more handsome every year."

"Jason Todd needs to stop looking this good in suits."

"Tim Drake has literally never taken a bad picture."

"Damian looks exactly like Bruce."

Your chest loosened. Then you kept scrolling.

"Who's the other one?"

"I always forget Bruce has another kid."

"Everyone else won the genetic lottery."

"Poor thing."

"Imagine being the least attractive Wayne."

You stared at the screen. Not because they were right. But because they had noticed the exact thing you'd spent years trying to convince yourself no one else saw. A knock sounded softly against your bedroom door. You hurriedly clicked the laptop shut. "...Come in."

The door opened. Dick leaned against the frame, still wearing the same suit from the gala, tie already loosened around his neck. "You disappeared."

"I was just getting ready for bed."

His eyes flicked briefly toward the still-warm laptop. Then back to you. "...Everything okay?"

You smiled automatically. The same practiced smile from every family photograph. "I'm fine."

Dick held your gaze for a long moment. He didn't believe you. But he also knew you well enough not to push. "Okay," he said quietly. "If you change your mind..." He left the sentence unfinished before gently closing the door behind him.

The room fell silent again. Slowly... You opened the laptop. The comments were still there. Waiting. And despite everything, despite knowing better...

You kept reading.

The comments should have faded. People on the internet were cruel. You knew that. They didn't know you. They'd never met you. So why did every mirror suddenly feel like it was proving them right?

You found yourself lingering in front of the bathroom mirror longer than usual. At first it was innocent enough. You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. Turned your head to the left. Then the right. Maybe your nose looked better from this angle. Maybe your jaw would look sharper if you smiled less. You sucked in a breath.

No.

Again.

You turned sideways. Your sweater clung to your waist. Had it always done that? Your hand drifted to your stomach before you realized what you were doing. A knock startled you. "You alive in there?" Jason called through the door.

You jumped. "Yeah!"

"You've been in there like twenty minutes."

"I was just getting ready."

Jason laughed. "Unless you're secretly Bruce putting on eyeliner, I don't know what takes that long."

You forced a laugh back. "Coming."

You flicked the bathroom light off before giving yourself one last glance. Somehow... You looked worse than when you'd walked in.

Breakfast was louder than usual. Dick was animatedly recounting some ridiculous encounter he'd had with a donor who'd mistaken Jason for a bodyguard. "I swear she tipped him twenty bucks."

Jason stabbed his fork dramatically toward him. "I should've taken it."

"You almost did."

"I considered it." Everyone laughed. Even Bruce smiled over the edge of his coffee mug.

Alfred placed another stack of pancakes on the table. "Master Jason, perhaps five is sufficient."

"Alfred, It’s bulking season.”

"You said that yesterday."

"And?"

"You also complained your suit no longer fit." 

Jason looked personally offended. "It shrunk."

"It most certainly did not." More laughter. You smiled. When Alfred set a plate in front of you, you stared at it for a moment before cutting a small corner from one pancake. Your appetite had vanished somewhere between the bathroom mirror and the dining room.

Dick noticed first. "...Everything okay?"

You looked up. "Hm?"

"You've been pushing your food around for like five minutes."

"Oh." You glanced down. "I guess I'm just not that hungry."

Jason leaned back in his chair. "You sick?"

"No."

"You sure?"

"Mhm."

Bruce looked over briefly. "If you're feeling unwell, you should stay home today."

"I'm fine." Your answer came a little too quickly. Bruce watched you for another second before returning to his newspaper. No one mentioned it again.

By the end of the week, it had become a habit. You found reasons not to eat breakfast. "I'm running late." Lunch became coffee. Dinner became "I grabbed something on campus." Sometimes that was true. Usually it wasn't.

"Movie night!" Dick appeared in the library carrying enough snacks to feed a football team.

Jason followed behind him with three pizzas balanced precariously in his arms. "If one of you drops this," he warned, "I will beat you.”

"You've been saying that for years," Tim muttered.

“And have I ever lied?” 

Steph wandered in, immediately stealing a breadstick.

Jason gasped. "Traitor."

Cass drifted quietly into the room a few moments later, settling cross-legged on the couch beside Damian. She looked toward the doorway. Waiting. Dick followed her gaze. “…not everyone is here.” 

Tim frowned. "They said they'd be down."

"They've been saying that for twenty minutes." Dick jogged upstairs. A soft knock echoed through your bedroom. "You decent?"

You minimized your laptop so quickly your finger slipped across the trackpad. "Yeah."

Dick poked his head inside. "You coming?" Your bed was covered in clothes. A black sweater. A cream sweater. Two pairs of jeans. Three different jackets. He frowned. "You changing?"

"I can't figure out what looks okay."

"You've already changed?"

"...Maybe."

Dick laughed softly. "You've got more outfit changes than Jason."

"Hey!" Jason shouted from downstairs. "I heard that!"

Dick grinned before looking back at you. "I like the green one."

"It makes me look..." You stopped yourself. Dick waited. "...Never mind."

He picked up the sweater from your bed. "It makes you look like you."

You looked away. "I don’t…really like how I look." The words escaped before you could stop them. Silence.

Dick's smile disappeared. "What?"

You blinked. "I didn't—"

"You've never said that before."

"I was kidding."

"No..." His voice softened. "You weren't." For a second, he looked like he wanted to ask more. Instead he simply handed you the sweater. "We're starting the movie whenever you're ready." He smiled again. Gentler this time. "You don't have to impress anybody downstairs."

After he left, you stared at the closed bedroom door. Then down at the sweater in your hands. Slowly... You folded it back onto the bed. You never went downstairs.

Cass found you nearly an hour later. Not in your room. Outside. The gardens behind Wayne Manor were quiet at night. You sat on the stone edge of the fountain, knees pulled against your chest as the water rippled softly in front of you. Cass didn't announce herself. She simply sat beside you. For several minutes, neither of you spoke. You watched the koi glide beneath the water. Cass watched you. Finally, she nudged your shoulder. A gentle bump.

You glanced over. She pointed toward the fountain. Your reflection shimmered across the surface. Then she pointed to herself. You looked confused. Cass spoke quietly. "When I was little..." She searched for the words. "I hated mirrors."

You frowned. "You did?"

She nodded. "I thought..."

Another pause. "...I looked like a weapon."

Your chest tightened. Cass's eyes remained fixed on the water. "I couldn't see..." She rested a hand against her heart. "...me." Only then did she look at you. "What do you see?"

Your reflection trembled with the movement of the water. You looked at it anyway. For a long time. When you finally answered... Your voice was barely louder than the fountain. "...Someone who doesn't belong in family pictures."

Cass's head turned so sharply it almost startled you. Her eyes, always so calm, filled with something unmistakable.

Heartbreak.

Not because she believed you. Because she knew... You believed it.

The first person to really try was Dick. He never made it obvious. He simply started inviting you everywhere again. "Coffee?"

"I'm studying."

"Okay. Lunch?"

"I already ate."

"Walk around the gardens?"

"Maybe later."

"Movie tonight?"

"I'm kind of tired."

Every answer came with a smile. Every smile looked just convincing enough. Dick accepted every excuse. Until he realized you'd stopped saying yes to anything.

Jason's approach was considerably less subtle. He cornered you in the kitchen one afternoon while digging through the refrigerator. "You mad at somebody?"

You looked up from your mug. "What?"

"You've been weird."

"I've been busy."

"You've been avoiding us."

"I haven't."

He snorted. "You skipped movie night."

"I had homework."

"You skipped game night."

"I wasn't feeling good."

"You skipped dinner with us yesterday."

"I ate earlier."

Jason shut the refrigerator with his hip. "...You know your tells suck, right?"

You looked away. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You scratch your thumb whenever you're lying."

Your hand immediately dropped from where you'd been absentmindedly rubbing the side of your thumb. Jason noticed. Of course he noticed. His expression softened. "Hey."

You wouldn't meet his eyes. "If somebody said something to you..."

"They didn't."

"You sure?"

"I'm fine."

He sighed. "I don't believe you."

“Yeah, I know."

Tim noticed something different. One evening he walked into the library carrying a stack of papers only to stop short. You were asleep on one of the couches. Your laptop rested open on your stomach. Your phone had slipped from your hand onto the carpet. Tim quietly set his books down. He reached to move the laptop before it slid off and accidentally brushed the trackpad. The screen woke. A dozen tabs filled the browser.

"How to lose face fat."

"How many calories should I eat?"

"How to know if you're attractive."

"How to stop looking ugly."

Tim froze. His stomach dropped. He looked over at you. You looked exhausted. Not sleeping. Collapsed. He quietly closed the laptop before you woke. When he left the library twenty minutes later, he didn't head toward his room. He knocked once on Bruce's study door.

Bruce listened without interrupting. Tim rarely cried. But his voice cracked anyway. "...I think something's really wrong."

Cass didn't wait. The next morning she found you folding laundry in the sitting room. Without saying a word, she sat beside you. She folded towels. You folded shirts. Minutes passed in comfortable silence. Then Cass held up one of your sweaters. She pointed at it. Then at you. "Cute."

You smiled faintly. "It's old."

She shook her head. "No."

She tapped your chest. "You."

Your hands stopped moving. Cass smiled. "You."

You swallowed hard. "...Thanks." She could tell you didn't believe her.

It became impossible not to notice. You stopped appearing in family photos unless someone dragged you in. You wore oversized sweaters even on warm days. You flinched whenever someone tried to hug you around the waist. You laughed less. You looked down more. By the end of the month... Wayne Manor felt quieter. Because you were quieter.

Bruce finally called everyone into the library. Dick. Jason. Tim. Cass. Damian. Alfred lingered near the doorway. Bruce looked at each of them. "Has anyone spoken to them?”

Silence.

"They insist they're fine," Dick admitted.

Jason rubbed the back of his neck. "They're lying."

Cass nodded once. "They hurt."

Tim looked down. "I found something."

Every eye turned toward him. He hesitated. "I wasn't snooping."

"No one thinks you were," Bruce said gently.

Tim swallowed. "...Their laptop.” His voice became quieter. "They've been looking up..." He couldn't finish.

Jason frowned. "What?"

Tim finally forced the words out. "'How to stop looking ugly.'"

Silence.

Utter silence.

Dick's face drained of color. Jason stared. Damian frowned in genuine confusion. Cass closed her eyes. Bruce...

Bruce felt something inside him crack. Because all this time... He had been looking for some enormous, hidden problem. When all along... His child had simply been looking in the mirror.

That evening Bruce insisted everyone eat dinner together. No excuses. No disappearing upstairs. No work. No phones. Just family. For a little while... It almost felt normal.

Dick told another ridiculous story. Jason and Damian argued over absolutely nothing. Tim corrected both of them. Cass smiled quietly from beside you. Bruce watched you laugh once. Only once. It disappeared almost immediately.

When dinner ended, Bruce spoke softly. "Stay for a minute."

Everyone paused. You frowned. "...Am I in trouble?"

"No." Bruce looked around the table. "We're worried."

Your stomach tightened. "I'm okay."

"You aren't."

"I am."

"You've lost weight."

"I'm eating."

"You've withdrawn."

"I've been busy."

"You've stopped spending time with us."

"I'm tired."

Bruce's voice remained impossibly calm. "...Look at me."

Slowly... You did.

"We love you."

"I know."

"You don't seem convinced."

"I said I know."

Dick leaned forward. "Whatever's going on, we're here."

Jason nodded. "You don't have to deal with it alone."

Cass reached over, gently taking your hand. "You’re safe."

Something inside you snapped. You pulled your hand away so quickly your chair scraped across the hardwood floor. "You don't get it!" The room fell silent. "You keep saying that!"

Jason blinked. "Saying what?"

"'We're here.' 'We love you.' 'You're fine.'" Your breathing grew shaky. "You don't understand!"

Dick stood. "Then help us understand."

"No!" Your voice cracked. "Because you can't!" Tears blurred your vision. "You all keep acting like it's nothing because none of you know what it's feels like!"

"What what feels like?" Bruce asked quietly.

You laughed. A broken, humorless sound. "Looking in the mirror and hating what you see." No one moved. "You all..."

You looked around the table.

At Dick.

Jason.

Tim.

Cass.

Damian.

Bruce.

"...You're all beautiful." The words spilled out faster now. "Dick, people literally stop him on the street. Jason could wear a garbage bag and people would still stare. Tim looks perfect without even trying. Cass is gorgeous. Damian somehow has a jawline carved by God." A watery laugh escaped you. "And Bruce Wayne has been on magazine covers for thirty years."

Silence.

You wiped angrily at your face. "I'm not like you." Your voice dropped to barely a whisper. "I never will be." Another tear escaped. "I'm the ugly Wayne." The words echoed through the dining room. "I see the comments." Your shoulders shook. "I see people asking who I am. I see them wondering what happened to me. I see them saying I'm the least attractive one."

You pressed a hand against your chest as though trying to hold yourself together. "And the worst part..." Your voice broke completely. "...is every time I look in the mirror..." You squeezed your eyes shut. "...I think they're right."

Silence.

Not the uncomfortable kind. The devastated kind. The kind that settled over a room when no one could find words big enough to hold what had just been said. You stared at the tabletop, unable to look at any of them. Shame crawled up your throat. You shouldn't have said it. You shouldn't have cried. You should've just gone upstairs. You pushed your chair back. "I-I'm sorry." Your voice was barely audible. "I didn't mean to ruin dinner." You stood too quickly. "I'll just—"

Warm fingers wrapped around your wrist. Gentle. Not enough to stop you. Just enough to ask you to stay. You looked down. Cass. She hadn't said a word. She simply looked up at you, her thumb brushing softly across your knuckles. Her expression was so heartbreakingly gentle that your chest tightened all over again. She gave one tiny shake of her head. Don't go.

Your knees almost gave out. Then another chair scraped across the floor. Dick. He didn't hesitate. In two strides he was beside you. Without asking, he wrapped both arms around you. Not tight.

Just...

Home.

For a heartbeat you stood stiffly in his embrace. Then everything you'd spent weeks holding together unraveled. Your forehead dropped against his shoulder. A sob escaped before you could swallow it. "I'm sorry," you whispered.

Dick's arms tightened. "Oh, kid." His voice cracked around the words. "You never have to apologize for hurting."

Behind him you heard Jason clear his throat. "...Move."

Dick glanced over his shoulder. "What?"

"I said move."

"You can wait your—"

Jason shoved him sideways just enough to wedge himself into the hug. Dick laughed through suspiciously watery eyes. "Seriously?"

"I called dibs."

"You absolutely did not."

"You were hogging them."

"I was comforting them."

"I can comfort too."

"You just shoulder-checked me."

"It was affectionate."

"It was assault."

Despite yourself... A tiny laugh escaped through your tears. Jason immediately pointed. “See.” He looked triumphantly at Dick. "I got a laugh."

"You bullied your way into a hug."

"And?"

"And somehow it worked."

Tim sighed from across the table. "You two are unbelievable."

But thirty seconds later... It was no longer a hug. It was a pile. Dick still had one arm around you. Jason leaned against both of you with absolutely no regard for personal space. Tim awkwardly tried to participate without crushing anyone. Cass quietly slipped beside you again, resting her head against your shoulder. Even Damian approached. He stopped beside the group, clearly evaluating the situation like it was a tactical problem. Jason looked over. "Well?"

Damian frowned. "This appears... excessive."

"You've been invited."

"I most certainly have not."

Dick lifted an arm. "Invitation extended."

Damian sighed the long-suffering sigh of someone burdened by incompetent relatives. "...Very well." He stepped forward with all the enthusiasm of someone accepting a prison sentence.

Jason immediately hooked an arm around his shoulders. "There he is."

"I regret this already."

"You love us,” you laughed weakly, looking over at Damian. 

"I tolerate you."

Cass smiled. "You love."

Damian looked at her. "...Perhaps."

Jason gasped dramatically. "He admitted it!"

"I admitted nothing."

"You basically wrote us a sonnet." Dick laughed.

"You've gone soft."

"I have done no such thing."

By now, you were crying and laughing so hard you couldn't tell which was which. Bruce had remained at the head of the table the entire time. Watching. His children. All tangled together in one hopeless, lopsided embrace. Alfred appeared quietly in the doorway with a dish towel over one shoulder. He took one look at the scene and smiled. "I was wondering why no one had begun dessert."

Jason lifted his head. "We're occupied."

"So I see." Alfred disappeared for a moment before returning with a large carton of ice cream and a stack of bowls. "I believe," he said, setting them on the table, "this constitutes a chocolate evening."

Jason's eyes widened. "...The emergency ice cream?"

"The very same."

Dick looked scandalized. "You've been hiding emergency ice cream from us?"

"Naturally."

"For how long?"

"Approximately twelve years."

"Twelve— Alfred!"

"I have found it prudent to maintain certain strategic reserves."

Even Bruce let out a quiet laugh. You looked around the room. At Dick still refusing to let go. At Jason arguing that emotional support entitled him to the biggest bowl. At Tim insisting he would portion it fairly while Jason loudly accused him of communism. At Damian secretly accepting the bowl Cass handed him despite claiming he didn't want any. At Alfred pretending not to notice Jason stealing spoonfuls straight from the carton.

At Bruce... Who had been watching you all evening with quiet, aching eyes. When your gaze met his, he smiled. Small. Soft. Proud. Not because you were smiling again. Not because the hurt was gone. But because... You had let them help carry it. And for tonight, that was enough.

Eventually the kitchen emptied. Dick insisted on helping Alfred wash dishes despite being repeatedly told he was "helping incorrectly." Jason and Damian resumed arguing over who had eaten the last brownie. Tim disappeared upstairs after promising everyone he absolutely was not going back to work. Cass squeezed your shoulder as she passed. "Goodnight."

You smiled. "Night."

One by one, the voices drifted farther down the hall until Wayne Manor settled into its familiar nighttime quiet. Only you remained. Your spoon traced lazy circles through the melted ice cream at the bottom of your bowl. You weren't really eating anymore. Just thinking.

The chair across from you scraped softly against the hardwood. Bruce sat down. For a while neither of you spoke. The grandfather clock somewhere down the hallway ticked steadily through the silence. Bruce folded his hands together on the table. "I've been trying to think of the right thing to say."

You managed a tired smile. "Have you?"

He nodded. "I've had about six different speeches."

"That many?"

"They were all terrible."

A quiet laugh escaped you. "I figured."

Bruce smiled faintly. "I was considering beginning with a quote."

"Oh no."

"I dismissed it immediately."

"Good."

"I also briefly considered statistics."

You stared at him. "...Statistics?"

"The percentage of edited photographs in fashion magazines."

You couldn't help it. You laughed. "What?"

"I told you. They were terrible." The laughter faded, leaving behind something softer. Bruce looked down at his hands. "When you were little..." His voice was quieter now. "You used to crawl into my office almost every afternoon."

You frowned slightly. "I did?"

"You'd color." A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Usually on documents I needed."

"I'm sorry."

"I wasn't." He looked up at you. "You'd ask me every few minutes if I thought your drawing was good."

You felt heat creep into your cheeks. "I don't remember that."

"I do."

His smile lingered. "And every single time..." He paused. "...before I could answer...You'd already decided it wasn't." Your smile slowly disappeared. Bruce continued gently. "You'd point out every mistake. 'The clouds look weird.''Batman's ears are too big.''I messed up the cape.'" He looked at you for a long moment. "I remember wondering how someone so small could be so hard on themselves." 

Your eyes dropped to the table. "I guess some things don't change."

"No." His answer came immediately. "They don't."

Silence settled between you again. Then Bruce reached across the table. Not dramatically. Not with a speech. He simply rested his hand over yours. Warm. Steady. "I wish..." His voice caught. "I wish I had noticed sooner."

Your eyes lifted to his. "I thought I was protecting all of you."

His thumb brushed lightly across your knuckles. "I taught you how to be cautious." A sad smile. "How to read people. How to expect the worst from Gotham." He swallowed. "I never meant for you to start looking at yourself the same way."

Your throat tightened. "You didn't."

"I should have seen it."

"I hid it."

"You shouldn't have had to." For a long moment, neither of you moved. Then Bruce stood. You looked at him in confusion. Without a word, he walked around the table. He stopped beside your chair. Opened his arms, just slightly. An awkward invitation. The kind he probably hadn't offered since you were a child.

You smiled through fresh tears. "You're asking?"

"I've been informed," Bruce said with the faintest hint of amusement, "that asking is important."

"Dick?"

"Dick."

You stood. The moment you stepped forward, Bruce wrapped you in his arms. He held you carefully, as though you were still the little kid who used to color on Wayne Enterprises contracts. One hand rested against the back of your head. The other rubbed slow circles between your shoulders. "I'm so proud of you."

The words were almost whispered. You frowned against his shoulder. "For what?"

"For telling us."

You closed your eyes. "I was scared."

"I know."

"I thought..." Your voice trembled. "I thought if I said it out loud..."

Bruce leaned his cheek lightly against your hair. "...It would become true?"

A shaky nod. His arms tightened. "My sweet child." There was so much grief in those three words that it nearly broke you all over again. "You have spent weeks believing the opinions of strangers." His voice remained impossibly gentle. "But if there is one thing I hope you eventually believe..." He leaned back just enough to look at you. "...Believe your family instead."

A tear slipped down your cheek. Bruce reached up and brushed it away with his thumb, just like he had when you were little. "You don't have to see yourself the way we see you tonight." He smiled softly. "I'll be patient. As long as it takes."

And somehow... For the first time in a very long while...

Looking at yourself tomorrow didn't feel quite as frightening anymore.

A/N Please if you are feeling insecure, sad or just need someone to talk to, my inbox is always always always open <3 Ik it's scary but I will always be an open ear if someone needs it

Not cause of Batman, no, he still had a little more free time when it was just Batman, but because of the kids

Even before he reluctantly allowed Dick to be Robin, he realized that he had to make a lot of personal sacrifices. It was a rough start, but he understood that DIck's safety and happiness were of utmost priority; his own happiness was not forever on the back burner

I want him to be watching TV, or walking down the street, or maybe one of his kids shows him something in a magazine or online, and he thinks, ‘I used to be able to do that.’ Or ‘I could’ve done that back then.’

But he had already had a realization long ago that it simply wasn't in the cards for him anymore. His hobby wasn't on the back burner; it was shoved in the attic at the bottom of a sealed box full of many other things labeled something edgy like 'broken dreams' or depressing like 'a hollow ache in my soul where hope for myself used to reside.'

Maybe his hobby was playing piano. It's always been a headcannon of mine that Bruce can play plenty of instruments, but I always default back to the piano as his primary instrument. He started to take piano cause it was expected of him as a child in high society, but he enjoyed how his parents smiled at him and how he was able to create music

Piano was a major thing that kept him grounded when his parents passed; every note was like a tether that connected him to them, even though they were long gone.

But then he travelled the world, started his crusade to keep his city safe, got Dick, and he just never had the time to compose a song or even pluck out a few notes. And with every new addition to his family, he had less and less time for himself to the point where none of his kids even know he played

He’s fine with it; his children take top priority. But there’s a part of him that aches every time he passes the music room or when notes float into his head and he has the urge to go back to that old piano and pour out his heart in ways that words could never

Maybe the kids find out, and they feel sad for Bruce because it’s one of the only genuine things he enjoyed before, and now he doesn't do it anymore.

At a gala, an elder socialite was reminiscing about little Brucie playing his heart out on the grand piano that used to make an appearance at every party, and the kids were confused. They ask Alfred about it, and the bulter goes and pulls out plenty of tapes from Bruce's childhood that he keeps in his room rather than the attic. They watch old home videos of Bruce smiling happily and playing with his Dad without a care in the world

He was so good, he went to competitions, and in some videos, he childishly says he’s debating on whether or not to become a professional pianist rather than a doctor, while Thomas dramatically clutches his chest in the background and looks betrayed

It’s like finding out your parent can draw and once upon a time wanted to be an artist before life dragged them away. And they're good, like really good, but no matter how good they were, their dreams were crushed, and they had to face reality and dream 'realistically.'

Maybe after a lot of prodding and pleading and being good for an entire week (good for vigilante standards, not normal ones), Bruce finally allows them to drag him to the music room where they had fixed and tuned that old piano

Bruce, for the first time in years, plays out his heart for his family. Alfred sheds a few tears, and Bruce truly feels connected once again, not only to his parents but to all of his children

I dunno if it's canon or a headcanon, but Damian definitely had to take classes for a musical instrument, and he chose violin. Now, Bruce and Damian have a calming hobby that they can participate in together. Bruce is ecstatic to do something with his son and be closer to him; Damian is as well. They compose music together, bounce ideas off each other, and end up putting on little shows just for their family and friends

summary: Juraj was loud, chaotic, affectionate with everyone, and impossible to ignore. His girlfriend was quiet, composed, reserved, and somehow the only person who could make him lower his voice without even asking. His teammates had no idea how the two of them made sense together—until they saw the way Juraj loved her.

wc: 4.2k

warnings: none

masterlist// imagines masterlist