Can You Pretty Please Do A Wally Instagram I Loved Jason’s

attractive things they do while you're dating

pairing: batboys (plus clark lol) & reader ❀ׄ ꥈ

𓍢ִ໋☕ cassidy's note: for funsies. not edited. i love reading variations of these. i haven't written since 2020. if you can like this, reblog too.

bruce 🦇ᡣ𐭩˚.

navigating paparazzi: the careful way he guides you to block the flaring flashes from cameras with his broad shoulders.

bruce wraps his fingers to pull on your waist, tugging you further behind him, ensuring no shots of you are taken on what was meant to be a private night out.

despite the urgency of the situation--his face still stays controlled and imperturbable, but his grip is firm to reassure you, as he leans down and mumbles in your ear, "just a bit farther, the car's close," before his voice cuts through the cries and shutters lowly: "we're done here."

listens intently, and remembers every single detail about you, despite whether you think it's significant or not for him to know.

bruce stores your favorite shampoo and conditioner in his bathroom when you stay the night over.

and when you're sitting on the edge of his sink, removing his makeup from under his eyes, you notice it sitting amongst his own body-wash and pine scented soap.

but when you ask him about it, he simply shrugs and waves it off.

dick 🏙ɞ♥️*

teaches you self defense: his hands gently curl over yours to demonstrate how they should look before you throw a punch.

his touch is light, "keep your thumb on the outside", dick's finger taps the inside of your palm, "if you keep it inside, you'll break it--not fun."

he whistles when you hit him solidly in the side with a wide grin, despite the force of your blow, "better."

insists on helping you put on all your jewellery and shoes.

he turns you around, and pulls your hair to one side of your neck, before fiddling with the clasp. he's clumsy at first, but eventually gets the hang of it the more he does it. his hands linger on the slope of your neck for a moment longer than necessary.

later, as you reach for your shoes, he beats you to it, kneeling in front of you. dick's motions are all exaggerated as he does it.

your hand cards through his hair when he's looking up through his lashes after he's fastened the straps, and kissing the inside of your calf slowly.

jason ❤️‍🩹⋆｡

reads on public transportation: jason pulls out a beat up paperback he picked up from a secondhand bookstore from his back pocket. it has dog eared pages and a weathered spine.

there's a baby crying on the train, but he doesn't seem to notice as he flicks a ringed finger to the page he last read.

he pulls a pencil from his jacket pocket, and traces a line in a passage--a part he thinks you'd like. when he leans forward, his shirt rides up a bit so a strip of his skin is visible to you.

doesn't wipe your lipgloss from his cheek.

the shimmer from it stains his cheek after you pressed a kiss to it. you go to wipe it with a laugh, reaching with your thumb, and jason catches it mid-air. "you've got glitter on your face jay, people are gonna-"

"next time, wear red."

tim 🪽❥˚

gnaws at his lip as he concentrates.

the hum of the keys click in the batcave and papers rustle. tim's focus is sharp as he attempts piecing together his newest case, and his teeth catch in his bottom lip. an unconscious habit.

you can't help but tease him about it, "that's a terrible habit to have, you know that?" you lean against his desk."it helps me think."

sure enough, he does it again. "you're gonna chew your lip off your face one day." his lips curve upwards at your observation, but your gaze was now intense as you observed his lip in his teeth, and before you can state another snarky remark, he shoots you a knowing look before pulling your belt loops, and kissing you.

wears your hair tie on his wrist. it was never really ever a big deal. one day you handed it to him while getting ready for bed one night as you pulled out your ponytail and he snapped it onto his wrist without much thought. now, it's routine. it doesn't matter where he is exactly, if tim's at a gala or in a meeting or out in gotham on patrol, the hair tie is around his wrist.

you heard him cursing from the other room when he misplaced it once.

clark 🌟.*☆

saves you a seat, always: whether it's evenings in or out, clark always makes you feel like you're the most important person there.

it's not something that's said but understood, as he pulls the chair next to him, letting it be out long enough for you to get comfortable, before gently scooting it inwards.

when you eat, and when he thinks you're not looking--clark will adjust your plate, and glace over at your water glass to make sure it is filled. and if you want extra bread, don't even worry because he kept an extra piece on his plate for you.

pushing his glasses up. there's something kinda charming about the way he does it that you wish you could explain it better. it's absentminded, he does it a lot!

when he's looking over articles or reading or just talking to you. in the elevator, he'll lean forward to look over the numbered floors, and they won't stay in place, sliding down the bridge of his nose. you don't say anything, but smile slightly, and he'll return it goofily and with more teeth, before he asks, "what?"

tags: @retvenkos

Is it just me or everyone imagine their fav characters that they are obsessing over in real life???

Like I'll be at work and then I imagine that bitch sitting next to me, talking to me and admiring me while I FUCKING KNOW THAT I HAVENT KISSED A MALE SPECIES IN MY ENTIRE LIFE

I don't know if that's sign of a fucking mental problem or what but I swear if I'm even Slightly upset or tired of my life i WILL open tumblr and start imagining them or talking to them (aka my wall. It be sitting there like the fuck gurl im not your man)

u ever start feeling super social start texting all of ur friends to ask how theyre doing and a couple seconds later when u start getting replies it’s like. I actually dont want to talk to anyone at all

# “IS IT NEW YEAR’S YET, I’M GETTIN’ BORED, SO CAN WE SKIP AHEAD?” ── .✦. ( a drabble of celebrating with batboys new years with batboys !! )

a/n: it’s 2025 oml, this year has been filled with ups and downs and many tears, many smiles, I wish that I live longer enough to enough plenty of years in peace, for 2025 my New Year’s resolution is to expand my interests && meet new people and friends and to be kind, understandable, happy, and positive and poetic !! Tags: (batboys x fem!reader)

© dollishmehrayan — ( all rights reserved to me. These works cannot be reposted, translated, or modified. Thank you for understanding dollies! )

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

Dick insists on going out for New Year’s Eve. He loves the energy of the city and wants to celebrate with you in style.

He takes you to a rooftop party with the best view of Gotham’s fireworks. He’s that guy pulling you onto the dance floor and spinning you around until your cheeks hurt from smiling.

When the countdown begins, he gets super excited, holding your hands and hyping up the moment like, “This is it! Best year yet, babe!”, “it’s just new years dick calm down.”

At midnight, he gives you a movie-worthy kiss, dipping you slightly for dramatic effect.

After the party, you both grab late-night street food and walk around the city, talking about your hopes for the new year.

JASON TODD ── .✦

Jason prefers a quieter New Year’s Eve at home, but he doesn’t mind doing something small if it makes you happy.

He sets up a cozy evening with your favorite snacks, drinks, and a movie marathon. “This is better than overpriced parties and sweaty crowds, right?”

As the clock nears midnight, he’ll make a sarcastic comment like, “Think 2025 will be the year Gotham finally gets its act together?”

At midnight, he gives you a sweet kiss and mumbles, “Here’s to another year of putting up with me.

If you want to do something fun, he might take you to a rooftop to watch fireworks. He holds you close and pretends it’s just for warmth, but he’s smiling the whole time.

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

Tim’s ideal New Year’s involves a mix of productivity and relaxation. He plans a cute night in where you can both reflect on the past year and set goals for the new one.

He buys a journal or a vision board for the two of you to fill out together. “Okay, what’s your most unrealistic goal for this year? Let’s make it happen.”

He struggles to stay awake as midnight approaches, though. You catch him dozing off during a movie, and he grumbles when you wake him. “I’m not asleep I’m resting my eyes.”

At midnight, he kisses you softly and murmurs, “Thanks for making this year better.”

If you want to go out, he’ll humor you with a cute date to a low-key café or a small gathering with friends.

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

Damian treats New Year’s as a time to improve himself. He’s not into big parties, but he’ll indulge your preferences to make you happy.

If you want to stay in, he sets up a fancy dinner for the two of you with candles and elegant dishes he helped Alfred prepare. “We’ll celebrate properly, without the chaos.”

He rolls his eyes at New Year’s resolutions but secretly sets a few for himself, especially involving you. “Fine. I resolve to… be more patient with you.” (You tease him for that.)

At midnight, he gives you a shy but heartfelt kiss and says, “I’m glad you’re in my life this year.”

If you convince him to watch fireworks, he’ll grumble about the noise but eventually relaxes when you lean against him.

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

Bruce makes New Year’s a classy affair. He takes you to a gala or hosts an elegant party at Wayne Manor.

He’s by your side the whole night, introducing you to important guests and making sure you feel like the most important person in the room.

At midnight, he’ll find a quiet corner to steal a private moment with you, giving you a soft, lingering kiss and whispering, “Thank you for making this year so much brighter.”

If you prefer something low-key, he’ll cancel all plans and spend the evening with you at home. You’ll share champagne by the fire, reminiscing about the past year.

He’s the type to surprise you with a meaningful gift at the stroke of midnight, like a bracelet engraved with the date or a key to the Manor if you don’t already live there.

Could you write an imagine about Clark Kent x reader where it’s in an outsider pov where the reader is a mean popular cheerleader who’s dating her opposite who’s nerdy Clark.

notes: i tried to make it kinda general if you want a more specific one please send it!! hope you like it!

the first time anyone saw you with clark kent, they thought it was a mistake. a glitch in the universe. something so fundamentally wrong that the world itself should’ve paused and done a double take.

you, the queen bee of smallville high, the girl who walked down the halls with a squad of cheerleaders at your heels, a smirk on your glossy lips and the scent of designer perfume in your wake. you were untouchable, intimidating, the kind of girl who could destroy someone’s social life with a single whisper into the right ear. the head cheerleader, the reigning champion of every pep rally, the girl everyone either wanted or wanted to be. and then there was clark.

clark kent. the nerd. the farm boy with flannel shirts and an easy smile. the one who always had his nose buried in a book, who spoke in quiet, polite tones and never quite met anyone’s eyes for too long. he was soft, awkward, everything you weren’t. but more importantly, he was different. something about him had a quiet gravity, a presence that didn’t need arrogance to demand attention. but no one could understand why you, of all people, had fallen for him.

so when you stormed into the cafeteria one friday, hair perfect and uniform pristine, and plopped yourself right next to clark, the entire school turned to watch. jaws dropped. conversations died. even chloe, ever the investigator, nearly dropped her coffee, her journalist instincts already buzzing with curiosity.

“hey, baby,” you chirped, like it was the most natural thing in the world. and then you pressed a kiss to his cheek.

clark turned as red as his beat-up backpack, fumbling with his tray as he blinked up at you in surprise. “uh—hi?”

whispers exploded like wildfire. people nudged each other, eyes wide with shock, whispering theories about what sort of sick joke this was. lana raised an eyebrow from her seat across the room, not quite believing her eyes. but then clark, bless his heart, smiled. soft and sweet, like he still couldn’t quite believe you were real. and suddenly, it was real.

you were dating clark kent.

and the world didn’t know what to do with that information.

at first, they waited for the catch. maybe you lost a bet. maybe you were planning some cruel prank, the kind that would leave clark humiliated in front of the entire school. lex himself might’ve wagered on it, intrigued by the sheer absurdity of the pairing. but weeks passed, and you were still with him. walking him to class, stealing his flannel shirts, holding his hand in the hallways like it was the easiest thing in the world.

and the worst part? you seemed happy. like, genuinely happy.

your friends didn’t get it. “babe, you could have literally anyone. why him?” they’d ask, flipping their hair and wrinkling their noses at clark like he was some tragic charity case.

but you’d just shrug, twirling a strand of hair around your manicured finger. “he’s sweet.”

and he was. clark was the kind of boyfriend who carried your books without being asked, who wrote you little notes in his loopy handwriting, who looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky. he blushed when you kissed him, stammered when you flirted, held your hand like it was something delicate and precious.

but there was more to it.

sometimes, you caught glimpses of something...more. the way clark could dodge things impossibly fast, how he always seemed to be right where he needed to be. the way he could lift the heavy gym equipment like it was made of paper. sometimes, his hands lingered on yours just a second too long, warmth radiating from him like a human furnace. sometimes, his gaze turned distant, like he was listening to something far away. and sometimes, you wondered if there was more to clark kent than met the eye.

one afternoon, beneath the bleachers after practice, you pressed up on your toes and kissed him. not a peck on the cheek, not something chaste and innocent, but a real kiss. slow, warm, and lingering. clark froze at first, breath hitching, before his hands found your waist, fingers curling around the fabric of your uniform like he was anchoring himself to the moment. his lips moved against yours hesitantly, then with a little more confidence, as if he couldn't quite believe this was happening.

it didn’t make sense. it shouldn’t have worked. but it did.

taglist: @legalmente-loca @soangelbaby

Okay okay okay but like imagine loving Jason and helping him with the stuff that he neglects at home. Like he just doesn't take care of himself and will live off of take out and noodles. Even though he's an excellent cook, he just doesn't cook for himself the way he does for you when he spends the weekend with you. So you make sure his fridge is stocked with ready meals that you cooked for him when he's fully expecting to open it and find a half loaf of moldy bread and a single babybell cheese. Like he goes to grab a shirt from the closet after showering from a particularly rough patrol and he's just like fuck I forgot to do laundry but then turns around to a basket full of folded laundry. Or he makes a mental note in the morning to buy toothpaste and after the longest day ever he gets home and remembers he needed to stop at the store, so when he's thinking he's gonna have to cut the tube open and try to salvage whatever he can for the night, he finds a new tube on the counter and an extra in the drawer. He's just so thankful to have someone double checking him, having his back. Knowing that he's not alone in this.

hi, anon! i am imagining all of this, and i will write it in a cute-sey, demure rambling style for you hehe

it begins with small mercies, the kind you never ask for but somehow find waiting in the quiet.

jason stumbles into his apartment, the weight of the night dragging at his bones, sweat, and grime etched into his skin, the stench of gotham’s streets clinging like a second skin. his body hums with exhaustion, with the memory of fists and bullets, and the kitchen light flickers like an accusation. the fridge, he knows, should be empty—half a loaf of bread with its corners curled in defeat, a forgotten drink that’s long past its prime. but when he opens it, there it is. rows of carefully packed meals lined up like soldiers in their neat containers. fresh. waiting.

your handprints are everywhere.

the meals are seasoned just the way he likes, a balance he never manages when it’s just him. he stares at the containers, a strange tightness rising in his chest. the noise in his head—the endless static of violence, of guilt—quiets, just for a moment. he was prepared for the empty fridge, for the grim prospect of takeout or ramen, but this... this is something else.

he knows it’s you. it has to be.

and then the laundry. after a shower that does little to wash away the night’s filth, he pulls open the closet door, fully expecting to find it empty, clothes scattered across the floor, a pile he’s been too tired, too reckless to care about. but instead, the basket is full—clothes washed, folded, and waiting for him, like a kindness he doesn’t deserve. his breath catches, stuck somewhere between disbelief and something that feels too much like gratitude.

you. always you.

there’s the toothpaste, too. he makes a mental note in the morning; one of those fleeting thoughts he knows will slip through the cracks by the end of the day. he’s spent the whole night in the belly of gotham—the kind of night that leaves you hollowed out and aching. he’s forgotten, of course. forgotten until he’s standing in front of the sink, squeezing the last remnants from the tube, prepared to cut it open and scrape together whatever’s left. but there’s a new one sitting on the counter. and another tucked away in the drawer.

it’s the small things, always the small things.

he’s lived so long by the law of survival, by grit and blood and the ferocity of his own will, that this—your care, your quiet attentions—feels like a foreign language, something he can barely wrap his hands around. you’ve managed to slip into the spaces he’s long neglected, filling the gaps without him asking, without him realizing he even needed it. there’s a simplicity in it that cuts deep, a kindness that feels like a betrayal of the life he’s chosen, the violence he knows.

and yet, when he sees those small acts—the meals, the laundry, the toothpaste—there’s a warmth that spreads slow and thick through him, something he thought he’d forgotten how to feel. you’re there, always there, double-checking him, keeping an eye on the things that would otherwise slip away.

for the first time in a long time, he feels the weight of what it means not to be alone. to know that someone has his back, even when he’s too far gone to ask for it.

and it’s that, more than anything, that undoes him.

†  date night : various.

♦ request: yes; domestic fluffy things ♦ beta’d: nope ♦ a/n: oh and you can pry the tim drake glasses thing out of my cold dead hands. co written.

𝑫𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝑮𝒓𝒂𝒚𝒔𝒐𝒏 – "𝑳𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔, 𝑳𝒂𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒆𝒓, 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆."

⇝ Date Night Headcanons:

spontaneous & playful – dick loves to keep you on your toes. you’ll get a text hours before: "wear something comfortable, trust me. 💙" and then suddenly, you’re on a rooftop picnic, at a carnival, or taking impromptu salsa lessons. no two dates are ever the same.

he lives for shared laughs – whatever the date is, laughter is guaranteed. he’ll tell ridiculous stories, crack jokes, pull you into dances when there’s no music—anything to hear your laugh in the night air.

big on physical affection – he cannot keep his hands off you. he’ll hold your hand at all times, spin you in the middle of the street, kiss you like you’re the only thing keeping him standing. the world disappears when he’s with you.

nostalgic heart – sometimes, he takes you places that mean something to him. old blüdhaven diners, childhood circus memories, a ferris wheel overlooking the city. he lets you into pieces of his past without hesitation.

sunset or midnight dates – if it’s evening, it’s vibrant and full of life - city lights, live music, neon glow. if it’s late-night, it’s something quiet, sacred, where it’s just you and him against the sleeping world.

the prince of rooftop dates – some nights, it’s just blankets, takeout, and city lights from above. there’s something poetic about gotham stretching beneath your feet while he holds you close.

always ends the night right – whether it’s stumbling home tipsy from laughter, slow-dancing in the kitchen, or falling asleep with you in his arms, dick makes sure the night never ends without making you feel like the most loved person in the world.

the carnival hums around you, a whirlwind of neon and laughter, the scent of popcorn and sweet, warm summer air wrapping around you like a dream. the world is alive tonight; lights flickering against the skyline, people moving like currents through the fairground - but all you can focus on is the man beside you.

dick’s hand is laced with yours, fingers threading together effortlessly, like they were always meant to fit. his smile is wide, eyes glowing in the golden light of the carousel before him. there’s something soft in his expression, something unguarded, like he’s letting the moment settle deep into his bones.

"i told you this was a good idea," he teases, nudging his shoulder against yours.

you laugh, rolling your eyes, but you can’t deny it. it’s one of those nights that feel eternal, weightless, something worth remembering forever. the ferris wheel looms ahead, the final piece of your evening, and dick pulls you toward it with an excited grin that makes him look younger, freer.

the ride lifts you above the carnival, the noise fading into a distant hum. the city stretches out before you - blüdhaven’s skyline blinking in the distance, gotham’s shadow beyond it. and in the middle of it all, dick grayson is looking at you like you hung the stars specifically for him.

"you know," he murmurs, arm draped over the back of your seat, body angled toward you, eyes locked onto yours like you’re the only thing that matters. "i think this is my favorite date yet."

you raise an eyebrow. "you've said that for every date."

"and every time, i mean it." his smile softens, something quieter, something deeper. the wind ruffles his dark hair, and he looks at you like this; like home, like warmth, like love.

the ride slows to a stop at the very top, the city breathing beneath you, the carnival lights flickering like fireflies below. dick shifts closer, his forehead resting against yours, his breath a warm whisper in the cool night air.

"stay with me here," he says softly, his fingers curling around your wrist, anchoring himself to you. "just a little longer."

and as the world spins on below, you do.

𝑻𝒊𝒎 𝑫𝒓𝒂𝒌𝒆 – "𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑵𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝑩𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝑻𝒐 𝑼𝒔."

⇝ Date Night Headcanons:

drives to nowhere – when the city feels too heavy, he picks you up in his car and just drives. no destination, no rush, just empty highways and quiet music playing through the speakers.

library dates at midnight – not public libraries. his personal one. he lets you curl up with books in his apartment, old texts and mystery novels spread out between you. there’s no pressure to talk—just existing together in the glow of dim, warm lamplight.

cooking something together – tim is terrible at cooking. but if you suggest it, he’ll suffer through it for you. and if it goes wrong? you’ll end up sitting on the kitchen counter, eating takeout, laughing at the disaster you made.

hidden lookout spots – there are places in gotham only tim knows. rooftops with the best view of the skyline, secret corners of the city where the stars are still visible. if he shares them with you, you’re one of the few people he trusts completely.

long games of chess or cards – it’s not competitive—it’s intimate. he doesn’t just play with anyone, but with you, it’s different. it’s slow, full of teasing and quiet moments where he watches you more than the board.

movie nights done right – tim is notoriously bad at actually watching movies. you’ll start one, but half an hour in, he’s leaning against you, mumbling half-asleep observations until he eventually dozes off on your shoulder.

letting the city sleep without him – some nights, he decides gotham doesn’t need him. some nights, he just needs you. those are the nights he lets himself stay. lets himself be yours, fully and without hesitation.

the streets of gotham stretch endlessly ahead, neon lights flickering in the distance, but none of it matters - not when the road belongs to the two of you.

tim’s hands rest easy on the steering wheel, his fingers drumming against the leather in time with the low hum of the radio. it’s late; the kind of late that makes the city feel like it exists just for you, where the world is quiet enough to breathe. the engine purrs beneath you as he takes another turn down an empty road, the streetlights flashing in intervals through the windshield, painting his face in gold and shadow.

he’s not in a hurry. there’s nowhere to be.

one of your legs is tucked beneath you in the passenger seat, your body angled toward him, watching the way his shoulders relax, the way exhaustion lingers in the shape of his mouth. it’s rare for tim to look at ease. even now, you can tell his mind is still too full, always turning, always running.

and yet, here he is.

"you okay?" you murmur, breaking the comfortable silence.

tim hums softly, his eyes flicking toward you for half a second before returning to the road. "yeah. better now."

the night air filters in through the cracked window, cool against your skin. tim’s jacket is tossed over the center console - he had shrugged it off earlier, mumbling something about you needing it more than he did. you glance at the dashboard clock. nearly 2 am.

"we should probably head back soon," you say, but there’s no real insistence in your voice.

tim smiles, small but real. "five more minutes."

you don’t argue.

you lean your head against the seat, letting the city blur past, the hum of the car and the steady rhythm of his breathing lulling you into something warm, something peaceful. five more minutes becomes ten. ten becomes twenty. but neither of you say anything about it.

eventually, tim pulls the car into a quiet overlook, one of the secret places he never shares with anyone else. a place where the city looks almost peaceful, where gotham is just a sea of blinking lights instead of a battlefield. he shifts the car into park, exhales, then leans back in his seat, tilting his head to look at you.

"you ever think about just leaving?" he asks, voice soft. "just… disappearing for a night. no responsibilities. no alarms blaring at three in the morning."

you tilt your head, watching him. "you mean like we’re doing right now?"

his lips twitch. "exactly like we’re doing right now."

there’s something almost vulnerable in the way he says it—like this is the only time he truly feels weightless. not red robin, not wayne enterprises’ heir, not gotham’s sleepless protector. just tim.

you reach for his hand, threading your fingers through his. he lets you.

"you could’ve been out there tonight," you murmur. "but you’re here."

his thumb brushes absently over your skin, a quiet affirmation.

"yeah," he says, and there’s something in his voice that sounds like relief. "i think i needed to be."

and as the city flickers below, as the clock creeps further into the night, tim lets himself stay.

𝑪𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒓𝒂 𝑪𝒂𝒊𝒏 – "𝑨 𝑫𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝑩𝒖𝒊𝒍𝒕 𝑭𝒐𝒓 𝒀𝒐𝒖."

⇝ Date Night Headcanons:

cass struggles with words, but she understands gestures. she notices effort more than anything. when you plan something specifically with her in mind, she understands it means ‘i love you’ without you ever saying a word.

she enjoys sensory experiences more than standard dates. things she can feel - the wind rushing past her on a rooftop, the vibration of music through her chest, the quiet warmth of your hand in hers.

action over words - always. cass doesn’t always know how to talk about her feelings, but she knows how to show them. and when you take the time to show her love in return, she glows in a way that few people ever get to see.

she enjoys movement, but not always in a high-energy way. something like a nighttime roller-skating date, dancing in an empty parking lot, or even just a quiet walk where she can exist in the world without worrying about danger.

she has never been pampered before. she’s used to people training her, using her, expecting something from her. but when you set up a date where it’s just about her - where she can breathe, where she can just be - it leaves her speechless.

she loves closeness, but in subtle ways. leaning against you, pressing her forehead to yours, fingers brushing against your wrist - it’s her way of asking for more.

cass doesn’t need grand gestures. she just needs to feel safe. and when you give her that, she holds onto it like it’s the most precious

thing in the world.

the city hums in the distance, but here, everything is quiet.

a rooftop, high above gotham’s restless streets, bathed in the soft glow of string lights you set up just for her. a picnic blanket is spread out beneath you, the food simple, the effort everything.

cass sits cross-legged beside you, her body relaxed in a way that she rarely allows in the field. the wind tugs at her dark hair, and for a long moment, she just looks around. at the view. at the small setup you arranged. at the details - the things that show you did this for her.

"you planned," she says simply, her voice soft but full.

you smile, nudging your knee against hers. "of course i did."

cass tilts her head, her eyes studying you with that same keen intensity she always carries. but tonight, there’s no wariness behind it. just something warm, something grateful.

she reaches for your hand, running her fingers along the back of it—tracing, memorizing, appreciating.

"i like when you plan," she murmurs.

you squeeze her hand in return. "i like doing things for you."

she doesn’t reply right away, but she doesn’t need to. instead, she shifts closer, resting her head against your shoulder, her fingers still laced with yours. the city may be alive with noise below, but here, in this small, quiet moment, cass is finally at peace.

𝑱𝒂𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝑻𝒐𝒅𝒅 – "𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆, 𝑶𝒖𝒕 𝑶𝒇 𝑺𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕."

⇝ Date Night Headcanons:

jason isn’t a ‘traditional’ date night kind of guy. he won’t take you to five-star restaurants, but he will take you to a hidden, hole-in-the-wall diner at 2 am, where the food is messy and the coffee is burnt, but it’s just you and him.

he loves quiet places - where the world doesn’t demand anything from him. abandoned libraries, late-night parks, the fire escape outside his apartment. anywhere he can just exist with you.

he does not like being around rich socialites. a high-end gala date? hell no. but a cozy, dimly lit bar with live blues music? a drive down backroads with nothing but the sound of the radio? perfect.

jason reads to you. not in a romanticized, ‘let me recite shakespeare’ way - but in a, ‘i found this used bookstore and grabbed some old poetry books. want me to read you something?’ way.

he’s a natural at late-night drives. he doesn’t rush. he just lets the road stretch on, windows cracked open, your legs kicked up on the dashboard as the stars blur past.

he cooks, but never follows recipes. if you let him make you dinner, prepare for something incredible - if not entirely chaotic. he makes the best comfort food, and he’ll playfully swat your hands away if you try to help, saying, "hey, this is my thing. you just sit there and look pretty."

he does things for you without announcing them. there’s no ‘look at what i did’ moment - he just fixes the leaking sink in your apartment, keeps extra sweatshirts around because he knows you’ll steal them, and quietly makes sure you’re always safe, even when he’s not around.

the small, tucked-away restaurant is nearly empty by now, the last customers drifting out, the flickering neon ‘open late’ sign humming above the door. the place is nothing special—a hole-in-the-wall joint that doesn’t even show up on google, where the food is greasy, the coffee is strong, and nobody asks questions.

and yet, jason loves it here.

he leans back in the worn-out booth, one arm draped along the backrest, the other loosely curled around a half-empty mug of black coffee. his leather jacket is slung over the seat beside him, his sleeves pushed up, exposing the scars along his forearms.

the soft glow of the tabletop lamp casts golden light across your face, and he watches you like that’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

"you’re staring," you murmur, poking at the last few fries on your plate.

jason smirks, unabashed. "yeah? sue me."

you roll your eyes, but there’s no real bite behind it. just warmth. just the comfort of knowing that this—him, here, like this—is something rare.

he tilts his head, exhaling slow, as if he’s memorizing the moment. the distant hum of an old jukebox, the rain tapping against the windows, the low murmur of the staff closing up for the night. the way you’re just here, across from him, existing in his space like you belong there.

like you’re something he gets to keep.

"this is nice," you say softly, breaking the silence.

jason snorts, tilting his coffee mug at you. "what, eating at a place that probably fails every health inspection?"

you huff a laugh. "no. this. you. the quiet." you tilt your head, watching him the way he watches you. "i like being here with you."

jason stares at you for half a second too long before clearing his throat, shifting slightly. you do that to him—say things so casually, so effortlessly, like it’s not some kind of miracle that he’s still here, still breathing, still being loved.

he taps a slow rhythm against the mug, considering, then shrugs. "yeah," he murmurs, voice softer than before. "me too."

and as the city breathes outside, as the streetlights cast lazy shadows through the windows, jason todd lets himself have this.

𝑫𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒂𝒏 𝑾𝒂𝒚𝒏𝒆 – "𝑰 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒆. 𝑬𝒙𝒄𝒆𝒑𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖."

⇝ Date Night Headcanons:

damian is precise with his time. if he sets aside a night for you, it is intentional, carved out of a schedule that few people are allowed to touch.

he doesn’t enjoy crowds or noise. most of your dates are quiet, exclusive, just the two of you. private gardens, late-night museum access, hidden places where the world cannot interrupt.

art dates are his favorite. he takes you to galleries after hours, pointing out hidden techniques in brushstrokes, low-voiced explanations that turn into long discussions.

he is highly competitive, but he lets you win (sometimes). chess matches, fencing lessons, horseback riding- if it’s a skill, he will teach you. and if you struggle? he’ll hover behind you, hands guiding yours, murmuring corrections close to your ear.

damian remembers everything you like. if you offhandedly mention an author you enjoy? a signed edition of their book appears in your hands a week later. favorite dessert? it’s on the menu, no matter where he takes you.

he rarely says ‘i love you,’ but he says it constantly in other ways. he walks on the street-side of the sidewalk, adjusts the temperature of the room for your comfort, makes sure your favorite tea is always stocked.

at the end of the night, he doesn’t let you go easily. whether it’s a long drive home in his car, his hand resting over yours, or a lingering moment at your door, he makes every second last.

the museum is empty.

at least, it is for everyone except you and damian.

a private arrangement, locked doors, the city outside reduced to nothing more than a distant hum. the grand halls stretch around you in perfect silence, the air thick with the weight of history, the dim lighting casting soft, golden glows against priceless art.

but damian is not looking at the paintings.

he is watching you.

you stand before a renaissance-era canvas, eyes scanning the fine, intricate strokes of oil paint that have survived for centuries. damian steps closer, the sound of his dress shoes against the marble floor barely audible, but you feel him before you see him.

his voice is quiet, low and smooth in the hush of the museum.

"do you see the brushwork?" his fingers barely lift, gesturing toward the curve of a painted figure’s face. "the layering? it creates depth. almost imperceptible, unless you know what you’re looking for."

you tilt your head, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. "like how you see people?"

damian pauses, then huffs a quiet breath—not quite a laugh, but close. he steps beside you, hands clasped neatly behind his back, posture effortless and composed. "observation is a necessary skill."

you hum, shifting your weight slightly. "and yet, you brought me here instead of going to a gala tonight."

his lips twitch at the corners. "a necessary skill also includes knowing what is a waste of time." his gaze flicks toward yours, something unreadable, something softer than his usual sharpness. "they bore me. you do not."

there it is.

the way damian does not share his time lightly.

you glance back at the painting, but his presence at your side is far more distracting. his cologne lingers in the air—clean, sharp, the scent of warm leather and something deeper, something uniquely him. his fingers twitch slightly where they rest at his side, like he is considering reaching for you. considering, but not yet acting.

you make the decision for him.

your fingers brush against his, slow, deliberate, barely there. and yet, the response is immediate. his hand closes around yours—not urgent, not possessive, but solid. real.

his grip does not falter.

the weight of it lingers, the warmth of his palm against yours, the simple, uncomplicated act of holding you here with him.

you let the silence stretch, comfortable, familiar. then—

"i don't want the rest of them," damian murmurs, his voice low, meant only for you. "i want you."

and in the quiet hush of the museum, you squeeze his hand in return.

𝑺𝒕𝒆𝒑𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒆 𝑩𝒓𝒐𝒘𝒏 – "𝑨 𝑫𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑮𝒆𝒕𝒔 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝑰𝒏 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒃𝒍𝒆."

⇝ Date Night Headcanons:

steph is all about fun. if your date doesn’t include something spontaneous, something ridiculous, something that will absolutely make you laugh until you cry=then what’s the point?

she loves arcade nights. not just casual arcade nights - fierce, competitive, ‘we are not leaving until i beat you at skee-ball’ arcade nights.

most of your dates involve food. late-night waffle houses, gas station snack runs, making a complete mess of her kitchen at 3 am because she swears she can make pancakes better than you.

she gets you into trouble on purpose. climbing fences to sneak onto rooftops for a better view, making you run from security after getting caught somewhere you shouldn’t be - it’s all part of the fun.

steph is an absolute menace when it comes to dares. if you say “you won’t do it,” she’s already doing it. and if she gets in trouble? she’s dragging you down with her.

she is outrageously flirty when she wants to be. she’ll wink, bite her lip, lean in like she’s going to kiss you - and then steal your fries instead.

at the end of every date, she looks at you like you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to her. because, in her eyes, you are.

it wasn’t supposed to end like this.

your date had started with waffles and milkshakes at a 24-hour diner. then, a casual late-night stroll through gotham’s quieter streets—until steph spotted a ‘do not enter’ sign on a construction site and immediately decided to ignore it.

which is why, twenty minutes later, the two of you are standing on the unfinished beams of what will eventually be gotham’s newest skyscraper, looking out at the city like you own it.

steph’s grin is wide, wild, her blonde ponytail swaying in the night breeze as she spreads her arms out. "see? best view in gotham. you just have to break a few rules to get it."

you shake your head, but you’re smiling. "one day, this is going to get us arrested."

she smirks, stepping closer, arms looping around your waist. "yeah, but imagine the mugshots. we’d look hot."

before you can respond, the blaring wail of a security alarm cuts through the night.

you both freeze. steph’s head whips toward the source of the noise, then back to you, eyes wide, lips twitching like she’s trying not to laugh.

"we should run, right?"

you don’t have time to answer—because she’s already grabbing your hand and pulling you along with her, laughing breathlessly as the two of you take off across the beams, adrenaline singing in your veins.

and somehow, despite the chaos, despite the fact that this is absolutely a terrible idea—

you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

𝑩𝒓𝒖𝒄𝒆 𝑾𝒂𝒚𝒏𝒆 – "𝑰 𝒅𝒐𝒏’𝒕 𝒅𝒐 𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒇-𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒆𝒔."

⇝ Date Night Headcanons:

bruce isn’t extravagant just to show off. if he goes all out for a date, it’s not because he wants to impress you - it’s because he genuinely wants to give you something special, something worthy of you.

privacy is everything to him. whether it’s a reserved table at a restaurant, a late-night rooftop dinner at wayne tower, or a weekend getaway to a secluded house outside the city, bruce values moments where it’s just you and him.

he is observant to a fault. if you mention wanting to try a certain food? he makes sure it’s on the menu. if you casually mention a book you love? he gets a first edition. if he knows you’ve been stressed? the entire date is built around giving you relief.

he does not rush time with you. bruce is constantly on a tight schedule, always balancing his responsibilities - but when he’s with you? the world can wait.

he loves jazz lounges, candlelit dinners, slow-dancing in empty rooms. it’s the quiet elegance of old-fashioned romance that makes him feel like a man, not a myth.

he doesn’t say “i love you” often, but when he does, it’s a moment that stays with you. low, quiet, something meant only for you to hear. something true.

at the end of the night, he always walks you to your door. even if you live in the manor. even if he’s coming inside with you. it’s an old habit - one that reminds him that he has something worth coming home to.

the city stretches far below, a blanket of flickering lights and restless motion, but up here, the world is quiet.

bruce sits across from you at an open-air rooftop restaurant, the exclusive kind that no one steps into unless their name carries weight. tonight, yours does.

the table is lit with the glow of a single candle, silverware catching the light, the soft hum of live music drifting through the space. but none of it holds your attention the way he does.

bruce wayne, in an all-black suit, the top button undone, his gaze fixed solely on you.

his hand rests near his glass, fingers curled loosely against the stem, but you know the posture—always controlled, always measured, even when he relaxes.

"you’re quiet tonight," you murmur, studying him over the rim of your glass.

bruce’s lips twitch slightly. not quite a smile, but close. "i’m enjoying myself."

the response is simple, but it holds so much more.

you tilt your head, watching the way the candlelight flickers against the sharp planes of his face. "you know, you didn’t have to go all out like this."

bruce exhales, slow and deliberate, before reaching for your hand across the table. his fingers are warm when they lace through yours, his grip solid, unwavering.

"i don’t do half-measures," he says, voice low, meant only for you. "not with this. not with you."

your chest tightens, warmth unfurling slow and deep. this is how bruce loves. without hesitation, without reservation.

with everything he has.

and as the city hums below, as the night stretches on, he makes sure you know it.

damian wayne fluff pls

Damian didn’t have much of a childhood, at least not a one he could look back at fondly and proudly. So whenever he saw you indulge yourself in an adult colouring book had him was conditioned into thinking was boring or childish, and yet he would still find himself missing something that he couldn’t put his finger on without becoming irritated.

‘Damian?’ Your voice brought him out of his thoughts as he looked over to you, seeing that you had stopped colouring to stare at him with concern.

‘Yes?’ He replied, not liking the fact that he has been interrupted from his reading Bram Stoker’s Dracula.

‘Would you like to colour in a page of this book with me?’ You asked as you gestured to the book in front of you and Damian scoffed, going back to his book. ‘No, I don’t partake in childish activities.’ He responded.

‘Is that what you believe or what you’ve been told to believe when with the league of assassins?’ You said all of a sudden and Damian bristled as his eyes darted to every possible corner of the room, almost as though the aforementioned league could be overhearing your conversation from their hiding spots.

‘What makes you say such a thing.’ Damian hissed as he moved to look at you but you were far more interested in colouring the page of your book, hyper aware of the stare he was giving you but you didn’t care you just wanted him to know what it’s like to be normal, even if it was for five minutes. ‘I just think you deserve to do something that you can look back on and remember that not everything is bleak and downpours of rain, it can be warm and golden.’ You shrugged your shoulders as you finally allowed yourself to look over at Damian, who had a conflicted look across his face, and you couldn’t help but bring your hand over his and squeeze reassuringly.

‘It’s okay to let the walls down Damian, you’re not there anymore, you’re with me and you can find yourself here if you feel comfortable enough to do so.’ You continued as Damian closed his eyes and sighed deeply. He knew he was in a safe place with you, that he didn’t doubt, but he couldn’t just bring his walls down all that easily even if he wanted to and he really wanted to. However he didn’t know how to without relapsing into old ways that’ll end in you being pushed away as a result; he was scared of how things would end for him if he dared to open his heart just a little.

‘What good would that do me?’ Damian says sharply. ‘End up with everyone I know dead because I decide to give one person an ounce of trust and let them into my life?’ He adds and he felt you squeeze his hand again but also the caressing of your thumb against the back of his own. ‘You’re a great judge of character Dami, you wouldn’t have trusted me otherwise and I’m grateful for that, but have I made you distrust me yet?’ You questioned him and Damian knew that you knew the answer to that, and it was no.

He looks at your hand and squeezes back softly, making you smile, before he gestures to your colouring book. ‘Is the offer to colour one of your pages still available?’ He asks and you were quick to share your colouring pencils with him as you presented the book before him to pick a page of his choice. ‘Oh absolutely.’ You replied as you made yourself comfortable next to him as the next hour you and Damian spent colouring in pages and making the other laugh.

Damian Wayne is that type of boyfriend who'd be nonchalant towards you. Like, you both are high school sweethearts. Almost everyone in your school knows about your not-so-romantic relationship with him. Despite all of your efforts to make Damian soft for you, he'd just react minimally

But deep inside, he's burning. He'll literally kiss you even though you both are in public if he can. Damian will bring you heaven and earth to prove his love. He loves you so much that he'd literally react like that just to keep you safe. Being vigilante makes him a very accident prone and crime magnet, and he doesn't want to get you hurt. Even the thought of you having a small cut or bruise makes his heart aches.

He might not be a very expressive boyfriend, but he'd literally sacrifice everything just to keep you safe and sound.

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@sunkissedmayu's thoughts 💭 HAIZZZ I'M SUCH A SUCKER 4 NONCHALANT DAMIAN BUT CARING DEEP DOWN. damian wayne, please marry me! 　　　　　　　　　　　 ૮꒰ྀི◞⸝⸝⸝◟ ꒱ྀིა

Taking anti-depressant pills?? Seeing a therapist??? Journaling???? No need babe, my fav writer just dropped another x reader fic.