superbabetotherescue - Tumblr blog

superbabetotherescue · 3 years

Note

Could you do something with Damian and a really cuddly, clingy, touchy-feely reader? I feel like his brothers would be v confused about the whole situation bc Damian's just chillin and always seems neutral to what's happening while reader is just like, koala bear hugging him and stuff all the time.

Firstly. I love this concept with every fiber of my being because, oh good god, it's me. Thank you so much for bringing this to inbox, because I've been lacking on inspiration lately, and this is just what I need right now. Thanks doll!!

Prompt List // Masterlist (in bio)

Tim stops dead in his tracks, cereal bowl nearly slipping from his hand as he halts in the doorway to the huge living room. He pauses, before cautiously asking, "What is this? What am I looking at?"

Damian's arm twitches against your back, the only give away that he's been caught off guard. You seem just as relaxed, sprawled on top of him like you've been there your whole life.

You don't even look at him, eyes still glued to the phone screen shining up at you from the floor, which you're facing with your face pressed against Damian's shoulder. "You've known me for five years and you still haven't learned my name? Rude."

He blinks. "Sure, sure. Right. Because it's absolutely normal for anyone to successfully get within a foot of Damian and not get knocked out."

You snort, but it still isn't enough to pry your attention away from your phone. Damian either, as he reads a book over your shoulder, which is settled under his chin. He must be tired or in a terrifyingly good mood, if he hasn't shoved you off in hopes of hiding emotions from his family. That's what he usually does when he gets caught with you, anyway.

He's been tiptoeing around the subject of you for a solid year and half now. It wasn't exactly easy, seeing as you're also a family friend, what with being a vigilante and all. You're Damian's partner, have been for three years, and you're in the manor often enough that you have your own room, right next to Damian's.

Still, even with no clear answers from either of you, the whole family has suspected a relationship for a long time.

But Damian isn't very touch oriented. In fact, he's been known to go to nearly astonishing lengths to avoid being touched at all.

And now here he is, you laying on top of him, out in the open, absolutely unbothered by Tim catching it.

Tim decides quickly not to risk Damian's mood spoiling while he's around, so he backpedals and heads for his room.

• • •

Jason doesn't come to the manor often, but when he does, there's usually a decently concerning reason for it. This time, he's waiting out a possible kidnapping by one king pin or another. You haven't been paying as much attention as you probably should.

Now, he's trotting down the steps from Bruce's office to fix a suspicious rattling noise his motorcycle has been making for a shameful period of time.

However, he stops beside the super computer, looking a little aghast and far too dramatic for the sight.

Damian side-eyes him, still typing away, but his head doesn't move. It really can't, because you're resting your head on top of it.

You're resting your full weight on the back of the chair, which Jason now realizes isn't the tall backed chair that usual sits there, with your cheek buried in the soft looking bush that is Damian's hair. Your eyes are closed, and your arms and draped over his shoulders, hands laying on his chest.

Jason catches himself staring when Damian's side-eyeing turns into a curious glare. Tentatively, Jason points to you, and raises an eyebrow.

Lowly, Damian somewhat patiently answers, "She's half asleep."

Your eyebrows slant together. "Hmm?"

Jason's expression becomes more confused. "She sleeps standing up?"

"Apparently," Damian mumbles.

Jason, more than a little perturbed but Damian's oddly placid demeanor and your absurd sleeping habits, shuffles the rest if the way to his bike, grabbing the toolbox on his way.

• • •

Dick sitting on the floor, wrapped in a blanket—correction, three blankets, facing the rest of the living room, where Damian sits on one couch, and Duke occupies the other.

"No no, I'm not saying Bella wasn't smokin, I'm just saying that those facial expressions and life decisions were questionable enough to make a guy think twice," Dick tries to reason.

Duke makes a face. "Bro, are you kidding? If a chick stares at you from across a lunch room and you've never spoke to her, you don't even try."

Damian scoffs. Duke raises an eyebrow, and just when he's about to beg for the story of who tied him to a steel chair and forced him to watch Twilight, you shoulder the double door open.

Damian doesn't look up from his newest book, which could be deemed rude if you weren't so close and comfortable with one another. "Evening, Beloved, how was your drive?"

You say nothing. You drop your bag by his feet, crawl the rest of the way onto the couch, and collapse. Your head in on a pillow between Damian's thighs and the arm of the couch, the rest of you divided unevenly between his lap and the rest of the couch.

He glances away from the pages briefly. "Traffic?" His hand slips under your shirt to gently run blunt nails up and down your spine.

For a moment, you're quiet, and neither of the two older men know how to react.

Then, without warning, you wail into the pillow. "Who the everloving fuck drives a Winnebago through central Gotham at six o'clock going fourteen miles an hour?"

Duke barks a loud laugh, before he claps a hand over his mouth in fear of a punishment. But a man can only do so much, so he sits with his hand over his mouth, giggling like a fifteen year old listening to a dirty joke with his parents in the room.

Damian chuckles lightly, white teeth peeking through a little smile that he's trying to suppress, much for the same reason Duke is doing his best not to let you hear him laugh.

Dick is more focused on the two of you, and the fact that his baby brother has grown up and changed for the better so much—

• • •

Cassandra climbs the stairs with some difficulty, thanks to two new sets of stitches and a few too many fresh bruises.

It's nothing a few days of relaxation won't fix. It was worth it, to see Poison Ivy put back behind bars—even if it did take four of you.

Shortly after arriving back, you and Damian had disappeared up to his room, after you'd both been checked over by Alfred. Aside from some intense bruising and a fee cuts and scrapes, you'd both been spared.

She knocks on his door a few times. With no answer, she loudly turns the handle and pushes the door open slowly, giving you enough time to correct her if need be. She knows at least one of you are in here, because the light is on. "Alfred sent me to tell you that there's dinner, if you want–"

She stops. You are, in fact, both in the room. However, neither of you are conscious.

Damian is sprawled haphazardly across his bed, face half squished into a pillow.

You're flopped across his back, horizontal across his bed, likely also with a pillow, but she can't see your face to be sure.

For a moment that feels a little intrusive, she stares, eyes wide. Not because he's in only boxers and you're in shorts and a sports bra (neither are necessarily a new sight, with one makeshift locker room in the Cave and a city with way too many privacy-surpassing emergencies), but because she's never witnessed Damian allowing another person to be so close to him while asleep.

Even on week long stakeouts that confine them to one room, he claims one corner for himself and doesn't tolerate that invisible boundary to be broken, especially when he's asleep.

She wouldn't even be so surprised if you were passed out in his reading chair, or even on a pile of blankets in the floor, or hell, even if you were on opposite sides of the bed. But you're literally as close to him as you could possibly be. And he's still sound asleep.

She closes the door and backs away slowly, a little smile on her face, even though she was too tired to laugh at the joke Bruce tried to crack a few minutes ago.

• • •

Bruce sits, almost impatiently, on a stone bench by the fountain the middle of Gotham City Gardens. The whole family had come here for the day, on invitation of the organization's owners. Of course, not everyone was officially recognized as family by anyone outside the Manor, so there were quite a few plus ones—you being one of them.

Of course you were. You're always invited. Over the years, it's become a running joke. A trip to the grocery store? (Y/N) must be invited. Walking from the W.I. building to an ice cream parlor and back? I bet (Y/N) is invited. At one point, Damian became so simultaneously annoyed and amused by it that for a week, you really did join him on every single outing. No one knows how exactly you made it across Gotham in six minutes flat to help him pick up cereal but by golly you managed it.

Bruce is currently waiting on you and Damian, who swore to meet him here for a few pictures (at Alfred's request). The pair of you had gone off on your own after about an hour of meandering around with his family, and no one has heard from either of you since. He would be worried, but you were both too excited about this to get into any trouble that would risk being sent home early.

Your laughter finds him before you do. It comes from around a corner of tall hedges, and shortly after, so do you.

You're smiling ear to ear, giggling like a school girl, elbows balanced on Damian's shoulders, about as precariously as you are on his back. That is to say, quite stable. Damian is grinning as well, his arms linked around you're knees at his sides to keep you as stable as you are. You've got an ice cream cone in each hand, one obviously having had more attention than the other.

Bruce's heart swells in his chest at the absolute joy on his son's face.

Damian stops not too far, shifting your weight to free one hand. You help, carefully resituating yourself to hold yourself up easily. You hand him the neglected ice cream, resting your now free hand on his shoulder.

"Sorry, Father," Damian sounds a little winded, and Bruce wonders if the running he heard earlier had been you two. "Somebody found an ice cream bar and insisted we stop before meeting you." He doesn't sound apologetic in the least.

"Hey!" You laugh, flicking the back of his ear as payback.

As payback for payback, he takes the edge of his cone between his teeth, and uses his free hand to give the back of your knee a quick pinch, before he occupies his hand again to tilt the odds in his favor.

You squeal and jerk. "Damian! You're gonna make me fall, and if I go down, you're coming with me!"

Bruce laughs loudly.

• • •

Alfred is on his way to the library to finish the afternoon chores. All he needs to do is straighten up in there, and he can call it an evening. Just in time, too, as one of the local channels is running a Downton Abbey marathon tonight that he doesn't particularly want to miss.

He pushes open the doors to get a little extra fresh air, but pauses just inside the doorway.

Damian is stretched out in one of the plush leather chairs, his long legs propped up by his ankles on the coffee table, head resting limply on the back of the chair. You're curled up in his lap, head on his shoulder, legs folded up on either side of his thighs, arms wound around his back. His hands are folded together on your back. You're both fast asleep.

The elder man is suddenly flooded with memories of the boy's first few months in this manor. In this room, even. He was politely feral, as Bruce had once put it. He was so uncomfortable all the time, though he fought not to show it. It was so new to him, to be openly cared for the way his family tried to care for him. Most people he met back then treated him as the cold, rude, trained assassin that he presented himself as.

So many overlooked the terrified ten year old boy that shook beneath the armor and the weight of the mantels he was expected to take up in so few years.

Of course Alfred had been paying attention to him all this time, all the growing he's done and the man he's becoming. He's always been proud.

But it's here, in this exact moment, that Alfred really takes in how different he is now, compared to then.

Not only did he find the strength and the trust to forge a close bond with you, one that would arguably outlast just about anything it was forced to endure, but he'd fostered such a sweet affection for you. He's found the space within himself to make room for a great love for you, and his family, and his friends.

And you're so good for him. You remind him of the things he could be, if he wanted, and not of what he should be or could have been. You provide him a sense of normalcy when he needs it, and battle ready companion when he needs that.

You look past the blazing armor of controlled aggression and lessons learned to reach the beautiful soul he is. And most importantly, you love him for all of it. You manage to dig so far beyond what he's been taught and the walls he's put up, that you look at what was meant to be the perfect soldier and you see a pillow to sleep on. You trust him with everything, including your vulnerability, just as he trusts you.

Alfred marks the page of the open book on the floor, closes it, and leaves it in the table for you later. He leaves as quietly as he came, in hopes of leaving the two of you undisturbed.

#Fun fact this is one of my favorite oneshots of All Time #Never fails to make me feel better than I did when I started reading it #If you’ve never checked out this blog yoi should #Quill is an amazing writer #And as a big Damian lover I have to adore that she has like the most Damian content of anyone #But seriously if you’re feeling bad #Read this #guaranteed to make you feel at least a little bit better #Ngl part of why I made this blog was bc I have a big ol tumblr crush and my goal in life is to be her mutual #Shhh don’t tell I’m too awkward to actually tell people I wanna be friends with them #I just kinda lurk around to the side until someone notices me #I’m like a stray cat #I may bite you but I don’t really mean it #Fic recs #reblogs #damian #damian Wayne x reader #fluff #god #the best

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superbabetotherescue · 3 years

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A Miserable Night-Damian Wayne x Addams!Reader Blurb

Word Count: 901

Summary: A little bit of fluff set in the soon to be established Addams!Reader universe. Damian is aged up if you can’t tell btw

Warnings: Actually none I’m pretty sure...I don’t think there’a even any cursing in this one which is crazy, but lots of fluff, also possibly some ooc moments but idk it’s my fic and I can write cuddling if I want to

A/N: okay so I’m gonna make an actual series out of this but I was just too excited and I had to write this. Also: picture the 60s Addams Fam here, the universe is gonna be kind of a mishmash of different incarnations, but for the most part especially here be picturing the original show

Taglist: @panic-attheplace (If anyone else wants to be tagged in this series or any of my other writing Please let me know, and if at Any point anyone wants to be removed don’t feel bad about letting me know that either)

“Titus, what a surprise,” You greeted as you walked into your bedroom, the large dog sitting at attention just inside the door. Of course you weren’t surprised, as your butler had informed you that both your boyfriend and his dog were there, but you didn’t want Titus to think that hon were unappreciative of his presence. You reached out a hand, allowing him to lift his paw and drop it against your palm. A tiny smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you nodded to him, “At ease, buddy.”

He made a little noise in response and hopped onto your bed, immediately curling up and dropping his head to drool on your velvet duvet cover.

Pausing, you grabbed one of your designated throw pillows for this very matter, clucking your tongue at him quietly until he lifted his head and you could slide the pillow under him, giving his ears a scratch once he laid his head back down, “There you go, you brutal little monster.”

“He’s going to get spoiled because of you,” Damian stood in your doorway, arms crossed over his chest.

Scoffing, you stepped towards him, an accusatory finger pointed his way, “Aren’t you the one who bought him a thousand dollar dog bed?”

He scowled in response, pressing a grumpy kiss to your forehead before settling onto your bed himself, leaned against your backboard with his legs crossed in front of him.

“The silent treatment,” You followed suit, flopping down next to him and throwing your legs over his lap, “Very mature from the man who snuck into my house because he was lonely. I think you’re the spoiled one, darling.”

Although Damian’s scowl deepened, he threw an arm around your shoulder to pull you closer to him, “It’s not the silent treatment, and I didn’t sneak in. Even I am not sure that I could get past Lurch.”

Letting out a quiet laugh, you nodded, “Fair enough. So it’s not the silent treatment, and you didn’t sneak in, but you are here because you were lonely, huh?”

“What?” Damian spluttered quite uncharacteristically for just a moment, shoving your shoulder half heartedly, “As if. I’m here because Titus wanted to visit. I didn’t even know you were going to be home.”

You shoved his shoulder back, “Is that why Lurch told me that you called to ask when I’d be home before you came over?”

As if on cue and before Damian could argue, you heard a heavy handed knock against your dooframe, followed by a low grunt as your butler ducked his head to look in the open door, great and heavy eyebrow raised in question.

“Come on in,” You nodded to him, giving Damian’s hand a squeeze, reassuring him that he didn’t have to pull away from you.

Lurch approached the bed, letting out another grunt as he reached out to stiffly Titus’s head, who responded with a nearly identical noise.

Face twisting into a smile, the butler straightened back up, his gravelly voice tinged with warmth, “Telephone for you Mr. Wayne.”

Although you started to stand so that he could get up, Damian squeezed your hand back, and once you paused he spoke, “Did they say who’s calling, Lurch?”

“Your father.”

“Let him know I’m busy, please,” Damian smiled, and Lurch nodded, giving Titus one last pat before he turned on his heel and exited the room.

You pressed a kiss to Damian’s jaw, not able to hold back a smirk, “You’re busy, huh?”

“Well your uncle stopped me on the way in and told me that your family is having a little moonbathing session tonight. Thought maybe I’d join you,” He laughed warmly, “If you think the family will have me.”

Another knock thumped through the air, although this one didn’t come from your doorway, but rather from the box attached to your wall. You paused, both of you looking at it, and the dismembered hand who lived inside pushed his little door open, giving you both a thumbs up before closing the door and disappearing once again.

“Thank you Thing,” You straightened up, turning back to Damian, “You’ve got the family vote. But...are you sure? Do you really want to moonbathe with us?”

“I’ve heard it’s very restorative.”

Damian was well liked by your family, but they’d always thought he was a bit odd. He didn’t much like to take part in your family traditions usually, but now bere he was, here he was telling you that he wanted to join, and before you could stop yourself you threw your arms around his neck, pressing kisses all over his face eagerly, “Oh, Dami! It’s going to be so fun, it really will be, and if you really want to relax then after the moonbathing you can try out the rack, and maybe even the press if Uncle Fester is in a good enough mood.”

He cupped your face in both hands, although whether this was a tender gesture or simply him trying deescalate your fervent desire to introduce him to all the Addams things he hadn’t experienced first hand over the years was hard to tell, “Let’s just see where the night takes us, alright, my love?”

“Of course,” You placed your hands on top of his, allowing him to lean forward and kiss you gently, quickly, sweetly, before you continued, “Darling, this will be such a miserable night.”

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superbabetotherescue · 3 years

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OKAY I HAVE A FIC SERIES IDEA I HAVE A FIC SERIES IDEA SOMEONE VALIDATE ME PLS

okay idk about y’all but I love the Addams family

LOVE the Addams family

i also love damian wayne

SO my idea is a fic where the Addams like? live in Gotham ig? Idk exact logistics but anyway it would be a Reader x Damian fic and the reader would be an Addams

#SOMEONE TELL ME THIS IS A GOOD IDEA #I wanna write this so bad but also I don’t want everyone to just be like #“Nah”#That would devastate me tbh #Damian Wayne x reader #fic idea #it would def be a series #And it would be excellent #Idk someone give me validation on this I’m begging #The Addams family

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superbabetotherescue · 3 years

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Conner: if I become famous I need you to pretend that we have a secret relationship bc people are always like “oh there’s two best friends? Must be dating!” And we’re gonna 100% lean into that and pretend we’re secretly dating but also be like “what no we’re just pals”

Tim: okay first of all I feel like I have to ask, what the fuck is wrong with you?

Conner: ...

Tim: second of all I would be honored. It’s a plan

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superbabetotherescue · 3 years

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Dick, when he becomes Robin: man, i wish my parents were here to see this!

Alfred: yes, they’d be very proud of you

Dick: no, i meant because then they’d be alive

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superbabetotherescue · 3 years

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Thanks, Brucie-Bruce Wayne x Reader

Word Count: 1840

Summary: You reminisce on your childhood with your best friend

Warnings: some violence, none really described in detail except reader getting punched in the face (as an alternative to getting teeth pulled), do teeth need their own warning bc they might, probably swearing but idk, kinda sad but don’t worry it’s fluffy, Bruce is a lil bitch but isn’t that kinda par for the course?

A/N: Once again this is just an old oneshot I have that I like a weird amount for no reason. You can read it as platonic or romantic it’s up to you idk but I’m lowkey thinking of making it into a series as platonic best friends so idk. I mean you’re reading it if you want it to be romantic that’s fine lmao I don’t care

Growing up one of Gotham’s elite may be a charmed life, but that didn’t mean that it was without its faults. You had spent your time being ignored by your parents, and your best friend, Bruce Wayne, became an orphan during a back alley robbery when the two of you were kids.

Or at least, former best friend.

In truth, you hadn’t seen Bruce in a while.

Well, you saw him constantly on the news and in the papers and just existing in Gotham in general, but you never got to see him face to face anymore.

Not for lack of trying, either. You sat down one night, the fifth time that Bruce had blown you off to meet for dinner in the past month, and pulled out your old photo album.

There was your fifth birthday party, a year or two after you had met Bruce in mega rich kid preschool, and there the two of you were, sharing a chair and staring at your huge birthday cake.

And the next picture, your favorite, the two of you covered in said birthday cake.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Brucie,” You had cried, whispering to him frantically, “Brucie, I got frosting on my dress!”

You were wearing a frilly pink dress that your mother had forced upon you, and in a moment of excitement you had leaned forward a little too far, and now the pale buttercream frosting covered your bodice.

“Uh oh,” Bruce breathed out slowly, adjusting his tie, pink to match your dress, and looking down at his own tiny three piece suit.

You were panicking, breathing heavily, “My mom is gonna be so mad!”

With a quick tug to your pigtails, Bruce shook his head, “I got this, Y/N.”

He reached forward and scooped a large chunk of the cake out, turning to you and smashing it against your chest quickly.

“Ah!” You jumped backwards, “Bruce!”

“Come on, hit me back,” Bruce hissed, grabbing another handful of cake and smushing it into your face.

As his plan dawned on you, you nodded, getting your own chunk of cake and throwing it at him, laughing delightedly as it landed in his hair.

“Bruce!” Mrs. Wayne scolded, running forward and crouching next to her son, who was currently trying to wrestle you, “You’re such a mess. Ms. Y/L/N, I’m so sorry for my son’s behavior!”

Your mother merely shook her head, smiling pleasantly, “Oh please, don’t worry about it, Martha. Those two are always getting into trouble.”

Victory!

You leaned over to your best friend with a wide grin, wrapping him in a tight hug, “Thanks, Brucie!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Flipping a few pages, you chuckled at what you saw.

Your face and Bruce’s fist matching in bloodiness, and a huge gap where your teeth were missing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were twelve years old, and you had five loose teeth. Your last five baby teeth. All in a row next to each other.

And, like most twelve year olds, you had a healthy fear of the dentist.

“They want me to go to the dentist tomorrow to get the teeth pulled!” You complained to Bruce, the two of you laying in his living room under the guise of studying.

He shrugged, “You just have to get them out before the dentist, right? Just keep wiggling.”

“I’ve been wiggling!” You sat up, shaking your head, “It’s not working. I need a new approach. Maybe Alfred can make something sticky for me to eat and the teeth will get stuck in it. Like that toffee your-”

You froze, not looking at Bruce anymore.

His hand touched yours gently, and you turned to see a small, sad smile on his face, “Like the toffee my father used to make at Christmas? That would be good. But Alfred’s working on something, I think.”

Nodding, you hmm’d quietly to yourself for a moment, “I just don’t know what to do. I can’t let the dentist pull my teeth. I just can’t do it, Brucie.”

“Don’t call me Brucie,” He scowled, but you knew he didn’t really care.

You sat in comfortable silence for a while, pushing your teeth back and forth with your tongue as the two of you thought.

“I have an idea,” Bruce stood, extending his hand out to you, “But it’s a little unorthodox.”

If he hadn’t been offering to help you, you would’ve rolled your eyes at the way he spoke.

You rose next to him, nodding, “Anything! Anything that keeps me out of the dentist’s chair.”

He took a breath, deep, slow, thoughtful. His hand reached out towards your face, thumb stroking your lips, palm cupping your jaw and cheek.

What was he doing?

And then he reared his fist back, and punched you in the face.

It hurt, that was for certain, but it was well concentrated in one place, and you coughed as you choked on the teeth, spitting them into your hand.

“There’s only four,” You frowned, counting them quickly.

“Sorry about that, Y/N,” He held his fist back out, and you saw the fifth tooth embedded in his knuckle, “You can have it back.”

With a chuckle you plucked the tooth out and pulled him into a hug, “Thanks, Brucie!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alfred had a field day with that one, you remembered, but it was still better than going to the dentist.

With a few more flicks of pages, you felt your heart catch in your throat.

Prom night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

5:30.

Your date was supposed to come meet you at Wayne Manor at 5:30 so that you could go out with Bruce and his pretty blonde arm candy.

And now it was 6:45, and he still wasn’t there.

You’d been pacing the parlor of the Manor for two hours. Bruce and his date kept disappearing to make out in various rooms, and Alfred had stopped standing at the front door and had instead begun to busy himself in the kitchen.

And you were crying.

“Shit,” You hissed, wiping a tiny smear of eyeliner out from under your eye.

You weren’t going to cry over him. Especially not after you’d spent three hours on your makeup. You couldn’t do it.

“I don’t understand why we can’t just leave her,” You heard The Blonde complain to Bruce in the next room over, “She’s totally bringing down the mood.”

“Hey, back off,” Bruce sighed, “She’s my best friend. I’m not leaving her all alone on prom night. Maybe she can just come out with us.“

“I’m not spending my prom night with some loser who got stood up by her own date.”

You bit your lip, swallowing back a sob and then speaking loudly enough for them to know they were meant to hear you, “Hey, Bruce? I think I’m just gonna go, okay? Sorry for holding you guys up.”

“Wait,” Bruce opened the door to the closet he and his date were in, running a hand through his hair, “Y/N, don’t go.”

The Blonde gasped indignantly, and you shook your head, “No, seriously Bruce, don’t worry about it. I’m just-”

“Don’t leave, Y/N,” He said again, and the solidness of his words, the complete authority in how he said it, was enough to freeze you, “I’m taking you to prom. You can’t leave me.”

What?

“What?” The Blonde shrieked, stomping her heel on the ground, “You’re not taking her, you’re taking me!”

Bruce gave her a rather pleasant smile, “Actually, I’m not. I think you’re a stone cold bitch and if I look at you for any longer than fifteen more seconds, I think I’ll vomit. Now get out of my house,” And with that, waving a dismissive hand at her, he turned to you and grinned, “Now, Miss Y/N Y/L/N, would you do me the honor of being my date to prom?”

A burst of energy running through you, you sprang forward and wrapped him up in a hug, “Absolutely. Thanks, Brucie.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Closing your photo album, you sighed.

It felt like just yesterday in so many ways, and yet a million years ago.

What had happened between you two? What had you done to drive him away? Maybe a walk would clear your head.

You grabbed your keys and left, walking the streets of Gotham and thinking of your younger days.

There was a playground where you and Bruce would sometimes sneak off to play, halfway between both of your houses. It was where you had taught him how to throw a punch when you were six, where he had taught you how to cartwheel when you were eight, and where you two had shared your first kiss when you were ten.

You laughed at that memory too, wishing you had a picture in your album of that day, when the two of you had decided to be each other’s first kiss just so you’d know what you were getting yourselves into.

You’d sat on top of the monkey bars, staring into each other’s eyes as you came to your solemn decision, and leaned forward to give each other the briefest of pecks on the lips. And then you’d both fallen off the monkey bars, wiping your mouths and gagging dramatically.

Standing by those monkey bars, you ran your hands down the side with a smile.

And then you felt the cold barrel of a gun press into the back of your neck.

“Give me all your money, and get on your knees,” A dark voice growled.

Crap.

How could you let yourself be taken completely by surprise, in Gotham of all places?

Shaking, you tried to speak, your voice catching in your throat, “I… I don’t…”

“Hey!” A familiar voice sounded through the air, cutting you off, “Back off!”

You felt the rounded metal leave your skin and let out a sigh of relief.

Spinning on your heel, you watched as your attacker, a large man with a ski mask pulled over his face, so cliche, got the crap beaten out of him by…

“Batman?” You gasped.

Of course!

Batman wrapped an arm around you, scoffing at the thug on the ground, and shot a grappling hook into the air.

As you felt yourself fly your head spun, trying to wrap your mind around everything.

So this was why he kept standing you up. Why he always came up with some flimsy excuse. He couldn’t just tell you he was the Batman, and besides, the mystery of it all was surely an ego thing for him.

You landed outside your house a moment later, the dark suit encompassing Batman just intimidating enough for you to almost take a step back as he rumbled, “You should be more careful. Especially at night.”

But you couldn’t take his warning seriously.

Your best friend wasn’t avoiding you, he didn’t hate you, he just had a secret!

You were too ecstatic to pay his advice any mind.

And so you simply wrapped him in a hug, your arms erupting into goosebumps against the cold armor that he wore, “Thanks, Brucie.”

#Super Babe Original Content #super babe: fanfic #Bruce Wayne x reader #batman x reader #batman #Bruce wayne #Dc #batfamily #dcu #Dc fanfiction #batfamily fanfic #Once again this is just an old oneshot that I like more than I should lmao #Obligatory mobile apologies #And tag apologies #Idk what I’m doing with my life but ig this is happening so #Yeah #idk man #idk

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superbabetotherescue · 3 years

Text

Caffeinated- Tim Drake x Reader Drabble

Word Count: 764

Summary: You make a bet with Tim. It does not go the way you planned

Warnings: none really, mentions of blood and violence but in a lighthearted way, probably cursing, Very Grumpy Tim, lowkey a crackfic lmao

A/N: I’m not even a huge Tim gal but I wrote this a while back and for some reason I think it’s very funny

It was just a bet.

A simple bet.

But Tim was dying.

“I bet,” You had said to him, smiling sweetly over the top of your herbal tea, “I bet that you can’t go a full week without caffeine.”

Tim scoffed, “Of course I can. I’m a superhero, I’m a genius, I’m one of the honored sons of Bruce Wayne. I can do anything.”

The bet was made on Monday morning, while you two were eating breakfast at the Manor.

Now it was Thursday afternoon.

Your phone rang, Tim calling, and you answered with a grin, “Hey, Timmy how are you-” A brusque voice interrupted you, “Y/N, it’s Bruce. I need you to call off the bet.”

“What?” Why the hell was Bruce Wayne calling you from Tim’s phone?

He sighed, “Just come over to the house and see him.”

And then he hung up.

Okay, weird.

You stared at your phone for a moment, open to your homescreen. It was nothing complicated, a silly selfie that Tim had taken on your phone last winter, his face covered in whipped cream from the hot chocolate you two had shared.

Well, if Bruce said to be there, you were gonna be there.

When you walked into the house, your first thought was that the energy was strange.

You couldn’t quite tell what was happening, it was just… wrong.

“Hey, guys, what’s up?” You called out.

Damian was the first person you saw, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, “Ah, Y/N. Welcome. You made it quiet here for once. I’m impressed.”

“What?”

Before Damian could say anything, Dick walked in as well, frowning, “You broke Tim.”

“What?”

“Ah, Miss Y/N,” Alfred was next, his jacket off and his shirt splattered with what appeared to be blood, “Master Wayne will be delighted that you’re here.”

“Alfred, are you okay?” You looked at the blood carefully, “Where’s Tim? Where’s Bruce?”

“Father is with Jason,” Damian stated matter-of-factly, “And Alfred is fine. He’s the one that reset Jason’s nose.”

Frowning, you turned back to Damian and Dick, “What happened to Jason’s nose?”

Dick raised his eyebrows up, “Tim broke it.”

“What?”

“He said I was too loud, and he very much broke it,” Jason said, his voice uncharacteristically nasally, Bruce with him, “And it’s your fault, Y/N. Although I am impressed that you’re the one who finally broke his spirit. I figured it would be me. Maybe Damian, on a good day. But his girlfriend completely destroyed him? That’s hardcore.”

“I...What?”

Sighing, Bruce patted Jason on the shoulder and beckoned him to sit down, “Don’t listen to them. They’re right, of course, but don’t listen to them. Just go up to Tim’s room, and be quiet,” You nodded, but he paused you, “Oh, and take these.”

Accepting the package from Bruce, you didn’t even bother to look at what it was.

Waving quickly and uncomfortably to everyone in the room, you hurried off to see Tim.

When you reached his room you hesitated, wondering if you should knock. Bruce’s warning rang in your mind, and you skipped it to try and stay quiet. You opened up slowly, wondering what this was all about, and saw a large mound of blankets in the middle of Tim’s bed, and almost screamed when the pile moved.

Was he… in there?

“Tim?” You asked.

“What the hell do you want?” Tim snapped, slightly muffled through the thick layer of blankets, “Life is a prison of pain and there’s no point for any of us to even exist and if whoever is talking doesn’t shut the hell up I’m going to break more than just their nose.”

What the hell is happening?

“Babe, you’re the one talking,” You sat on the bed, stroking a hand over his back through his covers.

“Oh,” He sighed deeply, his hand poking out and finding yours, holding tightly, “Y/N?”

“Yes, Tim?”

“I don’t think I can go a week without caffeine.”

“God,” You shook your head, “I just wanted you to drink some chamomile tea with me, not to fall into an abyss of caffeine headache and break your brother’s nose and lose all sense of self. Of course you can’t go a week without caffeine. Forget the bet, okay? Just be yourself.”

“Okay,” He murmured feebly, “Now, with all the love in my heart, can you please shut the hell up?”

Smiling, you finally looked at the bag in your hand and gave it to him silently, “Of course, Timmy. Now, eat these chocolate covered espresso beans and be yourself again, please.”

“Oh thank god.”

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