Batfamily Preferences: Weapon of Choice | 1
Preference: Your weapon of choice/the one your S/O gifts you.
Notes: Ah, yes. Preferences. Easy. Loved. Uncommon in the Bat-fandom. A writer’s gold, and one I’m going to take advantage of. I’ll be busting out a few more of these soon, and if you have any requests for a preference (or a character to add to preferences) then send me one! (I know my inbox is literally overflowing right now but shhh we don’t need to worry about that). =D
When Bruce said that he would “arm you”, you imagined that you would be walking into work in full combat armor from just how protective he can be—the boys said that was him being untrustworthy, but you knew better. Bruce just wanted to protect you, and sometimes he let his arrogance get in the way of showing it correctly—or at least something, like a utility belt (”Fashionable.” Dick had remarked) or even a trio of Batarangs. But no. When Bruce calls you down to the training room and has a change of work out clothes in his arms, you dreadfully and pleasantly realize that he wants you to be the one to protect yourself when he can’t.
Even if your heart is blazing with the joy that he trusts you to defend yourself on your own, it still took a Batman, a Nightwing, a Red Hood and a skillful butler to drag you onto the treadmill, and Damian clad in a coach’s uniform (complete with the whistle, which he definitely used) to keep you there. Bruce doesn't regret subjecting you to such torture, even if you look amazing and are much healthier, and you don’t think he ever will be.
This is one of the many things Dick considers when your relationship finally whirrs into motion; Gotham City is one of the most dangerous cities in the world, and there is going to be times where you’re walking somewhere alone, out of his worried reach. You tell him with a shrug that you usually carry your keys between your fingers when you’re in those situations. But that doesn’t seem to really work for him, so not only does he fill your bag with pepper spray, but tosses in a taser and a pocket knife.
But you don’t even get the chance to defend yourself when he’s swooping in like a hawk (or rather, a Nightwing), landing on the culprit, and then cooing and fretting over you. When you wrap your arms around him and sigh, Dick chuckles sheepishly. Yes, he did save you. But you could save yourself, and that thought is reinforced after you get your powers and start to take on the world with him.
Jason isn’t going to beat around the bush. He’s just going to approach you on a rainy day, a duffle bag held under one arm and a membership card to a gun range in the other, saying,”Gotham City is shit. Help me make it less shitty by avoiding your ultimate demise, princess.”
The gun range is loud and startling for someone who isn’t accustomed, so Jason slips the headphones on your ears and folds goggles in front of you. But the awkwardness of the weapon in your hand adjusts. Especially because Jason’s guiding hands are so tender, and whenever you shoot the kickback launches you into his chest. He’ll smile and right you,”Perfect, doll. You’re a natural—Riddler, Harley, all of em’ are gonna go running when they see you.”
“That’s because you’ll be behind me.” You remarked.
Jason gently cups your elbows and watches you aim,”I’ll always be behind you, Y/N.”
He designs multiple things for a multitude of situations, and it only makes you feel bad because he stays up all night and day to create them. A watch that you can activate, sending a drone on your way for protection and occasionally weapons of some kind, most notably. But you’ve always been one to go above and beyond—so you take to hacking, because it can save both people online and in the real world.
When Tim finds his laptop open and exposed in the worst kind of way, he doesn’t know whether to be proud, pissed, in tears, or all three.
Damian Wayne is… Damian Wayne. The second he discovers that you’ve never even held a sword, nevermind fought with one, he’s dragging you by the wrist over to the training mats. When you fail at winning on the first try (”We’re not all perfect like you, Damian.” You had said upon losing. Damian smirked,”I’m flattered, habibti. You think I’m perfect?”) he begins training you, which is a grueling process that makes your arms hurt and the pads of your fingers burning. On the surface, Damian rolls his eyes and tells you to suck it up, but later he unbandages your hands and kisses each of your fingers. He really is a sweetheart, even if no one but you realizes it.