[bloomcissaa]

Cissa of the dawn !

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˖ ⊹ 🜲 20! she/her s-asian american. gothic lit lover jason todd's princess. a lady knight in disguise rock music <3 natasha romanov's bride 🜲 ˚₊‧⁺˖

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[ciricearts]

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[bat1nsignia]

the LOCKED AND LOADED! mini series (complete!)

jason todd x weapons!dealer reader

red hood always keeps his weapons up to shape. and even if they aren't, at least he has an excuse to see you

moodboard !

I. locked and loaded

II. the green eyed monster (ft. roy harper!)

III. bullseye

masterlist! ©bat1nsignia— please do not steal, repost or reuse my work.

( dividers by @cafekitsune )

[brinawing]

✶ pillowtalk

fluff, suggestive, MDNI based on this request

✶ DICK GRAYSON

Your boyfriend was not a serious man.

When you woke up this morning, your body had been sore. Like you had been through the meat grinder kind of sore but in a good way.

You had looked over at Dick sleeping soundlessly. Half his body on top of you and half on the bed with his messy raven hair falling over his eyes, his long lashes almost brushing his sharp cheekbones.

Yeah, a very good way.

But when you got out of bed and basically limped around the apartment, he gave you the smuggest look ever. Seriously no one had ever looked as proud of themselves as he had.

You wanted to slap him. Or kiss him. You were still deciding.

That didn’t stop you for asking him for help though, since he had been the one to carry you around the apartment and draw you a warm bath. The shoulder massage he gave you in the bathtub wasn’t too bad either. Plus the pancakes he had prepared with a little smiley face on top with chocolate syrup.

But that didn’t take away from the fact that he was an unserious man.

He had known you were supposed to have lunch with your friends today so he had been an exceptional tease last night in bed. Not just a tease, he was also apparently under the impression that you were made of rubber and could bend you however he pleased.

Just because he worked out eight hours a day didn’t mean you did too. You’d be lucky to even squeeze in a workout once a week and he knew that and yet he chose to manhandle you.

Not that you were against it. He was very skilled in the bedroom and the nights where you had to just lay there for him to do all the work were your favourites.

But damn now you were limping on your way to meet your friends. You and Dick walked out of the car, hand in hand towards where your friends were sitting outside the cafe.

And he had the audacity to snicker.

“It isn’t funny!” You huffed out, hands clutching his arm to hold for balance since your legs were way too sore to even walk.

“You weren’t complaining last night,” he replied and pushed his sunglasses up on his nose, looking way too amused.

“Shut up,” you scoffed instead of replying since thats all you could do. He wasn’t wrong.

Once you reached the table, Donna, Wally and Roy immediately greeted you with hugs.

“You okay?” Donna was the first one to speak, noticing your limp.

“Yeah,” you swallowed and sat down on the chair next to Dick’s, shifting a little. “Just walked into a chair.”

“Uh huh,” Roy narrowed his eyes at Dick’s smug face.

“And was the chair named Dick Grayson?” Wally added.

“Wally!” You gasped and looked at Dick for help but he just laughed and draped his arm over the back of your chair.

The rest of the lunch went by with way too many jokes about Dick’s dick and you’d think he’d be offended by it but he was the one initiating most of them.

Like you said, unserious.

✶ JASON TODD

Jason was out running when you woke up. It was your usual morning routine –he woke up before you, gave you a small kiss on your forehead and left for a run then returned an hour later with coffee and sometimes pastries.

This time however, you had told him you were making pancakes so he wasn’t surprised to find you standing in the kitchen wearing his shirt that he discarded last night.

He walked over to you, black tank top clinging to his body due to the sweat like a second skin and if you weren’t sore from last night you would have done something about it.

The minimal clothing you were wearing –Jason’s t-shirt and panties– didn’t do a lot to hide the marks he had left on you last night. Your thighs looked like a crime scene with how many hickeys he had left there.

You waddled over to the fridge to grab the eggs when Jason noticed you.

“What’s up?” He frowned and came up behind you.

“Hmm?” You asked and cracked an egg in the bowl.

“You’re waddling like a penguin,” he pointed out.

“Oh,” you blushed and immediately looked away from him. “You know,” you shrugged.

“Babe what?” He asked and turned you around to steal all your attention.

“Last night,” you said. “You’re not exactly small.”

“Well thanks,” he gave you a confused smile. “Is that why you’re limping?”

“That and my legs being folded like a lawn chair over your shoulders for over an hour yes,” you quipped.

Jason in response let out a cackle.

“Great, hope you’re proud of yourself,” you scrunched your nose and turned back to prepare the pancake batter.

“I mean it does wonders to a guy’s ego,” Jason let out a dramatic breath. “Seven orgasms in one night is my new record.”

“Jason!” You huffed and pushed him away. “You cannot count my orgasms you freak.”

He laughed again and came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle before nuzzling his head in the crook of your neck.

“Seriously though, I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He asked, pressing fluttering kisses to the hickeys he had left on your neck.

“No,” you hummed and craned your head back.

“You liked it?”

“Yes,” you breathed as his kisses made their way down to your shoulders.

His fingers busied themselves with massaging your hips, causing you to close your eyes in relief and rest your head back on his shoulders. Which gave him even more room to kiss on your neck.

“Let me make you feel better,” he murmured and turned you around before getting down on his knees.

“Jason,” you said through a shaky breath.

“Yeah?” He looked up at you through dark eyelashes and hooked your thigh over his shoulder. “Is this okay?”

You nodded your head which was all the permission he needed.

It was going to be a long morning.

✶ TIM DRAKE

In hindsight, waiting for your boyfriend to return from his week long mission at the manor probably wasn’t your brightest idea.

He had texted you that he would be back today and would just crash at the manor instead of coming back to your shared penthouse.

But you hadn’t seen him in a week! So it was only fair you drove to the manor and let yourself into the batcave to wait for him.

It had almost been an hour since you made yourself at home on the little beanbag chair with a book in your hands in the Batcave along with Barbara who was perched at the Batcomputer, doing whatever it is that Oracle did.

Tim returned soon along with the rest of the Bats on his Batcycle (Batman wasn’t a very creative person you were beginning to realise).

Damian made a ‘TT’ sound at you before making his way towards the shower area.

Tim on the other hand broke out in a grin the second he looked at you. He didn’t even bother taking off his mask or the suit before he was launching himself at you on the beanbag.

“Tim!” You grunted when his armoured chest collided with yours. “You’re crushing me.”

“Don’t care,” he muttered and pushed his head in the crook of your neck.

“Take a shower you stink!” You said and pushed him off.

“I see how it is,” he raised his head to look at you and if you could see his eyes behind his domino mask, you knew he would be narrowing his eyes at you. “I come back a week later after saving the world and my girlfriend says I stink.”

“You do,” Jason mumbled somewhere behind him.

“Ignore him he’s jealous,” Tim said to you before leaning down to give you a fleeting kiss. “I’ll be back,” he murmured and finally got off the beanbag to go take a shower.

That had been enough of your loving and sweet boyfriend for the night.

Because he was soon coming out of the shower without a shirt and in only a pair of sweatpants. He didn’t even bothering talking to anyone or even debriefing the case like he usually did, he just made his way towards you and picked you up and threw you over his shoulder.

Thankfully everyone else was busy cleaning themselves and only Barbara was present in the Batcave. She shook her head at you like she knew exactly what was happening but didn’t want to be a part of it.

It had been a very long night.

The night for which you were paying now.

Tim’s heavy arm was thrown over your stomach in a tight grip like he never wanted to let you go.

Squinting open an eye, you flicked the bedside lamp on –having no clue what time it was outside due to the blackout curtains being drawn.

You turned over in Tim’s iron grip and looked around the room which looked like it had gotten robbed last night.

Your shirt was thrown on the floor along with your shorts, your bra dangling down the knob of the door –no clue how it got there. And your panties were probably torn in half somewhere. Even the pillows were thrown haphazardly, the covers weren’t even covering you.

Half the reason you woke up was the chill in the room causing goosebumps to rise on your naked body. The only source of heat you had was Tim’s equally as naked body wrapped around you like a koala.

You rubbed your eyes and tried to look at him. The first thing you saw were the red scratches on his chest, glowing against his pale skin and you were sure if he turned around his back would look the same.

“Tim?” You whispered and brushed his hair away from his face.

He only groaned in response and tugged you closer but his grip on your back was beginning to hurt.

“Hey,” you tried again and pushed at his shoulder –which you now saw had a bite mark on it.

Images of Tim’s bicep wrapped around your neck came to your mind but you quickly shook them off. Not the time.

“Tim come on, you’re hurting me,” you winced, which finally caught his attention.

“What?” He asked, voice laced with sleep and somehow deeper like you’ve never heard before. “Where are you hurt?”

“It just feels sore.”

“Fuck I’m so sorry,” he sat up straight in bed and leaned down to pull the covers up.

“It’s okay, you didn’t do anything I didn’t like,” you giggled when he turned around and yep his back looked every bit like his chest. Red scratches all over.

“Your back,” you whispered and reached out to lightly brush your hand over the marks. “What the fuck did we do last night?”

“I think I just missed you too much,” he chuckled. “Turn around let me give you a massage.”

“Yes please,” you moaned and turned around on your stomach to let Tim rub the soreness out of your muscles with his nimble fingers.

The knots in your muscles immediately came loose with each movement of his warm hands on your much colder body. Maybe they taught massaging the pain away at vigilante school or wherever Bruce took all the kids of his he seems to adopt.

His hands went lower to gently rest your calf over his shoulder –much gentler than last night. He pressed soft kisses to your leg as his fingers rubbed all the way to your ankles.

Later when you two went down for breakfast (it was around lunchtime), Cass and Damian gave you a disgusted look. Jason raised an eyebrow at the bite marks on Tim’s forearm while Dick only laughed in amusement. Even Barbara was staring at the hickey on your jaw since apparently Tim had forgotten he was human.

✶ BRUCE WAYNE

You were sitting on the chair in the little breakfast nook when Bruce entered the kitchen. A crossword puzzle was sat on the table next to a plate of toast and orange juice in front of you as you mindlessly scribbled on the puzzle.

Bruce came up behind you and gave you a little kiss on the back of your head before walking over to the cabinets to pull out a mug.

“Oh wait! I made you a yogurt bowl,” you said and hopped off the chair.

Bruce raised an eyebrow and watched you limping towards the fridge in nothing but his old uni sweatshirt. Your hair was falling over your shoulders, messy from a good night’s sleep. And other activities.

His eyes wandered lower to the backs of your knees where he was gripping your legs last night and sure enough there were marks to show it. For a second he was worried but when you turned around and gave him your million dollar smile, he forgot what he was thinking about.

“It has raspberries, nuts, pumpkin seeds, chia seeds. It’s good for your health,” you beamed and set it down in front of your own breakfast on the table.

Bruce joined you in a beat and eyed you as you grimaced a little while sitting down.

“Everything okay?” He asked.

“Yeah,” you said, voice a bit sarcastic which he didn’t miss.

“That’s not convincing,” he frowned.

“You rearranged my guts last night. I think that has something to do with me having trouble sitting down,” you smirked and he immediately blushed.

You heard a sudden noise from behind you and when you turned around to look, Tim was standing there, looking nauseated. “I’ll uh… have breakfast in my room…” he said.

“I didn’t know you stayed here last night,” you said to him.

“I wish I hadn’t,” he gagged and grabbed a cup of coffee before leaving the two of you alone.

Bruce scrunched his nose and turned his face towards his breakfast.

“Oh don’t go all shy now! You were very vocal last night,” you teased and nudged his foot with yours just to watch his ears turn even redder.

“I think we should take a warm bath together to you know, let our bodies heal,” he suggested.

“Uh huh,” you narrowed your eyes. “And no other reason at all.”

“Of course my darling,” Bruce smiled and tugged you out of your chair before picking you up in his arms.

“No other reason at all.”

my first multi part fic ever feeling nervous

didn’t know which photos to use so…

if you couldn’t tell i’ve been extremely tim drake pilled lately thanks to all the requests ive received for him 😭

likes comments and reblogs appreciated, hope you guys enjoy <3

[twis-world]

(4k words) In which Nightwing fails to woo a certain detective...

You hated vigilantes.

Well, maybe not hated, but god did they make your job a lot harder than it needed to be.

The unnecessary damage they caused, the various laws they picked and chose to bend, it all gave you a headache.

You thought you could escape it when you moved away from Star City and its personal Robin Hood. It was certainly a change in pace and environment, the gloomy skies of the city so different from your hometown, but Bludhaven gave you a grim comfort you didn’t know you needed. Plus, the bump in pay with the increase in crime was nice.

Yet, as you stared down at the pile of lackeys before you, you couldn’t help but wish you were anywhere else.

“What? Are we too good for a ‘thank you’ tonight?” Nightwings teasing voice spoke before you, and just the cadence alone was enough to grate your ears.

It was the middle of the night. The air wasn’t cool and breezy like it was in your last city, no, it was damp and muggy. A sheen of sweat had built up on your forehead and you tried desperately to ignore how Nightwing’s eyes followed the drop of sweat running down your neck. Ever the flirt. You were tired, hungry, and running on two cups of cheap coffee. The latest case was a classic, some amateur cartel smuggling stuff they shouldn’t be at the docks of Bludhaven. Easy and simple enough one would think, if it wasn’t for the fact that this has been a lead you’ve been following for months.

The legendary Penguin, yes, The Penguin from Gotham was trying to spread his roots into various surrounding cities. It started off small, but the operation was steadily growing bigger and bigger. Soon, the city may fall into his mangy clutches, and that was something you couldn’t afford nor would allow. Not in your precious city.

Unfortunately for you, Bludhaven’s new resident was making it much more difficult than you would have liked.

“For what? Knocking out my suspects for the next who knows how long,” you scoffed, staring down at the numerous unconscious bodies before you. “I wanted to question them first thing on the scene.”

Nightwing’s smile dropped into an exaggerated wince, and he followed your line of sight. “I mean, I’m sure I can get one of them up and going in no time.” He kneeled down, grabbing the shoulder of the body on top of the pile and aggressively shaking them. “Hey, buddy! Wakey wakey!”

You rolled your eyes with a huff, digging in your long coat for your latest stress reliever. It took a hot second, but eventually your hands snatched up a small, well loved box. You pulled it out, popped it open, and picked out a fresh cigarette. The box returned to your pocket and in exchange you pulled out an old lighter, scuffed and all, but hey it still worked. You put the cigarette in its rightful spot between your lips and cupped a hand around it, impatiently getting to work on firing up the lighter.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” Nightwing piped, tilting his head.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” you muttered, eyebrows scrunching in frustration. No matter how many times you flicked it the lighter just wouldn’t cooperate and your poor thumb was suffering the consequences. “We’re not exactly friends.”

Finally, a small flame flickered out with a hiss and you lit the stick. You nearly moaned at the sensation of hot smoke filling your lungs, and you tilted your head back to blow it all out.

“Ouch,” he drawled, drawing himself up to full height with a small groan.

Adult, male, possibly in his thirties?

Your mind got to work on assessing the man before you, running your eyes up and down his figure. You’ve done it a hundred times before in a desperate attempt to figure out the man before you. Just who exactly was under the mask? The one that haunted you even in your dreams.

Clearly he worked out if the toned muscles straining against his suit said anything. In all areas, you realized. Arms, legs, thighs…

“My eyes are up here sweetheart,” The very man you were ogling said, two fingers pointing at his own. You quickly inhaled and the nicotine went down the wrong pipe, causing you to hysterically cough with red hot cheeks. You desperately attempted to ignore the deep chuckle you heard, and only came back to reality when your cigarette was plucked from in between your fingers. “Enough of that. These things can kill you, you know?”

You scoffed, awkwardly clearing your throat after. “Didn’t know you were as certified in medicine as you are with the law.”

Nightwing laughed once more, opening his mouth to speak when a hand clapped you on the shoulder. You jumped with a swear, swatting your laughing partner in the shoulder. “Jesus, Dave! How many times have I told you to knock that off?”

“Now is that any way to treat your comrade in front of our resident celebrity?” Dave chuckled, brushing his blonde hair back with his other hand and flashing Nightwing a grin.

Dave, your assigned partner, was a lot more fond of the vigilante than you were. You remembered all the headaches you got from just how much the blonde sang the other praises back at the station. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he had a puppy crush on the hero.

Nightwing smiled back, though you noted that it was somewhat strained. The thought caused you to raise an eyebrow. The man in black and blue loved attention from what you could remember, basking in the crowds that surrounded him in the daylight hours. So what made him so shy now? “You flatter me, sir. It’s all simply in a day’s work.”

Dave beamed at the attention. “And we are forever grateful for it. Now, if you don’t mind, me and my partner need to get back to the station.” He threw his arm around you, turning his head to you and ignoring the burning stare at the side of his head. “Clean-up crew just arrived. We just need to head back to the station for a quick statement and then we can handle the rest in the morning.”

“Thank god,” you muttered, and without looking back at Nightwing you turned and walked back to your cruiser with your partner beside you, his arm still wrapped around you.

. . .

Dick couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment he realized he loved you.

Maybe it was when he first started his activities in Bludhaven as Nightwing. The first night he ran into you he could remember the loud sigh of irritation you let out after evaluating him, clearly not a fan like he would have thought. Not to toot his own horn or anything…

It was just nice to not be thrown at for once, his reputation following him from one grim city to the next. He was used to endless praise and claims that he could do no wrong, people frothing at the mouth not just for Nightwing but the esteemed Richard John Grayson, adopted son of the legendary Bruce Wayne.

Or maybe he realized when he first met out outside of his persona. His first day on the police force, fresh out of the academy and in desperate need of his first paycheck for rent (he refused to rely on Bruce’s money once he moved out, no matter how much it pained him to do so…). His supervisor, an older man named Patrick, was giving him a tour of the station.

It wasn’t until he heard yelling from across the room that he first laid eyes on you outside of his alter ego. You were furious, absolutely furious from what he could tell. Your victim? A poor newbie, just like him, sitting down in front of you with her hands folded in her lap and head tilted down in shame.

“-have any idea what could have happened!” He caught, pausing in his stroll and focussing all his attention on you. “What if he didn’t miss? What if our robber wasn’t such a shit shot and the bullet hit you?”

“I-I just,” the woman mumbled, twiddling her thumbs and shying back from you. “I just thought that it would be better if it was me who got hit instead of you!”

If you were furious before, you were absolutely hysterical now. “Listen here! My life is no more important than yours. Got it? What you did wasn’t brave, it was stupid. You have a family to get back home to. People who need you outside of these walls. You can’t be there for them if you’re dead on the street you hear me?”

The woman before you mumbled something, and upon you yelling at her to repeat finally lifted her head up and firmly said, “I understand!”

You nodded, taking a deep breath and stepping back. “Good, good. From here on out I don’t ever want to see you pull some shit like that again, okay? Everyone’s life matters here, I don’t care about you being brave. I care if you get back home.”

Despite being teary eyed, the woman gave you a watery smile as she nodded. It was clear she was touched by how much a superior seemed to care.

Said superior, upon realizing that everyone in the main office was staring, snapped. “Get back to work!”

As if she was talking to him personally Dick snapped up straight, turned his head, and continued following his assigned officer.

“Don’t mind them,” he said, patting Dick on the shoulder with a smile. “They look scary but they really just care too much. You’ll learn the longer you stay here.”

Dick desperately hoped so, his heart racing as he attempted to peek over his shoulder to get just another glance of you. He couldn’t. So, he decided to put his own investigative skills to work.

Detective [First Name] [Last Name], partner of Detective Dave Richards. You’ve been on the force for nearly five years, three in Star City and now two in Bludhaven. You had no partner to go back home to, but you did have a cat. The rest of your family stayed behind in Star City, but you still contacted them frequently.

He wondered if they were proud of you.

A multiple award winning investigator for the good work you did.

An exemplary member of the Bludhaven Police Force…but withdrawn in every social aspect of the work he quickly learned.

You hated speaking to news outlets. You were too blunt and weren’t good at sugar coating the nitty gritty details of public cases. You hated being on camera. Your smile would be just a bit too big and strained to convince anyone that it was natural. You especially hated the parties the station would throw every once in a while to ‘enforce comradery’. He could always find you in the very back corner of the main room, fidgeting with a cup of alcohol he knew you had no desire to drink.

Like now.

The party was in full swing, a celebration for another one of Penguin’s plans to sink his teeth into Bludhaven foiled. It was a group effort on everyone's part, and the chief wanted to emphasize that fact through the gathering.

Dick, personally, didn’t mind these events. Being a Wayne he’s had more than his fair share of galas and charities, this was easy compared to that.

Or, it should have been.

“You’re not subtle my boy,” Patrick muttered to him, and Dick’s gaze snapped from you to the older man with flushed cheeks.

“If you ask me I’m not being obvious enough,” Dick pouted, taking another sip from his cup. While not normally a fan of drinking he relished in the burn down his throat.

“You’re staring them down like a creep,” Patrick pointed out, watching some officers play a miserable game of charades. Half the players were too drunk to comprehend anything and the other half were chatting it up with one another instead of participating. “You need to get some guts and just walk up to em.”

“I have guts,” Dick muttered, redirecting his attention over to you. You were now flipping through your phone, paying the party and its people no mind. Most likely going through various spare care files and the like. You were a workaholic like that, never allowing your mind to fully rest.

Dick could think of a few ways to empty that mind of yours and get you to finally relax…

Patrick scoffed. “Sure, kid, sure.”

“I do! Watch, you’ll see, I’ll charm them right here, right now.”

He tilted his head back, downing the rest of his drink for liquid courage. Slight regret stewed within him when he tried walking afterwards, tilting left then right, but he didn’t care. No, all his attention was zeroed in on you. Beautiful you.

The light of your phone lit up your face in the dark corner, and even from across the room Dick could see how it accentuated your features. Your (e/c) eyes, accessorized by the dark eyebacks underneath. Your chapped lips that you had a habit of picking, but were probably still oh so soft. Physical traits that most would see as a flaw, yet Dick couldn’t help but adore.

He was half way across the room, currently trying to wobble his way around a desk, when he caught sight of his nemesis in the corner of his eye. Heading in the same direction as him.

Dave.

Fucking Dave.

Dick had no qualms against Dave, no in fact he slightly admired the man’s constant positive attitude. He was so vastly different from you in every way, his light never dimming despite the constant emotional hardships that came with the job. It was almost hard to believe that you two made such great partners.

But like the old saying goes, ‘opposites attract’...

Not if Dick had anything to do about it.

It was ridiculous. Utterly pathetic and ridiculous, this one sided beef that he had with a man who was completely oblivious to it. For crying out loud, he was pretty sure Dave didn’t know Dick existed at all!

But all was fair in love and war. And Dick was deeply in love and refused to back down.

So he picked up the pace, swerving past various paper stacked desks and ignoring multiple attempts at others trying to converse with him. He cursed his natural charisma at just how many tried, his popularity within the station showing at the wrong time. Every so often he glanced in Dave’s direction, gauging just how close the man was getting to you, and would speed up his walk in a desperate attempt to get to you first.

The distance between you both was quickly closing, and against his better judgment Dick walked faster. He was nearly jogging at this point, gaining multiple looks for it, but he couldn't care less. All that mattered was getting to you.

He was about to declare victory, only mere steps away from you when tragedy befell him. He should have known that he wasn’t that blessed, not with his history.

Dick tripped on his own foot.

Dick Grayson, an ex-flying Grayson, the renowned and agile hero Nightwing, tripped on his own foot in front of the love of his life.

All he could think on his way down was gods, any out of the dozen he’s faced, please smite me.

An exploding pain in his face was all he could register next, ranging from his forehead down to his nose and then his chin. All in sweltering pain and suffering from some minute form of rugburn.

Yeah, not his finest moment.

“Christ, are you okay?” A sweet voice asked above him, and it took Dick a minute to realize it was your sweet voice that asked him.

Unfortunately for him, all that came out when he tried to respond was a pained moan.

“Wow, you really ate it there huh, dude,” Dave’s irritating voice piped up next, before a set of arms lifted him from under his own.

The world was tilting on its axis and everything was far blurrier than it should be. Everything had a double of itself, and while Dick wouldn’t mind two of you, he knew that was bad. Even worse, there were two of Dave when the man leaned over to get a look at his face and winced. “Damn, that’s sure gonna leave a mark.”

“Way to make him feel better,” you rolled your eyes, finally pocketing your phone and looking up at Dick with sympathy. “Seriously, are you okay? We can check to see if the station nurse is anywhere around here.”

“I got him,” Patrick's voice piped up from behind him, and Dick thanked whatever god was out there that instead of smiting him, they sent a literal angel to help him. The older man’s arms took over for Dave, wrapping around his waist and throwing his arm over his shoulder. “I think it’s about time he went home anyways. He’ll have one hell of a hangover. Detectives.” Patrick gave a nod of farewell and before Dick could embarrass himself any more turned them away and walked them out to the exit.

God, Dick was such an idiot…

. . .

The next time Dick saw you was only a few days later, barely recovering from the scene he made at the party.

He did everything he could to avoid you at the station, and it seemed to work in his favor. You were still assigned on the mass Penguin case, and Dick himself was still limited to city patrol and parking tickets. Suffice to say it created the perfect schedule of avoidance for him.

On the downside, he missed you oh so much. Which is why when on his patrol as Nightwing he quite literally jumped at the chance to see you once more.

It was nearly midnight, funny how that seemed to be his ideal time to talk with you. You were just leaving the police station, shoulders sagged in exhaustion and eyes bleary. All you wanted to do was go home, shower, and snuggle with Lady Puursephone.

A familiar set of feet landing behind you, however, proved that it wouldn’t be that easy.

“Awfully late for you to be going home,” Nightwing spoke, mock sympathy pouring from him.

You rolled your eyes and refused to look back at him, continuing on your way to your apartment. You prayed that he would get the hint and go back to whatever hole he crawled out of, but when did the universe ever do what you want? Instead he jogged up beside you, arms lazily folded behind his head. Thankfully, he decided not to speak any further than that.

Bludhaven, despite its massive rise in crime as of late, was actually quite nice at night. It, like Gotham, was a city that never sleeps, but sometimes you got lucky and managed to walk home with little to no crowds to slow you down. The moon, dim as it was, fought to shine against the pollution clouding the sky and if you squinted really closely, you could just barely make out the stars in the night sky.

The two of you turned a corner, silence still encircling you, when you recognized an itch in your throat. Knowing exactly what you craved you stuck your hands in your pocket, pulling out a small box. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Nightwing scowl. 

“Why are you so into smoking now? You never did it before,” he huffed, glaring as you stuck the stick in between your lips and whipped out your lighter.

You shrugged. “Dave lent me one a few weeks ago to help me relax. Guess I just got hooked like everyone else.” Distantly, you could hear him grumble something that sounded awfully like ‘of course it was him’ and you turned to look at him inquisitively. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” he shook his head and kicked a rock in his path. It reminded you of something a child would do. “It just seems like you and him are awfully close.”

“Of course we are. He’s my partner.”

“Yeah, I bet he would like to be more.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you snapped, stopping and turning to look at him. You coughed slightly, still not quite used to all the pungent fumes that came with smoking.

Nightwing continued on a few more steps before he stopped, sighed, and looked at you with crossed arms. “I’m just saying I know guys. They act all friendly and act like they have your best interest at heart, when all they really want is to…you know.”

You glared at him. “No, I don’t. And even if I did it would be very unprofessional of you to suggest.”

“I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“What, so just because you’re the city’s self-proclaimed savior you have to act like mine too?”

“No! That’s not what I’m saying at all! I just…” He sighed, running his hands down his face but then wincing. “Ouch!”

Alarm bells rang throughout your body, and before you knew it you tossed your cigarette to the ground and rushed over to him. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt? You idiot, why are you talking with me instead of getting treated?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he waved off, backing away from you. But you were persistent, and with every step backwards you took one forward. The two of you continued this dance until Nightwing found himself with his back to a nearby brick wall of a building. It was rough and uncomfortable against his suit, but he couldn’t help but press into it when you stopped right in front of him.

“Show me,” you demanded, and for a second he could feel his legs wobble at the authority in your voice. You were so close he could smell not just tobacco, but your natural underlying scent. He could see every lovely feature you had up close, and for a second his eyes betrayed him and flickered to your lips. When you saw him hesitate you let out a huff, grabbing his wrists and pulling them off his face with little effort. Your eyes narrowed as you scanned his face, noting the scratches and what looked to be friction burns on his face. “What even happened?”

“I, uh…” Nightwing began, looking everywhere but your eyes as red slowly began to creep into his face. He whispered something, and when you dared to move closer he finally blurted, “I tripped!”

You blinked once, twice, thrice. “You what?”

If his face wasn’t red before, it was completely beat now. “I tripped.”

You went quiet for a few moments, staring him down as if you were searching for a lie, and when you found none you finally backed up. “Moron.”

Nightwing balked. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” was all you said, before resuming your walk to your apartment.

His jaw dropped, staring at your figure, before running up beside you once more. “Uh, rude! I could have done it saving someone you know! This could be a battle mark!”

“Uh-huh, and is it?”

“Well, no, but that’s not the point!”

At that you let out a small laugh, and he nearly tripped over his own feet (again) at the sound. He stared at you for a few moments, before a victorious grin overtook his face. “You laughed.”

“What,” you questioned, glancing at him with furrowed brows.

“You laughed! Just now. You never laugh!”

“I do, you just never gave me a reason to.”

“Oh, so it's my misery you find joy in.”

“Your words, not mine.”

You bickered back and forth, unaware of the time that passed as you did. You didn’t know it, but your heart felt lighter as you did. Despite the headache he’s given you so many times in the past, Nightwing was genuinely…dare you so fun to be around.

Before you knew it you arrived at the front entrance of your apartment building.

“Well, this is me,” you gestured.

Nightwing nodded. “That it is.”

Neither of you made a move, simply staring at the other. Mapping each other out, as if attempting to ingrain the other in your minds.

Eventually, though, you snapped out of your trance, turning to open the door before a final thought popped into your mind. “Oh, and be careful from now on, Grayson. Wouldn’t want others catching onto you.”

And with that you shut the door in his face, ignoring the wide eye stare burning into your back.

God, he really was an idiot…

[twentytomidnight]

footsteps in the dark

Bruce Wayne/Reader, 3.6K

a/n: another request that I whipped up in a few hours. Had a lot of fun with it! :)

cw: semi-sexual situations, unresolved sexual tension, gn!reader

masterlist ao3 rules for requests

PREVIEW:

“Oh, yeah, like the two of you are such good actors,” Tim snarks from the table, flipping through another page of his comic as he lazes back in his chair.  “Better than you, that’s for sure,” Barbara has one loaded in the barrel on your defense. Tim shoots her a friendly gesture not suitable for television.  “I think I can pull it off.” You say offhandedly as you turn your attention back to the pancake browning nicely over the stove. You turn your head to look back at your fake husband. “Bruce, what about you?”  “I can play the part.” He reassures you soberly, casting a glance at you from the other side of the range. “It’ll be like I’m not even acting.” tl;dr: marriages of conveniences are so in right now, darling. Bruce Wayne/Reader

“So what do you say?” Bruce asks, shooting you a cavalier smile. He’s oh so casual about the grenade that he’s dropped into your lap, waiting for you to pull the pin on it that’ll send you both hurtling into the unknown. 

You take a sip of your coffee, as though the bitter taste will reground you back into the reality of his proposition. 

“How convincing do you want it to be?” You ask, arching an eyebrow at him and all the implications that lie neatly tucked away under your statement. 

He’s prepared for this one, rolling the shoulders of his fine-pressed suit as he leans forward. He puts an elbow upon the small coffee table the two of you sit at, breaking the boundary set against several lines both figurative and real. 

“As convincing as you want it to be,” he gives a low deadpan. You laugh, tilting your head up to the ceiling, long enough that you miss the way the smile fades from his face, carefully watching you. But when you look back at him, it’s like it never disappeared to begin with. 

“A fake wedding proposal, Bruce,” you say, repeating the offer he made to you no more than thirty seconds ago, casting your gaze from him to the busy metropolitan street outside. “Are you sure there’s no one else that you could have asked to do this?” 

“There’s no one else I trust more to be my fake spouse,” he’s forthright in response. “And it’s a win-win for both of us.” 

“How so?” You ask, turning up your mouth into a smile. 

“I get the media heat off of me.” He explains, holding out a finger to list his reasons. “And you get to be saddled with one of the most eligible bachelors in Gotham.” 

“Okay, but what’s the second reason?” You ask, and giggle a little at your joke—he appears to have a non-reaction, so you quickly change gears to actually give an answer. 

“But in all honesty—are you certain it’s me that you want to go into this—”—You think about exactly how to word it—“—This, uh, act?” 

“Certain as the grave.” He returns, and the crooked smile on his face gives way to an unyielding sincerity. He means it, without a doubt. Granted, it’s no real marriage proposal on bended knee, but there is something that makes your heart race at the prospect, the heat simmering under your face as though you’re going to ignite in flames. Some part of you, that you don’t want to acknowledge just yet, is very into the concept. 

“Okay,” you feel yourself saying, shifting a little in your seat to compose yourself, “But only on one condition.” 

“Name it.” He says, drifting his eyes from the slope of your ankle crossed over the other, tracing up the shape of your body. You are too busy thinking of a way to articulate your request to see him do so.  

“If you actually end up falling in love with me in the process,” you say, rolling your eyes at the ridiculousness of your statement, “Just make sure to give me a head’s up.” 

He smiles, the real, bone fide article. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

The two of you decide to announce your pseudo-marriage to the family a few days later, over a breakfast of bacon and eggs and pancakes that the two of you are running different points on. Bruce leans over the griddle and tries his best to keep the eggs from crusting over to a state that some might classify as ‘sedimentary,’ while you try to coax a few slips of butter onto the range to prevent it from happening. 

“Oh, yeah, like the two of you are such good actors,” Tim snarks from the table, flipping through another page of his comic as he lazes back in his chair. 

“Better than you, that’s for sure,” Barbara has one loaded in the barrel on your defense. Tim shoots her a friendly gesture not suitable for television. 

“I think I can pull it off.” You say offhandedly as you turn your attention back to the pancake browning nicely over the stove. You turn your head to look back at your fake husband. “Bruce, what about you?” 

“I can play the part.” He reassures you soberly, casting a glance at you from the other side of the range. “It’ll be like I’m not even acting.”

”Very convincing,” Jason’s sarcastic voice sails from where he sits straight-backed in his chair next to Dick, who is inventing new ways to peel an orange one-handed. 

“I’ll nominate you for an Emmy.” You smile softly at Bruce, who has deftly maneuvered the egg onto its other side with some impressive spatula handiwork.  

“I always did picture myself receiving an Oscar,” he jokes, watching you as you lower the heat on the stove, his eyes resting on your side profile as you kill the heat. Barbara and Dick send each other a significant glance across the table, but avoid saying anything aloud. 

“For your rugged good looks or your incredible acting method?” You snark back, sidling next to him to flip your finished pancake onto the plate he patiently holds out to you. The two of you are close as you work, shoulders bumping against each other as you both take great care to prevent the bacon from burning.

“For my intelligence in creating such a perfect master plan, of course.” Bruce retorts. “They nominate for well-written pieces of art, you know.” 

“Just as long as they don’t nominate for sunny-side up eggs,” you wisecrack, looking to the pan where it seems that Bruce has decided to opt for the tried-and-true method of—when all other egg attempts fail—making scrambled eggs. He grimaces good-naturedly, before a bolt of inspiration makes a grin grow wide. 

“Sorry,” he defers to you, “I couldn’t help but be distracted by my spouse’s incredible beauty.” 

“Flirt,” you tease, “How long have you been waiting to say that one?” 

“A while now,” he returns back easily, evenly. “Pass me the salt, would you?” 

“Anything for my husband,” you retort mischievously, reaching for the seasoning that is sitting right beside him, past the broad landscape of his figure that seems to be radiating more warmth than the stovetop besides you both. If you both share a long, extended gaze, neither of you choose to mention it—nor the people watching from the table side behind you both. 

“I don’t know,” Dick grins, down to Damian, who is drumming his fingers impatiently on the oak grain of the table, “They could’ve fooled me.”  

“Jesus, Bruce.” You hold up the solid gold bracelet from the velvet casing that still remains in his hand. “This is monstrous.”

“It’s tasteful,” he defends his choice as you hold it up to the light. If you hold it up the right way, it totally blocks out the light altogether, sucking it up in the vacuum of its incalculable wealth. “And it’s a good way of convincing the public that we’re together.” 

You let a whistle of admiration escape you as you hold it closer to your eyes, catching a subtle engraving on the inside of the band that has yours and Bruce’s names. You suppose for someone like him, this is kid’s money—but still. You like the way that your names look together. 

“Sure convinced me,” you agree, running your finger over the smooth, uninterrupted surface of the bangle—though bangle feels inadequate to describe this Pharaoh’s ransom. You tear your attention away from the jewelry back to him—he looks as though he’s waiting for your approval. 

“Are you sure you’re willing to spend it on a fake spouse like me?” You ask, settling your weight from one leg to another; there’s something about this piece of jewelry that feels so real, so final—you can’t explain the swirling gulf of emotions that swallow you up. “What about when your real spouse comes along?”

He’s serene in his sure response. “I don’t think that’ll be for a while. Besides, don’t you think I can afford more if it comes down to it?”  

“Careful—you’ll make them jealous.” You give him an unprincipled smile as you run your thumb over the two of your names, feeling the minute indentations scrape against it. 

“Maybe that’s the plan,” Bruce smiles as he places the velvet box to the side. “Now let me put it on you.” 

You try not to shiver as you feel the brush of his fingers against the length of your arm, gently yet firmly as his hand cups under your palm, the chill of the gold as it glides down your skin. Nor do you mourn aloud the lingering heat that all-but-scalds you as he pulls away, smiling down at you. 

“There,” Bruce says. “Now you look like you’re mine.” 

By the time that the two of you have been invited to the Gotham Humanitarian Awards Gala—after all, Bruce has to announce the award recipients, and you are his faithful spouse, after all—this dynamic has become something of old hat for you. It’s easy, the way that you can slide into his arms as he runs a protective hand down your waist while you both travel the Gotham streets together. 

It’s familiar, the scent of his cologne, leather and bourbon and sandalwood, as you have clandestine dinners that are ‘conveniently’ spotted by the paparazzi—and he holds you close to shield you from the wandering eyes of the cameras. 

It’s…wanted, his smile as he glances down at you and you beam back up at him, needed, the soothing, low timber of his voice as you both talk together into the late hours of the night. 

It’s…something that you can’t focus on right now. Especially as the two of you walk the circumference of the ballroom, weaving past people that offer hearty congratulations and false pleasantries. You smile and Bruce nods and the two of you walk arm-in-arm, his body fitting against yours with perfect ease. 

It feels so real. As a last defense, you feel like you need to break the ice—although there’s not really any ice, really—just a bracing truth that you have yet to fully acknowledge you are neck-deep in.

“Am I being realistic enough?” You ask with a jocular tone. 

“Lean on me some more.” Bruce instructs you, though that would imply you would resist the command.  “That’ll be good for the pictures.”

You are wont to oblige, hearing a familiar chorus of photos being snapped. It’s a noise that you’ve become used to, but you can’t really find yourself hating it. 

“That seemed very well-timed on your part.” You say through your teeth as the two of you smile primly at Commissioner Gordon and more familiarly at Barbara who is gussied up besides him. She sends you a knowing wink that seems to steal away a proper reaction on your end.

“Whatever it takes to convince them.” Bruce returns coolly, though the smile is evident in his voice. “I don’t see you complaining.”

“No, you’re right about that.” You find yourself agreeing with his statement. “It’s a lot easier than I thought it would be.” 

“You thought that it was going to be hard to act like you were in love with me?” Bruce asks dubiously, mock-offended at the idea that you would find him unloveable. You aim the most affable glare you can towards him.  

“No, not necessarily.” You shake your head thoughtfully as you glance up to the tiered chandelier hanging over you all. “It’s just—different.”

“Different how?” Bruce’s voice is quietly curious, a deep note of interest in the question. 

“Well, we’re already close. But this—holding you like this, walking around with you, being together like this. It just—”—You hesitate, thinking about how to word this. Feeling wracked by a sudden, uncharacteristic shyness at the realization that comes to mind. 

“What?” Bruce asks, stopping the two of you where you have both settled into a distant corner of the room—the ambient conversation of the crowd feels so far away at this moment. When you feel brave enough to look at him, you see those piercing blue eyes staring down at you, intently. 

“It just—”—You wet your lips with your tongue, mouth suddenly dry with words unspoken. “It just feels…right.”  

A slow, painful moment passes between the two of you, as you watch his eyes widen, a slow, quiet breath taken in by him while you feel like you cannot breathe at all. He turns to you, the hand that was around you now sliding up your shoulder, the shape of your name on his lips. 

His watch beeps, a specific chord. You know that noise, as dread sinks to the pit of your stomach—it means that something, somewhere, out there in Gotham—something is going wrong. Something that needs another part of Bruce Wayne that is unwelcome company here at the Gotham Humanitarian Awards.  

It seems unbearable, the willpower it takes for Bruce to look from you, back down to the watch, a flash of irritation, palpable anger on his face. Then, slowly, he looks back up to you, words still not verbalized clearly written on his face. 

Whatever he wants to say remains a mystery, for now. Instead, what he tells you is, "I have to go.” 

“You still have to announce the awards.” You say, looking from him to the oaken, elevated podium that is waiting for Bruce Wayne to read off the recipients of the award. 

Your mind shifts into overdrive as you look to compensate for his untimely disappearance. “Go—I can do them if you give me the notecards. It’ll be easy enough to explain—I’ll say you have a ‘tailoring issue’ or something like that.” 

You look away from the podium back to him—there’s that look on his face again. This time, with a touch of gratitude. 

“Has anyone ever told you what a thoughtful spouse you are?” He asks, and he means it, truly. But whatever else passed between you both will have to wait.  

“Only you, sweetheart. Now kiss my hand so it looks convincing.” You say, and hold up your awaiting hand to him.   

He does, his mouth slow and deliberate over the curve of your fingers, his eyes unmoving from yours. It is a possessive look, a needful look. Although it would grant you a moment to breathe if you looked away, you feel as though you are rooted to the spot until he stands back up to his full height. 

“I’ll see you tonight. Be safe out there.” You whisper, the ability to speak any louder stolen from you at this point in time. 

“I will.” Bruce promises, and then turns to go—Barbara is already moving to the far exit at the other side of the room. He sends a long, lingering look your way, before he turns back to move in disjointed tandem with her—off to where duty calls. 

You have to fight to keep from watching him as he leaves, before you go to work covering up for him, as any good spouse would. 

It’s a lot harder than it looks on paper, you think to yourself, trying to banish the thoughts that are rolling around in your head without any relief yet to be found. 

You are awakened by the touch of a familiar, warm hand lingering up your arm, a thumb grazing over your shoulder, rubbing a soothing, gentle circle into your skin. You open your weary eyes still blurry from sleep, blinking away the dreams that elude you as you return back to the waking world. 

For a brief instant, you are confused at your surroundings, before you remember: you fell asleep at a desk in the Cave. And the person who wakes you—you moan softly, running a hand through your disheveled hair, feeling the already-familiar weight of the bracelet as it slinks down your arm. 

Bruce stands before you, still suited up; there was a time when it frightened you. But now it’s almost as familiar as when he is out of it—maybe even more so. 

“Why are you still down here?” He asks, his voice more jagged, coarse as he toes the line between vigilante and civilian. “It’s three in the morning.” 

You press a free hand to the desk, unsteadily pushing yourself up. One of his black, gloved hands reaches out to steady you, holding your arm carefully. A thought flashes across your mind: these hands that, mere hours, maybe minutes ago, broke and tore and rended…and now they hold you, gently, tenderly. 

“I was waiting for you.” You say, honest as you rub your fist into your eye to wipe the sleep away. 

“You could’ve waited upstairs.” He’s still grim, but there’s something in his voice that makes itself more regulated, as if for your behalf. 

“I wanted to wait down here.” You reply, and you look down to the gloved hand that has yet to release you. Curious, you run a finger down the near-invisible seam crossing the span of his wrist; it seems that this makes him hold you even more securely. 

“Why is that?” Bruce asks, almost a purr as he comes closer into your space. You look back up at him, confused at this line of questioning.  

“Isn’t that what a good spouse does?” You ask, with a smile. 

“That’s what a good, real one does.” His voice is stark, if but for the persisting, unanswered question that hangs between you both. 

“Maybe…” you can’t look at him, darting your eyes down to the ground beneath you both. The press of a black glove that curves under your chin is mindful, but insistent as it slowly, surely turns your face back up to him. 

“Maybe what?” He asks. Though you can’t see his eyes through the whited-out lenses, you know he’s looking at nothing but you. Your face, your body, the air around you is totally electrified with sensation, tension, the need to know, to resolve this. 

“Maybe I want it to be real now, Bruce.” You state. “If that’s—what you want.” 

The only answer you get is the press of his mouth against yours, hot, demanding, greedy. The hand that holds your arm clenches, pulling you flush against him, whilst the other that cupped your chin moves to the back of your head, tilting it so that he can get better access to you—every part of you, as if he’s making up for time lost when it was so damningly close. 

You press your hands against the unyielding plate armor around his chest, fingers scrabbling for better purchase, needing him as much as he needs you. Your mouth opens for him and his tongue moves against yours, his hands searching down your waist, your hips, unrelenting and covetous. 

You pull away to get breath desperately needed, sure that your eyes are wide, breathless, happy—certain that if his mask were gone, there would be something similar in his own. Your shoulders hitch up and down as you gasp, but he holds you still, yet to release you—not that you intend to ever tell him to let you go. Not when you’re here, like this. 

“I need you, Bruce.” You beg. “Please.” 

“Come here,” he says, his voice a proprietary growl, and then you are swept up into his arms again. 

You are sore, but a pleasant, delicious kind of sore, when you wake up again in the morning; if the advanced progress of sun streaming through the open window is any indication, the late, late morning. This time, your surroundings are confusing, but then fall into sharp clarity—you are in his bedroom, laying in his California King bed, a cool bedsheet draped over you for your dignity’s sake. 

And he is there next to you, already awake, leaned on an elbow. Waiting for you to join him in the land of the living, it seems. You take the opportunity to run your eyes over the musculature you had ample time to admire and vocalize your appreciation for many, many times last night, before looking up at his face. 

“So…” you begin. “What does this make us?”  

“Whatever you want it to be.” He replies, his voice hoarse with disuse. But there’s no denying the truth he speaks with. You swallow, as he watches the column of your neck, before moving his attention back up. 

“Bruce,” you ask, reaching out your hand to trace the cut of his jawline, “How long were you acting? How long was it…real? For you?”  

He is straightforward, eyes trained upon you, his hand resting over yours as you brush your index finger past his cheek. “It was always real for me.” 

“Okay—good to know.” You huff out a shaky laugh as many things suddenly make so much more sense.  

“When did you figure it out?” He’s serious, but there’s a touch of amusement in his voice. It’s your turn now to abide by honesty.  

“Every time I watched you suit up.” You reply, staring back to him. “And I realized I didn’t want anything more than for you to come back safe to me.”  

A quiet spirits past you both as the two of you mull on current revelations. 

“So what now?” He asks, and you shuffle through the sheets to move into his waiting embrace. He’s like a furnace, all power and fervor and raw heat as his arms fold around yours. And he’s yours.  

“I think,” you say with a smile as you rest your head on his chest, “We should pick up where we left off. What do you say?” 

“I think,” he smiles fondly down at you, “This sounds like the start of a beautiful relationship.” 

You do like the sound of that. 

Dividers provided by the extraordinary @cafekitsune

[kooriandr]

𑣲 aftercare with fwb!wally west ⸝⸝ ꒱ ࿔

fluff, maybe slight angst??, not exactly aftercare i just didn’t know what to name this lol

you felt wally's weight collapsing on top of you and his warm breath against your face as his heavy pants mixed with your own. your arms immediately wrapped around his neck, keeping him close to you, and you felt wally freeze in your embrace. "just hold me for a moment."

"sure." he mumbled, a little stumped from the sudden affection. "you okay? need anything?"

"i'm good." you spoke quickly, in a high pitched, breathy voice, and let out a particularly sharp exhale, as you were still trying to regain your breath. "it's just that i still need to get used to this, you know?"

wally heard you laugh softly at your own words, but his heart skipped a beat at the implications behind them, and he was glad that you could not see his surprised expression, was it something you were actually willing to go through with? "what do you mean?"

"it's just that sex with superspeed can be a bit rough, you know?"

"right..." he trailed off, but decided not to press on the matter, he'd just have to wait some more to find out if you were actually planning on having sex with him often enough to end up getting used to his powers. "sorry about that."

"that's fine, i like it." you tightened your arms around his neck. "just need the support right now."

"sure." he was still feeling a bit awkward, but he wrapped his arms around your waist and held you close to his chest anyway, allowing you to relax into his arms and your breath to even out. he felt the soft rise and fall of your chest against his own, your warm skin against his, and heard your heartbeats slowing down to finally synchronise with his.

he was sure the moment felt a lot more intimate than anything you'd agreed on. still, wally decided to allow himself to take in your warmth rather than push you away, it'd been you who'd started it after all and he was not going to be the one to stop you. you felt tired, you wanted to be held, and he was the one responsible for it, so he shouldn't deny you of that, right?

one arm tightened around your waist while the other snaked up your back to tangle his fingers in your hair. he liked having you this close. even after the activities you'd been engaging in prior to this moment, he felt a lot closer to you like this. it felt nice, maybe he shouldn't be enjoying the softness of the moment as much as he was.

he stayed still for a few seconds, taking in your scent and listening to your soft breaths fanning against his neck. he wasn't sure if you were planning on falling asleep like that but he would let you if you needed to.

he pressed a kiss to your temple and hoped that it wasn't too much for you, hoped that you wouldn't be able to feel all the love he had for you, that he was sure practically radiated off him while he held you like this.

[patientofarkhamasylum]

heavy lifting dick grayson x f!reader

summary: dick loves his muscle mommy girlfriend, and being carried by her, very much <3 tags: fluff, suggestive if you squint, muscular!reader wc: 0.5k

Dick finished his workout twenty minutes ago, and he’s spent the better part of that time staring at you. He’s sprawled comfortably across the bench by the wall, a towel hanging around his neck and his dark hair still damp with sweat, his chin propped in one hand. He could check his phone. He could finish stretching. He could go shower. Instead, he watches you with the same dreamy expression he usually reserves for seeing you in formalwear.

You pull yourself over the bar again, controlled and unhurried. The muscles across your back shift beneath your tank top, your shoulders tightening as you hold yourself there for a second before lowering slowly. Dick’s eyes follow the movement shamelessly.

You complete the set, drop lightly to the floor, and turn toward him. “You’ve been done for a while.”

“And?”

“You’ve barely moved since.”

“I’m recovering from my workout,” he says.

“By staring at me?”

His smile widens. “It’s helping.”

You grab your water bottle and take a long drink. Dick’s gaze drops to your arm, following the flex of your bicep as you tip the bottle back. He doesn’t even try to look away when you catch him, and you shake your head, not quite able to hide your smile as you collect your towel and phone. He still makes no effort to get up, even when you sling your bag over one shoulder.

You stop in front of him and hold out a hand, but he only looks down at it before lifting his gaze back to yours.

“What?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“My legs are a little tired.”

“Yeah, because you spent half your workout doing unnecessary flips.”

“Exactly.” His expression turns solemn. “Exhausting.”

You stare at him. Dick stares back, blue eyes wide with exaggerated innocence, then lifts both arms toward you.

You laugh. “Absolutely not.”

“Carry me home.”

“You’re a grown man.”

“A tired grown man,” he corrects.

“Dick.”

“Please?” He wiggles his fingers at you, looking far too pleased with himself because he already knows you’re going to give in.

“You’re ridiculous,” you tell him, though you move closer anyway, stopping between his knees. Dick tips his face up toward yours, still smiling as his hands settle lightly at your waist. His thumbs brush along your sides, and his gaze drifts over your shoulders and arms once more before returning to your face.

“You’re enjoying this far too much,” you murmur.

“I don’t think that’s possible.”

You slide one arm beneath his thighs and the other around his back. Dick laughs as you lift him from the bench with ease. “That’s my girl.” He immediately wraps his arms around your neck, his legs hooking around your waist as though he has been waiting all along to do exactly this.

“Better?” you ask, adjusting him against you.

He settles into your hold. “Much.”

You tighten your arm beneath his thighs and start toward the door. Dick presses a kiss to your cheek, then another against the corner of your jaw, smiling into your skin when your grip tightens around him. “God, I love you.”

“You love that I can carry you.”

“Same thing.”

He gives your bicep an appreciative squeeze, and you grab his ass in return, drawing another laugh from him. He presses closer against you, clearly planning to stay there as long as you let him.

navi | m.list | © 2026 patientofarkhamasylum. all rights reserved. tags: @vianawaits @arkhamknightmares @luviery @gemmawritess @cinnam0ngirlxo @batwngs - comment here if you'd like to be added to the list!

a/n: pt. 2 where he happily gets choked out between your thighs haha… unless? 🤨

[1nsignia]

fluff, jason todd

—————————————————————————

jason todd never indulged in gossip “you’re fucking with me” “honest to god”

why would he? it was immature and ill-mannered to talk about someone’s life! their decisions are their decisions

“she slept with him. in his office” “yup”

... at least that's what he liked to believe in

jason gave you the most baffled look you’ve ever seen on his face. it made you snort and wave a hand at his face. “hello? earth to jason” immediately, jason blinked and snapped out of it. both of you were sitting on the couch, your legs sprawled on his lap and his hands idly tracing your knee.

“wait wait wait—" he slightly shifted his body to face you, the traces on your knee stopping as his large, warm hand just rested flat on it. “let me get this straight. you’re telling me that nancy—" “uh huh” “the same one who tried to get your promotion months ago--" “that’s her” “was caught sleeping with your boss at his office—" “not caught, per se.” “whatever” jason waved it off and continued. “and to top it off, she’s married to drew for— how long?” “8 years” you hummed, scooting closer to him and biting your bottom lip to hold back a laugh from the look on his face as he was processing this new information you gave him. and when it did, he just sighed and shook his head, his fingers now resuming the slow and lazy circles he traced on your knee. 

“sweetheart, your office environment is crazy” you could still hear how he was still slightly bewildered from the bombshell you just dropped on him. he was also confused as to why HR wasn't involved already

“hey, it pays the bills” you joked, lifting a hand to run through jason’s soft hair in that slow and gentle manner that always had him melt into your touch. “plus, at least there’s something to keep me entertained while i work in boredom” “you know you can leave your job and i can take care of everything, right?” jason reminded you— for what felt like the millionth time—but you just smiled softly and nodded. “yeah i know, but how else am i gonna come bearing news to you?” “…touché. i still need to know why carol and jesse aren’t talking to each other”

now that you couldn’t hold your laugh for. the wide smile on your face and your laugh softened jason’s eyes, a smile of his own appearing. his hand slipped beneath your knee to pull you close, the other hand cupping your face as he pulled you into a kiss

you could practically feel the smile on his face turn into a grin, and it made your smile grow as you kissed him back. it was a kiss of quiet contentment— slow, familiar and overflowing with the kind of affection that only came from loving someone for a long time

his hand remained cradling your cheek, his thumb lazily brushing across your skin with a small hum slipping out from your fingers combing through his hair

slowly, both of you broke the kiss, foreheads leaning on one another with nothing but pure love and adoration for one another

“so how was your night?” you asked, now laying your head on his chest. he just hummed, shifting his arm to drape over your shoulders and keep you close. “it was fine” a beat “…so bruce was basically being annoying like always and—"

okay maybe jason indulged in some gossip. keyword—some

—————————————————————————

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[bloomcissaa]

do you guys think the ocean waves is earth orgasming

[bloomcissaa]

drove a guy around and he screamed at me 3 times bc i missed a bunch of turns and at least gasped 5 times whenever i did turn, he also held on for dear life while i ran over the same curb twice

[mystiquevoid]

lightweight!reader is ready to risk it all for bruce wayne

“C’mere, sweetheart.” Oh, you would come, all right.

I mean, goddamn it, how could a person’s voice be that deep and raspy? A flush was working its way across your cheeks just from hearing those few words already. You were running hot, and your heart was pounding against your ribcage erratically. Fuck, were you really that easy now? An amused, little smirk and a lilt, and you were giddy?

It wasn’t like you to be so easily wooed. Not at all, actually. Perhaps you had an espresso martini too much, or maybe two. Either way, if there was any man in the world that would justify such an unusual lack of restraint, it would have to be Bruce Wayne, Gotham City’s most eligible bachelor. Well, that is until you would dig your claws into him, at least.

You weren’t planning on letting this man go anywhere any time soon. Unless he would go home with you. That, you would be okay with.

Now that you thought of it, what else could Bruce possibly do with that sweet mouth of his? Or his long, thick fingers— “Did you not hear me?”

You snapped out of your increasingly dirty-minded thoughts as Bruce inched closer to you. Had you forgotten to reply? Oh well. “Hm?” A hum was all you could offer as a response. Blown pupils locked onto the man towering over you as you swayed forward, before catching yourself—hands landing on Bruce’s chest. You contemplated giving the rock-solid muscles a squeeze when Bruce took ahold of your chin.

Gently, he raised it and took a good look at you. A dopey smile spread across your face upon receiving his undivided attention now. “How much have you had to drink?” A playful giggle slipped past your lips.

“Why? Y’want to buy me a drink, handsome?” Pretty bold question for someone who was practically slurring every second word leaving her mouth. Cute though, Bruce thought involuntarily. Shaking his head in visible entertainment, he denied your suggestion, “I don’t think you could handle another one.” There was a glint in your eyes when you countered his claim, “I can handle much more than you think.”

Bruce could barely contain his chuckle at your innuendo. “Oh, yeah?” he asked you—his tone almost challenging. Nodding, your face neared his. Bruce could see the way you were looking at him; like he was a prize you weren’t willing to let anyone else stake a claim on. Truthfully, he wasn’t quite sure if he should feel flattered or slightly offended, but luckily for you, he was leaning towards the former.

“Want me to prove it?” Now you were really just asking for it. Calloused fingers left your chin to travel across the burning skin of your cheek, before tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. Bruce cocked his head to the side. The motion was subtle but devastating in its effect on you.

“And how do you plan to do that?” he asked, but in your mind this was more of an invitation than an inquiry—one you were eager to accept.

“Come and find—” You were in the middle of yet another attempt at seducing Bruce into going home with you when suddenly you stopped short, your face scrunching up into a frown. Oh no, were you going to—

Blegh! Okay, so there went Bruce’s new pair of black dress shoes.

Best believe you didn’t drink another espresso martini for two months after this incident. At least Bruce didn’t have it in him not to take you home after seeing the state you were in. Win some, lose some, right?

em’s masterlist | bruce wayne masterlist wc: 0.6k request: no

˙⋆✮ a/n: uhh kinda nervous, but i’m making a tumblr comeback after my unintentional break!! rly sorry for having been gone for so long!! :(

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[luviery]

NO.1 YAPPER (AND RAGEBAITER)

Summary: Jason being a yapper and sometimes a ragebaiter towards you. pairing: Jason x reader tags and warnings: yapper x listener, also kind of ragebaits you at the end though I don't think I wrote that portion well,got this idea in the middle of the day and here it is, not too happy with this but anyways ,maybe OOC, wc: 1.3k

When people look at you and Jason, they'd assume it's you who talks more — you who always has a slight awkward smile on your face like a reflex mechanism while Jason has his lips pressed into a thin line, green eyes glaring, tall and bulky with tattoos peeking through his shirt. But the truth was far from it. In fact, no one really believed you when you said Jason was the talkative one of the two of you.

Maybe because it was only with you.

Sometimes he'd lay his head on your lap, hands moving around as he explained the plot of some old Hollywood movie he found in the depths of the internet, or sometimes it would be about how the author could have made the plot twist better. Sometimes when both of you are meandering around the streets of Gotham, he'd tell you some tidbits about the places or about a specific dish cooked in a restaurant. Sometimes it would be when you were doing your skincare routine at the vanity, all while Jason was lying on the bed behind you, huddled in blankets with his hair all around the place, yapping about how his brothers did something wrong or about a dumb criminal he had caught last patrol.

You liked hearing him talk.

The way his voice changed its pitch according to what he was talking about — sometimes hushed, sometimes boisterous — comforted you, like a heavyweight blanket during the cold winters. All your worries would wash away as you listened to him talk about literally anything. Hell, sometimes it would help you sleep after not being able to do so for a while.

It had always been like this since your childhood, when you and Jason would spend hours talking about school.

But things had changed.

Jason had changed after coming back from the dead — angry, annoyed and frustrated, all hiding a deep layer of hurt. You couldn't blame him, not after all he went through.

It had taken a few months for him to start talking like he used to , without any annoying remarks every few seconds. You knew it came from a place of hurt and fury.

Now you were here, after four years of being together, as Jason rambled on and on about something he witnessed while getting you a bagel from the cafe across the street.

"The guy acted so immature —" he huffs. "Almost like a five-year-old child crying to his mother."

You hummed, fingers threading through his hair. He looked beautiful, always did. There's a moment of silence, nothing but the sound of the overhead fan filling in the space. You don't notice, too immersed in memorising his beauty.

"Do I speak too much?" Jason asks, eyes gazing at the floor below you. It surprised you just for a minute before you cupped his cheeks, fingertips dancing around the scars on his face. It reminded you of a moment years ago, when you both were thirteen, playing around in the lush gardens of the Wayne manor. He had asked you the same question after an incident that had occurred at school, where your teacher had pointed out how Jason had made even the most introverted kid at school — you — talk during class.

You remembered how blue eyes looked onto the green, hands fiddling as he waited for your answer with bated breath.

Years later, though everything has changed, nothing has at the same time.

You whisper the same words you did years ago.

"I love hearing you talk, Jay. It's my favorite sound."

Of course, loving hearing Jason talk didn't mean he never found ways to annoy you. All of them were silly, nothing that could really hurt you, but they did a good job of annoying you.

It's been a few weeks since that day.

It was two in the morning when the thud of boots resounded against the walls of the living room. Jason had expected you to have gone to sleep by now, only to find you sitting on the couch, face illuminated by the glow of the laptop screen. Your eyes were squinted, nose scrunched as you switched through various tabs.

You were busy typing, not even turning round at the sound of Jason's arrival. Jason knew you didn't like being disturbed when you worked, so he decided to take a shower before approaching you. Minutes passed by, and Jason had changed into his sweatpants, hair wet and droplets sliding across scarred muscles, yet you were as still as a statue, eyes glued to the screen.

"Baby, you need to sleep." Jason murmurs, hand over your shoulder, as he slides next to you. Tiny droplets sink into the cotton of your shirt as you shrug his hand off, back hunched, trying to finish the assignment that was due in two days.

"Not today, Jason."

"Well, it's actually tomorrow because it's past 12." Jason snickered, giggling to himself but there was no reaction on your face. It was almost three AM now, and he could see your eyes starting to droop, though you still typed.

Jason was a strategist at heart, so what better way than to use his rage-bait techniques to get you to sleep.

"chi-HUAH-HUAH"

See there were few specific words, when pronounced in a certain way had your vein pooping off in your forehead and this just happened to be one of them, that Jason was very well aware of. It was the intonation of the word that irked you — the initial low pitch transition to immediate high pitch.

There's a pin drop silence in the room, as you try to take a deep breath before typing again to complete the assignment and not stare at the godly man standing in front of you with absurd sounds slipping past his lips.

"Chi-HUAH-HUAH," he raised his voice again, moving behind the couch. You did not have to turn to know the teasing grin carved on his face.

"Chi-HUAH-HUAH, "Jason repeats.

"Jay," you mumble, continuing to type even as your concentration wears down every minute.

"chi-HUAH-HUAH"

"Jason."

"chi-HUAH-HUAH"

"Okay, that's it, I'm going too—" you place the laptop on the couch before running behind as he leaps towards the bedroom, looking back at you with the same grin. "Jason, you idiot, wait."

Only his glorious laughs resound in the apartment (your neighbours would complain the following day). An involuntary smile curls at your lips at the sounds before you try to grimace to show your annoyance.

Your shared bedroom was at the end of the hallway. Once you enter the dark room, large hands tackle you from behind to the soft plush of the bed, pulling you in close against his chest. His green eyes gleam under the moonlight flittering through the curtains.

"Jason, stop. You know I hate you saying that," you say, slightly punching his bicep, to which he only tightens his arms around your waist.

"I know, baby, I'm sorry," He mutters, head tucked into the crook of your neck. You stay like that for a minute, almost forgetting about the assignment. almost.

"Okay, let me go now." You push against his chest only for him to tug you further.

"Nope, you need to sleep." Jason looks at you, his scarred hand grazing your cheek. He knew you hadn't slept properly for the past two days, and you would fall sick sooner or later if it continued.

"No, I need to finish the assignment that's—"

"That's due on Friday. You can rest now." Jason continues, hands brushing the hair from your face.

"But Jay —"

"Angel, please," he pleads, bringing your fingertips to his mouth as he places small kisses on them. "Let's give your fingers some rest, and then I'll wake you up at seven in the morning."

"Fine," you grumble, before placing your head on his chest. "But I'm getting my revenge one day."

He laughs before tugging the comforter over both of you. It was easy to fall asleep, listening to his heartbeat like a lullaby.

A/N: Hope you guys liked it. Comment on this post to join taglist.

Jason Todd masterlist

[kentluv3r]

thinking about your sweet pussy being RESURRECTED KNIGHT! JASON TODD’S good luck charm before going into battle.

being a knight is a tough task for anyone— but for jason? it’s an easy task. and certainly, the fear of dying in battle was one anyone had entertained with… but jason was a rare case of having experienced death— it’s only the fact that he’s a living and walking example of resurrection that he doesn’t fear death anymore. he doesn’t fear bleeding out from stab wounds, he doesn’t fear losing a bought with a fellow knight… no, what he fears most; is not coming home to you.

you gave jason a chance when no one else did— you gave the “skeleton knight” as they call him because he’s a living dead man— a chance… and he never looked at you the same again, in the best way possible.

so, it’s not shocking that when the time comes that he and the fellow knight squadron has to follow king’s orders and fight another kingdom’s knights… he takes the time in the night before to ruin you, ruin your pussy all over again— because he loves you, and the best way he can show that? by letting you ride his cock like this.

“fuck baby, keep bouncing like that.” he whispers in the golden light of your bedroom, the fire place burning golden light onto the walls as the stars in the sky brightened. “fuck you look so gorgeous up ‘here sweetheart.”

you moan louder than you mean to, both hands on his chest, digging into the scars on his chest from both combat and his death itself and looking at him— disheveled as all hell but beautiful in his eyes. “jason- ngh! fuck!”

he nods encouragingly, his left hand running up your chest and cupped your cheek, his right hand remaining on your hip. “just keep going baby… ride me like that…”

“why— why you always gotta leave— fuck!” you whine, knowing the answer but wanting him to say it. “just s-stay… stay here with me, jay…”

he chuckles, meeting your bounce half way and thrusting into your fluttering folds, fucking your pussy rough as he begins to meet you halfway consistently. “because hun… it’s my job… i promise to come back to you, sweetheart.” he whispers, leaning up and pressing a kiss to your trembling lips, feeling you moan against him. “never leaving this pretty lil face alone… ‘promise.”

you couldn’t stop the moans from leaving your lips, your right hand stay on his chest and the other wraps into his black hair, nails digging deep. “jason! oh! fuck! right there— ngh!”

jason didn’t stop the smile from staying on his lips, squeezing your hips. “that’s why i fuck you this good, baby, you’re my good luck charm— haven’t gone a night without fucking you… since the night i met you.”

you tried to bite back but you couldn’t… only moans and his name falling from your mouth— he always made sure you knew he loved him with the way his hips move.

“always gonna make you feel good baby.” he continues to whisper, stroking his thumb on your cheek as his other thumb strokes down and begin to rub over your clitorus in a rapid manner. “forget that ‘m going away… just focus on me, hun. you cum for me and i’ll cum in you… promise.”

and you listened to him… cause jason never broke his promises to you! especially when you feel him cum in you no less than three minutes later!

INSPIRED BY: this post by @/starr-jazz! (haven’t watched a knight of seven kingdoms but dear god, finn bennett in knight armor is doing sum to me)

masterlist is here! click here for more!

ⓘ KENTLUV3R’S WORK. all my fanfics (not the characters) is my very own, coming from my own efforts and my time. do not copy my work, rewrite it, shove it through an ai machine and shit out slop, and don’t repost to wattpad/ao3/c.ai!

[northirish]

I would like a large sword, for mental health reasons

[binglepringle]

Shivaposting

[fleurmarjorieargent]

HONEYBEE

god, i love the way you look at me

part of this series

fwb! jason todd x fem!reader

synopsis : what better way to distract the public from the secret that the waynes are actually the family of bats than serving them with enough thirst traps material. and what better way to provide that material than throwing a lavish gala :) in attendance : bruce wayne, jason todd & dick grayson <3

cw : paparazzi. paparazzi being creepy as fuck. ethiopia mentioned. reader drinks a lot in a whimsy way. dickkory is canon. catbat is canon. drunken makeout. lots of crying. lots of angst.

previous

jason leaned over from the driver's seat of your escalade and kissed your temple, “you ready?”

you nodded. the wayne galas were always over the top extravagant but you'd always fit in better than jason had. you'd attended a fair amount of events like this growing up. it just made you a better actress, really. you'd sooner punch superman in his stupidly attractive face, and get your fist broken from the impact, than share views with any of the pretentious twats in there.

“you look beautiful, baby.” jason crookedly grinned, looking like every gorgeous scenery ever himself, “like, really really pulchritudinous,” he pressed a kiss against your bare shoulder, the tinted windscreen concealed you both from the invasive paparazzi outside. you made a mental note to have him repeat the compliment later so that you could google its meaning, “makes me wanna kidnap you away from all of this.” his voice came muffled against your skin, “you're–” he exhaled, overwhelmed with his adoration for you, “–killing me, sweetheart.”

“aww,” you huffed a laugh, slipping your hand into his and squeezing three times, “i’ll kiss you better, yes? you best believe my kisses got resurrection powers.”

jason pulled away to look at you, rolling his eyes at that goofy smile on your face, “oh, absolutely, the lazarus pit’s got nothin' on you,” he dryly drawled, encouraging your delusions as always. your confidence was fucking sexy to him.

bruce’s appointed valet for the night knocked onto jason’s side of the vehicle’s window and jason grabbed the key off, stepping out of the car. cameras flashed immediately, blinding him.

you couldn't blame the paparazzi, really. jason showed up in front of the public eye maybe twice a year like this. thrice if he was feeling generous towards dick; who had to endure most of public scrutiny throughout every year. you, too, would go mad if you had to survive long durations without a glimpse of the magnificent sculpture of a man jason todd was.

jason dropped the keys onto the valet’s gloved hand and rounded the escalade to open your side of the door for you. he didn't do that usually, you preferred opening your own door. the whole drama of it was just so 1950s. and you'd sooner die laughing and wheezing into each others arms over how cringe it was than turn it into some tradition that just happened.

but jason always made sure to open your door for you at events like this. because the moment you were visible, the cameras flashes just tripled, trying to capture underskirt shots of you. if no pop-culture site want it, every porn site would bid. they never succeeded. jason’s giant built shielded you from the vile fucking men behind him.

you helplessly grinned, taking jason’s hand. men must not be lonely enough if manners were getting you all giddy like this.

you stood up to your full height, heels higher than usual that you were almost just as tall as jason now. your blood-red satin dress, really short on purpose because you felt like being a brat and tormenting your best friend, clung to your figure splendidly.

earlier that evening, jason had smugly leaned against your bedroom door, waiting for you to emerge from your walk in closet. the idiot fell over and smacked his cheek onto the cold tiled floor after taking just one look at you. he’d opened his eyes, hissing at the sting of the smack, and found himself at your feet, literally. and thought to himself, this was where he should be, at your feet.

now, he stood by your side, his focus entirely on you despite the flashes. he wasn't even blinking. he leaned in, his cheek brushing yours, and murmured, “alright, sweetheart?”

“yes.” you nodded as he pulled away to read your expression too. once he was certain that you weren't bluffing, he got you both away from the car, shutting the door, so that the valet could take it for parking, “are you alright?” you asked him back.

“there's about nine guests in there that i would personally like to kill. torture them beforehand, preferably. ” he whispered softly, his mouth against your ear, “love that.” he gave you a bitter smile and you shook your head at him, “but you're here, that's all i need. i’ll be okay, doll. thanks for being here.” he reassured you.

he looked up at the overexcited paparazzi, blue eyes glaring green under the lights and immediately every flash disappeared in a way that'd make chappell roan proud.

jason shrugged off his long leather coat, draping it over your shoulders so you could walk your way up from the red carpet to the manor’s ballroom comfortably. he fixed his too big coat on you as you oogled him, but in your defense he was wearing a skintight mock neck half sleeved shirt in black with formal slacks. and the fabric strained against his biceps in a way that could have you barking in psychologically concerning ways.

it didn't go unnoticed by you how despite his body dysmorphia, jason gave his coat away to you without you even asking. when not in the privacy of either of your apartments, he always preferred covering up in multiple layers or wearing oversized stuff. it made him feel safe.

“thank you, jaylove,” you beamed up at the unbelievable man, and linked your arms together, “you're the best.”

“it's cus’ you've got terrible taste in people, sweetheart.” he huffed, as the two of you walked down the red carpet.

“that's not true,” you would've glared at him, but you grinned big for the paparazzi instead, “my taste has significantly improved because of you. the standards are sooo up, i know i’m gonna die single and alone. do you think mr. wayne will be ever so kind to save me a grave plot with the rest of you people? my ancestors were all arseholes, i don't wanna be buried with them. it'd be like being in a hole with a bunch of holes.” you distastefully said.

you stopped outside the ballroom, in the hallway, and jason took his coat back, putting it back on, knowing all too well you loved showing off your stupidly foxy body when not constantly objectified. you totally had a thing for intimidating men with your sleeperbuild.

“you're not gonna die alone,” jason lightly promised, “and i’ll get a bigger coffin this time, 'kay?” he flashed you a smile, as if talking about death didn't hurt you both, “and when you die, a lot later after i do, you can come rest in my arms, hm? i’ll put it in my will.”

you sniffled and slapped his arm, “gosh, you're such a fucking jerk. don't make me cry, i’m wearing about a thousand dollars worth of makeup right now, jaylove.”

jason’s face fell as his hands closed around your elbows, gently pulling you into his chest, “wasn't trying to make you cry, doll. just wanted you to know that you'll never have to worry about being alone.”

“i love you,” you firmly stated and looked up at him.

it wasn't the first time you'd said it to him. you declared platonic love all the time to all your friends. like it'd kill you if they weren't informed of how very loved they were. but with jason though, you didn't say it often.

the first time you'd said it, years ago, he'd fallen quiet and had a mental breakdown. he'd gone MIA for four days, and you worried yourself to the point you contacted tim and had him track jason down.

tim had gotten you jason’s burner’s digits and you sent several voice mails because you would start crying, from the fear of losing him forever, and fail to get your actual words through. jason showed up to your doorstep, at 3 in the morning, with bloodshot eyes and a dislocated shoulder because he'd crashed his bike trying to get back to you.

he had gone so long without hearing those words, that hearing them from you undid him to the point he'd assumed reality was fucking with him again. that he had somehow gotten trapped in the wrong dimension. people didn't just love him. they had loved him. but then he died. and a stranger showed up who no one knew what to do with.

jason had ended up in ethiopia digging up old police records just to make sure he wasn't in some other world. a world where everything was perfect. because what the actual fuck and how could anyone love him. he wasn't even supposed to exist anymore.

you hadn't hesitated to wrap your arms around him and invite him in. that was the first time he'd truly opened up to you about the confusing feelings that suffocated him, his every waking hour. you two talked till sunrise and jason fell asleep on your couch with his head on your lap.

that was before you and jason ever even kissed.

so, you didn't tell jason todd ‘i love you’ just when your heart felt like pouring out like water. just because you were so full of love, it had to go somewhere. you restrained yourself there. you only ever said the words to him when you needed for him to feel the full gravity of the words. when you knew he needed to hear them, too. needed to hear how deeply you felt for him in that very moment.

you loved jason todd when he remembered your coffee order. you loved him in the early hours of morning and late at night. you loved him when he found a reason to smile. you loved him when he made you smile. you loved him when he went grocery shopping with you. you loved him when he told you all about the book he’d just finished. you loved him when he unleashed his political rage. you loved him when he held you in his arms;you loved him when he let himself be held in yours. you loved him when he held your hand in a crowd. you loved him when he kissed ice cream off your lips. you loved him when he taught you new self defense techniques. you loved him when he'd listened to you talk his ears off stressing about your university assignments, without interruption and with unwavering attention. and you loved him anyway even when he bled on your kitchen floor. all those went unspoken.

but you loved him painfully more when he promised you, you would never be alone because he was there. and you needed him to know that. that it meant so much more.

jason’s lips brushed your forehead, “i love you.” he quietly repeated.

“richard!” you smiled big to spot dick in the crowd, no pun intended, and grabbed jason’s wrist , tugging him along with you, dodging the crowd. you were already three glasses of wine deep. respectfully, that only made you more whimsical.

you released jason and gave his older brother a crushing hug, “where. is. your. wife?”

“my wi-” dick’s eyes widened, “oh, kory.” he hugged you back and nodded at jason, “she doesn't like attending these. the gotham elites are a different breed of misogynistic, i’ll tell you that.”

you dropped back on your heels, sinking your back into jason’s chest. his hands immediately came up to slip low around your middle. you shook your head, grabbing a wine glass off a passing by wait-person, completely heartbroken, “she's not here?! fucking fuck. what does that mean?! does that mean i just dressed up this fucking hot for nothing?!”

“what?!” jason stammered in disbelief.

“excuse me?!” dick huffed, finding this whole situation amusing at best. his girlfriend was drop dead gorgeous, a fucking knock out, and he knew it. hence, he dedicated his all into mastering the dating-skills of a lesbian. because whatever men were doing out there, they were doing it all wrong.

“what,” you shrugged, unbothered, “nightwing and starfire were my bi awakening-,” you giggled conspicuously.

“oh, jesus christ-” jason looked all around in distress. that was his brother and sister in law-

“ignore him.” dick gave you a charming smile, trying to hold in his laugh, “i’ll pass the message along to kory. happy to be of service,” he snorted to see jason’s comically pained face, “oh god! roy’s gonna love this. he's been nagging me for ages yapping about you two being a solid thing. are you actually jealous, little wing?”

“don't be ridiculous.” jason grumpily started, “we're not solid anything.”

“cause you're a puddle?” you unhelpfully offered. and jason’s face visibly softened at the sweet way you said it, he could very well be considered a puddle.

“cause we're just friends.” jason reminded you.

“noooo, we are?” you mock-gasped, scandalized, “no, we're the fuck not, goodsir, i assure you. not when i’m eight months pregnant with your offspring.” you put a hand on your very-not-pregnant stomach, and looked up at dick to inform fake-shyly, “we're expecting a unicorn.”

dick fell over laughing, hysterically. he clutched his stomach, wheezing.

“you're drinking an awful lot for someone expecting,” jason murmured in your ear, his lips quirked up, as he plucked the wineglass out of your hand, “c’mon, we gotta find you something else to kill time with other than just drinking. come dance with me, ma.”

you rolled your eyes at him fondly and nodded, taking his hand.

jason handed the wineglass to his brother, “watch her drink, old-timer.”

dick huffed, and fixed his hair self-consciously at getting called old but took the glass, flashing you a reassuring grin, “i shall protect your elixir with my life, fair maiden,” he took a bow, and awkwardly chuckled, “i just always wanted to say that.”

jason totally judged him.

you patted dick’s shoulder and accepted your drink back, cheeks flushed from having danced with jason. your feet hurt from the heels. you two had been barely graceful together. it was difficult performing elegantly, when your best friend brought out your inner-dork constantly.

you looked over to where you'd left jason on the dance floor and your jaw clenched to see some woman approach him and stand too close in his personal space. jason took a step back and caught your eyes over her head.

you immediately left dick’s side to go and get your man.

just as you neared them, you heard her saying, “you're, like, so handsome.”

“thanks,” jason grumbled, like someone just told him his entire homework was wrong for the third time in a row. looking like he needed you to call him pretty and bleach his memory of this entire interaction.

“hi” you slipped in between her and jason, placing a hand on his chest, “hello, i’m afraid this one's mine.” you sweetly smiled at the woman, and blood rushed to jason’s cheeks, staining them a soft pink.

the woman blinked at you, caught off guard and embarrassed. you blinked back. none of you saying anything anymore. it was getting painfully awkward.

“did you know bruce wayne is stag tonight,” you whispered over to the woman like a conspiracy theorist. sounding too much like roy, when he passed gossip about you and jason over to wally on video call.

jason coughed.

“nooooooooo.” the woman gasped, as if bruce not having a date to his own gala was the biggest horror the year’s brought.

“right?! unbelievable.” you shook your head, “why’re you so his type though-!!”

the woman huffed, “well, i better go and find brucie.” she started walking away, “this is unacceptable.”

“you're a fucking rapscallion.” jason barked a laugh, turning you around to face him, “did you really have to throw B under the bus like that?”

you downed your wine in one go, hiding your smile, “oh, please, i haven't costed him anything. last i saw him, he was already surrounded by several people too good for his constipated arse.” you sighed heavily, “and anyway, done him a favor, i have. i bet you a blow job selina’s got her eyes around the manor. i’ve just given her another reason to come and spank his head straight.”

jason cringed, “do not talk about my father figure gettin’ spanked.”

you and jason somehow ended up in one of the manor’s private sitting rooms. you'd finally ditched your stupid heels and he'd gotten rid of his coat. both comfortable now that only in each other's presence.

currently, jason was trapped under you on a settee as you straddled his lap. he grabbed for handfuls of your ass under the skirt of your attire, while leaving hot open mouthed kisses on the tops of your breasts that he could reach over the low neckline of your dress. your hands clutched the hem of his shirt, as you watched him greedily suck and bite along your skin.

you giggled, nipples pebbled from all the fondling. your skin buzzed and head felt dizzy. being with jason was always so exhilarating. you clutched the back of his head, grabbing his thick hair, and brought his face up to press your lips against his.

jason moaned into your mouth, skin overheated, head feverish, and you swallowed the sound. his semi-hard erection pressed against you and you grinded down onto him, pleased by the way he groaned.

you broke away from the kiss, “do you ever think about quitting what you do? all the vigilante-crime-lord sprinkle sparkle?” you asked, eyes unfocused.

jason’s hands came up to brush your hair back carefully, and cradle your face, “what else would i do then, hm?” he always sounded so soft with you.

you grinned brightly and giggled silly hiding your face into his neck, “you could be my sugarbaby.”

“your sugarbaby?” he skeptically repeated to make sure that's what you actually said and he hadn't been hallucinating this entire ridiculous situation.

“yes!” you exclaimed, “i could be your controversially old sugar mommy.”

jason grinned. fuck, you were adorable. he planted a large hand on top of your head to smooth your hair down, “doll, you're barely any older than me.”

you pulled back, flabbergasted and offended, and pressed a finger against his grinning lips, “shhhhhhhhhhhhh,” he only grinned wider under your finger, “if i say i’m a MILF, i’m a MILF.” you scolded him, “'kay?” you crossed your arms over your chest and bossily waited his response.

jason released a breath, “alright.” he nodded, holding his hands up in surrender, “yes, ma’am.”

“good boy.” you satisfiedly flashed him a huge smile and jason’s heart and cock both simultaneously jumped up. you climbed off his lap and dramatically fell over the settee on your back, lightly kicking his shoulder with your foot, “now c’mere and fuck me.” you made a whole show of rolling onto your stomach and pushing your ass up. your seamless underwear peeked through, soaked and clinging to your delicious cunt, “dick me down, love. i better be crawling out of here by the time we're done.”

jason chuckled, steadying his hands on your hips and pulling you back into a seating position. you deliriously tried to look back at him. he wrapped his arms around you into a grounding hug, and your head slumped onto his chest. hips pressing along the side of his thigh, “you're really drunk right now, sweetheart.”

“you don't want me?” you frowned, lips turning down.

“not when you're intoxicated.” he honestly answered, kissing the top of your head.

“oh,” you took in his words in your drunken haze, focusing on the fact that he didn't want to have sex right now and nodded, “may i stay in your arms then, please?” you softly asked, “feels good here.”

“oh, baby.” he lifted you onto his lap, sideways, and secured you close. your entire body weight sagged down, head drooping on his shoulder, “okay?”

your arms came up to wrap loosely around his shoulders, face burying against his neck. his fingers splayed on your back to support you. in that moment, jason todd’s whole world started and ended right there.

“i think you're my soulmate.” he blurted out, completely sober.

silence followed that jason almost assumed you hadn't heard him, but then your voice muffled against his skin, “funny how that works. you died before we ever even crossed paths.” you laughed, because otherwise you would break down crying, “i would have gone a whole lifetime without learning the shape of you. imagine that. who even am i without my adoration for you?”

“wine makes you a sad little poet, huh?” he sniffed. a lump formed in his throat, eyes glassing over. your blunt sincerity would kill him again one day.

you looked up at him, frowning hard to concentrate, “i’d like for you to know that i being a sad sap hasn't anything to do with wine and everything to do with my big fucking heart. it's annoying in here, todd.” you fell back against him, grumbling dramatically.

silence fell over again.

“i love you.” you said, voice breaking, “i love you.” you repeated louder, “but i hurt, i hurt so much, jay.”

jason blanched, all his muscles freezing up as he looked down at you with devastating concern. had he been mistreating you? had he taken advantage of your friendship? had he been demanding more of you than you were okay with giving? did you finally realize how exhausting he could be and had been too nice to say it? did you finally get sick of him? might just be the time to shoot himself in the head.

“why–” he tried to speak, “–why do you hurt, sweetheart?” jason held his breath.

“because i don't like how you endanger yourself. like, all the time. ” you exclaimed, angry tears spilling now as you rambled, “i just want you surrounded by gentle things always and i know that's never gonna happen. so i try to be the gentle thing. but i just—i feel helpless, jaylove. i know it's selfish. of course, you're angry. i’d be too if i had gone through what you have. god knows you're underreacting by far. still, i just can't help but want the selfish thing.”

you sucked in a breath when jason crushed you into his arms, his face falling down onto your bare shoulder. hot tears trailed down your skin, and the sound that left his throat was haunting. his heart was pounding rapidly, jason tried breathing through his mouth but it was like he was being strangled, “‘m sorry—’m sorry—i’m so fucking sorry.”

you clutched him tighter, balancing on your knees to hold him better, “none of this is your fault. shhh, my love,” you pressed your lips together to hold in your own sob, swaying slightly, “you're right. we're soulmates. my soul just doesn't feel okay when yours is sad.”

jason’s frame shook against yours. you kissed along the side of his scarred face, as though trying to mend all the fracture parts of him against all odds. both of you knew you never could. no one ever could. you could just continue being gentle to him.

IM SO SORRY FOR THIS POTENTIALLY OOC AND CHEESY SHIT. IF YA'LL HAVE ANY COMPLAINTS TAKE IT TO OLIVIA RODRIGO. I'VE CRIED ACTUAL TEARS OVER THIS ONE NEW SONG OF HERS. AND THAT'S WHAT INSPIRED THIS FUCKERY. (im so obsessed with how they're actually really great friends first though!!!) I'M GONNA STUDY FOR MY FINALS NOW (MAYBE) TOODLES.

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