twenty-one pansexual she/her pronouns new york city. brazilian-american bartender tattoos guitarist dog mom cat lover slut for hurt/comfort tumblr veteran, new blog
don’t you 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 that only 𝒇𝒐𝒐𝒍𝒔 are satisfied .ᐣ
❝ i love you . . . ❞ ──── ୨୧ ──── ❝ . . . it’ll pass ❞
summary: You were supposed to be Dick Grayson’s perfect alibi. Instead, somewhere between late-night kisses and whispered “I love you”s, Gotham’s Ghostface killer fell in love with his final girl. Unfortunately for you, discovering his secret only makes him want to keep you even closer.
tags: NSFW 18+, Fingering, Dirty Talk, Chase Kink, Sexual Content, Scream AU, Ghostface Dick Grayson, Dark AU, Toxic Relationship, Possessive Dick, Manipulation, Violence, Power Imbalance
a/n: Hey! This is my first post, so I’m a little nervous haha. English isn’t my first language, so if you notice any mistakes, feel free to point them out. I’m always open to feedback. I really hope you enjoy the story!
Part 2 Part 3
Today was going to be perfect. You stepped back and admired your work. The dining table was covered with a crisp white tablecloth, the plates and silverware arranged perfectly, and candles flickered softly around the room, casting a warm golden glow. But something was still missing… Pictures. Maybe you could scatter a few photographs of the two of you around the living room.
Smiling to yourself, you hurried upstairs to Dick's room. He kept dozens of framed photos on his shelves, and you figured he wouldn't mind if you borrowed a few for the evening. As you stepped inside, your eyes immediately scanned the room, locating the familiar frames. Then something else caught your attention. A corner of a cardboard box stuck awkwardly out from beneath the bed, as if Dick had shoved it there in a hurry and forgotten to push it all the way in.
Maybe it's a gift for me. The thought immediately brought a grin to your face. You knew you shouldn't snoop. Really, you did. But before you could stop yourself, your feet were already carrying you toward the bed. Just a quick peek, you promised yourself. One glance and then I'll put it back exactly where it was. Maybe it was that dress you'd shown him last week… Or a necklace… Or maybe a spicy little toy you could use after dinner...
Biting back a smile, you carefully lifted the lid. Then you froze. This was definitely not a gift.
Hunting knife stained with dried blood, a black hooded robe, and that mask. That fucking Ghostface mask. The same one plastered all over the news for the past month. The same one worn by the psycho who had been butchering people across Gotham.
“Y/N,” Dick's voice made your blood run cold. You looked up. He stood in the doorway, his broad frame blocking the exit completely. His expression was tight, almost desperate, as he took a cautious step forward. “It’s not what it looks like.”
Today marked seven months since you started dating, and Dick Grayson had been the best boyfriend you’d ever had. Loving, charming, funny, attentive - and so unbelievably handsome it almost felt unfair. Until this moment, being with Bruce Wayne’s adopted son had seemed like the best thing that had ever happened to you. Until now.
Your stomach twisted violently.
Dick? Your Dick? The boy who followed you around like a lovesick puppy, constantly touching you, kissing your forehead, making you laugh until your ribs hurt. He couldn’t possibly be a cold-blooded murderer. …Right?
“Hey, baby, look at me,” he says softly, lifting his hands as if approaching a frightened animal. “Don’t look at that. Don’t you trust me?” He takes another careful step toward you.
Instantly, you recoil, your back hitting the desk behind you. “Don’t come any closer!” you shout, your voice cracking. Dick freezes. For a second, neither of you moves. The room suddenly feels too small, the air too heavy to breathe. Then his expression crumbles.
“Y/N…” he whispers, almost hurt. “Please. You know me.” But do you? Because the boy standing in front of you suddenly feels like a stranger.
“Please,” he says carefully, his voice softer now, calmer - the same tone he always used whenever you were upset. “Just calm down, sit with me, and let me explain.” But behind the gentle expression, his mind is racing. He couldn’t let you go to the police. Not after everything he’d done. He had gone too far already, crossed too many lines to turn back now.
He couldn’t let you leave. But the worst part? He didn’t want to hurt you anymore. Not the way he originally planned to when this whole thing started.
At first, it had been simple.
Commissioner Gordon had started looking into the Ghostface murders more closely, asking sharper questions, noticing details Dick had worked carefully to hide. He needed a distraction. Something convincing enough to take suspicion away from him completely.
And then he met you.
Sitting alone in that tiny university café, smiling politely when he accidentally stole your order. The plan had formed almost immediately.
If Ghostface murdered a girl, nobody would ever suspect the grieving, heartbroken boyfriend hiding beneath the mask. What kind of psychopath would kill the person they loved most?
It was perfect. At least, it was supposed to be.
Because somewhere between the late-night phone calls, movie nights, sleepy kisses, and the way your face lit up every time you saw him… everything got completely fucked. He fell in love with you. Really, truly in love. Dick hated admitting it, even to himself. But he loved how kind you were, how gentle. The way you cared about everyone so naturally, even strangers. He loved your laugh, your terrible jokes, the way you always reached for his hand absentmindedly like it belonged there. You were never supposed to become real to him. You were supposed to be part of the plan.
Your hands started shaking uncontrollably, your eyes darting frantically around the room, searching for anything - anything at all - that could help you.
A weapon. A way out. Something.
Because now that you knew his secret, you were sure of one thing: Dick Grayson was never going to let you leave this house alive.
“What exactly do you want to explain?” you snap, your voice trembling despite your attempt to sound strong. “That you’re a murderer? That you’ve been running around the city for a month slaughtering innocent people, that you…” Suddenly, the words die in your throat. Your entire body goes cold. “Oh my God…”
Dick’s expression changes instantly. You stare at him in horror, the realization crashing into you so violently it almost makes you sick. The mask of guilt disappeared, replaced by a mocking smile.
“You killed Stephanie,” you whisper. “Oh my God… you killed Steph.” Your voice breaks completely.
Your best friend. The same Stephanie who spent hours talking about her future, her dream job, the apartment she wanted after graduation. Stephanie, who dragged you out whenever you were sad. Stephanie, who trusted Dick enough to joke around with him every time the three of you hung out together.
And all this time… He knew.
He had killed her, then held you while you cried yourself to sleep afterward. He kissed your forehead, wiped away your tears, whispered comforting lies into your skin while her blood was probably still under his fingernails.
Your stomach turns violently. Your eyes drift toward the open box again, landing on the knife resting on top of the costume. And suddenly, all you can picture is Stephanie’s face. Her smile. Her laugh. Everything she could’ve become before Dick slit her throat and took it all away from her.
Your hands curl into fists. No. You weren’t going to let him hurt anyone else.
“Y/N…” Dick says quietly, but there’s something sharper underneath his voice now. A warning. “Don’t.” His gaze flicks toward the knife for half a second before returning to you. “Please,” he says again, slower this time. “Don’t make this worse.”
He really, really doesn’t want to hurt you. But if you try to attack him? Then he’ll do whatever he has to.
You lunged for the box. The second your fingers brushed the knife handle, Dick moved too.
“Shit-”
He caught you before you could grab it properly, both of you crashing hard onto the floor beside the bed. The knife clattered somewhere between your bodies as panic surged through you. You reached for it desperately. Dick grabbed you first.
His hands locked around your wrists and slammed them against the floor above your head with terrifying ease. A strangled gasp left your throat as his weight pinned you beneath him completely.
Too strong. Way too strong.
He had always brushed it off with lazy jokes about spending too much time at the gym, but this wasn’t normal. No average guy could overpower you this effortlessly.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Dick murmurs, tilting his head slightly. There’s something dark behind his blue eyes now, something almost frighteningly calm. “Don’t do this.” The nickname makes your skin crawl.
“Get the fuck off me!” you snap, thrashing violently beneath him.
You jerk your knee upward, aiming straight for his crotch. Dick catches your leg instantly.
“Easy,” he mutters, gripping your thigh tightly before pinning your leg down beside the other. “You’re gonna hurt me, honey.”
The slightly playful tone in his voice only makes your anger explode further. Even now, he was flirting. Like this was some stupid game instead of a nightmare.
“You fucking liar,” you spit, glaring up at him with pure hatred.
A slow grin spreads across Dick’s face.
“Mmm,” he hums teasingly, leaning closer as he keeps you trapped beneath him effortlessly. “I love it when you talk dirty to me.”
His grip tightens just slightly around your wrists - not enough to injure you, just enough to remind you exactly who was in control here. Your breathing turns uneven. Not because of him. Because no matter how much you fought, no matter how hard you twisted beneath him - You couldn’t get free.
“Can I ask you a question?” Dick murmurs.
Before you can answer, he leans down closer, so close you can feel his breath against your skin. His lips brush the shell of your ear as he whispers softly: “What’s your favorite horror movie?”
A shiver runs violently down your spine. Goosebumps spread across your skin instantly, and you squeeze your eyes shut for a brief second, silently cursing yourself. Because even now - even like this - Dick still affected you like a drug.
From the very first date, keeping your hands off him had been nearly impossible. The stupid smirk, the teasing touches, the way he always looked at you like you were the only person in the room. And it definitely wasn’t one-sided. Some days, if Dick had his way, he probably wouldn’t let you leave his bed at all, keeping you tangled beneath him for hours while he kissed and touched you until neither of you could think straight. You hated that your body still remembered those feelings now.
“The one where the final girl kills the psychotic serial killer,” you say through clenched teeth.
Dick pulls back just enough to look at you properly. For a second, his expression almost softens. One of his hands keeps your wrists pinned effortlessly while the other rises slowly to your face. His fingertips brush against your cheek with such unbearable gentleness that your resolve wavers for half a heartbeat.
Then you bite him.
Hard.
“Fuck!” Dick jerks back with a sharp hiss of pain, instinctively loosening his grip for just a second.
Enough.
You rip one hand free immediately and scramble for the knife lying beside the open box. Dick stumbles back a step, clutching the hand you bit while glaring at you in irritation. And then he sees the knife. The atmosphere changes instantly. You push yourself upright slowly, gripping the handle tightly despite your shaking hands, keeping the blade pointed directly at him as you begin backing toward the bedroom door.
Dick watches your every movement carefully. A pained wince crosses his face as he rubs the fresh bite mark forming on his hand. You were far feistier than he’d expected when this started. Not that he minded.
Actually… It was kind of attractive. His eyes drag slowly over you before he lets out a quiet laugh, low and almost breathless.
“There she is,” he murmurs, staring at you like he’s seeing something beautiful instead of terrifying. “That’s my girl. Now, sweetheart…” Dick says softly, raising both hands in mock surrender as he stalks toward you down the hallway. “Let’s talk about this.”
“Talk about what?” you snap, backing away from him carefully, the knife trembling in your grip. “About how you lied to me this entire time? About how you pretended to love me while planning how to kill me? Or maybe about the fifteen people you murdered? About Stephanie?” Your voice cracks violently. “How exactly do you expect me to have a conversation with you right now?!”
Dick keeps walking toward you slowly, hands still raised, expression calm in a way that makes your stomach twist. The sight of you backing away from him with his knife clenched in your hands does something dangerous to him. His pulse races unexpectedly as his mind flickers through every possible outcome of this situation.
You looked terrified. Cornered. Desperate.
And somehow, it only made him want you more.
“You probably won’t believe me,” he says evenly, his voice smooth despite the tension hanging between you both, “but I really do love you.” Another slow step. “I didn’t plan for that part,” he admits with a quiet laugh under his breath. “But I fucking love you, sweetheart. And if you hadn’t found that box…” His eyes soften slightly. “I never would’ve hurt you.”
“Fucking liar!” you spit instantly.
Dick laughs outright at that. It’s warm. Genuine. Completely insane.
He takes another step closer while you continue backing away from him down the staircase landing. You looked so furious, glaring at him like you hated him with every ounce of your being - and yet the most you could do was curse at him and threaten him with shaking hands. You both knew you weren’t winning this fight.
“You’re really cute when you’re angry,” he teases casually. Then his grin widens. “Besides… you have to admit you’re ridiculously easy to manipulate sometimes.”
You stare at him in disbelief.
“Manipulate?” you repeat sharply. “Please. You were the one begging me to be your girlfriend. You practically got on your knees thanking me when I finally agreed to sleep with you.” Dick’s smile twitches wider. “You were the one panicking every time I met your fucked-up rich family,” you continue bitterly, voice shaking as you descend another step backward. “You’re the one who begged me not to leave you. And every single time we had sex, you were whining about how much you loved me and how you’d do anything for me while I rode-”
“Jesus Christ,” Dick laughs breathlessly, rubbing a hand over his mouth for a second like he’s genuinely entertained despite the situation.
You reach the stairs. Your eyes flick downward briefly. Then you turn and run.
“Y/N-”
You sprint down the staircase as fast as possible, your heartbeat roaring in your ears while footsteps thunder behind you instantly. Too fast… He was too fast...
The moment you reach the bottom floor and lunge toward the front door, a violent yank jerks you backward by the back of your silk shirt - the one you wore tonight specifically because Dick once told you it made you look irresistible.
You stumble hard. The knife flies from your grasp as you crash painfully onto the floor. Before you can even react, Dick is already on top of you. He kneels over your legs, pinning you effortlessly beneath him again, wearing that same lazy grin like this is all just some twisted game of cat and mouse he already knew he’d win.
“You really thought I wouldn’t plan for this?” he muses, reaching past you to grab the knife from the floor. “Sweetheart…” He twirls the blade lazily between his fingers. “I live for the chase.” Then he leans down slightly, resting his elbows on his knees like he has all the time in the world. A smirk pulls at the corner of his lips. “And honestly?” he murmurs softly, blue eyes dragging slowly over your trembling form, “you’re making this way too fun for me.”
You forced yourself to pull away as much as you could beneath him, your mind racing desperately for any possible way out. Then an idea hit you.
Slowly, cautiously, you shifted your hips against him. Dick froze for half a second. A dark, dangerous chuckle rumbled from his chest as he felt the movement, his pupils dilating briefly before his expression smoothed back into something teasing and controlled.
“Oh no,” he murmured, voice low with amusement. “Don’t tell me you’re trying to distract me. That’s so… low of you.”
He shifted deliberately against you once, just enough to make your breath hitch involuntarily.
“Clever girl,” he whispers near your ear. “Too bad I’m not that easy to manipulate. Now behave,” he says sweetly. “Or this is going to become very unpleasant for both of us.”
Panic claws at your chest. You had no chance against him physically. You knew that. Dick was stronger, faster, calmer - and worst of all, he was enjoying this. But there was one thing you weren’t completely sure about.
His feelings. He may have lied about loving you, but you know him well enough to know he can't resist your body.
You swallowed hard and made your choice. Without warning, you grabbed the front of his shirt and kissed him. Dick goes completely still. For one brief second, he doesn’t react at all, clearly caught off guard. Then you bite his lower lip lightly - just enough to make him inhale sharply. And that’s all it takes.
The restraint in him cracks immediately. A low sound escapes his throat as he kisses you back hard, one hand tangling tightly into your hair while the other presses against your waist possessively. The kiss turns messy and desperate almost instantly, fueled by adrenaline, anger, fear, and something far more dangerous underneath it all. You wrap your legs around his waist instinctively, pulling him closer as you try to keep him distracted.
For a moment, it actually works.
Dick breaks the kiss only to drag his mouth down the side of your neck, his breathing rougher now despite his earlier confidence. “You really think this is enough to distract me?” he mutters against your skin, voice strained with amusement. “Sweetheart… I’m barely losing focus.”
“We’ll see,” you whisper back shakily. You press another kiss against his neck, subtly shifting beneath him again while your eyes dart around desperately, still searching for some kind of escape. A curse slips under Dick’s breath. His hands tighten around your hips automatically, fingers pressing hard enough to remind you how strong he really is.
And for the first time since this started…He actually sounds affected.
“Mmph… damn,” Dick murmurs against your skin, his voice lower now, roughened by the way you’re moving beneath him. His head tilts slightly, giving you better access to his neck while his thumb traces slow circles against your hip. “You’re just full of surprises tonight, aren’t you?” His eyes narrow slightly as he watches you. “You think that because you’re rubbing against me I’m suddenly gonna go soft on you?” he asks teasingly. “You think I’m just some hormonal teenager who can’t think straight?” One of his hands slides up to your chin, forcing you to look at him. “Sweetheart,” he says softly, almost amused, “I’ve been doing this for a long time.”
Fuck. Your pulse stutters nervously. You swallow hard and arch your back slightly beneath him, trying to keep your movements natural despite the panic clawing at your chest. You moved your hand and with a quick movement, pulled the shirt in opposite directions, and the buttons running down the middle came undone, revealing what you had underneath. Revealing a new lace bra in his favorite color. Rich Navy Blue.
Dick goes quiet. For a second, all he does is stare.
That new set of lingerie was supposed to be a surprise for later. After dinner. After wine and flirting and teasing kisses against his jaw while he smiled at you like you hung the moon. You had spent way too long picking out that matching set because you knew exactly what kind of things Dick liked.
But then you found the box.
And suddenly the entire night became something else entirely. Dick’s gaze drags slowly over your body stretched beneath him, dark and hungry enough to make heat crawl embarrassingly up your neck despite everything.
“Damn…” he whispers. The word comes out almost breathless. “You really wore this for me, huh?”
A pause. Then his mouth curls into a crooked grin.
“Were you planning on letting me take it off, sweetheart?”
“Yeah,” you snap bitterly. “But then you started trying to kill me like a fucking psychopath, so I figured you didn’t deserve it anymore.”
Dick actually laughs softly at that.
“Ouch,” he murmurs. “You’re hurting my feelings, doll.”
His hand slides slowly across your exposed stomach while the other still keeps your wrists trapped above your head. Warm fingers drag upward deliberately, inch by inch, until they stop right beneath the edge of your bra. Your breath catches involuntarily.
“Oh, I’m hurting your feelings?” you laugh bitterly, squirming beneath him. “You’re the one lying to me, murdering people…”
“And yet,” Dick interrupts quietly. He leans closer until his breath brushes against your lips. “I bet you’re still wet for me.” A smug smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “You can hate me all you want,” he murmurs softly, eyes locked onto yours. “But your body still responds to me.”
“What do I have to do to make you stop wanting to kill me?” you ask quietly, wetting your lips nervously with your tongue. You really don't want to fucking die today. Dick’s eyes drop to your mouth instantly. The hunger in his expression darkens so fast it almost startles you.
His fingers tracing lazily along the strap of your bra. A low chuckle escapes him. His gaze drags over you again, slow and openly possessive. “Oh, this will be fun..”
You swallow hard beneath him. “What can I do to survive?”
For the first time since this started, Dick hesitates. A sigh leaves him quietly, almost frustrated with himself, like he already knows he’s making a mistake just by considering your question. His thumb strokes absentminded circles against your hip.
“If you really want me to let you live…” he says slowly, studying your face carefully, “then I have two conditions.”
Your stomach twists.
“You’re gonna hate it, though.”
“Try me, Dickie.”
He laughs softly at the nickname, shaking his head. It’s ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. He’s pinning you beneath him, holding your life in his hands, and somehow you still find the nerve to tease him.
Honestly? It makes him want you even more.
“I’m surprised you still have the energy to mouth off right now,” he murmurs, tightening his grip on your waist slightly. “But I guess you’ve never been the type to back down from a challenge.”
He leans closer until his lips barely brush yours. He lifts one finger between you.
“First condition… You listen to me. No more running. No more fighting me. No more trying to stab me with my own knife.” His eyes lock onto yours completely. “I’m the one in control here, sweetheart. If you want to stay alive, you do what I say. Understand?”
You stare into his eyes for a long moment. Every instinct in your body screams not to trust him. But you also know you don’t have a choice right now.
“I understand,” you whisper carefully.
Dick studies your face like he’s searching for any sign you’re lying. When he finds none, something warm flickers across his expression. “Good girl,” he murmurs softly. The praise sends an uncomfortable shiver down your spine. “I knew you’d eventually start thinking clearly.” His fingers brush some hair away from your face gently - disturbingly gentle for someone threatening your life minutes ago. “You’ve always been smarter than most people.”
Surprisingly his grip loosened. Just slightly. Not enough to let you go, but enough that you feel the difference immediately. His gaze stays locked on yours, searching for your reaction.
“If you want me to stop seeing you like a problem I need to solve…” he continues, thumb brushing once over your wrist, no longer restraining, just touching, “then you stop fighting me like I’m your enemy.”
His eyes flicker briefly over your lips again, but slower this time. Less hungry. More focused.
His hand shifts from your hip to your wrist, but instead of pinning it, he turns it over slowly, palm up, like he’s deciding something. “You stay with me willingly.” he adds.A faint, crooked smile tugs at his mouth. “And in return… I stop treating you like something I have to catch.”
Silence stretches between you. Then, softer: “You choose that… You choose me” he murmurs. “Or we go back to me keeping you pinned and you hating every second of it.” His eyes narrow slightly. “Your call, sweetheart.”
A low rumble of a chuckle escaped his throat, a dangerous sound as his free hand came up to grip the back of your thigh. He tightened his grip on the back of your thigh, slowly spreading your legs open and positioning himself between them.
"You'll be a good little doll for me, won't you?"
You slowly nodded in agreement. He leaned down, his lips brushing the sensitive spot just behind your ear as he spoke, his voice low and controlled. One of his hands slid down to your covered crotch. His fingers pressed hard against your pants, and a moment later his hand slid under them, landing on your pussy. “And condition number two… You don't get to come unless I say so."
He rubbed slow, deliberate circles, just enough to make your breath hitch-but not enough to give you what you wanted.
"You know how I love making people beg.”
"Oh I know… You like it when I ask for permission… when I beg for you…" you replied, voice softer now, breath uneven as you shifted against him instinctively, chasing more of his touch.
He growled under his breath, his eyes darkening as you ground your hips against his fingers. You gasped when two thick fingers slipped inside you without warning, working in and out in slow thrusts. But even the meassured curl of his finger had you holding him, back arching from the floor. Another finger curled in and you moaned. His fingers thrusted knuckle deep in and out again, the soft moving of skin moving around the room as your breaths covered the sound.
A broken cry escaped your throat as pleasure crashed over you in relentless pulses. He didn’t stop, of course not. His fingers moved steadily, drawing it out until you were trembling and oversensitive. You cry out, hips jerking against his hand, but he pins you down, keeping you exactly where he wants. You come hard and fast, thighs trembling around him, a sharp broken cry tearing from your throat as pleasure crashes through you in relentless waves.
You were breathing heavily, trying to calm yourself. Fuck…This isn’t how it was supposed to go, I thought. I watched as he pulled his hand out of my clothes and, looking me straight in the eyes, licked my cum from his fingers. A look of pleasure appeared on his face, and I could feel his hard dick pressing against my thigh.
“Damn, I think that’s the fastest I’ve ever managed to make you cum. Our little chase must have really turned you on, baby. Makes me wonder how fast I can make you cum with my dick… maybe we’ll even beat our last record. We’re going to have some fun tonight…”
"You gonna move or are you just gonna stand there looking pretty?"
Fourteen words.
You'd had them your whole life — neat dark letters wrapping the inside of your forearm, permanent and unhelpful, offering absolutely zero identifying information about the person who would one day say them to you. No name. No context. Just fourteen words that managed to be simultaneously a little rude and a little flirtatious and completely unreadable as to whether the person saying them would mean it as one or the other or somehow both.
Your mother had called it characterful.
Your best friend had called it concerning.
You'd made your peace with it. Whoever they were, they were apparently someone who said exactly what they thought, moved fast, and had a specific kind of humor that operated in the space between blunt and charming. You'd built a rough sketch of a person from fourteen words over twenty-something years and tried not to get too attached to the sketch.
You were a little attached to the sketch.
Gotham was not a city you'd chosen so much as landed in — job opportunity, affordable rent by the standards of someone who'd never been to Gotham and didn't yet understand what affordable rent in Gotham meant about a neighborhood — and you'd been here long enough now to have developed the particular Gotham-specific survival skill of simply continuing to walk when things happened around you.
Things happened a lot in Gotham.
Tonight's thing was a fight in the alley beside your building, which you heard before you saw — the specific sounds of impact, something hitting brick, a grunt — and you made the Gotham calculus instantly: not a mugging, wrong sounds for that, too much back-and-forth, and there were two distinct voices which meant—
You turned the corner anyway because you were, as your best friend had noted on multiple occasions, genuinely terrible at self-preservation.
The alley was a disaster. Three men were down in various configurations of unconscious, and a fourth was currently being held against the wall by a figure in a red helmet and a leather jacket, which — Red Hood, you'd seen enough Gotham news to recognize Red Hood — who was saying something in a low voice that had the quality of a thing you didn't want to hear the specifics of.
The fourth man made a decision. Bad one.
He had something in his hand — small, dark — and you did not think, you just reacted, the way you did when something bad was about to happen and your body moved before your brain caught up.
"Hey!" Loud, sharp, aimed at the man with the weapon.
It worked, which was a miracle. He startled. The Red Hood moved — fast, faster than anyone had a right to move — and the thing was handled in about two seconds, the man joining his colleagues on the alley floor.
Silence.
You became aware that you were standing at the entrance to an alley in Gotham at eleven at night having just yelled at a man with a gun. Your brain, now catching up, had several notes about this.
The Red Hood turned around.
The helmet was expressionless by design, which made it somehow more unnerving — no face to read, just the red visor, the broad shoulders, the leather jacket, the general impression of someone who was very large and very capable and currently looking directly at you.
"You gonna move," he asked sarcastically, and his voice was low and a little rough and had an edge of incredulous to it, "or are you just gonna stand there looking pretty?"
The alley went very quiet.
Your arm was burning.
Not painfully — not quite. More like warmth, sudden and specific, the feeling people described and that you'd read about and filed under things that won't happen to me because you were practical about these things, you'd gotten practical, and yet here it was, the warmth spreading up your forearm exactly where fourteen words had lived your whole life.
You looked down.
The letters were glowing. Faintly, gold-warm, the way they did when — when—
You looked up.
The helmet looked back at you.
"What," he said. Flat. But something had changed in his voice, the edge of incredulous gone, replaced by something more careful.
"Your — say that again." Your voice came out strange. "What you just said."
A long pause.
"Which part." Not quite a question.
"All of it."
He was very still. The kind of still that felt like a held breath, like something balanced on a very narrow edge. He looked at your arm — at the glow of it, faint and warm in the dim alley light — and then back at your face, and you couldn't see his expression, you couldn't see anything behind the helmet, but the stillness of him was communicating something anyway.
"Huh," he said finally. Very quiet. Almost to himself.
"Yeah."
Another pause. Longer.
"You just yelled at a guy with a gun," he stated with a breathy laugh.
"I noticed that, yes."
"In a Gotham alley. At eleven at night."
"Also yes."
"That's—" He stopped. You got the impression he was doing something with his face behind the helmet that he was grateful you couldn't see. "That's insane. That's genuinely insane."
"I have been told," you said, "that I'm bad at self-preservation."
"Clearly." But the rough edge of his voice had shifted into something that wasn't quite dry and wasn't quite warm and was somehow both. "You live around here?"
"That building." You pointed. "Third floor."
He looked at the building. Then back at you. "Of course you do," he said, mostly to himself.
"What does that mean?"
"It means I've been running this block for eight months and my soulmate lives on the third floor and apparently nearly got shot tonight because she—" He stopped. Seemed to realize how much he was saying. "Nothing. Forget it."
Your heart was doing something unreasonable.
"You've been running this block for eight months," you said carefully.
"I patrol. It's a thing I do. It's not—" He made a gesture. "It's work."
"And you never—"
"I never stopped anyone on the street and asked them to look at my arm, no." Flat. "I'm not — I don't do that. I didn't think—" Another stop. The careful stillness again. "I have fourteen words on my arm that are very loud and extremely unhelpful and I wasn't exactly optimistic about the context they implied."
Fourteen words.
You looked at him. At the helmet, the jacket, the alley around you with its unconscious occupants, the Gotham night in all its grim and complicated glory.
"Can I see?" you asked.
A long moment.
He pushed the jacket sleeve up slowly, the leather sliding back to reveal the inside of a forearm — and the tattoo there, dark letters, words you knew because you'd said them, or would say them, or had just said them approximately forty seconds ago in a Gotham alley at eleven at night.
Your words. On his arm. His whole life.
The matching warmth was there too, faint gold, the same glow as yours.
You pulled your own sleeve up without being asked.
He looked at your arm for a long time.
"You gonna move or are you just gonna stand there looking pretty," he read aloud. Quiet. Like he was checking the weight of each word. "That's what I said."
"That's what you said."
"I almost said something else." He sounded slightly stunned. "I almost said — something about moving, but different, and I changed it last second."
"What would have happened if you hadn't?"
"I don't know." He looked up from your arm to your face. "I don't want to know."
You thought about eight months. Him running your block for eight months, and you in your third floor apartment, and the specific arithmetic of almost — how close and how long and how many times you might have walked past each other in the ordinary way of a city that never made anything easy.
"I'm—" You started. "My name is—"
"I know," he interrupted, Then, registering your expression: "I told you. I run this block. I know the neighborhood. I don't — it's not weird, it's just—"
"It's a little weird."
"It's a little weird," he admitted shyly.
A pause. Below you one of the unconscious men made a noise and did not wake up.
"You could tell me yours," you asked, "Since we're doing this."
The stillness again. Long enough that you t1hought he might not — that this was the wall, the place where it stopped, where the helmet stayed on and the name stayed private and you went upstairs to your third floor apartment with a glowing arm and a story you wouldn't know how to tell.
"Jason," he offered slowly.
Just that. Careful and quiet, like something he didn't take out often.
"Jason," you echoed back. Checking the weight of it. It was a good weight.
He was looking at your face again with that quality of attention that felt like inventory, like accounting. Like someone who'd stopped letting himself expect something finding it anyway and not quite knowing what to do with his hands about it.
"You should go inside," he stated seriously, "It's late and this block is — just go inside."
"Are you going to keep running the block?"
"That's generally how it works, yeah."
"Okay." You pulled your sleeve back down. The warmth was fading to something quieter, settled, permanent in a new way. "I make coffee in the morning. Third floor, the window with the bad curtains. If you're ever — if you wanted to—"
"Bad curtains."
"Genuinely terrible. I've been meaning to replace them."
"I'll find it," Jason assured you with a laugh. And the rough voice had gone fully warm now, all the edge of it soft, the way something sounds when a person has given up managing it. "Go to sleep."
You went inside.
You stood in your kitchen for a while, jacket still on, looking at your forearm where fourteen words had lived your whole life and were now quiet, settled, finally exactly what they'd always been waiting to be.
In the morning you made coffee and opened the window with the bad curtains.
congrats on your milestone honey!! would you maybe write soft kissing w wally…and when he kisses you it just happens to be the softest and slowest he ever is
bursting colors when you laugh.
wally west x gn!reader
summary: 0.6k
“Sometimes, I slow down time to watch your eyes dilate when you look at me,” he murmurs before kissing along your cheekbones again. “Makes me feel special, y’know? I get to see that you love me. Physically.”
or the one where wally slows down when you're around. — join the sleepover
content: fluff, slice of life, I had half of this already in my drafts when you sent this request in and I felt like it fit! so thank you hehe :)
masterlist
When you first started dating Wally, he was full of energy. Always. Talking your ear off, zipping around the room, jittering hands. He was still like that, now, every so often, but you were able to catch him in the moments where he slowed down. You liked it. You liked being one of the few people that got to see the flash at rest.
He was especially still in the mornings, just after he has woken up. As soon as the sleep starts to fade out of him, he’s smiling. Crooked and off-center, one eye still shut as his eyes unblur.
“Hi, sunshine,” he hums. His voice is gravely, thick with disuse. “I missed you.”
“You were beside me all night,” you bark out a laugh.
“Yeah, but I was asleep,” he shrugs. One dimple is on full display as he shifts closer to you and tucks his face into your neck.
“Okay, sure,” you drag out, still laughing as your fingers curl into the wisps at the base of his neck. The groan he lets out feels like a purr against your skin. He tilts up. His eyes are still sleep-dazed and sparkling.
“Don’t be mean to me, baby,” he mumbles as his gaze trails over your lips. Shifting, he props himself up above you and leans down to kiss along your cheeks.
“That tickles, Walls,” you chirp, tensing and scrunching your face slightly but not pulling away.
“‘M sorry,” he grins. His lips find yours soon after. One of his knees nudges yours apart as he pushes in to be closer to you. His head tilts. His lips part and his tongue slides over the seam in your mouth.
It doesn’t feel dirty, or even sexually charged. He just wants to be close to you. To feel you.
The one hand not holding up the brunt of his weight slides down to rest on the bare skin of your hip not covered by your shirt. He thumbs across the hemline and sends static along your back.
“You wanna know something?” he mumbles against your lips.
He pulls back and lets you catch your breath for a bit, though he doesn’t move far. He’s still lingering just above you. Still just in your orbit.
“Sometimes, I slow down time to watch your eyes dilate when you look at me,” he murmurs before kissing along your cheekbones again. “Makes me feel special, y’know? I get to see that you love me. Physically.”
“Is that where you go when you get all dazed on me?” you laugh softly, scrunching your nose a bit when his breath tickles your skin.
“Yeah, sometimes,” he says. He’s still blinking slowly, still waking up. “Other times I just lose focus looking at you.”
“Who knew you could be such a sap,” you chuckle, but you can’t fight the warmth that bubbles up in your chest.
“It’s hard not to be one with you,” he whispers. “I’ve never wanted to slow down so bad in my life. All I want to do whenever I’m around you is hold onto every second you can give me.”
“Walls,” you whine.
“I know, I know,” he laughs. “‘S a lot for eight thirty in the morning.”
“No, it’s very sweet,” you say as your hand comes up to the curve of his jaw. Your thumb swipes under his eyelid and you watch the way his eyelashes flutter. “What’s got you all lovey this morning, hm?”
“Nothing. I just love you,” he says and his grin cracks across his cheeks.
“I love you, too,” you mumble before tugging him back down to meet your lips. He vibrates with pleasure, meeting your movement with newfound energy.
contents :: NSFW. mdni. established relationship. not quite somnophilia but 'reader' isn't fully awake either. brief finger sucking. thigh job. p -> v. soo many nicknames + lots of praise. i haven't written smut in maybe three years, so forgive me if this is not great ^^7 wc. ~1.6k
The night had gone to shit, and Jason was pissed.
He had one thing he needed to do, just one. It should have been easy, but every little thing that could go wrong did go wrong. And things that didn't usually frustrate him were making him feel like a bomb about to go off. He was surprised he hadn't gone off already.
He felt pretty damn close to it by the time he finally got home, unlocking the front door of your shared apartment.
The place was already quiet, and he wasn't surprised to find you had already gone to bed. He had gotten home nearly four hours later than he had planned, he never expected you to wait up so late.
He was sure you had tried though.
He made quick work of his gear and clothes as he made his way down the hall to the bedroom — helmet left too close to the edge of the counter, and the rest of his gear tossed on the back of the couch, the seat of a chair, left in the middle of the floor. He'd pick it up later, he only had the energy to think about one thing right now.
And maybe part of him wanted to hear you lecture him about the mess he made.
By the time he pushed the bedroom door open he had stripped down to his boxers and undershirt. He figured that was good enough to satisfy your 'no outside clothes in the bed' rule, and lowered himself onto the mattress next to you.
You were curled up on your side, knees tucked close to your body, your back towards his side of the bed, hands folded near you in that way he knew was going to make you complain about your wrists being sore in the morning.
It made him smile a bit as he tucked himself close to you, hand sliding across your hip and up until his palm pressed flat against your tummy, fingers spread out to pull you closer.
He wasn't trying to wake you up, but he wasn't exactly trying to keep you asleep either. And he wouldn’t deny the little flutter in his chest when you mumbled his name half asleep.
“Hey, baby” He answered against your temple, “I woke you up ?”
He knew the answer already, but you still tried to tell him you’d already been awake.
“How was patrol ?” You asked, eyes still closed.
Jason’s fingers pressed into your front a little harder at the question “Was shit, baby” He answered, head moving down to your neck, he pressed his lips against the warmth as he continued; “Nothin’ went right, nobody listened to a damn word I said. Got me all worked up, pretty girl.”
You only replied with a quiet hum, still awake but barely.
Jason’s hand moved lower, pushing up the hem of the t-shirt you were wearing – which he was pretty sure had been his at one point, before you decided to change that – and toying with the waist band of your panties.
“Jay …” You mumbled, halfheartedly pushing his hand away. It was nothing more than a slow brush of your fingers against his knuckles before your hand returned to its original position tucked under your chin.
“I know” He whispered, fingertips dipping under the fabric “I know you’re tired, baby. You don’t gotta do anythin’, just lemme have this, yeah ? That okay ?”
You took a moment to answer, long enough Jason thought you’d fallen asleep again, before giving him a small, sleepy “Mhm” and a slow nod.
It felt like the entire night had been lifted off his shoulders, finally something was going his way. His head lifted again to kiss your cheek, your temple, and then your cheek again before tucking his face back into the side of your neck. “Sweet baby, so good to me baby.”
He moved his hand up, pressing his middle and ring finger against your bottom lip. They parted without him having to ask. Your lips closed around them, giving slow sleepy sucks to his fingers.
“My sweet girl,” He cooed, rolling his hips in slow circles against your backside “My perfect girl”
His fingers pressed down against your tongue as you sucked and licked, drool pooling around them. His other hand made quick work pushing his boxers down, just enough to pull himself free, he was already hard, flushed tip already shiny with leaking precum.
He pressed the head where your thighs met and pulled his fingers from your mouth with a wet ‘pop’ that made his cock twitch against your skin. You mumbled something barely legible, but enough to let him know you were at least still awake when he spit covered fingers dipped into your underwear.
They slid between the folds a few times before his fingertips found your clit. You shifted, giving him a muffled, closed mouth whine.
“I know,” He whispered, a heavy breath brushing against your skin. His hips moved forwards, pushing himself between the fat of your thighs.
“Fuckin’ hell, baby” he groaned, rocking himself back and forth between your legs as his fingers rubbed over your folds and played with the bundle of nerves above them, flicking and pinching gently with his fingertips “Missed you s’ much. You’re the only thing left that’s right in this goddamned city”
His head came up again to press his lips against your cheek, holding them there as he fucked your thighs. More precum dribbled from the fat head of his cock, smearing against your skin, and making soft squelching sounds as he moved. His fingers moved faster across your warm cunt, until he got you wet enough to dip his middle finger inside. You only answered with dreamy whines and soft moans.
“Gonna steal you away from here one day” He mumbled, his free hand coming up behind your head to turn your face towards his. His mouth slotted against yours, tongue immediately making a home past your lips. “Gonna run away with you, no one’s ever gonna hear from us again. Get you all to myself, new life far away from this fuckin’ place. Wherever you wanna go, baby. That sound nice ?”
You slurred something he barely caught, and his mouth was on yours again. Sure he was just being dramatic, Jason would probably never be able to leave this gunmetal city. But the thought of it was enough, and he thought of it often.
“Need you, pretty girl” He whispered into your mouth. Jason had never been above begging for you. He did it as easy as breathing, especially when he was like this “That okay ? C’mon, use your words angel.”
“S’ okay” You answered, voice soft around the edges, heavy with that honey-warm dreaminess.
The way Jason’s chest flooded with warmth you have thought you just told him he was being handed everything he had ever wanted. Which, in some sort of way, he had been.
“Thank you, sweetheart” He pulled himself from between your thighs, a string of precum connected the tip to your warm skin. He could’ve cum just from the sight of that alone. “Oh, God, you’re so good for me. You’re perfect. Fuckin’ perfect.”
His hand slid between your legs, lifting it to bring it back over his own, bending it at the knee.
He didn’t bother pulling your underwear off all the way, just hooked his fingers into the fabric and pushed it to the side, holding it there as he lined himself up. He rubbed the thick length of his cock across the wet folds, covering it with your arousal before he lined himself up with your entrance.
Jason wasted no time pushing himself in, making soft shushing and cooing sounds against your temple as he pressed into you. He knew he wasn’t small, far from it. And he always tried to be careful with you, he’d be buried again before ever doing anything to hurt you.
“I know, angel” He whispered, pushing forwards one more time until he was bottomed out inside you. “You’re doing so good.”
His fingers found your clit again, rubbing soothing circles across it. It was nearly enough for him just feeling your walls flutter and squeeze around him. You relaxed enough eventually for him to give a few slow, steady rocks in and out of your warm hole.
“Jay –” You whined
“It’s okay.” He replied, hand moving to pull your leg up further on his before returning to your clit “You’re okay. Missed bein’ home. Missed bein’ home so much, doll.”
It didn’t take you too long before the knot in your tummy snapped, gummy walls squeezing around him as heat rushed through you, and stars lit up behind your eyelids. Your hips jerked against his as you gasped for air.
He slowed but didn’t stop as your hips and legs twitched from overstimulation. “Almost there, baby. Just a little longer, okay ? Can you hold on just a little longer, just a bit and then –”
He was cut off by a low moan, his own orgasm flooding through him. “Fuck, baby. Oh Fuck —” His cock twitched, coating the inside of your achy cunt with warm, thick cum. He didn’t pull out, not yet. He pressed himself deeper, settling inside you as he caught his breath.
His mouth found yours again, spilling praise after praise against your lips. Almost worshipful in the way he adored you so much.
“That was amazing, baby. You were amazing” He whispered, lips moving across your cheek, to your temple, against the shell of your ear, until finally he settled against the back of your neck. “Just stay here for a bit. Go to sleep. I’ll clean you up in a minute, baby. Promise. I promise”
