Can i request Dick Grayson x reader where he saves them as Nightwing and tries to be romantic but the reader rejects him cause they don't know that he's Nightwing?
Heyyy, sorry if it took me too long to write this, I haven't been feeling very inspired lately :(((
I hope I got it right, this is my very first request ever!!!!
A RESCUE WITH UNNECESSARY FLIRTINGˎˊ˗
╰┈➤fluff, a little suggestive?? Dick being a dick // English isn't my first language, so please forgive any mistakes .ᐟ
Saving that stray cat wasn't a good idea—and following it down an alley was even worse—so now here you were, stuck in the middle of an illegal drug deal. Two guns were pointed at your temples, and you were praying they wouldn't shoot.
Your boyfriend always tells you so: Gotham's streets are way too dangerous to walk alone at night…
Maybe if you’d listened to Dick, this wouldn’t be happening.
You turn your head slightly without making any sudden movements with the rest of your body; your eyes focus on one of the guns. The cold metal of the bullet could pierce your brain if the man holding the weapon wanted to. The situation you had gotten yourself into was critical: you didn't know if you would make it out alive.
“What did you hear?” The raspy voice comes from the criminal to your right. “Are you an undercover cop or somethin’?"
Undercover cop? Do you seem like one to them? You shake your head; the words won’t come out—you’re too scared to speak.
Unsatisfied, the man continues his interrogation. “How did you find us?” The gun presses a little deeper into your skin; if you manage to get out of this alive, you’ll be left with a mark—a small reminder of this wonderful day.
You close your eyes, not knowing what to do, trying to remember something Dick had taught you to do in dangerous situations. Your boyfriend insisted so much that you should learn self-defense and all those things he’s so good at—but no matter how hard you tried, you just weren’t.
You make a mental list of the three basic steps to follow in these situations—according to Dick—or were there four? You can’t quite remember.
Step one: analyze the situation; then measure the severity of the circumstances; and, most importantly…
Shit, what was the next thing you were supposed to do?
Time was running out; beads of sweat began to form on your forehead. You didn’t dare move your hand to wipe them away. You noticed your breathing becoming irregular from nerves; you wished your yoga instructor were here right now to tell you to breathe in and breathe out.
After a few seconds of eternal silence, you opened your eyes; feeling tears begin to well up. With no choice—you sighed, mentally preparing yourself for what you were about to do. Before you knew it, one of your legs shot up toward the crotch of one of the criminals, who fell to the ground the moment he felt the blow. “Fuck, you fucking little bitch.” You don’t look back—your feet won’t let you. They’re running as if there were no tomorrow.
“Shit, shit, shit,” you mutter to yourself. You needed a miracle to get out of this alive. Tears threaten to spill, but you swallow your misery—this wasn’t the time for crying.
A bullet whizzes past your ear; tiny drops of blood fall to the ground. They’d hit you right at the very edge of your ear, the top part. You don’t let yourself scream; instead, you keep running—the criminals were right on your heels.
That’s when you see him—a shadow, leaping from building to building. At first, you couldn’t quite make out who it was; the suit wasn’t distinctive enough.
“Trouble, sweetheart?” A sweet voice pierced your ears. Without warning, a toned arm wrapped around your waist, pulling your body toward his; your gazes met for a second.
Those eyes…
You didn’t have time to react to the invasion of your personal space; before you knew it, you crashed into a wall—though with no visible injury—the hero had thrown you against the wall!
Luckily, the man hadn’t used his full strength; on the contrary, he’d pushed you aside quite gently. If he hadn’t, the bullet that had just been fired would have pierced you.
Dazed, you watched the way the guy moved—it betrayed years of training. His back, visible beneath his suit, tensed when he was struck from behind. The poor criminal didn’t even have time to mentally congratulate himself on his bravery before a punch was thrown straight at his mouth, knocking out several of his teeth.
You looked away; you didn’t need to see those lowlifes getting brutally beaten—it was too disgusting and repulsive for your taste. All you wanted was to go home, lie down in bed, and, if you were lucky, Dick would already be there, waiting to wrap you up in his arms.
A hand in front of your eyes snaps you out of your thoughts. Without realizing it, you find yourself mesmerized, enjoying the sight, adoring the way the tight suit perfectly outlined the pectorals of the man who had saved you.
The guy notices—how could he not?—but he doesn’t flinch, since for him this has become a game he’s determined to milk for all it’s worth. “You okay?” His smile, once friendly, turns into a smirk when he notices your eyes aren’t on him anymore
You nod, grabbing his limb. “I’m Nightwing, by the way,” he says as he helps you to stand up.
“I know who you are, dude.”
Nightwing rolls his eyes at the response. ‘Dude’—of all the words in the world, you go and use ‘dude.’ Oh, come on, that’s what his best friend calls him; the only difference is that they don’t sleep together…
He scolds himself for that thought. It wasn’t your fault; I mean, you don’t know he’s Nightwing; but on the other hand, it felt good to realize you weren’t willing to fool around with Nightwing, a coveted bachelor according to the media.
Although, he was definitely willing to hit on you. Poor you…
“Do you always get into trouble, or is this a new hobby of yours?” You frown at the way he spoke to you, as if he already knew you.
“Actually, I was trying to save a cat,” you explain. You feel proud—sort of. You’d done a good deed—sort of, since the cat had gotten away—even though you’d needed someone to save your own skin
“A cat, huh?” With one finger, he brushes your hair for a moment, sweeping a strand away from your face, as if he wanted to see all your features.
Your body tenses at what he’d just done; you weren’t expecting such direct closeness. You couldn’t help but look at his features too—his lips seemed familiar, their shape, the way they moved…
Shit, what the hell was happening to you? You have a boyfriend, and he’s perfect, wonderful—so why is Nightwing so hot?
You were mortified at the mere thought; your body betrayed you as a nervous laugh escaped your lips. You didn’t understand what was happening to you.
The guy saw the situation as the perfect way to make you even more nervous than you already were, with you having no idea that the person really underneath that tight suit was your boyfriend. If you knew, you would surely play his game, throwing out suggestive comments that would end with the two of you lip-to-lip, pressed against the nearest wall.
“I’d better walk you home—the streets are dangerous,” you stared at him with a “don’t fuck with me, Sherlock” look on your face—I almost got killed less than half an hour ago—but you didn’t say anything. Instead, you preferred to watch as the guy crossed his arms, clenching them a little tighter as if trying to show off his biceps—which he succeeded in doing.
You sighed, “Whatever makes you feel big and strong, sweetie!” you replied in a joking tone, you couldn’t help but admit that he looked really good in that position.
Nightwing smiled a little. “Hey, just so you know, that offended, I wasn’t trying to do anything!” His tone and gestures were too dramatic to take seriously; in the blink of an eye, he was standing right in front of you, now closer, striking poses to highlight his muscles even more.
You bit your lip, trying not to stare too much. “It’s probably for the best—I don’t want to get mixed up in any more trouble,” you murmured. “I’ve had enough thrills for one night.”
Nightwing’s mouth formed an ‘O,’ ready to spout one of his usual nonsense remarks, but the look you gave him made him back off; he’d rather not take any chances—he knew you and what you were capable of…
You rolled your eyes. “My place isn’t too faraway, ” you replied. You started leading the way, and it didn’t take the guy long to pick up your pace; there was something about the way he walked that reminded you a little of your boyfriend.
Nightwing clenched his jaw, trying to figure out how to strike up a conversation with you, his eyes fixed on the movement of your hips; the pants you were wearing fit you like a glove. If he weren’t wearing his suit right now, he’d give you a pat on the ass, complimenting how great the pants looked on you. He shook his head, trying to shake off those thoughts; he had to control himself. He didn’t want you to think Nightwing was a creep or a perv. He had to maintain his reputation, so he decided to start with something more subtle. “You look good under the moonlight.” Why not try complimenting you and see how you reacted?
You turned your head to look at him, blinking in surprise, not knowing what to say. Had Nightwing just complimented you? “Oh, thank you, I guess,” you said, lowering your head shyly, feeling the heat begin to rise to your cheeks.
With a stupid hand gesture, he gave you a thumbs-up. “No problem!” You frowned amusedly; that response had been silly, though you figured he was just trying to make you laugh.
You could tell the way he was looking at you; unlike you, he made no effort to hide his interest. You couldn’t help but smile a little; you didn’t understand why this man was looking at you as if he’d known you your whole life and, somehow, as if he was willing to die for you—it’s the same way Dick looks at you…
Distracted, lost in your own thoughts, you didn’t notice the sidewalk curb; your feet lost their coordination, and that made you lose your balance
Before your body even touched the concrete, Nightwing’s arm wrapped around your waist; you sensed the possessiveness in the gesture, and a mischievous smile played on his face as his fingers clung tightly to the curve of your waist. “Careful,” he said, still smiling. “Concrete doesn’t taste very good,” he joked; his grip remained firm. “Take it from someone who’s tried it many times,” he added, trying to be funny—though, to be honest, it had been a pretty lame joke.
Without playing along, you pulled away before your body could start getting used to his sweet touch. You shook your head, disappointed with yourself; you hated the way you were letting this happen, feeling guilty toward your boyfriend. If Dick did this with a stranger, it would really upset you—not to mention how down it would make you feel…
You ran your hands over your pants; they’d gotten a little wrinkled, and you hated the creases that had formed—a little quirk of yours. “You know, physical contact isn’t necessary,” you protested. You had to bring Nightwing back down to earth. “I mean, thanks for saving me from falling, but you know…” You slowed your pace, waiting for his response, dissatisfied when his smile widened visibly.
“My fault,” he raised his arms in a false sign of surrender. “I’ll try not to do it again.”
“You’ll try?”
“Whaaat?”
You sighed, tired of his little games; you had no choice but to put up with them—all you could do was try to walk faster to get home as soon as possible.
“You’re nervous,” the hero said, casually placing an arm around your shoulders.
“I’m not.”
“Do I make you nervous?”
Your mind went completely blank at that very moment. Shit. You tried unsuccessfully to push his arm away. You took a breath, reminding yourself that you had no reason to be nervous; that would just give him more to play with.
“It’s probably hard always being wrong.” Sarcasm—that would work.
“I can think of several things that are harder…”
Stunned, you stopped dead in your tracks, finally freeing yourself from his grip on your shoulders. “I have a boyfriend,” you blurted out suddenly, watching his reaction.
“Oh,” he said, trying to look surprised, mentally praying that it was working; the last thing he needed right now was for you to figure out his identity over some silly mistake.
“Yeah, I’m saying this because you’re hitting on me and—”
Nightwing swallowed hard, feeling a little guilty; maybe he’d gone too far, especially with that last comment—he could tell by the look on your face. “I’m sorry, I got carried away—I’ve been a bit of an idiot.”
“Quite a bit, but don’t worry,” you said calmly; his apology was the most mature thing he’d said all night. “I’m flattered, but I love Dick, my boyfriend, too much.”
His face softened at the mention of his name and your confession; he raised a hand to rest it on your shoulder again. This time you didn’t flinch because you could tell he wasn’t doing it to annoy you. “He must be a lucky guy,” he said, trying to hide a smile. “I’m sure he loves you, too, very much,” he added.
You nodded, returning her smile. “Thanks,” you murmured under your breath.
He winked at you.
“It’s still a ways to your house, isn’t it?” he looked at the street name. “About eight minutes.”
જ⁀➴: You don't want to wake up your boyfriend, but his dog has other plans.
╰┈➤Fluff, domestic Dick, a little suggestive at the end // English isn't my first language, so please forgive any mistakes.ᐟ
Your boyfriend always comes home late after his patrol; it’s usually between three and, at the very latest, six in the morning. When he sneaks into the bedroom, he tries to make as little noise as possible so he doesn’t wake you up, since he knows you have to get up early the next day to go to college. Unfortunately for you, you’re a light sleeper, so the slightest movement usually wakes you up—though that does give you a chance to give Dick a goodnight kiss—or rather, a good-morning kiss, since it is, after all, morning.
When you wake up, Dick has his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling your body toward his like he needs you there to be able to sleep; his legs, tangled up in the blanket, form a little swirl.
The clock reads 7 o’clock, time to wake up.
Before getting up—being careful not to wake him, since he needs to sleep and that’s something you always insist on—you kiss him on the forehead, running one of your hands through his tangled hair as if caressing him.
You have exams today, so as soon as you’re done, you’ll be able to head straight home. The mere thought of being able to relax all afternoon, lying on the couch without doing anything productive, makes you smile. Today would be a wonderful day if it weren’t for the exams.
Getting dressed and heading to college wasn’t a problem at all—on the contrary, you loved the peace and quiet of the mornings. The problem was the exams themselves. As soon as you saw the first test, your mind went completely blank; it turns out that slacking off was now coming back to haunt you.
Well, you could always take the make-up exams—what a pain…
After half an hour (the exam lasted two—that says it all), you handed in your paper, praying the professor would show a little mercy when correcting it. At least you were free now and could go home.
What you didn’t know was that you were jumping out of the frying pan into the fire—a bit of an exaggeration, but in a way, it was true…
You opened the door to the apartment you shared with Dick and turned the key, exhausted. What had started out as a good day didn’t seem to be going that way anymore; the exams had worn you out, and you hadn’t eaten all day.
The watch on your wrist reads 1:43 p.m.; Dick has probably woken up by now, though just in case, you try not to make too much noise. If he’s still sleeping, it’s best not to wake him up; he’s been having a lot of trouble sleeping lately, and it wouldn’t hurt him to get more than four hours of sleep.
Surprised to see that there’s no sign of him, you hang your bag on the coat rack, determined to make some macaroni and cheese. You bought a new kind of pasta a few days ago and felt the need to try it—maybe that would cheer you up a little.
The only problem—or rather, the only small, furry problem—Hayley.
You’d completely forgotten about her—and just how loud she could get!
The first bark was at a normal tone, and you just got a little startled when you heard it, but the second one and the ones that followed were loud enough to wake up your boyfriend.
“Hayley!” you murmured, running toward her. “Shhh!” You tried unsuccessfully to put a hand over her snout to silence her barking, but that only made things worse because she thought you wanted to play.
The dog lunged at you; before, you’d been kneeling, trying to calm her down, but now you were sprawled on the floor, trying in vain to shake off a playful Hayley who’d decided to lick your whole face while barking happily between licks.
Damn it, your boyfriend couldn’t even get a few hours of peace…
“Hayley, sweetie, if you quiet down, I’ll give you a treat.” You knew the dog recognized that last word just as she did with “walk”—they were her two favorite words. At least now she’d gotten off you, allowing you to get up.
“WOOF!” The dog’s front paws lifted off the ground as she hopped on them and walked on two legs.
Surprised, you gestured for her to be quiet again, though you had to admit she was super cute and that, if you kept looking at her, you’d get an overload of cuteness—but now wasn’t the time; you needed to find her treats to shut her up.
Luckily, you could have sworn Dick had some stashed in the second drawer of the kitchen. “Aha, here they are.” The little package was now in your hands. Victorious, you headed over to Hayley; she was still barking for attention.
The situation was this: if you paid attention to her, she’d bark out of excitement, but if, on the other hand, you didn’t, she’d bark anyway. Perhaps the only thing that could quiet her down was to keep her mouth busy, and the treats you’re holding seem to be the best—and only—option.
When you returned to where the dog had been, there was no one there. For a few seconds, she had stopped barking. “At least she’s not making any noise anymore,” you thought to yourself.
The peace was shattered the moment you caught sight of Hayley again; she was now too busy right next to the TV stand, trying to chew on some cables.
“No, no, no!” You quickly distracted her by holding out the treat.
Huge mistake…
The last thing you expected was for her to jump up, grab the treat from your hand, and accidentally—because this dog means no harm—hit you in the chest with her front paws, sending you tumbling backward and causing a loud thud as your butt hit the floor.
To make matters worse, right behind you was the TV and a bookshelf. So now you found yourself half-lying on the floor, holding the TV in your hands while a bookshelf threatened to fall on top of you—and, as if the racket you’d made weren’t enough, you’d woken up your boyfriend.
“What happened?” A sleepy voice echoed down the hallway. Dick, wearing a tank top that hugged his chest perfectly to show off his pecs and short pajama shorts that revealed his muscular legs, was heading toward the living room. You bit your lip, enjoying the view.
You looked around again for a moment—at what point had you ended up in this ridiculous situation? You just wanted to make some mac and cheese—is that too much to ask?
At least Hayley had stopped barking; feeling too guilty after seeing what had happened, she was now hiding under the table, scared.
“You’re not going to believe this,” you muttered.
Seeing the position you were in, Dick hurried over to you. He might have just woken up, but this man’s mind was always on high alert for emergencies—and this, in a way, was one.
His muscular arms quickly lifted the TV and set it down next to you, offering a hand to help you up while he assessed your condition.
You pulled yourself together, feeling a little dizzy. “Thanks.” Your gaze drifted to his face; you couldn’t understand how anyone could look so handsome right after waking up. Ugh, how unfair. Tonight you were going to have a proper dinner.
“Thanks God you are okay!,” Dick exclaimed.
You sighed, still a little in shock. Who could blame you? The damn TV had fallen on top of you—lucky you managed to grab it at the last second, so the damage was minimal.
“Yeah,” you agreed. You raised an eyebrow when you saw the guy hugging the TV. Then it clicked in your brain—the idiot was heading toward the TV and not toward you, his girlfriend—the love of his life, according to him—who had just had a 20-kg electronic device fall on her…
“Richard!”
The man turned around, now looking guilty, and scratched the back of his neck. “I mean…” His voice dropped when he saw your murderous glare. He swallowed hard before continuing. “The TV is really expensive…”
“DICK!”
He laughed softly—a beautiful melody to your ears. “You owe me an explanation.”
“The short version or the long one?” you asked as you reached out a hand toward Hayley. The poor thing had come out of her hiding spot, still a little scared; you stroked her reassuringly.
“The short one.”
“I was trying not to wake you up,” you admitted. Your mission had been a failure.
A smile appeared on your boyfriend’s face. “Well, you didn’t do a very good job,” he teased.
“Tell me about it—I hadn’t noticed, Sherlock.”
His body moved closer to yours. At first, he just planted a kiss on your forehead, but then, realizing he has free will, his lips began to trace their way across your entire face. Before you knew it, his tongue slipped between your lips, licking them.
You playfully pushed him away. “Ewww.” He knew how much it annoyed you when he did that.
Your furrowed brow didn’t stop him from coming back to you.
“Oh, c’mon, you let Hayley lick your whole face, but when I do it, you don’t like it?” he muttered indignantly.
He didn’t wait for your answer. His arm wrapped possessively around your waist, pulling you close to him again, radiating his body heat toward you, his head resting against yours—something the difference in their height allowed him to do.
You rested your forehead against his chest. “Shouldn’t you go back to sleep?” Your voice was a barely audible whisper.
He shook his head. When you looked up, his hand brushed a strand of hair from your face.“I’d rather stay with you.” The warmth in his eyes sent a shiver through your body.
Hayley, still seeking attention, interrupted the moment, wagging her tail as she jumped up and knocked Dick over. He rolled his eyes, amused.
“Hayley, hold on, it’ll be your turn soon. Pulling away from your touch, he knelt down to be at the dog’s level. The creature, ignoring him, began licking his hands while moving her snout around, seeking contact.
You couldn’t help but smile at what was happening.
Dick moved his hands in an attempt to wipe the dogs’ drool off them. “Ugh, I think I’m going to have to take a shower…” He raised his eyebrows at you.
“Do you want me to join you?” you murmured suggestively.
“Fuck yeah, babe.”
You didn’t hesitate. Before you knew it, he was leading the way to the bathroom—the mac and cheese could wait.
Just thinking about Jason Todd waking up from a nightmare in the middle of the night, asking you to hold him.
Your boyfriend’s muscular chest was just too comfortable. It was currently 4:55 a.m.—a reasonable time to be asleep, except that Jason’d had a nightmare, something that happened often and that he usually brushed off by saying he was fine and letting it go.
Today was different. It turned out the bad dream had hit him hard, waking him up embarrassed and begging you to please hold him. Surprised, you wanted to tease him, but the urge left you when you caught sight of the beads of sweat on his tired face.
“Please stop smiling at me like that,” he whispered, while he held you close against his body, embarrassed, a slight blush coloring his cheeks. “It makes me want to kiss you and never stop.”
“Aww, Jason, stop being so cute,” you replied. You loved it when he said things like that to you.
“Don’t call me cute.”
A soft laugh escaped your lips. “You’re more comfortable than my pillow,” you murmured against his chest, one of his hands stroking your smooth hair while the other rested on your lower back. You loved the position you were in. "You can be my new pillow!"
A simple “mmmh” was his reply, his arms pulling your body tighter against his, as if he were afraid you might vanish.
— ᨳଓ: Damian is in a secret relationship that his gossipy siblings are determined to discover.
╰┈➤ Fluff | English is not my first language, sorry if there are any mistakes or anything that doesn't match up.
Damian Wayne was acting strange. Everyone had noticed it, even Jason, who usually didn't get involved in other people's personal lives, was intrigued.
Lately, Damian's phone had been vibrating with far too many notifications, which he answered quickly. He could spend hours staring at the screen. In fact, Bruce swears that several times he has caught him smiling at his phone with a lovestruck expression.
However, the one who was most involved in this change was Dick, who didn’t miss small details like Damian paying more attention to his appearance . Although he had always been vain (and now even more so), he was also in a better mood. Someone who didn’t know the younger Wayne wouldn’t notice, but Dick did, and Damian demonstrated this with more “affectionate” gestures toward the family. The other day he even offered to wash the dishes.
Yes, Damian Wayne, washing dirty dishes.
"Maybe he's planning to kill himself or something," the aforementioned commented alongside Stephanie while the two stared in disbelief at the message their little brother had sent to the family group chat:
"Good night ❤️"
Good night? And with a heart? That wasn't Damian.
He never wrote in the family group chat unless it was to complain about something, usually about Tim, warning him that his room was starting to smell like a landfill because of all the accumulated crap.
"Or maybe Damian wasn't the one who wrote the message and aliens have kidnapped him..."
The two remained silent, considering both possibilities.
A disappointed Bruce Wayne watched them from the other side of the room while reevaluating every life decision that had led him to this moment. A sigh escaped his lips. Two professional and intelligent detectives, by the way...
Sticking their noses into other people's personal lives was Dick Grayson's favorite hobby (for some reason he was incredibly good at it), so he devised a small plan to find out what was happening to Damian Wayne.
His first step: gathering the entire family without Damian finding out.
It was an easier task than he had expected, since lately the boy was never around the manor. Everyone attended, although with many complaints, especially Jason, who according to himself believed they shouldn't interfere in their little brother's private life (He was the first one to arrive at the meeting.).
"Welcome, everyone!" Dick stood at the door with exaggerated theatricality, making absurd bows every time someone entered.
Everyone was left speechless when they saw that Grayson had prepared nothing less than a twenty-slide presentation about possible things that could be happening to Damian right now.
The slides were filled with ridiculous scenarios and photos nobody knew the origin of. Excited, Dick began explaining every single one of them. He had even bought a pointer to look more professional.
After half an hour of stupid discussions—which Bruce refused to participate in—they all reached the same conclusion:
Damian had gotten himself a girlfriend.
It was obvious.
Could they have figured it out without wasting time in a meeting?
Yes.
But it would've ruined all the fun.
"So, the next step would be finding out who she is," Dick commented, proving once again that he had far too much free time.
Tim raised his hand. Respect while speaking was important after all, a rule Grayson had established when everyone started interrupting each other earlier. "I could hack his phone to access his contacts and—" His hands moved rapidly while his mind raced at a thousand miles per hour, calculating how long it would take.
Bruce immediately cut him off. "Guys, guys." He tilted his head in disapproval and rubbed his temples. God, give this poor man patience. He had to endure a group of gossip addicts with way too much free time. "There's something called privacy, and your brother deserves it too. Basic principles." He added the last part as if it weren't obvious.
"But—" Dick protested.
"No buts."
Biting his lip, the young man tried speaking again. Bruce glared at him. That didn't stop him."We just want to make sure," he began to explain.
"'We?'" Cassandra raised an eyebrow. She had remained silent throughout the entire meeting. "Or do you mean you?"
Waving a hand dismissively, Dick continued. "Sooo, we all want to make sure. Yes, WE. That Damian is actually dating someone and isn't in danger, or, in the worst-case scenario, kidnapped and replaced by an alien."
Jason burst out laughing. Everyone turned to look at him. "And what exactly are you planning to do, detective?" he asked mockingly.
Dick remained unfazed. Instead, he was too busy trying to think of his new wonderful and perfect plan to discover who his brother was dating.
“I don’t want anything to do with this,” Bruce declared.
Dick nodded. Without Bruce, they were one person short.
Fortunately, everyone else agreed to participate.
Step Two: Spy on Damian Wayne.
Damian was innocently lying on the couch, his head resting against a cushion while he held his phone with both hands, a small smile present on his face.
There was nobody around, so he could peacefully do his thing.
"Yo, dude." Dick appeared in the doorway, approaching the couch and sitting beside him, trying not to be obvious while secretly doing everything possible to see what the youngest Wayne was doing on his phone.
A failed attempt, Damian instinctively moved the phone out of his nosy older brother's line of sight.
Suspicious. Dick mentally took note of the action.
"Do you mind? I like having personal space," Damian muttered, shifting uncomfortably due to the lack of privacy.
"What are you doing?" Dick moved back slightly, maybe if he asked directly, Damian would tell him.
"Talking."
"With...?"
"Someone."
"Called?"
"It's not your business."
Dick bit his lip, his little brother was far too stubborn, he wouldn't get the answer that easily. Time to use the plan.
"Can I borrow your phone for a second?" He would probably say no, but Dick had come up with an excuse that might work.
"My phone is dead. I'm supposed to receive a package today, and I need to check where it is..." Seeing Damian's expression, he kept talking, now practically begging. "Pleaseee. It'll be super quick. I'll log into the postal service website and check it. Less than five minutes." Praying internally for his brother to agree, he unknowingly clenched his jaw. Another argument came to mind.
"Don't you need to feed Titus?"
Damian nodded.
"Then you could lend it to me while you're doing that." He pointed at the phone.
Damian's expression didn't change.
"Pleaseee."
The boy sighed and handed him the device. "Don't do anything weird."
Dick immediately took it and relaxed against the couch while watching his brother disappear through the doorway.
He didn't have much time. "messaging app, messaging app..." Dick muttered to himself while searching through the applications. Victorious, he pressed the icon.
"Shit." He hissed through his teeth, the application required a PIN, but, that wasn't going to stop him.
Determined, Grayson started trying numbers.
9806. Damian's birthday, Incorrect.
Maybe backwards?
6089. Incorrect.
He was running out of both time and attempts. In a desperate final effort, he tried something simpler.
1234. The screen began loading, he had done it.
Surprised, Dick mentally congratulated himself. His brother was usually far more complicated than that, before he could actually look at anything, footsteps approached.
A few seconds later, Damian Wayne appeared in the doorway. Moving hurriedly through the contacts, Dick couldn't spot anything unusual.Then he realized Damian was standing right in front of him, he immediately closed the app. A nervous smile appeared on his face, pretending nothing had happened.
The phone slipped from his hands and hit the floor with a loud crash.
Raising an eyebrow, Damian bent down to pick it up. "If you've broken it..." When he looked up to threaten his brother, Dick was already gone. The couch was completely empty, looking around for any trace of him, Damian found nothing. He had vanished. Giving up, he sat back down on the couch, tired of his brother's games.
At least the phone was fine.
Failure for Dick.
But it was only the first attempt, he had many more planned.
The following afternoon, Jason had decided— Or rather, had been forced under threat of consequences if he didn't cooperate. And considering this was Richard Grayson they were talking about, Jason wasn't willing to discover what kind of nightmare Dick could pull out of nowhere—,that he wanted to bond with Damian, talk about life and all the crap that came with living it.
Which was why he took him to the supermarket. The perfect place for meaningful conversations.
According to Jason, he needed help, his apartment was a disaster, and his little brother could advise him on which products to buy.
Flattered, Damian accepted, although not without complaints when he discovered Jason wanted to take the bus.
"Well..." Jason's fingers tapped nervously against his thighs. Talking had never been his strong point. Even his therapist had once told him he was a hopeless case. Leaning back slightly in his seat, he finally asked "Are you seeing someone?" Maybe being direct would work.
Nope.
"What makes you think that?" Damian crossed his arms and frowned. What was wrong with everyone lately asking personal questions? Ugh. He hated it.
He barely moved from his seat.
A napkin had been carefully placed underneath him because he absolutely refused to sit directly on the filthy seats of public transportation. His previously neutral expression had shifted into a defensive one.
This was going to be difficult.
"None of your business," he hissed.
Jason leaned further against the backrest, resting one arm on a metal bar, nervously scratching the back of his neck, he tried redirecting the conversation. "Fair enough." This was stupid, but he had promised Grayson he would at least try.
Into what kind of mess he had got himself into...
Pretending indifference, he continued. "I'm not dating anyone, there's no reason to be embarrassed if you're not either..." New strategy, maybe this would make him talk.
Damian looked at him with exactly the same expression as before, now his eyes narrowed slightly, trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with Jason today.
Pathetic.
He couldn't decipher anything. The rest of the bus ride passed in silence.
The automatic supermarket doors opened in front of them. The silence finally broke when Damian spoke. "This wouldn't happen to have anything to do with someone named Richard John Grayson, also known as Professional Meddler, would it?"
Surprised by how quickly his little brother had grasped the situation, he blurted out a nervous “whaaat?” His voice came out in a stutter, and he tried to cover it up by coughing. "I mean... pure curiosity on my part."
"Mmh." Damian didn't look convinced.
Jason immediately headed toward the toilet paper aisle, pretending to compare two different brands while desperately trying to think of an excuse. He really should've prepared a script like Dick suggested.
"Well... recently I noticed you had a..." He pointed toward Damian's neck. "A hickey."
Damian froze, embarrassed, he looked away, a faint pink blush appeared on his cheeks.
"You tried covering it with makeup," Jason continued. "But it was still really obvious." A pause. "In fact, you still have it."
“I got hurt on patrol,” he said, the biggest liar.
Jason, slightly irritated by the lie, let the subject drop. He didn’t plan to press the issue if his brother refused to talk.
Two hours later, a disappointed Dick crossed Jason’s name off his list; he, also, had failed.
Cassandra was sitting next to Damian, who was too deep in thought.
“I went to the movies last Saturday. The movie was trash, but the theater was full of couples,” she remarked, carefully watching her younger brother’s reaction.
“I thought I saw you there…” Damian swallowed hard, his body tensing. “With someone,” she added.
He shrugged in an attempt to look nonchalant, but the restless movement of his eyes gave away the lie. “That’s not possible; I was on patrol that day.”
“At 5:45 p.m.?” She noted the time as she saw it, knowing it would come in handy later.
Touché, poor Damian was between a rock and a hard place; he swallowed hard—shit, he’d screwed up.
The boy needed a good excuse. His mind raced through possible explanations. Betrayed by his own brain, he was about to give up, when it hit him: his siblings were trying to figure out who he was dating!
How had he not realized this before? It didn’t take a genius to figure it out—it was all too obvious. Dick, Jason, and now Cass… what was next? Bruce lecturing him on the need to be cautious when it came to sex?
Putting two and two together, it dawned on him: his brothers would talk among themselves about what he said, which was why he had to be careful and choose his words wisely from now on. Jason had mentioned the day before at the supermarket that he’d noticed the hickey on his neck; maybe that would come in handy.
“I got this while on patrol,” he said, pointing to the hickey, now almost faded, a soft purple tint barely visible on his tanned skin.
Cassandra hesitated; it made sense, but she still wasn’t convinced. “That looks like a love bite.”
“It’s not.”
The girl watched him closely, narrowing her eyes. “Sure.”
Uncomfortable, Damian held her gaze.
The problem was this: when Cassandra wanted to know something, she said so; when she wasn’t completely sure, she asked several questions; but when she knew something, she simply remained silent, observing the other person’s behavior.
“The guy I fought was really strong,” he muttered, scratching the hickey. “He hit me in the neck.” Damian made a gesture, mimicking the blow—the little liar.
Cassandra looked at him hesitantly, a mocking smile spreading across her face. “Did he hit you with his mouth?”
Realizing what she meant, the boy went on the defensive. “WHAT?” Nervously, he tried to compose himself. “No!”
She knew the truth; his expression gave her away. Bringing her fingers to her mouth, she mimicked a zipper. “My lips are sealed.”
The youngest of the Waynes nodded, letting his guard down; now that his body wasn’t so tense, he murmured a silent thank you.
She smiled as she got up from the couch. Before leaving, she stood in front of Damian, arms crossed and a tone of doubt in her voice. “Why don’t you want anyone to know?” A question she’d been asking herself since the conversation began.
“I—”
A loud slam of the door made them both jump. An excited Dick was running toward Damian with what looked like a small box of chocolates—according to him, from a girl. His favorite ones. He’d never mentioned them to you—how did you find out?
On top of it was a note, written in elegant handwriting—it didn’t look like yours. Intrigued, he examined the note: “miss you my love.” His fingers moved toward it.
You never called him “love”—according to you, it was too cheesy. Instead, you preferred nicknames like “baby” or “Dami.”
He had a special fondness for the latter, loving how it sounded on your lips.
“A fling?” Dick’s voice is playful, but there’s a hint of intrigue in his tone. He was thoroughly enjoying the situation.
Shaking his head, he kept staring at the note. It couldn’t be you—nothing fit you: the handwriting, the nickname, or the chocolates… nothing significant, but he had to pay attention to the details.
Analyzing the situation, he tried to piece things together again. He glanced at Cassandra for a moment; she was still in the room, watching the whole thing unfold. Damian tried to ask for help with his eyes, but his plea was rejected when the girl turned and walked out of the room, leaving him alone with his older brother.
His eyes fell on the box again; almost no one knew about his favorite chocolates—it wasn’t anything special, but he just didn’t go around telling everyone about it—no one except Dick, who for some reason always gave him absurdly specific gifts.
Damian remembers how, several years ago, his older brother had given him, among many other things, this box of chocolates.
He had been set up, but he wasn’t going to fall for it; he crossed his arms, a look of disbelief crossing his eyes. “Why are you giving me a box of chocolates?” He clenched his fist, the note still in his hand, crumpling it.
“It’s not mine,” he claimed, playing the fool, the box still in his hands, trembling slightly, nervous; he scratched the back of his neck, the object swayed, and he hurriedly managed to catch it before it fell.
“She would never—”
“SHE?”
“I mean…,” his words got stuck in his throat, his body frozen, paralyzed with an “o” shaped mouth; it had completely slipped out.
Now his siblings—or better said, Dick—wouldn’t stop teasing him. He tried to say something, but nothing came out.
The other boy’s expression revealed there was no turning back; he was doomed.
“Who’s she?” Now he’d actually dropped the box on the floor in his excitement; it was empty.
Angry, Damian started to leave the room, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him—it felt warm, with a pleasant, affectionate touch. “Come on, don’t get mad.”
“You tricked me.”
“I helped you open up.”
That only made Damian’s bad mood worse. He wasn’t going to throw a tantrum, but he was going to make things clear. “If I haven’t told you, it’s because I don’t want to. You’ve broken my trust by setting this trap for me. Your actions will have consequences.”
Outraged, he picked up the box of chocolates and, with a light blow, slammed it against Dick’s chest, leaving him surprised.
Realizing his mistake, the older boy tried to speak; his goal was to smooth things over.
Furious, Damian stormed out of the room, leaving a tense atmosphere in his wake. He needed to clear his head.
Luckily, in a few hours Batman would need him; today it was their turn to dismantle trafficking rings at the docks. It would be a piece of cake; he’d finish early and then sneak through your window, lying on your chest and nestling his head against the hollow of your neck…
His mind wandered at the thought, longing for the moment to finally be wrapped in your arms.
“Are you leaving already?” Bruce’s voice echoed beneath Batman’s mask, protective dad mode activated. He knew where his son was going, but he wasn’t stopping him—we’ve all been young—though he had to admit that part of him was dying of curiosity.
He could snoop a little; as they say, once a year won’t hurt.
Damian approached the window, tapping his fist lightly against the glass, leaning his body against it, waiting for you to appear. Through it, he could see your body, relaxed against the mattress, sleeping peacefully, feeling selfish for wanting to wake you, but he couldn’t help it; the need to feel the touch of your skin against his was too strong.
He tapped the window again, this time a little harder.
The sudden noise made you jump. Still half-asleep, you looked toward the window, where a tired Damian waved at you through the glass. You stared at the window, drowsy and unaware of what was happening; your body didn't respond.
“Dami?” The window opened with a soft click. The boy didn’t hesitate to come in, careful not to make a sound—the last thing he needed was to wake your parents. He didn’t speak; he didn’t need to, not with you. Instead, he headed straight to your bed, inviting you to lie down beside him, as if the bed belonged to him.
“Beloved.” His arm wrapped possessively around your waist, pulling your body close to his, heat filling the room. His lips brushed your neck, leaving visible marks “My brothers have found about us,” he said.
“Ouch.”
“I know…” His lips continued to caress your neck, his hand tracing circles on your waist, a tingling sensation running through your body. “I don’t care.”
You turned your body, tense at his touch; wanting to kiss him, but the exhaustion still lingered within you.
“Dami, I’m sleepy,” you murmured, your lips letting out a sound of satisfaction as he began to kiss all over your face, his gaze now fixed on your eyes.
“Come on, I haven’t been able to kiss you since the last time we saw each other!” Playfully, he brushed his nose against yours—your weak spot; you were particularly ticklish there, and he, unfortunately, knew it. Shuddering, a chill ran down your spine. “Dami!”
“I’m sorry, it’s just…” his voice sounded muffled; he’d curled up against your chest. Your hand gently stroked his hair, tangled from the patrol—it’s windy today. “I’ve missed you,” he admitted, a little embarrassed, vulnerable; the night always made him that way.
You smiled, still tired, kissing his forehead. The moonlight revealed the slight blush on Damian’s cheeks. “You’re blushing,” you teased affectionately.
“Guilty,” he admitted. “I’m sorry,” he whispered suddenly against your chest.
Surprised by his sudden apology, you stopped stroking his hair to look at him, your heart racing a little. “You don’t need to apologize, silly.”
You knew Damian wasn’t used to this kind of thing, but it never occurred to you that he’d feel guilty for blushing—something that had never crossed your mind. You closed your eyes, your heart still pounding from the effect he had on you; the way you loved sleeping next to him, his body feeling like a protective blanket.
“I can feel your heartbeat—fast, erratic,” he said, a sweet note in his voice, something just for you. “Is it because of me?”
You nodded. His face drew closer to yours, his warm lips letting out a sigh. You slid your hand over a small scar on his upper lip. “It’s nothing,” he clarified, noticing the slight concern in your expression.
Before you could speak to insist that he needs to be more careful, he silenced you by closing the space between the two of you.
Impulsively, you pulled him closer, a moan escaping from both of you as the two pulled apart for a few seconds to catch some air. Once again, Damian melted into the kiss, now more passionate, sliding his tongue into your mouth, it touching the central piercing there; he deeply adored the sensation of metal clinking against the sensitive part of his mouth.
The kiss was interrupted. Neither of you had noticed; the window was still open, and someone had been watching.
“Damian,” Bruce’s voice carried a hint of disapproval. He was leaning on the small ledge of your window; he hadn’t been there long—that would be strange. In fact, he hadn’t planned to intervene until he realized his son was still wearing the Robin suit; he’d confessed his secret to you.
Annoyed, Damian pulled away, approaching the window ready to confront his father.
You pulled the blankets up over your head in embarrassment, in the presence of Batman himself. You knew who he was; Damian trusted you—he’d told you Batman was Bruce when you’d discovered on your own that he was Robin.
One night you caught him on a rooftop, watching your room without realizing you were seeing him. His mistake was when he pulled out his phone to text you; suspicious, you replied, and that’s when he did the same— The pieces fell into place quickly: the bruises, the hours… everything made sense. It’s clear that you already had your suspicions, but that was the icing on the cake.
Batman just looked at Damian; that made him seem even more intimidating than he already looked.
“What the hell are you doing here,” his annoyance increased when he caught sight of Dick high-fiving Tim.
“I told you so,” the boy managed to hear. He glared at them, but it did nothing.
“I’m not here to lecture you, though I think you made a mistake by trusting her with your secret; I should punish you…” Bruce began. “You should—” his words were cut off.
Damian saw himself in a future where his father wouldn’t let him see you.
Frightened for a moment by the mere possibility, he decided to be honest. “I’m sorry for falling in love and feeling safe enough with someone for once in my life,” he snapped.
Bruce’s expression changed completely; that was when he noticed the sparkle in Damian’s eyes. He stepped closer, placing a hand on his shoulder.
Damian, surprised by the gesture, tried unsuccessfully to brush it away, but Bruce insisted on leaving it there. The boy swallowed hard; something bad was coming his way, he could see it, and, unfortunately, there was nothing he could do. Just as he was about to strike with more words, his father interrupted him.
“I know. I hope it lasts and that it makes you happy.” Fascinating—he never thought his father would be so understanding in this situation.
Bewildered, he cleared his throat; not knowing what to say. “Thanks, B.”
Batman nodded, removing his hand from his shoulder, now disappearing into the shadows of the night. Quickly and without drama.
You sat up to look at him; he had confessed that he was in love with you, so easily...
Hearing it come from his lips made your heart skip a beat, butterflies in your stomach beginning to appear.
He lay back down beside you without saying a word, still confused, avoiding eye contact.
You opened your arms to hug him, his response was immediate.
“I love you,” you whispered in his ear. The sweet sound of your voice sent shivers down his spine.
He didn’t answer; instead, he held you tighter, adoring everything about you; words weren’t necessary.
— ᨳଓ: Playing 99 Nights in the forest with your boyfriend (ended up arguing)
╰┈➤Chaotic fluff. Pre-established relationship, Wally is your boyfriend, but also your best friend sorry in advance bc this is kinda messy➜English isn't my first language, so please forgive any mistakes or inconsistencies.
“Wally, can you tell me where you are?” You opened the game map by right-clicking your mouse; the little square character marked his location. Great—on the other side of the map, doing who knows what.
You looked at your phone screen; you had been in a video call since midnight. The clock currently read 2:00 a.m. Through the device you could see your boyfriend slightly frowning, too focused to answer your remarks.
“Wally West, where the hell are you?” You raised your voice.
“I’m gathering things we need for the base…”
You looked at the camp, day eighty-nine, you still didn’t have the fire at max level because Wally refused to help collect wood.
“What kind of things?” You wanted to know.
“important resources…" His voice was almost a whisper "look, flowers!”
You couldn’t believe it. Seriously? Picking flowers. This was insane. The crème de la crème.
You looked at the missing kids table, still missing two (Squid kid and Koala), since your boyfriend, in a pathetic attempt, decided to rescue the third kid on his own, without a rifle or bandages, just a revolver with twelve bullets and hope. Clearly, he died.
After about twenty minutes of complaints on the other end of the phone, you finally found the damn bandage to revive him. Less than five minutes later he was dead again, that idiot, he had tried again to rescue the third kid.
He had to be a man…
“Come back now, we’re getting attacked tonight and I don’t have many bullets,” you lied about the bullets, but you really needed him back at the base. The fire was about to go out, bad sign, and no matter how many bullets you had, you couldn’t handle twelve cultists around the fire alone.
“I’m coming,” Wally replied, but his mind was clearly elsewhere.
You defeated a few of the enemies who had decided the camp was theirs. You tried to kill a cultist holding a crossbow, but now you were out of bullets. Damn Wally, leaving you on your own to take down the cultists while he played the role of scout, with the lame excuse of bringing back “important supplies.”.
Without bullets, there wasn't much you could do to defeat them, and getting close with a spear wasn’t an option since the health bar wasn't on your side.
Survive 99 nights in the forest—more like survive 99 nights in hell.
You tried to eat a carrot, but guess what—the deer appeared behind. By shining the flashlight on his face, you managed to escape. Tonight you weren’t planning to die.
At first you thought this would be a fun game to play with your boyfriend. The first matches were—laughs and silly jokes between the two of ya. But for some reason, in this one, Wally had decided he needed to be a solitary wolf, going off to explore the forest alone, leaving you with all the responsibility: keeping the fire going, building, and cooking stew in the crock pot so that when your boyfriend returned from his “great exploration" with just three pieces of metal and five wooden logs, he could eat stew to refill hunger and go back into the trees.
You finally got some energy thanks to several carrots and raw rabbit meat.
Cultists were still alive around the fire; they started absorbing the flames. The fire level dropped drastically—if you didn’t bring wood, it would go out in minutes.
The sound of the axe hitting the tree was starting to sound irritating. To your bad luck, it started raining. The last thing you needed—now the wood was useless because it was wet. Maybe it was the lack of sleep affecting you, or the fact that the damn game seemed to be working against you. Frustrated, you hit your fist on the table. On the other end of the phone, Wally flinched at the noise.
For a few seconds you just stared at the floor of your room, rethinking your life. A yawn slipped from your mouth. Not sleeping for two days and this damn game was driving you insane.
One thing was clear—you were the unluckiest person in the world.
“Are you okay?” Wally asked, now looking at you instead of the game. His face showed a bit of concern at your posture.
You didn’t answer. Instead, you picked up your phone to see him closer.
“Wally West, I swear if you don’t move your damn character to the fire…” You waited a few seconds to make it more dramatic, with the perfect excuse right on the tip of your tongue, a teasing smile appearing on your face right before you spoke.
“If you don’t help me with the fire, there will be consequences... Such as, for example no more sex for a month,” You had hit Wally where it hurt most.
Your boyfriend’s eyes went wide.
“WHAT?"
“You heard me,” was your reply, turning your attention back to the game. Now you were looking for coal; it was still raining, so firewood was no useful.
Out of sheer curiosity, you glanced over at Wally; even through the screen, you could tell how dissatisfied he was with your statement.
On top of the screen appeared the worst message: “The deer is hungry tonight.” Damn it. You opened the map to check Wally’s location; he was still far but moving toward the fire. Threats seemed to be the only thing that worked. Maybe you should use them more often.
“Sweetheart, are you sure about what you said earlier?” His voice was softer now. “Wouldn’t you rather take it back?”
“Wally…”
He ignored the call instead.
“The cultist fortress is open again,” he explained. You knew where this was going—He was gonna leave you alone again “I can do it, it’ll be quick.” he said
You couldn’t believe what you were hearing.
“There are still cultists at the fire, the deer is hungry tonight, I have no bullets and my food bar is running out!” you shouted. There was no way to reason with this man.
“But the ruby chest…” Wally spoke in that tone you hated, making puppy eyes through the call.
You rolled your eyes wearily. Let him do whatever he wants—after all, you're not his mother.
“Fine, do whatever you want,” defeated, you placed your hopes on your boyfriend understanding that he should do exactly the opposite.
Night fell a few seconds later. Going back to the fire means almost certain death at the hands of the cultists who are still there but you had no choice. Staying outside meant escaping a hungry deer.
With your spear you approached the cultists by the fire, jumping between hits and managing to eliminate them. As a result, your health bar was now at minimum. No bandages in sight.
You needed to urgently relight the fire and heal. You headed toward the nearest tree, chopping it down with several axe hits until it disappeared.
“Babe, I got a lot of coins and shield from the ruby chest” Wally said suddenly, clearly proud.
“Mmmh…” you replied without caring. Coins were the most useless thing in the game, not to mention the shield...
“As soon as the furniture trader comes…”
While you gathered more wood you heard growling. There was no one in front of you, praying that it wasn't what you thought it was, you turned the camera.
But before you could do it, something jumped on you. “HOLY FUCKING SHIT,” you screamed from the jumpscare.
By pounding away at the keys of your computer without really knowing what you were doing, you managed to escape, but the damn deer—now faster, stronger, and with red eyes from hunger—was right behind you. The flashlight didn’t do much, only giving two seconds of advantage.
On top of that, you were hungry. The message appeared in red: “Fuck, fuck, fuck…” Murmured as you jumped around a tree, dodging and hitting the trunk with your axe while the deer tried to kill you. Several wolves were starting to close in, now attacking too. All at the same damm time.
“Do you need help?” Wally's voice floated in the air. Focused on not dying, you completely forgot his presence.
"What do u think, huh?" Sarcasm takes hold of you
"Ugh, you're imposible" he said in a theatrical tone that betrayed just how funny he found the situation.
With nerves on edge you managed to put a wood log in your bag—something at least.
“AAAHH!” you couldn’t help but screaming when the deer scratched you.
“Stop screaming!” your boyfriend said.
“THEN COME HELP ME, FUCK!” you shouted back. You would regret speaking to him like that later, but now wasn’t the time to do it.
“WHAT DO YOU THINK I’M DOING,” he replied, lowering himself to your level, shouting too.
Your hands were shaking; you couldn’t control the computer properly. Damn game.
You stopped for a second at the fire, dropped the log.
nothing
Ha ha ha, how funny. You felt like throwing the PC out the window. You had never considered yourself an aggressive person, but this game showed your darkest side…
The fire was still at 0%.
Wally approached you, for some reason, his avatar—which used to have hair he’d bought with Robux—no longer had any hair; now he’s bald. Ignoring that fact, you remembered that you were supposed to be mad at him for leaving you alone again.
“Did you bring some wood?” you asked.
“No.”
“Shit, Wally, you’ve been exploring for over half an hour, what have you been doing?” you asked, now a bit calmer. You couldn’t see the deer anywhere, good sign.
Only 40 seconds of night left—the danger was far away.
Now eating some carrots from the ground, you regained some energy. Everything was going fine, for now.
“I’ve got all kinds of animal skins as well as—” he didn’t manage to finish the sentence. A sharp scream, which could have perfectly come from a girl, was heard through the video call.
“HOLY COW THE FUCKING DEER!”
“Use the flashlight quickly,” you ordered.
Too late.
KawaiiWally_UwU67 has died.
“You’re stupid,” you said flatly. Harsh reality.
Three, two, one.
Wally exploded.
“I'VE CONTRIBUTED MORE THAN YOU, EXPLORING, SAVING THE KIDS AND GETTING GOOD RESOURCES!” he shouted, now angry frustrated, annoyed... all the adjectives you can imagine and more. "WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN DOING, HUH?"
The screen of his laptop now showed your character (spectator mode), running from the hungry deer, hunger and health bars at minimum again.
You didn’t answer. Too busy trying to escape. Focused, you bit the inside of your cheek so hard that a metallic taste started forming in your mouth. Nothing compared to the stress that the game was causing you.
You needed something to eat. Bingo—a carrot.
You turned the camera, shining the flashlight in the deer’s face. The light blinded it for a few seconds. Taking advantage of the moment, you tried to grab the carrrot but your mouse decided to stop working.
“GRAB THE DAMN CARROT!” Wally’s voice came out desperately.
You sighed. Out of the corner of your eye you saw the phone screen: a dramatic Wally looking offended by your incompetence.
Frustrated, you raised your voice again. Your neighbors would complain tomorrow—screw them.
“CAN’T YOU SEE I CAN’T!”
Wally crossed his arms, resting his forehead on his desk. He started hitting it lightly. You couldn’t help but laughing a little at him.
“Jump,” Wally ordered, but he wasn't even really paying attention to what was happening, focused on trying not to lose his temper over a game.
“Wally I can’t, I’m trying to get the carrot but the deer is behind me.”
“WILL YOU PLEASE LISTEN TO ME FOR ONCE ?" He's lost them "JUMP DODGE THE DEER AND STOP TO PICK UP THE CARRO—”
Defeat.
Both dead. Great—hours of your lives wasted.
“This is YOUR fault, you dumb fuck!” You blamed him, “If only YOU'D been with me...”
“It’s not MY fault, you are the one who fucking died!”
“You literally died first bro”
“Yo don't call me ‘Bro,’” he said, puzzled.
“I'm not your ‘Bro.’”
After several silly arguments, about who was mostly to blame, the two of you reached a truce.
But Wally broke it right away, just to prove he was right.
“If you had listened to me...” Wally muttered under his breath. Still going on about it, you were getting tired.
“I’m not the one who went five miles away collecting flowers,” you said, ending the fight. It all felt ridiculous at this point—yelling over Roblox. Pathetic.
You looked at your boyfriend through the screen; his hair was messy and he looked tired, but determined. He wanted to be right.
“I was doing IMPORTANT THINGS!” he protested, gesturing too much, leaning back in his chair.
Before you realized it, Wally was on the floor, sprawled out.
You didn’t want to laugh. Really, you didn’t...
Wally shot you a glare, but he also started laughing.
Thank goodness the tension had eased
“You know what? We’re both idiots,” he announced between laughs.
A big “play again” option appeared in the middle of the screen.
You checked the time—3:22 a.m. Sleeping wasn't an option.
╰┈➤ Your boyfriend had become more distant with you, to the point that you thought he didn't love you anymore.
Inspired by the Spanish song "cruz de navajas"// English is not my first language, sorry if there are any mistakes or anything that doesn't match up.
You were a bit tired, not physically, but mentally. Nothing had prepared you for what it meant to date Jason Todd. He was different with you, he treated you well and was affectionate, especially in more intimate moments where it was just the two of you.
You had fallen deeply in love with him and vice versa or, at least, that was what you thought, because lately Jason Todd, your boyfriend, wasn’t around in the apartment you shared, the one you bought together in the first months of your relationship. Most nights he wasn’t there. You understood it, he was Red Hood, he had things to do, but when he was there, his presence felt distant. He didn’t want to spend time with you anymore, you barely spoke, and things weren’t going well in bed either. You counted the days since the last time you slept together: eighteen…
You didn’t understand what had gone wrong between you two. Did he not want you anymore? If so, why wouldn’t he tell you? Maybe the problem wasn’t him, maybe it was you. Those thoughts were the worst. You always found yourself overthinking in the middle of the night because of them, long nights with no comfort and no one to call. Your other half no longer seemed to want anything to do with you.
On the nights Jason went on patrol, he came back around four in the morning. Sometimes, if there was a raid or something more serious, he wouldn’t return until midday. You used to wait eagerly for his arrival. When he appeared, you would always throw yourself at him, kissing his soft lips and wishing him good night. He would always hug you, wrapping his muscular arms around your waist, resting his forehead against your shoulder, craving every part of you.
Aside from that, Jason had always tried to be present in your life, adjusting his schedule so he could at least spend a few hours with you. You remember those glorious days as if they were long gone, but you weren’t going to let that be the end of it. You were willing to try to save your relationship, no matter the cost. You needed Jason back.
Today you woke up early, something you normally didn’t do. You looked at the opposite side of the bed. There lay Jason, sleeping as if it were his last day on Earth. You caressed his hair, and he let out a small grunt in response.
The clock read seven in the morning, the perfect time to get up, clean the house, and prepare breakfast. Maybe that would cheer him up a bit and make him pay attention to you.
After several hours, Jason finally decided to get up, just in time for breakfast. You had cooked his favorite cookies. Coffee was served, black, no sugar, with a bit of almond milk, Jason’s favorite.
You were still wearing pajama pants, but you had changed into a tighter shirt, no bra. The intention was clear.
As soon as he crossed the door, you greeted him enthusiastically. He didn’t look at you; instead, his eyes went straight to the cookies. A small smile slipped from his lips. You would have liked that smile to be for you and not for the food, but a win was a win, however small, right?
When he finally looked up at you, he greeted you without much enthusiasm. He didn’t notice the shirt or the shape of your beautiful breasts without a bra restricting them. He didn’t even give you a good morning kiss.
You both sat at the table. Jason’s chair let out a small creak when he dropped his weight onto it, showing how old and worn it was. “Damn chair, we need to replace it,” he muttered between his teeth.
You nodded without paying much attention to what he said. Instead, you were stirring your hopes in your coffee, dissatisfied. You sighed, remembering how the touch of his lips against your skin used to make you shiver and feel like you truly belonged somewhere, like you belonged to him. Those precious days felt like they were from another lifetime…
Did he not desire you anymore?
It seemed like passion had vanished, leaving behind a rigid stone wall that, no matter how much you tried to break it, you couldn’t even crack. Condemned to live a life longing for someone who no longer needed you.
Leaving your thoughts behind, you got up to shower and go to work.
At the large warehouse where you worked, the day passed slowly. Cigarettes didn’t help calm the small knot of anxiety that had begun forming in your chest just from thinking about Jason. You feared your boyfriend no longer loved you.
Maybe I am the problem, you kept repeating to yourself.
Writing your thoughts and feelings in your small notebook no longer helped; on the contrary, it made things worse.
When you returned to the apartment, the air felt cold, empty, and somehow no longer carried that comforting scent that used to make you feel safe.
Jason wasn’t home. He would probably arrive late again, damn patrols…
You opened the fridge door, but there were only depressing cans of tuna that Jason insisted on eating because they had more protein than those processed supermarket foods.
That night you didn’t eat dinner.
When you woke up the next day, you didn’t notice any trace of your boyfriend, but his pillow was gone.
When you went to the living room, you saw Jason’s body resting on the sofa.
You raised an eyebrow. So now you didn’t even sleep together anymore…
Determined, you approached him to wake him up. It was time to confront him and ask what the hell had been going on lately.
“Jason,” you murmured.
Seeing he didn’t wake up, you raised your voice slightly.
“Jason Todd.”
The man slowly opened his eyes, stretching his arms.
“Is something wrong?” he asked sleepily.
One of his eyebrows lifted slightly, a small gesture he always made.
You crossed your arms. “We need to talk.”
Hearing your serious tone, he straightened up and got off the sofa.
“Is it necessary?” he replied.
His eyes were red from lack of sleep.
“Jason, don’t you love me anymore?”
Boom, straight to the point.
Jason blinked, confused. His expression was unreadable. He didn’t know what to answer and his brain couldn’t find any excuse, maybe because he had just woken up and you were already throwing a bomb at him.
“It’s not that…” he said, scratching the back of his neck.
“Then what is it?”
“It’s nothing.”
Hurt, your eyes began to well up. “Well, from my point of view, it is. You don’t look at me, there are days you don’t speak to me, and we don’t sleep together anymore, among many other things.”
“I’ve been busy.”
Jason didn’t dare look you in the eyes, the bastard. He felt ashamed. Everything you said was true, but he couldn’t help it. Something had changed. He didn’t know what, but he felt it. Maybe it was true, maybe he didn’t love you like he once had, or maybe he was just afraid of how much he loved you, a contrast he couldn’t understand.
“Are you so busy that you can’t say good morning or good night to me?” you snapped.
Silence stretched between you both. The words hung in the air, unanswered. Jason stayed in the same spot, unmoving, not daring to respond.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he admitted after a while of uncomfortable silence.
“Then let’s talk about it, because I can’t take this anymore, Jason. I feel like I’m chasing ghosts and it’s destroying me,” you replied. Your voice cracked a little, but you didn’t allow yourself to cry yet.
The man looked away. You could see tears beginning to form in his eyes. You had never seen him cry; he always hid behind walls that didn’t let you see much of him.
You reached a finger to wipe his tears. He gently pushed it away. At that rejection, you stiffened.
“I don’t understand you.”
“You don’t need to.”
“You’re going to lose me,” you said, now crying too, unable to stop it. “Is this what you do? Push people away when your life starts making sense again?”
Jason stayed silent. He didn’t know what to answer, because maybe it was true. He loved you so much that just having you in his life scared him in a way he couldn’t explain, but it was also true he had never been good with words, so he swallowed his emotions and said in a distant tone: “I have to go. Gotham needs me.”
I need you too. The words didn’t come out; they got stuck, unable to leave your lips. You watched as your boyfriend’s figure faded in front of you.
Days passed and everything stayed the same. Jason started sleeping more often on the sofa. Neither of you dared to talk, neither at lunch nor dinner, though you rarely ate together anymore. Miserable, you cried at night trying to numb the pain inside you.
Jason walked through Gotham’s night streets, holding his Red Hood helmet in his calloused hands. Patrols had become harder. When Jason entered a room, the atmosphere changed. Everyone could tell how broken Jason Todd was.
Down the empty street, in the distance, you could only see a couple kissing passionately. Passion radiating from them. Poor Jason wanted to die when he got closer and realized it was you with someone else.
“Oh…” That was the only word Jason could say.
When you noticed his presence, you quickly pulled away from the guy, a drug addict you had met a few days ago on the street, with whom you had formed a connection due to your similar emotional state.
The Junkie, addicted to drugs, desperately craving something that hurt him.
Ha.
How ironic. You were the same, but with Jason.
Furious, Jason approached the guy. His face would never be the same after the beating he intended to give him. He raised his fists, but before he could strike, you stopped him.
“Wait,” you begged, “it’s not his fault.”
“You betrayed me.”
“Jason, I…” you stammered. He was right, damn it, of course he was. Your boyfriend might have been neglecting you, but you were the one who had crossed the line. You had cheated.
Fuck, fuck, fuck…
You had screwed up. Now there was no way to fix things…
“I thought you were better than this. I never thought you would stoop this low,” he whispered angrily. A hint of sadness was in his tone. He had let the drug addict go, who was now on the ground searching through his pockets, but neither of you cared.
“And what did you want me to do?” you shouted, “Stay still, waiting for the day you decide to love me again? I have needs too, Jason. I need to feel something.” You said defeated. “And I’m disgusting because I cheated on you with the first person who gave me a bit more attention than you, and I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help it.”
Jason felt broken inside, but he knew you were right, and deep down he had a feeling this would happen sooner or later. Maybe if he weren’t such a coward, he would have already put that damm ring on your finger that he had been hiding under his underwear for months…
The Junkie, in full panic, pulled out a knife, afraid Jason would kill him for catching him kissing his girlfriend, and let’s be honest, he probably would have if you hadn’t stopped him.
With a single move, Jason dodged the attack. Lucky for him, he was still wearing the Red Hood suit (except the helmet), so that little knife wouldn’t have done much anyway.
A sharp pain appeared right under your ribs. It turned out that when Jason dodged the stab, because you were so close, the blade had pierced your abdomen.
Blood, a lot of blood. For how small the blade was, it began to pour out of your abdomen.
You placed your hands over it. When you looked at them again, your palms were covered in a dull red.
“Jason…” you sighed.
He quickly knocked out the drug addict before he could escape, leaving him unconscious. Desperate, he rushed to you, helping you sit on the ground.
He took off his shirt to press it against your bleeding abdomen. His muscular torso now visible in the moonlight. “Shit, babe, I’m so sorry.” His voice broke. A small smile appeared on your face. Babe, that word you hadn’t heard in so many days.
Jason pressed the shirt harder on your abdomen, using his free hand to help you lean against the bench leg. You could feel his hands trembling under your weight but didn’t comment on it. “Jay, I’m sorry,” you murmured, instinctively bringing your hands toward the wound, feeling intense pain that didn’t seem to go away.
Jason moved your hands away; the last thing he needed was for you to get an infection on top of everything “I know, I know…” He pressed harder. The knife must have damaged an internal organ, probably the liver, he bit his cheek.
His hands were shaking even more.
Jason didn’t understand why; he had been through worse situations, but the fact that the victim was you… He was desperately trying to stop the bleeding, but more and more blood kept coming out and your skin was starting to lose color.
You felt a sudden headache that made you dizzy, and nausea began to rise. The last thing you wanted was to vomit on Jason.
Weakness began to take hold of you, and would have sworn you were on the verge of fainting, though luckily you didn’t, not yet.
“Listen,” he ordered, “I don’t want to scare you, but I think this is worse than it looks and you need urgent medical help.” Jason’s mind was racing. His motorcycle was only five minutes away, but you couldn’t walk, and carrying you wasn’t feasible.
“I’m going to call Bruce,” he finally said. “He’ll know what to do.” His Red Hood helmet lay a few inches away, forgotten on the ground. It had a direct communication system he could use to call him…
With trembling fingers he tapped the side of the helmet. Help was on the way.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, needing to distract you from the hole in your abdomen. He noticed your eyes beginning to fill with tears from lack of oxygen, breathing becoming weak. Jason ran his trembling fingers over your cheek, moving a strand of hair away from your face.
“Damn it, I’m sorry too,” he admitted, his voice breaking, “I’ve been an idiot, I was scared. No one had ever made me feel like this and…”
You interrupted him by touching his cheek. You didn’t have much strength left. Your hand instinctively moved toward his tears. This time he didn’t pull away. “These days have been really hard, I didn’t understand anything, I thought…” The words got stuck in your throat. Now that you looked into his eyes, you realized how stupid you had been. “I thought you didn’t love me anymore…”
“Sweetheart, that’s not going to happen,” he pressed the shirt harder, glancing at his wristwatch. Ten minutes had passed since he called Bruce. Damn, where was he?
He looked back at the helmet; it emitted an error sound. Damn it. “I promise you,” he added.
You tried to speak, but you couldn’t. “Pinkie promise?” finally said a few seconds later, knowing how much your boyfriend hated that phrase; he thought it was too cheesy.
“Pinkie promise,” he replied. In response, you smiled weakly.
You rested your forehead against his. You needed to feel his warmth, as the cold had begun to surround you. Your body no longer absorbed his heat like before; Now your eyes were half-closed, disconnecting from the world, and it felt horrible, but you couldn’t stop it.
Jason, devastated by the situation, closed the distance between you two, pressing his lips against yours in a hungry kiss that showed how much he desired you. You sighed at the kiss you had missed so much. But didn’t return it; you didn’t have the strength.
Your boyfriend noticed it, of course he did. The blood soaked through the shirt, now staining the cold asphalt. It made him even more nervous; the situation was slipping away and you were fading in front of him.
“I swear if you die I’ll kill you,” he said between a mix of laughter and what sounded like... Wait, was that a sob?
The helmet emitted another sound; a broken voice came through it. “Jason? What’s going on?” Bruce.
Jason turned his head toward the source of the sound “It’s an emergency, she’s been stabbed in the abdomen, she’s losing a lot of blood, I don’t think she’ll make it much longer…” he replied urgently.
“Situation assessment?” Bruce asked.
“She’s been pierced by a damn knife!”
A sigh. “First step, don’t panic,” Bruce ordered. “Are you trying to stop the bleeding?”
“What do you think?” he snapped sarcastically, losing patience and time.
“I’m on my way.”
Sleep was beginning to take over you more and more. You felt weaker and dizzy; the damn addict had stabbed you hard. When you tried to close your eyes, Jason stopped you.
“Keep your eyes open. Help will be here soon,” Jason said. “Don’t follow any light or go into any tunnel, okay?” He said it jokingly but his tone was serious.
You shifted uncomfortably; the pain increased along with the bleeding. You looked at Jason’s shirt, once black, now stained with a red that would probably never wash out.
“Jason I—” your words came out slow and weak, “I don't think I can.” Your vision blurred. You couldn’t see his face clearly anymore.
“Of course you can,” he murmured. He was afraid. His trembling fingers began to stroke your hair as a final act of kindness.
The minutes passed, and no one showed up. He was losing you...
“Hey, sweetheart…” he whispered, tapping your cheek. You had closed your eyes, and for some reason you didn’t open them again. “No, no, no!” Jason panicked. His hands started shaking. He didn’t know what to do. You were slipping away, dying, and he could do nothing.
In a last desperate attempt, he held you tightly, embracing your cold, lifeless body.
The pain was unbearable. It felt as though he'd been stabbed twice. Once in the forehead, and that was the one that hurt the most. He couldn’t stop thinking about all those days, the long days, as he called them, where he couldn’t show how much he loved you. Guilt consumed him.
Another stab in the chest. The one that killed him. A sharp pain spreading that he couldn’t extinguish. He had never asked you to marry him or told you how much he loved you, damn idiot.
Devastated, he began to cry for real this time. He had lost you forever.
— ᨳଓ: Your boyfriend is so bored that the only thing he does is bother the hell out of you.
Your boyfriend was the most golden retriever-like person you'd ever met, everyone said so, though that was a trait that didn't usually bother you, on the contrary, you loved it. That was one of the reasons you'd fallen in love with him.
But, as much as you liked it, you have to admit that, sometimes, it irritated you too much.
You couldn't describe it in words, but the fact that he was always so energetic, so clingy…
You also need your space, to be alone, to overthink some nonsense or simply to read a book quietly, lying on the sofa in your apartment, which is what you are doing, or rather were doing, because for some reason Dick Grayson had decided that his main objective of this quiet and sunny morning was to annoy you.
It all started because he was bored. He had nothing to do, his phone wasn't showing him any interesting videos, and when he sought attention, you wouldn't give it to him…
“Dick, honey…” You didn’t look up from your book; you were in the middle of an interesting part and didn’t want to lose your train of thought, though it was a little hard when someone was standing just a few inches away from you, playfully pretending you were their personal punching bag. “You’re going to hit me,” you muttered under your breath, uncomfortable with the lack of personal space.
“C’ mon, babe, you know I’d never hurt you.” His fists were getting closer and closer to your nose, and he even started making little noises with his mouth, as if he were really training. Plus, more than once he lifted one of his legs, insisting that he wasn’t going to hit you, since he was trained enough to control the distance between his fists and your face.
Feeling defeated when he saw that you still hadn't taken your eyes off your stupid book about vampires and werewolves, he sat on the sofa upside down, simply because he could.
What did that book have that he didn’t? He began making a mental list of qualities he possessed that a mere book could never, ever hold a candle to. After pondering for what felt like an eternity to him, he came out ahead 10-2, and the list could be made even longer. He mentally congratulated himself on his victory, he was better than a book.
Then a “brilliant” idea crossed his mind, as if a divine being had appeared to him and ordered him to do the first silly thing that came to mind.
Dick got up from the couch, standing in front of you, shattering your peace.
“Look at this!” he exclaimed.
For a moment, he considered that this could go terribly wrong, but this is Dick Grayson and he’s bored. Plus, he has a ridiculously wide repertoire of acrobatic skills and, I repeat, he’s bored. From one moment to the next, as if possessed by some entity, he began walking on his hands, leaning his body back slightly to perform a double backflip, but luck wasn’t on his side today; he slipped on a shoe lying on the floor, hitting his head against the piece of furniture right behind him.
What an idiot…
You hurried over to him, trying not to trip over the same sneaker that was still on the floor, and approached a little more calmly when you saw it wasn’t anything serious.
“Dick!” You covered your mouth with one hand to keep from laughing in his face, but you failed. You could see the embarrassment mixed with frustration on the poor guy’s face, but you had to admit the situation was funny. “You okay?”
You held out a hand to help him up. He shook his head, declining your help, he’d already been humiliated enough without you now helping him up as if he couldn’t do it on his own.
“Peeerfect,” he replied, scratching the exact spot where he’d hit himself.
When you saw that he was okay, you went back to what you were doing, lying down on the couch, absorbed in the book you were holding in your hands. Jacob, the werewolf from the book you were reading, had just blackmailed the main character into giving him a kiss. You sighed, offended by his actions, Team Edward forever.
Ten minutes had passed, and your boyfriend hadn’t done anything silly since then. Was this a victory? Had he finally decided to stop bothering you?
Nuh uh
A shirtless Dick Grayson—because, according to him, it had started to get really hot—was throwing punches in the air again. “Want to go for a walk?”
You looked up from your book, your eyes resting on his bare chest. Reality beats fiction, you thought.
“I don’t feel like it,” you stammered, biting your lip slightly, your attention still on his pecs.
When his fists came a little closer to your face, you squirmed uncomfortably at the lack of personal space. From the look on his face, you could tell that Dick was probably thinking something like, “I’ve been training my whole life, I’m too precise to hit someone by accident,” but that wasn’t the case. Well, sort of. You were sick of his little games, so, in an attempt to put an end to them, you moved your head forward slightly, causing one of his fists to hit you squarely in the face. It wasn’t his fault, of course—if you hadn’t moved, he wouldn’t have hit you—but, on the other hand, he was throwing punches toward your face. Guilty.
Instinctively, you brought your hand up and ran it over your nose, checking to see if it was bleeding.
“Grayson, you hit me!”
Luckily, he wasn't using his full strength, otherwise, he would have broken your nose.
The man flinched slightly when he realized what had happened, and his expression immediately turned concerned.
He raised his hands in surrender as he backed away regretfully. Dick’s mind had already begun planning a thousand ways to apologize to you: a dinner date at a restaurant with a ocean view, maybe some chocolates or another pair of heels…
“Fuck, I’m so sorr—”
A pillow hit him squarely in the chest. He didn’t have time to react. He looked at you in shock, his mouth forming an ‘o,’ but when he saw the way the corners of your lips curved, he couldn’t help it, and a small laugh escaped his own.
“Ohh, so that’s how it is, huh?” He smiled, crossing his arms.
A few seconds later, he grabbed a pillow too and started attacking you with it.
“This is war!”
Defenseless, you tried unsuccessfully to avoid his attacks. One moment of inattention, and suddenly your muscular boyfriend was lying on top of you, blocking any attempt to escape.
“Hey, that’s not fair!” you protested between bursts of laughter as you did your best to shake him off.
His arms wrapped around your waist, while his head rested lightly on your chest. His bare chest was warm, and for some reason, it was comforting. “Have you dared to hit me with a pillow, young lady?” he remarked with disdain. “In my defense,” you murmured with a smile, “I seem to recall, Mr. Dick Grayson, that someone hit me in the face earlier. It was all in self-defense.”
Dick blinked innocently. “Meee?!” he snorted with exaggerated drama. “Oh honey, you’re such a liar.”
You raised an eyebrow, unable to help but laugh at the ridiculous situation.
“You’re impossible,” you pointed out.
“But you love me,” Dick declared, rubbing his nose against yours, giving you a eskimo kiss.
His head rested against your chest, and you began to gently stroke his hair, maybe this was much better than the book you were reading.
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